Keeper Of The Mountains (30 page)

— Elizabeth Hawley

T
he biggest news to come out of Nepal in years was the discovery of George Mallory's body high on the slopes of Everest in 1999. It captured the world's news media like no other story since the 1996 disaster on Everest. The drama and mystery of the disappearance of George Mallory and Andrew Irvine in June 1924 had lived on in people's imaginations because it was not known whether they had reached the summit. If they did, they would have been the first by more than two decades before Hillary and Norgay. They were last seen by their teammate Noel Odell on June 8, 1924, “going strong for the top” high on the North Ridge.

Numerous expeditions had set out to find the men's remains over the years, to no avail. But in 1999 a predominantly American team led by Eric Simonson arrived well prepared for their mission to find the bodies and perhaps Mallory's camera. It was thought that the camera could determine once and for all whether they had reached the summit. The searchers faced a lot of skepticism regarding their quest to find “a needle in a haystack,” but they had the help of historian Jochen Hemmleb, who had studied the fateful climb extensively and thought he knew where the search should be concentrated. He was right. They were successful on the first day, when Conrad Anker came upon Mallory's body at 8230 metres on a 30-degree slope not far above the site of Mallory's Camp
VI
.

Expedition leader Simonson was a good friend of Heather Mac­donald, who was still working as Elizabeth's assistant. After the discovery, but before the news had been released, Heather received a note from him: “Heather, I am sending this barrel with Schelleen to give to you. Guard it with your life. Very important. Eric.” The precious barrel contained old letters by Mallory and his wife, his
boot, clothes, goggles, altimeter and pocketknife and some rope, but no camera.

Of course, Heather had to tell Elizabeth and Elizabeth did not believe it. She needed proof. But once she saw it, Heather laughingly recalled, “I thought she would need rescue breathing, she was so excited.” Elizabeth remembered the day too: “Of course I got excited – I'm an historian, damn it!”

But “historian” is not the title Elizabeth typically applied to herself. She preferred “chronicler” rather than historian because, she said, her lack of experience in the mountains precluded having a true historian's perspective.

So which was it? Chronicler or historian? Was it really a lack of mountaineering experience that held her back from the larger role of mountaineering historian? Or was it the responsibility such a role would demand?

The media frenzy in Kathmandu following the discovery of the body was incredible. Elizabeth had the inside track, as she was one of the few people qualified to comment on the find. When she regained her composure from the initial excitement, she pronounced, “Organizing the media on this one will be like organizing a goat rodeo.” She interviewed Simonson and other members of the team, including Conrad Anker.

Dave Hahn, also on the expedition, remembered that when Elizabeth finished the formal interview regarding the expedition, she asked Hahn and Simonson to remain a bit longer. With the others gone, she lost all semblance of formality and wanted to know every detail of the discovery. Hahn was captivated by her obviously genuine fascination with high, cold places and the people who made history there.

Also very interested in the discovery of Mallory's body was British mountaineering historian, author and Everest expert Audrey Salkeld. Many at the heart of the mountaineering community compared Elizabeth and Salkeld, with some suggesting that Audrey was far more learned about mountaineering, particularly Everest. She'd been into the mountains and had often explored the nuances and motivations of climbing – with fellow climbers. Others maintained that Elizabeth didn't examine the fine details of climbing the way Salkeld did, which they thought precluded Elizabeth from understanding the
motivations behind the climb rather than just the facts. They believed her job of delivering “one-liners” for Reuters more or less predetermined that the content would be somewhat superficial, regardless of the real depth of her interest. But comparing the two women may have been unfair, because their jobs were very different. As a reporter, Elizabeth had to produce stories and information on a regular basis for a wide variety of publications under tight time frames, while Audrey focused on larger writing projects that allowed her much more time for research into the nuances of climbing.

