Keeper Of The Mountains (22 page)

Elizabeth's bomb report would haunt her for years to come. Soon after, while on her annual trip to the United States, she heard from Jim Edwards of Tiger Tops that the palace was angry with her. She delayed her return from the United States to Nepal for “health reasons” and sent a telex to Reuters in New Delhi mentioning the “advisability of dodging shoot-the-messenger syndrome strongly afflicting Nepalese authorities following coverage of June bombings.” Later that year, when she applied for her press accreditation renewal, it was denied. The authorities even banned her from going to the ministry building to collect the news. This was a major problem and it appeared to be indefinite. They didn't interfere with her seasonal mountaineering reports, but it was impossible to get her accreditation renewed, even though U.S. President Jimmy Carter and other influential people tried to change the authorities' minds. This inadvertently made Elizabeth a local hero, especially with the working journalists in the valley, who protested strongly against this apparent muzzling of free speech.

Eventually, Reuters had to find a replacement for her. His name was Gopal Sharma. The all-important telex machine was still in Elizabeth's office and her door was always open for Sharma – literally. She gave him a key to come and go as he pleased, and he did so, filing stories at will. He reciprocated by helping her evade criticism from the Ministry of Tourism, a not infrequent occurrence. Since she continued to interview expeditions as they came through Kathmandu for her seasonal mountaineering reports, she often learned newsworthy bits from her sources on a weekend. The ministry offices weren't open
on weekends, so they wouldn't find out until the following Monday. Therefore, the information wouldn't become “official” until Monday. She would share her news tidbits with Sharma while they were still newsworthy – on the weekend. To keep her from getting into trouble, Sharma would report it and take the criticism for reporting “unofficial” news himself. Her name never came up. He is sure she was targeted in part because she represented a threat, but also because of her sharp tongue. Sharma knew there were many who had felt the sting of Elizabeth's words and had resented it. In fact, his colleagues at the Reuters bureau in Delhi had often asked him to intercede on their behalf. They didn't want to call her for fear of the verbal abuse they might receive, so they would ask him to act as intermediary. “She heats up fast, but she cools down just as fast,” was Sharma's observation.

But on the subject of mountaineering, Sharma can't imagine the Ministry of Tourism getting along without her. “They use her as a reference,” he explained. “If you go to them for information about a climb, they will suggest that you go see Liz Hawley.” He worried about the situation in Nepal should she ever leave Kathmandu, since nobody else had the information or the knowledge that she had about mountaineering.

Personal tragedy struck the Hawley household when Elizabeth's dog, Tigger
II
, passed away on the night of April 9. Though the cause of death was unknown, it was attributed to some kind of internal problem. Earlier in the week he had been vomiting and hemorrhaging and nothing the veterinarian did could save him. The apartment was suddenly quiet.

Some good news arrived soon after, for June Mulgrew had found her a new apso puppy, just three months old. Sir Edmund delivered the dog to her, letting it perch on his lap during the Royal Nepal Airlines flight. She remembered it with delight: “This great tall man with a little puppy in his lap!” She decided to call the puppy Mallory after the famous British mountaineer. She briefly considered calling him Hillary or Messner, but thought it might be embarrassing – or even confusing – for them if she were to call the dog in their presence. Mallory was the last dog she would own, and he was her favourite.

Meanwhile, in the United States, Elizabeth's mother's health was
failing and it appeared she would no longer be able to live alone. Elizabeth was distressed by her mother's loss of independence and frustrated by her inability to be there for her. Yet she also understood that there comes a time when independence is no longer practical and that such a time had arrived for her mother. For Elizabeth, it was a period of serious consideration for the future. Would she ever return to the United States? Would it be to care for her aging mother? How would she make a living there, and – more important – how could she ever adjust to life in America again? The prospect was not a happy one.

