National Geographic: Return To Everest (1984)

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National Geographic: Return To Everest (1984)

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Return to Everest

In the Himalayan foothills,

Kathmandu long has been a crossroads

its streets and holy places

filled with travelers enroute

to a thousand destinations

many may never reach.

Watched by the gods,

some go to market to sell or buy,

some seek to earn a higher form

in their next reincarnation,

some climb the steep

steps to Nirvana,

hoping to escape the tumult

of daily life.

Sometimes the destinations are

only disguised beginnings.

For sir Edmund Hillary,

first conqueror of Mount Everest,

his greatest journey would

only begin at the summit.

It would traverse not only

the great landforms of Earth,

but a less visible geography

the private landscapes of one man's

passage through the years.

At last among the long isolated

Sherpas of the Khumbu region

south of Everest,

it would bring a new challenge,

a new adventure,

hardly 20 miles from

where his journey began.

Today Hillary is a folk hero

in the Khumbu.

With ceremonial scarves or katas,

the Sherpa children honor not

the great sahib

who climbs mountains

but the friendly giant

who has brought them

their first glimpses of a world

they never knew.

It has been a trade of sorts.

In changing their lives,

Hillary has changed his own.

In the Khumbu highlands of

Nepal each dawn is a discovery.

Again the peaks emerge

Ama Dablam, Kantega,

Thamserku, Everest

silent sentinels of Earth's

highest mountains, the Himalayas.

In the Sherpa villages

of Kunde and Khumjung,

less habit yaks and goats are sent to stony pas

and the juniper smoke from

a hundred scattered fires

carries morning prayers to the gods.

At 13,000 feet the gods

are never far away.

Formed forty million years ago

by the collision

of the Indian landmass

and the Eurasian continent,

Nepal is a country set on edge.

Here, near Everest,

Tibetan Sherpas long ago

found sanctuary.

Here for centuries they lived

in rigorous isolation,

an island in time.

One man has become

a major instrument of change,

bringing both blessings and danger.

With his son, Peter,

Sir Edmund Hillary has returned

this way many times,

but this year holds

a special meaning

it is the 30th anniversary

of the first conquest of Everest.

"I get quite a thrill every time

I come back to

these two main Sherpa villages.

There's so much here

that's pleasantly familiar.

There's also the thought of soon

being reunited with

so many old friends."

Again they walk the village lanes,

welcomed by the greeting

of clasped hands

and murmured "Namaste!"

Already fields are being prepared

and planted with grains or potatoes

for the short upland growing season.

Across a wall bounds

an old and irrepressible friend,

Phudorje, Hillary's companion

on many a climb.

Everywhere young life

explores a world made new.

It is spring.

At last father and son

enter the house

that long ago became a second home.

"Oh, Ang Dooli! Namaste!"

"Namaste!"

"Very good to see you."

"Yes, same. Namaste!"

"In this house I can always

be sure of a warm welcome

and a cup of Tibetan tea.

Over the years my family and

I have spent much time here

with Mingma Tsering and

his wife Ang Dooli.

And they're still

my closest Sherpa friends."

In daily tasks, Ang Dooli endures.

Having lost eight of eleven children

she eagerly welcomed

the Hillary family as her own.

Upon the wall hang snapshots,

fragments of life captured long ago...

Hillary's daughters Belinda

and Sarah...

his wife, Louise, and the children...

young Peter with protective god...

playful Belinda the youngest child.

"Ah, thank you, Ang Dooli!"

Now a painter,

surviving son Temba remains

a victim of iodine deficiency,

once common in the Khumbu.

"Hey, Temba!"

"Ah, what's that? What's that?"

"Thyangboche."

"Thyangboche."

"There."

Pivot on which so many destinies

have turned,

it was Everest that once joined

the widely separated lives of

Hillary and Tenzing Norgay,

his Sherpa partner

on their historic climb.

Now, amid the peaks on the trail

to Everest, they meet again.

Still strong at 69,

Tenzing and his daughter Deki

have come from Darjeeling

to join the anniversary festivities.

"Oh, Tenzing! Good to see you."

"...Deki."

