Keeper Of The Mountains (34 page)

In 2004 Elizabeth was presented with the Honorary Queen's Service Medal for Public Services in recognition of her years of work with the Himalayan Trust and as honorary consul for New Zealand. The ceremony took place in the elegant Dynasty Room in the Yak and Yeti Hotel in Kathmandu. The room was filled with finely laid tables, a seating area for guests and a small stage for the actual medal ceremony. She was surrounded by her closest friends.

Caroline McDonald, the New Zealand ambassador to Nepal, thanked Elizabeth, saying, “The help Miss Hawley has extended to New Zealanders in difficulty in Nepal, often under tragic and difficult circumstances … is greatly appreciated.” Several of the guests spoke about Elizabeth's positive impact on their lives as a mentor or a colleague. Kathmandu editor Kunda Dixit explained how she had been an important influence in his career as a journalist, and for all journalists in Nepal – Elizabeth had given him valuable experience filling in on her Reuters beat when she was away. But it was the words of Sir Edmund Hillary that meant the most to her that day: “Elizabeth Hawley is a most remarkable person and a woman of great courage and determination … I know of no person who is more highly respected in the diplomatic or public community in Nepal and I can think of no one who more highly deserves consideration for a New Zealand Royal Honour.”

E
lizabeth was thrilled. Her diplomatic skills being more finely honed than when the hapless Reuters staff presented their award 14 years earlier, she accepted with grace. She regaled those in the room with a few stories – some of sad or frustrating experiences, but also some that made for happy memories. In the end, she looked around the room and thanked her friends who had helped her “every step of the way” – a woman of pride, and modesty.

Even as Elizabeth was being recognized for her many contributions in Nepal, her greatest reputation was still in the mountaineering world. As she reflected on the many great, and not so great, climbs she had been privy to over the previous 40 years, a few stood out as having “raised the bar.” To her mind, the outstanding Everest events were: Mallory in 1922 and 1924, Hillary and Tenzing in 1953, the Americans in 1963, Messner and Habeler without oxygen in 1978, Bonington and the Southwest Face in 1975, Messner solo in 1980, the Kangshung Face in 1983, the first woman's ascent in 1975 and the first winter ascent in 1980. She suggested that another bar would be raised when the East Ridge was finally climbed. But it wasn't just Everest climbs that impressed her; she also cited Tomaž Humar in the far west of Nepal on Bobaye and again on Dhaulagiri, and she singled out the first ascent of the West Face of Nuptse: “Babanov has done some pretty good stuff.”

The Sherpas' climbing goals were a source of frustration for her. In her speech at the Sagarmatha Award ceremony, she had encouraged them to go for lower peaks and unclimbed routes because that's where she saw the future of climbing in Nepal. But she was doubtful it would happen, since most Sherpas were not that technically skilled and would not go on a high mountain without fixed ropes: “They are perfectly willing to fix the ropes but they don't want to be on a mountain where there is no escape route.” She pointed out that foreign climbers on technical routes didn't take Sherpas, as a rule, citing Babanov as an example. She thought there were only one or two Sherpas who were highly skilled, although many were very fast. For most of them, it was a job.

Even among foreign climbers, the lesser-known peaks were rarely attempted and this also concerned her. For the most part, these climbers went for Ama Dablam, Everest and Cho Oyu: Ama Dablam because it is visible from the valley; Cho Oyu because it is the easiest of
the 8000ers and climbers could therefore tag an 8000er; and Everest because they want to be a hero. She found these predictable objectives discouraging.

As to future great projects in the Nepal Himalaya, Elizabeth was reluctant to engage in this discussion at first, but eventually she grew animated as she imagined the possibilities. The great event, in her opinion, would be the Horseshoe Traverse – up Nuptse, across Lhotse and then up Everest. She explained there were two critical issues: technical proficiency and high altitude. She thought the elegant way to do it was not the way the Soviets climbed Kangchenjunga, with pre-placed high camps, but with one continuous push. Who can do it? Who are the great ridge climbers? She thought Boukreev probably could have done it; he was good at high altitude, strong as an ox and fast. In his younger years, Messner probably could have done it. She settled on Jean-Christophe Lafaille and Alberto Iñurrategi as possibilities; maybe they could do it together. Being able to function without oxygen for extended periods would be important, since the Horseshoe Traverse would take days to complete. She enjoyed imagining these great projects paired with great climbers.