Elizabeth had developed a network of friends in Kathmandu, friends who represented a wide and varied slice of humanity, from the travel industry, to diplomats, to that crazy “family” of mountaineers she had adopted. She relished the climbing seasons, when climbers from around the world trooped in, one expedition after another, giving her a chance to visit, learn of their latest plans and catch up on mountaineering gossip. And there was often a change of government, a new cabinet or some political goings-on that kept her interested. She couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

In addition to Elizabeth's numerous jobs, a new one popped up: screening prospective air hostesses for Royal Nepal Airlines. When Florelle heard about this latest line of work for her daughter, she was baffled. What kind of expertise did Elizabeth have in this field? Elizabeth admitted it was a little sketchy but explained that she was part of a panel interviewing candidates and weeding out the unsuitable ones. Pressed by her mother as to how one does that, Elizabeth explained that they were rated “on looks, self-possession, intelligent responses, fluency in English, and so on.” One can't help imagining the scene: the critical, perfectionist, intelligent and impatient Elizabeth Hawley screening potential airline hostesses for looks and intelligence. It can't have been an easy time for them.

Elizabeth's importance as a journalist was made clear in the fall of 1987 when a Chinese
CAAC
flight landed in Kathmandu direct from Lhasa, Tibet. It was the first flight from Lhasa to anywhere outside China, and it offered her an unexpected opportunity when two passengers walked into her office carrying written reports and photos of the riots that had taken place in Lhasa two days before. She didn't know the individuals who had sent them to her, but they knew her
and they knew how to find her. She sent a telex to Reuters about the accounts of marching monks and fierce police, and that evening she sent the photos to the Reuters office in Delhi in a traveller's hand luggage. They were among the first reports and photos to come out of Lhasa, and an appreciative Reuters distributed them far and wide. She had achieved another (unofficial) scoop. Because of her report, flights from Lhasa to Nepal abruptly ceased.

A truly momentous event occurred in the Hawley household in January 1988: Elizabeth purchased a computer. Day after day she went to the salesroom to observe demonstrations on three different word processors, trying to choose the best one for her. Then came the installation. An electronics man arrived first, then an electrician and finally a carpenter. After all this, there it was, standing majestically on her desk. The excruciating lessons followed – “God help me!” she exclaimed to her mother. “This week is the time I enter the computer age.” She would have many hours of work transferring all of her mountaineering data to the computer, but she was optimistic she would be able to figure it out. “God knows, it's a thing of logic and detail, and I think I can handle those attributes.”

The transition to the computer age was a slow process, but it began to produce results. By January 23 she could word process and had grown particularly fond of the delete key. By the 30th she could create a right margin as straight as the left, and even the date at the top of the page was properly aligned. Another happy discovery was the spell-check feature: “I've learned how to call into play a wonderful invention, an ability the computer has to check misspellings, let you know if you've typed the same word twice in a row, or done something else you didn't really want to do. Lovely!” She began to enjoy her new toy.

The winter mountaineering season wrapped up in February, and although she was still not accredited to report for Reuters, Elizabeth faithfully assembled the reports for her archives and assisted Mike Cheney with his mountaineering reports. Then, suddenly, Cheney died of a heart attack. Like her friend Boris the previous year, another Kathmandu regular was gone forever. And when Hillary returned from a work visit to the Solu Khumbu, he too was looking weak and unwell – not his cheerful self at all. He had done no trekking and seemed silent and withdrawn.

E
verest in 1988 was a study in contrasts, as a huge 283-member expedition costing $7-million sent 14 climbers to the summit on two of the more common routes. At the same time, a team of four climbers who hardly knew each other put one climber on the top by a difficult new route on the gaping, gigantic East Face of the mountain. Elizabeth's report summed it up beautifully: “The big party got the television coverage and a series of gala victory celebrations in three nations' capitals, while the little group quietly went their separate ways home.”

But it was the little group that captured her attention. Four climbers from England, the United States and Canada formed a loose team with an ambitious objective: an unclimbed buttress they called the Neverest Buttress, leading up to the South Col on the East Face.