"Hi, Deki. How are you?"

"Fine."

"Very nice to meet you."

"Hi, Peter..."

"Hi. Long time, Tenzing.

It's good to see you again."

"Yes, did you have a good walk up?"

"Very well. Very fine, thank you."

In Britain today there will be

a more formal celebration,

but Hillary and Tenzing

have chosen to come here,

not only to be honored,

but to honor the families

of so many Sherpas

who have risked and often lost

their lives on many an expedition.

"Ah, that's good."

"Yes."

"Namaste, Tenzing."

"Namaste."

For a moment two aging heroes

pause to honor each other,

look back to the victory

they shared.

Remote, seemingly beyond

the reach of human effort,

the towering mass of Everest

at mid-century had defeated

all attempts to reach the summit.

Then, as Nepal opened to foreigners,

assaults at last were possible

from the south.

In the British Expedition of 1953,

guide Tenzing Norgay,

already veteran of

five failed attempts,

would be teamed with Hillary,

who earlier had sighted

a possible route via the South Col.

With the return of

the first as*ault team

the challenge was passed

to Hillary and Tenzing.

The earlier team had reached

a point hardly 300 feet

below the summit.

Now, exhausted and frozen,

they were somber evidence of

the tests that lay ahead.

But storm intervened.

Only after a night wracked by

winds could Hillary and Tenzing

at last climb the icy blade

to the summit.

There they left in the snow

a bar of chocolate and

some biscuits.

At a lower camp, the main party

waited in growing suspense

while leader John Hunt scanned

the ridges and icefalls above.

Then at last

the returning climbers appeared,

led by a teammate lifting

his thumb in a sign of triumph.

Briefly the triumph was shared

only with comrades.

Then word flashed to the world.

"This is the BBC Home Service.

Here is the news.

Mount Everest has been conquered

by members of the British Expedition

The news reached London

in a message to the Times.

It said that Mr. E.P. Hillary,

a New Zealander,

and Tenzing Bhotia, a Sherpa,

had reached the summit

last Friday, May 29th.

The message added, 'All is well."'

In London the coronation of

the Queen now was marked

by a fitting tribute.

For a new Queen Elizabeth,

an obscure New Zealand beekeeper

had set a flag in high, thin air,

passed a boundary

never crossed by man.

Quickly knighted by the Queen,

Sir Edmund soon pledged loyalty

to another lady - Louise,

the young musician

who became his wife.

Yet domestic bliss soon

would be exchanged

for the wintry wastes of Antarctica.

There, Hillary would lead

a caravan of modified farm

tractors to the South Pole,

setting up supply depots for

the first Antarctic crossing.

Hero to the world,

symbol of high adventure,

his life would become

a continuing odyssey,

seeking new challenges

around the globe.

Sometimes,

with the indomitable Louise

on less spectacular expeditions

in New Zealand or

the Alaskan wilderness,

he discovered the new adventure

of watching his children grow.

But always Hillary

came back to Nepal.

Long a forbidden kingdom

locked from the world,

Nepal had barely 200 miles of road

when at last opened to

foreigners in 1949.

Its few vehicles, machines,

and even grand pianos were brought

over the southern ridges

on the backs of men.

Its terraced uplands,

built by the labor of centuries,

were joined by a labyrinth

of trails on which

astonishing burdens were carried

by the hardy hill folk or

their caravans of yaks.

Later each return of the family

would become a journey

of discovery,

particularly for Louise

whose lighthearted accounts

of their travels soon

became best-selling books.

Learning the country

by climbing it,

the children were taken by

their father to seethe great peak

that changed his destiny and theirs

For the first time 12-year-old

Peter would glimpse the mountain

that one day would draw him like

an inescapable challenge.

With deepening regard for

the warmhearted Sherpas,

the Hillarys eagerly lent

a hand wherever needed,

opened the door to a culture

distant from their own origins.

On a mountainside at Thami

not far from the Tibetan border,

they helped build a supporting

wall for a Buddhist monastery.

Its new leader was

a 12-year-old boy,

believed to be the reincarnation

of a previous head lama or rimpoche.