According to British filmmaker Leo Dickinson, both Elizabeth and Salkeld were acknowledged authorities on Everest, so he thought it was odd that the two women didn't know each other well or have some kind of a relationship based on their mutual interest. He felt that Salkeld's personality lacked the hard journalistic shell that Elizabeth had developed, suggesting that Salkeld's lighter touch produced better stories. But on the other hand, Salkeld wasn't a journalist. Dickinson recognized that Elizabeth's authority evolved naturally as she acquired her knowledge base over time: “I doubt that she set out to be queen of Everest at the beginning.”

Salkeld herself felt somewhat wary of Elizabeth. She had met her socially a number of times in Kathmandu when she was there in connection with projects such as the
IMAX
Everest film. She had found Elizabeth guarded and suspected Elizabeth was trying to catch her making mistakes. But Salkeld conceded that many referred to her as Elizabeth's “British counterpart,” and that this comparison probably irritated Elizabeth. Salkeld acknowledged Elizabeth's vast network of climbing friends and doubted there was a person alive who knew more climbers than Elizabeth did. However, she believed that doors opened more easily for Elizabeth because of her connection with Hillary.

Despite the discussions and disagreement about her role, one Kathmandu institution did view Elizabeth as the ultimate historical authority on their particular tradition. The popular Rum Doodle bar and restaurant had large plywood boards on which successful Everest climbers could sign their names, entitling them to free meals from that time onward. But before the restaurant allowed the climber to sign up, they would call Elizabeth for verification. One May evening she received a call from Rum Doodle asking her to verify the names of
three Poles who had been to the summit not long before. She agreed on Pawlowski and Maselko, but the third name was Kudelski. She was horrified! Kudelski had summited but died during the descent. Someone had decided to impersonate him and enjoy free meals at Rum Doodle for the rest of his life.

The Sherpa climbers were a group that Elizabeth kept a particularly close eye on. In 1999 a new record was created by Babu Tshering, also known as Ang Babu, when he spent 21 hours and 15 minutes on the summit of Everest cozied up in a small tent with a mattress, sleeping bag and walkie-talkie. Prior to this stunt, in 1995 he became the first person to do two round-trips from the base to the top within a time span of 10 days. Then, in the spring of 2000, he broke another record by going from base camp to the summit in 16 hours and 56 minutes. She spoke with him back in Kathmandu and learned that his goal had been to climb it faster, but bad weather and tough trail-breaking conditions had slowed him down. She asked him about his future goals, but he was coy, evading her (usually successful) prodding. This brought his Everest ascent record to 10.

Another well-known climbing Sherpa was Sungdare Sherpa, who was the first Sherpa to climb Everest five times and who later became an alcoholic. Elizabeth was pragmatic about this situation: “It's cold up in Khumbu where they grow up and they have lots of nice warm parties where they drink rakshi. The way the Sherpas drink is that you never finish the glass before it's filled up again.” She explained that when Sungdare succumbed to alcohol, people didn't want to climb with him anymore. He spent all of his money on booze and finally committed suicide because he could not support both his family and his drinking. Climber Ang Rita was also dependent on alcohol. An exception to this pattern was Apa Sherpa, who by spring 2004 had been up Everest 14 times. Apa's motivation appeared to be less for fame or records than “to add to the family wealth.” He also said he hoped his children would find careers in fields other than mountaineering, because of the huge risks. When Elizabeth asked him when he was going to retire, he said not until he turned 55. In her estimation, “He's no boozer. He's a clever fellow.”

Elizabeth knew the climbing Sherpas well and felt that some foreign climbers treated them badly. She was certain the Sherpas resented the fact that foreigners got all the publicity overseas. They
were well aware that their names appeared at the bottom of climbing reports, if at all. When Elizabeth interviewed some expeditions, she would be told the names of the summit climbers, and then would have to ask, “What about Sherpas?”

“Oh, yes, there were two Sherpas there.”

“Who were they?”

“Oh, I don't know … one was Mingma, one was Dawa.”

“What were their second names? Most Sherpas have two names.”

“I don't know. We just called him Mingma.”

Frustrated, she found that only a few climbers were concerned about these details; most just didn't care about the Sherpas.