She thought the East Ridge of Everest was another big objective. A Japanese team attempted the route and found it to be a long, difficult, dangerous ridge. An Indian woman, Santosh Yadav, also attempted it, as did Cathy O'Dowd's team. Other good projects, in Elizabeth's opinion, although far less difficult technically, would be the traverse of the whole ridge of Annapurna and a grand traverse of Kangchenjunga – without the use of support camps.

Concerning face climbs of the future, she felt the enormous East Face of Everest surely contained some challenging – perhaps actually unclimbable – lines. There was still the top part of the middle of the South Face of Dhaulagiri – the part that Humar didn't do – as well as the North Face of Makalu. Some very good climbers had taken a look at it and a few were inching toward it, but it was still there for the taking. And there were many wonderful routes on the smaller peaks. As for the strongest face climbers, she named Humar and Babanov.

Reflecting on her own life and career, Elizabeth seemed unable to identify any particular moments or periods that stood out. “I've never been passionate about a single thing!” she exclaimed. She didn't think she had a “golden age”; it was all golden to her. At least there were
interesting moments throughout. Of course, there were dull periods too, but she thought her patience had paid off. Even though she had to report endless ascents of Ama Dablam, occasionally someone appeared on the scene with something special.

Pushed a little, she finally relented and picked out a few high points: the two years of solo travel were memorable because she could go where and when she wanted, she met interesting people along the way and she saw places she wanted to see. Her studies in modern European history were good preparation for these travels, and her natural curiosity ensured many interesting adventures. She'd also been intrigued by the politics of the time: Israel was just being created, there were U.S. Marines on the beaches of Beirut and mobs had just torn apart Faisal and his prime minister in Baghdad. She also fondly recalled favourite verandas she encountered on her way: Isak Dinesen's veranda outside of Nairobi; the St. George Hotel veranda in Beirut, where gossip and intrigue exchanged hands each day before lunch; and the veranda in Khartoum where she had enjoyed languid conversation and whisky with Mamoun El Amin.

Asked again whether there had been any one thing in her life experience thus far that really excited her, she snorted, “Nothing!” But then she admitted she has been interested in climbing statistics and the comparative analysis of success rates among nationalities, seasons, ages, sexes and Sherpa vs. non-Sherpa support, as well as the average death rate per season. She and Richard Salisbury worked together to amalgamate all of her files, notes and letters into one massive database that contains the details of more than 7,000 expeditions, 55,600 climber biographies, and extensive analysis of trends. Pub­lished as a
CD
in October 2004 by the American Alpine Club as
The Himalayan Database: The Expedition Archives of Elizabeth Hawley
, her life's work is now a lasting legacy.

At age 80, Elizabeth didn't foresee any changes in her situation, as long as her health held out. Although she had handed over some of the Himalayan Trust work to Ang Rita, she continued to oversee it. And the mountaineering reporting still dominated her time. The most pressing problem for the future was that she hadn't groomed anyone to replace her.

Eventually, her collection of files and books on mountaineering will go to the American Alpine Club; their future value is hard to
fathom. They'll be used by climbers researching new routes and writers researching mountaineering books. She pointed out that the files contain a wealth of stories. For the present, people have been mostly interested in her lists and statistics contained in the database, but she maintained that the real value was in the files.

Messner worried about the future of her work because he didn't see anyone stepping in to help her. He could see she was aging and wouldn't be able to continue indefinitely. It was already taking her longer to do things and she was more forgetful. But she wanted to continue. Sometimes she wished there were eight days in the week, just to get all the work done.