"When I first went to the Himalayas,

my major interest really was

in climbing mountains.

I got to know the local people,

the Sherpas,

and enjoyed them very much.

And by spending time in the villages,

it became impossible for me

not to realize that

there were so many things lacking.

So many things that we took for

granted in our society,

they simply didn't have.

And because I was very fond

of my Sherpa friends,

I had this sort of nagging

worry all the time

shouldn't we be trying to

do something

about the future of the Sherpas?

And to help them to

withstand the changes

that were likely to take place?"

Around Hillary, often watching,

were the beautiful Sherpa children

open, quick to laugh,

endlessly inventive in play.

Yet untaught, their innocence

one day could become a prison.

In all of the Khumbu there was

not a school to help them grow.

He would always remember

the words of a village leader:

"Our children have eyes,

but they are blind."

"And it was then at

that particular occasion

that I decided that

instead of sort

of thinking about it for years

and talking about it,

maybe I should try and

do something about it."

Abruptly, Sir Edmund Hillary

became a part-time carpenter.

Drawing help from contributors in

New Zealand and the United States,

he formed the Himalayan Trust

to support the program.

Today, still building after

more than two decades,

he has completed and staffed

no fewer than 22 schools

across the Khumbu.

"We have a good,

experienced team to do the job.

My brother, Rex, is a builder

by trade back in New Zealand.

And he's come over here quite a few

times to help on these projects.

But without Mingma's organization

and authority amongst the Sherpas,

I could have done nothing."

The patterns of construction

have changed little

since the building

of the first school in 1961.

Some children help

some children watch

some children imitate.

For some,

classes have already begun.

"...has entered."

"He has entered."

"His house."

"His house."

"The men are climbing the mountain."

"The men are climbing the mountain."

"The mountain."

"The mountain."

"The mountain."

"The mountain."

"The men have climbed the mountain."

"The men have climbed the mountain."

"This is the thing I've

always liked about the Sherpas.

They always are prepared

and know what they can do.

And they know that

they don't have money,

but they have the strength

of their hands.

In days gone by,

even my own children,

Peter, Sarah, and Belinda,

used to work in with

the local children,

carrying rocks and

carrying chunks of timber,

and I really think they enjoyed it.

It is quite exciting

to watch a school rise up

from its foundations

and to see the rock

I used to climb

being fashioned into

schoolhouse walls."

A rudimentary structure, unheated,

dependent on natural light,

the new school at Chaunrikarka

is a center of village pride.

Quickly the people gather,

bringing bottles of chang,

the local spirits,

for the celebration.

"I always feel a slight degree

of apprehension about

get-togethers like these.

Any Sherpa gathering tends to

become a somewhat festive occasion

with the local beer and spirits

flowing rather freely and

mostly in my direction.

And it's really quite a challenge

to survive these functions

in an upright position."

"On behalf of the Himalayan Trust

and all those who have helped

build this school,

I have much pleasure now

in declaring the school open."

For the first time the children

enter the still empty classroom.

Here, in this vacancy,

each will embark on

a new journey of discovery,

find new mountains to climb.

Today across the Khumbu

the school bells ring,

many the empty oxygen flasks used

by Hillary and other climbers.

Over the highland ridges more than

a thousand Sherpa children

hurry to class each day,

some to schools more than

a three-hour journey from home.

"Are you sleeping,

are you sleeping?

Brother John, Brother John.

Morning bell is ringing,

morning bell is ringing.

Ding done ding,

dong ding dong."

At Khumjung, Hillary remains

close to its day-to-day activities,

still enjoys visiting

the first school he ever built,

watching children draw pictures

of a wider world they have never

seen outside a book.

Largest of Khumbu schools with

an enrollment of nearly300,

Khumjung has a proud record of

outstanding students,

some already entering leadership

roles in Nepal.

The soccer team, of course,

remains invincible to lowland teams

who quickly struggle

for breath at 13,000 feet.

But schools are only part of

a wider effort by Hillary

and his associates.

Under his direction,

three landing strips have been

carved on the mountainsides,

ending forever the centuries-long

isolation of the Sherpas.