And on the mountains, conflicts again arose between the commercial expeditions and individual climbers. Russell Brice, an experienced New Zealand commercial expedition leader, was increasingly frustrated by the time, expertise and supplies he was expending each year to rescue people who weren't part of his teams but who were on the mountain at the same time. As he saw it, climbers were coming in with enough energy and expertise to do their climbs successfully – as long as everything went well and the weather cooperated. But they weren't strong enough to deal with the unknown, and as a result Brice was frequently asked to assist.

At the same time, Elizabeth was watching the career of Slovenian climber Tomaž Humar with keen interest, and in the fall of 1999 he succeeded on the South Face of Dhaulagiri. In Elizabeth's estimation, it was a remarkable achievement for several reasons: even though he hadn't reached the summit, he had climbed a route that was terribly steep and dangerous and he had done it entirely solo. Reinhold Messner was said to have taken a look at the face in the 1970s and turned around without making an attempt. Humar went straight up the middle, reaching 7900 metres before he veered off to the ridge. As he told Elizabeth, “I knew if I went higher, I would die.” All of this was observed through long lenses by his non-climbing support team, so there would be no confusion or doubt about his success, as had been the case with his countryman Tomo Česen. No fixed camps, no bottled oxygen, no partner – Elizabeth was impressed.

But at least one respected climber, fellow Slovenian Andrej Å tremfelj, had some words of caution about Humar's achievement. He pointed out that Humar was claiming his route as the first ascent
of the face, but in fact the first ascent had been made almost 18 years earlier, in 1981, by Humar's own Himalayan mentor, Stane Belak-Å rauf. He added that both routes ended at the same spot, which is where both climbers decided to descend, relinquishing the summit in exchange for their lives. In addition, Å tremfelj wondered aloud about the possibility that Humar had chosen this dangerous route because it had “sensational” value and therefore would add to his reputation, his career and his sponsorships. Elizabeth thought this was a little unfair, because she felt that Å tremfelj himself participated in highly dangerous and “sensational” climbs.

As to the similarity of Humar's and Belak-Å rauf's routes, she hauled out the two files filled with supporting documentation, detailed descriptions and photos. The 1981 file contained a photo with both the intended route and the actual route carefully drawn. Humar's file also had a photo with the intended line and the actual line. She pointed out that the 1981 actual line was substantially to the right of Humar's line. She described Humar's climb as the “middle” of the South Face, while she categorized the 1981 climb as the “right side” of the South Face. It was a matter of interpretation, but she was adamant that the routes were different. She added that part of the value of a “landmark” climb was the influence it had on the next generation of climbers: “Surely, Humar's climb did that.”

As the century drew to a close and Elizabeth entered her 76th year, she was at the height of her reporting career. American climber Carlos Buhler remembered watching her take notes from a Russian expedition attempting the North Face of Jannu. It was a small, dank room, not clean by Western standards, and there she was, looking prim and proper, chasing down the news in her methodical way. She tried to clarify points that were difficult to understand and to put them into a formula that others could not only understand but would be able to use in the future.

Buhler watched with admiration as she probed for all the information, getting the dates, the altitudes and the reasons for this and that just right. He had the impression that she wasn't doing it for her own use or enjoyment, but for others to use. All they had to do was ask. He could imagine a climber from Spain or the United States showing up at her house sometime in the future, asking for information. She would offer up some facts, a photograph and some specific tidbits of
information about why the Russians used a camp at this altitude and why it gave them problems. Or perhaps she would suggest it would be better to try a little lower or a different spot. “I think she wanted to truthfully further the sport,” he concluded.

Many climbers agreed she was at the top of her game. She had a tremendous grasp of Himalayan climbing that few other individuals could muster, because she'd talked with literally hundreds of climbers coming through town. She'd seen all the character types: the amazing athletes, the wizened old guys, the young hotshots. She'd spoken with them when they were fresh and fired up going off to their climbs, and again when they were exhausted and either triumphant or defeated on their way out.