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 assault 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 died 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
killed 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 died 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
attacks 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 threaten 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 beat 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 assault 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.