Briton Stephen Venables recalled having breakfast at their hotel on the morning before they were to head out for the climb, when Elizabeth Hawley showed up. To him, it felt as if the headmistress wanted to grill them, looking somewhat severe in her spectacles. The four climbers – Venables, Americans Ed Webster and Robert Anderson and Canadian Paul Teare – hardly knew each other, causing her to be skeptical about their chances of success, especially on such an ambitious objective. She told them the Chinese–Japanese–Nepalese Friendship Expedition and the Australian Bicentennial Everest expedition would both be on the mountain at the same time, exclaiming, “It's going to be a zoo.”

The climbers scanned the Tibet Guesthouse dining room to make sure it was safe to bring out their six photos of the route to show her – they didn't want their plans to leak out because they didn't want to be “scooped.” They felt confident she was trustworthy, so Teare showed her their intended route. Elizabeth may have appeared disapproving, but in fact she was fascinated. What a welcome break from the big-expedition tradition she was used to and somewhat tired of: a big new route tackled by four climbers. Venables was sure she thought they wouldn't make it back. In
Snow in the Kingdom
, Webster wrote, “Impressed either by our phenomenal daring or our obvious stupidity, Miss Hawley wished us sincere good luck.…”

Without oxygen and in deteriorating weather, the team became fractured on the mountain. One member turned back due to altitude sickness and two retreated in bad weather, but Venables plodded on, d
espite the knowledge that he had lost feeling in his toes. Venables made the summit, and eventually all four climbers managed to get down alive.

When Teare later came to Elizabeth's office to tell her about the climb, Messner was there. Respectful of what they had accomplished, he praised them with “you have done a very brave thing,” and then added, “You are very lucky!” After getting all the details, Elizabeth mentioned she was going to an Australian expedition party and asked Messner and Teare if they'd like to accompany her. It turned out that Messner couldn't go, but Teare could and he brought Venables with him. They later joked about how disappointed she must have been to end up with the two of them on her arm instead of Messner.

In contrast to her very real concerns about the four climbers getting lost on their route, Elizabeth thought it would be impossible for any of the 283-member team to get lost. “There were too many camps and climbers and walkie-talkie radios and oxygen bottles and support staff” for that to happen. There were three national governments (China, Japan and Nepal) involved with the expedition, with tri-national commanders in Beijing radioing instructions to the climbing leaders on the scene. Despite her admiration for the complex handling of logistics, she concluded: “It is a wonder that the whole enterprise did not collapse of its own weight.” But collapse it did not and they sent 14 climbers to the top. And what did her friend Hillary think of it? Not much. “It's a massive undertaking and I personally think a singularly unattractive one,” he said.

Although this massive expedition was at the upper end of the spectrum in terms of cost, it was also becoming more expensive for smaller, less flamboyant teams to come to the Himalaya, and funding the expeditions was becoming a bigger part of the task. Peak permit costs were going up, so climbers sought sponsorship funding more often. As a result, climbing objectives tended to be on the really big peaks – mountains that were considered newsworthy – and toward what Elizabeth described as “stunts” – also newsworthy. In fact, she considered some of these escapades to be fundraising stunts more than mountaineering stunts.

It was in this category that she placed French climber Marc Batard's next climb. His intention was to leave his base camp at 5350 metres, climb to the 8848-metre summit of Everest and return in less than 24
hours. To acclimatize, he first climbed Cho Oyu, then helicoptered into the Everest area. One week after summiting Cho Oyu, he was preparing his camp at the foot of Everest. He employed eight Nepali climbers to help break trail, but he eschewed the use of oxygen. He didn't get to the summit on his first try. On his third attempt, he did it, although not in the time he had wanted. He reached the top in 22½ hours. The descent took him 8½ hours, and two hours after reaching base camp he left for Kathmandu and France. Still, he had achieved a speed record as well as another record in climbing four 8000-metre peaks in less than 10 months. Elizabeth acknowledged his strength, determination and abilities but questioned his motives. In general, she thought speed climbing was “gimmicky.”