In the mysterious symbols

printed on the cargo,

passing children sometimes

try to imagine the wonders

of the world from which it came.

Built by Hillary,

scattered clinics and two hospitals

at last provide medical care

and have brought a new awareness

among the Sherpas

that smoky dwellings and

lack of sanitation

cause many of their chronic maladies

At Kunde even the local lama

has found a new trust

in modern medicine.

In a region where formerly half

the youth d*ed before twenty,

there has been

a dramatic improvement

in the treatment of

children's afflictions

and a corresponding drop

in the mortality rate.

For some, the cure seemed

nearly miraculous.

Here, a boy, whose hearing has

been severely impaired since birth,

can hear the full wonder of sound

for the first time.

But as Hillary learned during

the building of

Phaphlu hospital in 1975,

preparations for errands of mercy

are sometimes of little use.

Eagerly awaiting the arrival

of his wife, Louise,

and young Belinda from Kathmandu,

he learned that both had been

k*lled in the crash

of their plane shortly

after takeoff.

For Hillary that day was darkness,

the beginning of a long journey

across a private wasteland

without compass or place to rest.

"I didn't really know

what else to do apart

from going on building the hospital,

and then later

we went back to Khumbu

and spent time with Mingma and

Ang Dooli and various

other friends,

and that was it. And they,

you know, they all helped a bit."

Shaken, Hillary went back to work,

building new classrooms,

adding to others.

"Thin walls. A bit bulgy."

"Yeah."

"Well, I think we had better

do a proper job of it."

"Uh, hum."

"You'll have to put a lot of

framework in, won't you?"

"Yeah. Let's measure."

Now at Namche Bazar

with his brother, Rex,

he studies the damage of time

and weather to a school

built years ago,

draws plans for needed repairs

on its structure.

"Namaste."

"I think we're going to..."

Still Hillary's trusted sirdar

or foreman,

Mingma Tsering jokes

over the division

of labor in providing the lumber

who will cut and who will carry.

"...okay, carry."

"Will they help you carry?"

"Yes. It's o. k?"

"Yeah, that's good."

"Big help."

"Those are cutting...

and they carry."

"Yep."

Drawn closer by tragedy,

Hillary and Peter each feel

a renewed awareness of the risk

that lies in every human attachment.

Now veteran climbers both,

often in personal peril,

each has seen close friends and

companions lost on mountain walls.

Even Peter was nearly sacrificed

on the soaring altar of Ama Dablam.

Struck by an avalanche high

on its icy wall,

severely injured and

climbing equipment swept away,

Peter nearly d*ed in the two days

before he finally could

be lowered to safety.

For Hillary himself the summits

have anew and poignant meaning.

He can never again return to

those icy heights.

Several times in recent years

he has suffered critical

att*cks of cerebral edema

or altitude sickness.

Twice in delirium he has had

to be led or

carried from the thin upper air

to lower altitudes to save his life.

Today,

the man who first climbed Everest

must remain below 14,000 feet.

But today with Peter and Mingma

he will press the barrier,

view at a distance the summit

on which he stood 30 years ago.

For at last Peter is ready to

answer the summons

he first felt as a 12-year-old boy

staring in awe at the mountain

his father had climbed.

Already Peter has made preparations

for an attempt on Everest

by its formidable West Ridge.

A geologic accident that

became the highest point on Earth,

Everest has long been

a challenge to Western man.

But to the Sherpas the peaks

were something else.

Migrating from Tibet

several centuries ago,

the Sherpas found an endlessly

changing world of mist and stone

where peaks and trees and streams

appeared and vanished

with magical swiftness.

Quickly their imaginations populated

the landscape with gods, demons,

and spirits of every kind.

Even the trees were sometime

believed to be

the dwelling place of sacred beings.

In a continuing dialogue

with the invisible

or disguised powers around them,

they have given prayer

a thousand forms,

a thousand means of transmission

written on hand-turned

cylinders and waterwheels,

printed on prayer flags and

banners waving in the wind,

inscribed on shrines or chortens

engraved on stone tablets or manis

even on rocks in rivers

and trailside boulders.

Committed to the elements,

it is hoped that the prayers

will reach their protective gods.