There were some who speculated that self-reporting via the Internet would replace her work, and Elizabeth herself doubted there would be a need for someone like her in the future. But she knew that self-reporting was not the same thing as the diligent fact-finding she had practised. British journalist Lindsay Griffin agreed that self-reporting wouldn't provide a complete overview.

Elizabeth sounded a little sad as she projected the future of the chronicling of Himalayan climbing, sorry to see the passing of objective journalism and the approach of the end of her career.

She had had discussions with magazine editors about a succession plan, but it had proven elusive so far. The person who succeeds her ideally needs to have a good knowledge of the history of climbing in Nepal, have access to the Ministry of Tourism, know the dozens of trekking agents, be familiar with the city of Kathmandu, speak English, and, most important, be able to obtain a work visa for Nepal. She pointed out that mountaineering reporting was not enough to be granted a visa; some other valid work in Nepal would also be necessary. There was probably no one person who could replace her. It would take a team. Some who knew her worried she might have a case of “founder's syndrome” and might be reluctant to trust someone else to take over her life's work. Under someone else's guidance, the work would almost certainly not be done the way she did it. In a letter to Christian Beckwith, she confirmed, “I certainly want to do whatever I can to make it possible for someone to succeed me.” But she knew it would not be an easy problem to solve. She had evolved into her position over almost five decades, whereas her replacement would have to be proficient in the job immediately.

D
espite her acknowledgement of the importance of her mountaineering work and the almost impossible task of replacing her, Elizabeth was modest about her contribution to the climbing community, saying, “I've been on the fringe and they let me in from time to time.” Her main contribution, she thought, was some “good, accurate records.” Apart from a few exceptions, she seemed ambivalent about being considered a “friend” of climbers and didn't see herself as a friend of the climbing community. In fact, she didn't believe there
was
a climbing community. She saw such great diversity in climbers' backgrounds, motivations and skills that they didn't form a cohesive group in her mind. Her consistently high standards forced her to ask, “Who is included in the group? Is it the dilettantes? The peak baggers? The explorers?” She challenged anyone to lump Sandy Hill Pittman and Anatoli Boukreev into the same community.

But others think there
is
a climbing community, and they see Elizabeth at its centre – at least in Kathmandu. David Breashears concluded that Kathmandu without Elizabeth Hawley just wouldn't be the same. He remembered how it changed when Boris died, and when Jimmy Roberts was no longer there, pointing out that Elizabeth had endured through it all: “The Ministry of Tourism changed, the pilots came and went, the trekking agencies changed from one to 150, but the one consistent force that never wavered was Liz.” She was like the last of the Mohicans; after the last had gone home she was still out there on her own.

Though she may distance herself from climbing friends, they speak warmly of her. Breashears maintained that Elizabeth was one of those people for whom it was worth being tolerant of their eccentricities: “We are tolerant because we really love her, and we love her because she never gave up on us in a way – she carried the flag and there's something about the gravity that she created for the climbing community. She gave the disparate groups – the Czechs, the Japanese, the Poles, the Bulgarians – a dialogue.”

He explained that climbers have a unique kind of camaraderie and they travel in the same circle. Over time, Elizabeth became part of that circle; it was her extended family, passing through Kathmandu. She saw them come and go, and a great many of them died. What was it like for her to watch the planes take off for Lukla, wondering whether the climbers on board would return? Perhaps the detachment
she maintained was part of her emotional survival strategy. It may have helped to distance herself from people whose life expectancy was always in question.

Climbers expressed their affection for her in different ways. Bill Crouse bought an electric heater for her car so that she'd be warm when she drove around Kathmandu. He said he did it because he wanted to take care of her. Breashears thought a lot of people would love to have helped take care of her, but her brusque manner discouraged it. Carlos Buhler ruminated, “The great beauty of surviving all these years is getting back to see your friends – and I would count her as one of my friends.” But it was always on Elizabeth's terms. He has never been to her house, never had dinner with her, never gone to a monastery with her. His only interaction with her was over climbing, and he regrets that.