On Aug. 26, a violent surge of water, ice, rock and debris tore through the Bhote Koshi and Trishuli river corridors of Nepal. UNICEF reports more than 17,000 children had been affected and that roads, bridges, water systems, health facilities and telecommunications had been damaged or cut off.

These numbers will change as rescue operations continue, but the central fact will not: A mountain hazard became a humanitarian catastrophe in minutes — and Utah must be prepared.

For Utah’s Nepali community, the flood is not distant news. Families here have been calling relatives, checking community groups and waiting for messages from people in the affected valleys. I am from Nepal, although not from the hardest-hit valley, and I have traveled through these Himalayan river corridors. They are beautiful and unforgiving. When a flood accelerates through a narrow valley, there may be little time and few safe routes to escape. That geography matters because disasters are never produced by one factor alone. Hazard, exposure, infrastructure, communication and preparedness decide how much damage a natural event becomes.

It would be careless to say that climate change directly caused this one flood before the physical investigation is complete. What scientists can say with confidence is that the broader Himalayan cryosphere is changing rapidly. A 2026 glacier assessment found that glacier area across the Hindu Kush Himalaya declined by about 12% from 1990 to 2020, with ice loss accelerating across the region. Warmer conditions can affect glacier melt, permafrost, rock stability, snow patterns and the size and behavior of glacial lakes. These processes do not make every flood predictable, but they change the background risk.

Nepal is not alone. In India’s Himalayan state of Sikkim, the October 2023 outburst of South Lhonak Lake overwhelmed the Teesta River system, destroyed infrastructure and killed dozens of people. In northern Pakistan, authorities issued glacial lake outburst flood alerts in 2025 after unusually high temperatures increased concern about rapid snow and glacier melt in Gilgit-Baltistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Bhutan has also documented expanding glacial lakes and long-running concern about outburst floods.

The details differ from country to country, but the regional pattern is clear: Communities living below high mountain ice face hazards that are changing faster than many roads, dams, warning systems and emergency plans.

That should matter in Utah because we also live downstream from mountains. The Himalaya and the Wasatch are not equivalent, and Utah is not facing the same glacier-collapse hazard. But both places depend heavily on mountain water, and both are learning how quickly old assumptions can become unreliable.

Utah entered 2026 after what the state called its warmest winter on record and the lowest snowpack recorded since 1930. Utah water officials have also warned that monsoon storms can trigger flash flooding and debris flows, especially across wildfire burn scars. The Great Salt Lake offers another reminder that water systems carry consequences beyond a single season.

Our risks are different, but the planning lesson is the same: Infrastructure and emergency systems designed around historical averages need to be tested against emerging extremes.

In Nepal, the issue is too much water arriving too quickly. In Utah, the more persistent concern is often too little water, punctuated by intense storms. Both show why climate adaptation is not an abstract environmental slogan. It is about roads, drinking water, power, public health, emergency communication, insurance, agriculture and where people build homes.

The practical response in the Himalaya should begin with better observation and faster warnings. High-risk glaciers, glacial lakes and unstable slopes need satellite and ground monitoring. River gauges and community sirens must be linked to clear evacuation plans. Nepal and China need reliable cross-border hazard communication because water and ice do not stop at political boundaries. Hydropower, roads and settlements in narrow valleys need risk assessments that reflect changing mountain conditions, not only historical flood records. International climate finance should pay for prevention as seriously as the world pays for relief after lives are lost.

The same principles apply in Utah: Invest before the emergency, use current science, preserve redundancy in critical systems and communicate risk in language communities can act on.

The people of Nepal need rescue, shelter, medical care and rebuilding now. But the deeper responsibility is to learn while the disaster is still visible. The Himalayan crisis is not a reason for fatalism. It is a reason for better science, better engineering, better land-use decisions and better cooperation.

Utahns understand the value of preparedness because our own lives are shaped by snowpack, drought, wildfire, monsoon storms and a vulnerable inland lake. We do not need identical disasters to recognize a shared truth: When mountain water systems change, communities below them must change their planning too.

Sunil Pandey is the president of the Asian Community Development Center, a Utah-based nonprofit advancing health, belonging, research, and leadership for underserved, immigrant, and multicultural communities. He lives in Utah and is from Nepal.

The Salt Lake Tribune is committed to creating a space where Utahns can share ideas, perspectives and solutions that move our state forward. We rely on your insight to do this. Find out how to share your opinion here, and email us at voices@sltrib.com.