The sun diffuses the fading prayer,

rain spreads it through the rivers,

wind carries it to the heavens.

Surrounded by prayer in life,

Sherpa are followed by prayer

even in death.

Into the ear of the dead,

the dying, or those soon to die,

a monk chants passages from

the Tibetan Book of the Dead

to guide the consciousness

of the deceased in the interval

between death and rebirth.

Yet prayers must be learned and

preserved by the living.

At Thami Monastery, its greatest

library of Buddhist scripture

must be read and taught each year.

Once it was customary for one son

in each family to become a monk.

But with the growth of tourism

a young monk may well envy

the Western clothing

and wrist watch of brother

who has become a trekking guide.

First encountered as

a12-year-old boy,

the head lama again welcomes

an old friend.

With Peter and Mingma,

Hillary has come to help

preparations for Mani Rimdu,

a yearly Buddhist festival

to protect the Khumbu.

"Ah, Namaste."

"Namaste. How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you!"

"Namaste."

In the courtyard of the monastery,

helped by barelegged monks,

Rex and the rest of

the Hillary construction team

are swiftly completing improvements

on the paved court

and adjoining structures.

With time growing short,

Hillary and Peter also

join the crew.

Soon the balcony and yard

will be crowded with Sherpas

and a few tourists who have

made the pilgrimage

over the steep mountain trails,

some from villages

many days' walk away.

With a sounding of horns

the great cycle of dances begins.

As in the religious mystery

plays of the Middle Ages,

the Sherpas act out their myths,

make theater out of faith.

Often using the symbols of

ancient beliefs in magic,

the dances again promise

the victory of good over evil.

In the Khumbu every mountain

has a spirit.

Mani Rimdu exorcises the demons

that thr*aten it.

Backstage in the gompa or temple,

another ritual is taking place.

Donning the sacred masks

and costumes,

decorated with an array

of mythic symbols,

men are becoming gods.

For a little while

they will become the holy figures

invented by human need.

Now, like a challenge,

a crash of cymbals demands

the attention of

the threatening adversaries.

For it is in the dance of

the so-called Eight Furies

that the climactic struggle

with the evil spirits occurs.

In it the benign gods

rise in terrible wrath

to defeat and drive away the demons.

Once again the protective gods

disappear into the gompa.

Once again the villages are safe

from demons for another year.

As always, the people form a line

to pass the rimpoche,

bring gifts wrapped

in ceremonial katas.

One by one they are blessed,

take a sip of tu or holy water

with a sprinkle on the head,

then taste a bit of torma,

made of flour and butter -

the ritual greatly similar to

Christian communion

with its wine and wafer.

Yet, watching the rimpoche

bless the people,

Hillary remembers another visit

when the head lama was a child

and the Hillary family

helped build a wall.

On the western ridge above Kunde,

Mingma's wife, Ang Dooli,

also remembers.

In a more private ritual

she brings juniper to the shrine

she and other villagers

built long ago

for Louise and Belinda Hillary.

Yet even the Eight Furies cannot

protect the Sherpa villagers

from the risks of change.

Once reached only by an arduous

two-week walk over mountain trails

the distance from Kathmandu now

can be covered by plane

in less than an hour

provided of course that

the Lukla airstrip,

which bears some resemblance

to a ski jump,

can be found in

the frequent overcast.

Speaking a dozen languages,

tourists from Europe, Asia,

and America disembark

from the aircraft,

pass through the villages

alarming small dogs,

awakening the merchants,

and delighting the local children

who have discovered the blessings

of balloons and bubble gum.

Today the Khumbu is invaded

yearly by thousands of trekkers

and porters plodding the steep

trails and spreading their bivouacs

across the upper slopes like

an occupying army.

More ambitious are

the expeditions intent on conquest

Since Hillary and Tenzing

first reached the summit,

nearly 150 men and women

have stood on Everest.

In Kathmandu there is

a growing list of other teams

booking dates on which

they too can attempt to

climb Everest or a score

of other peaks.

Everywhere the sound

of the saw is heard.

Hillary tells of its impact.

"I believe the problem of

conservation in the Khumbu area

is a very serious one indeed.

There are literally dozens

of small hotels

being constructed with the view

to supplying accommodation

to walkers and trekkers

and climbers.

This has put

a very considerable pressure

on the local timber resources.

In the old days the Sherpas

used to have very strict rules

about where they cut firewood,

and how much they cut.

And the whole society was well

balanced ecologically.

All that has changed.

Nowadays most of the upper valleys

have been completely denuded

and many of the forests have

been thoroughly thinned out."

As the Sherpas are learning,

their mountain homeland is

astonishingly fragile.

Not only in the Khumbu

but throughout Nepal,

trees are being cut

at a devastating rate

one third the nation's forest

in the last decade.

Already ravished slopes are

bringing disastrous penalties.

No longer held by trees,

landslides are destroying terraces

built by centuries

of patient labor,

have even swept away

or buried entire villages.

With the help of

Hillary's Himalayan Trust,

at least one resident is being

banished from the Khumbu parklands.

Relentless foragers of seedlings

and low vegetation,

goats long have threatened

the slow-growing shrubs

and trees of the high country.

Now Hillary, too, joins in a great

goat roundup with Mingma Norbu,

warden of the Sagarmatha National

park on the flanks of Everest.

From the scattered slopes almost

five hundred goats at last

are gathered near Namche Bazar

and driven to the less vulnerable

lowlands in the south.

At park headquarters,

Warden Mingma Norbu leads

an intensifying

effort to save

the Khumbu from calamity.

A student in the first school

built at Khumjung

over twenty years ago,

he is a proud example of the

education made possible by Hillary

Now, speaking both Nepali and

occasional English,

he teaches a new generation

of Sherpa children

to recognize the evidence of

damaged trees

and erosion on the scarred

landscape around them.

He stresses the critical

importance of tree nurseries

and the need for

a wider program of reforestation

protecting not only

their fragile world,

but Sherpa culture itself.

Celebrated in a museum photograph,

the climbing of Everest

by Hillary and Tenzing

hastened the changes

taking place in Nepal.

Now on the thirtieth anniversary

of that historic event,

the Khumbu is no longer

an island lost in time.

Yet the past sends emissaries.

Announced by the b*at of drums,

ancient protectors of

their Tibetan ancestors

appear amid the villagers

assembled at Khumjung School.

Believed to be the guardians

of the four gates of Earth,

"snow lions" have come down

from the icy summits

to dance and cavort for

the honored guests.

While the conquerors of Everest

sample the home-brewed chang

of the village women,

the school staff prepares a lesson

on how mountains really

should be climbed.

As the guests should know,

a little chang steadies the nerves,

helps blur the dangers and

difficulties that lie ahead.

A helping hand is

always appreciated.

Pace yourself.

The steeper the slope,

the more rest you need.

Try not to trip on a tangled rope.

The fall may be

farther than you think.

When altitude sickness strikes,

a whiff of oxygen can work wonders.

When lost, look for the summit.

That's where you're going.

In the final as*ault on the last

gale-swept ridge, don't lose heart.

"I'm going to die.

I'm going to die."

"Okay"

"Thank you very much."

Celebrating one journey,

Hillary begins another.

From Khumjung School

he leads a climb of children.

Bearing seedlings of fir

and rhododendron from

Sagarmatha's nurseries,

the students of Khumjung school

are bringing back growth

to the blighted slopes

below Everest.

Helped by Hillary as

they commit roots to soil,

they are part of

a new children's crusade,

not to seek redemption in heaven,

but to renew life on Earth.

Around Hillary stand

the silent witnesses

of the journey he began long ago

Ama Dablam, Kantega,

Thamserku, Everest

the summit where he and Tenzing

once left a bit of chocolate

and a few biscuits.

Today he has brought a richer gift

the small beginnings of

a new woodland,

the little trees protect

by the prayers of children.

But the answer to prayers often

lies in those who pray.

In the opening minds of

Khumbu's children

lies a measure of

their world to come.

In them Sir Edmund Hillary

long ago

found something more satisfying,

more enduring,

than leaving a footprint

on a mountaintop.
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