Like so many other human beings drawn to the highest peak in the world, I have always been obsessed by Mt. Everest. Perhaps it was because I began life just shy of the first American (James Whittaker), aided (more than was given credit for aiding--as Sherpas have been since the beginning--and continue to be) by Sherpa Nawang Gombu, reaching the summit of the world. The year was 1963; the month was May (my birth month). I was only seven years old, yet, somehow, the news of this feat reached me at Sacred Heart School. Posters of the mountain tops of Tibet, photos culled from old "National Geographics", images of rugged humans with blistering faces and alien eye-goggles, burned into my brain. (It was both terrifying and exhilarating--much as the stories of the mountain continue to be.)
Years later, I learned that in 1953, New Zealander Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay had made the initial successful ascent. My respect for New Zealand, as well as Nepal, grew respectively. I followed both successful and disastrous climbs, through books, periodicals and newsreports. I viewed maps of alternate routes up the mountain, from different sides and different countries. Always, Everest stopped me in its shadow.
The flapping of Tibetan prayer flags and the sight of hand-made altars (which adorn the base camps) make my throat clutch. I understand the magnitude of that place. I understand, somehow, the animation and god-force present on that mountain. I guess that is why I've never understood the demeaning role the amazing Sherpas have been relegated to in the history books of Everest. It is so clear: if not for their generosity, bravery and knowledge, no people (outside their own tribes) would have ever reached the summit. Not all the techie gear in the world can insure that "prize". It is the Sherpas' mystical connection with the landscape which allows them access--something that has always been shiningly clear to me, even as I see accounts of the mountain from thousands of miles away.
The mountain is not simply a pile of frozen ice or strewn rubble. The mountain is alive. It carries God. (Perhaps, it IS God, in a disguise Westerners cannot see through?) Sometimes, though, like the Old Testament "Father", it, too, wreaks vengeance--something Westerners should recognize.
Given these facts, it was with utter horror that I saw the latest "National Geographic" article about the mountain. In the June issue, Mark Jenkins wrote about what it might take to "repair Everest".
REPAIR? The word implies that something on the top of the world has gone horribly wrong...wrong in a human-made way. "Repair" implies that what once worked is now broken. (How can a mountain be broken? WHO can break a mountain? Why would anyone want to engage in such an atrocity?)
Jenkins goes on to report the absolute desecration of the routes to the summit: litter, human feces-- left where they dropped, old gear, torn tent remnants abandoned on the sides of the mountain, broken lines, hardware rusting in the howling winds, weathered clothing, boots, broken goggles, and finally, the biggest shocker: the dead.
Now, dying on Everest and finding a final resting place against her breast, would seem to me, a kind of hero's end. It would be beautiful. It would be clean. It would be sacred--a privilege granted to those few who sought her solace. I'm not talking about that scenario. (Nor am I talking about tribal people filling the mountain with their ancestors.)
Mark Jenkins writes about failed (often novice) climbers who expired on the mountain. Their climbing teams lacked the skills, or desire (maybe the money) to bring the body back down...thus, as one ascends to the top of the world, one passes several decomposing human corpses--close enough to the trail to be touched. Attempts to cover them, of course, are in vain. The blizzards rip away any shroud. The mountain will expose our feeble attempts in the most obvious ways...these dead knew that going up. If they didn't, they know it now.
It is not the presence of the bodies, per se, it is the presence of the bodies left on the route, like a bad carnival funhouse ride. It is the presence of the bodies amid the rest of the trash and human waste. This is not a war zone. This is not the site of one big tsunami nor volcanic eruption. This is the sacred mountain whose "visitors" were ill prepared to take the trek. Their spiritual awareness seems to have been almost "nil". Their respect--for their Sherpas' judgement, their own limitations, the very land they were trekking, was lacking. Whether they be professional visitors or simply guided tourists, understanding the undertaking --and respecting that which they did not understand-- was missing. (Or so it seems to this armchair wanderer.)
Mark Jenkins included photos of "traffic jams on the trail"...climbers in gaudy, puffed up clothing, all with designer outdoor labels, huddling together as they waited their turns to "go up to the top". Sometimes as many as 500 humans have mobbed the top. (This in 2012.)
Jenkins writes: "....roughly 90 percent of the climbers on Everest are guided clients, many without basic climbing skills...having paid thirty-thousand dollars to one hundred and twenty-thousand dollars to be on the mountain, too many callowly expect to reach the summit...(two of the routes) are not only dangerously crowded, but also disgustingly polluted, with garbage leaking out of the glaciers and pyramids of human excrement befouling the high camps...and then there are the deaths."
How can we live in a time when it is clear that human beings have now polluted their planet, for profit, all the way to the Top Of The World?
For a moment, ponder this...Maybe it is the rich who can afford to dangle all that money in third world areas, paying the poor far too little to shepherd them to the last unpolluted spots on the globe? Or maybe it is the organizations and explorers and outdoor outfits who go up there, unregulated, not giving back to the land they exploit? Or maybe it is all of us who read about this behavior and still, in our own lives, litter. (Have you ever left a gum wrapper or beer can in a campsite? Have you ever taken a dump in the woods, too close to the trail, and simply left the toilet paper there, barely covered, or worse?)
Or maybe it is our arrogance, that we truly believe we have a right to every inch of this planet--to lay claim and to over-develop and to use for our own pleasure with no thoughts about impact or planetary distress? Jenkins feels that maybe we are guilty. He also feels that there are some people with clean-up and repair plans that could help.
Regulation of the ascents would be the beginning. Regulation of the ascents via Nepal and countries wanting access...regulations of the climbs via organizing and standardizing climbing requirements, licenses and permits--not just pay-off fees. (Everest is not a theme park...) Certification of climbers and requiring people to prove prior climbing experience--successful experience--before being allowed on the mountain. Fewer expeditions--which may mean more expensive fees paid to Nepal, etc. but funding increases would cut down on the human traffic on the trails. Patrols that are paid to monitor the clean-up--demanding climbers "leave no trace". If they pollute, they are fined, or imprisoned--made to clean up other messes in the country! (my idea...hah!)
Finally: remove the bodies.
All the bodies. From all nations. Charge each country that left its citizen on the glacier. Demand they come in, or pay professional removal companies to come in, and with as much dignity as can be mustered, and take the bodies off the trails. (They are not dummies in a haunted Halloween scenario.) They are human remains.
Some day, I will visit Nepal; I will wander in Tibet; perhaps even climb to the bottom of the Top Of The World. When I go, I will be going with bowed head. Prayerflags will be in my pack. I will be holding my beads in each hand, chanting with humility, thankful for the people who allow me the pilgrimage. You won't find me hauling oxygen bottles up the trail, but if I come upon any empties, I will haul them down.
Years later, I learned that in 1953, New Zealander Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay had made the initial successful ascent. My respect for New Zealand, as well as Nepal, grew respectively. I followed both successful and disastrous climbs, through books, periodicals and newsreports. I viewed maps of alternate routes up the mountain, from different sides and different countries. Always, Everest stopped me in its shadow.
The flapping of Tibetan prayer flags and the sight of hand-made altars (which adorn the base camps) make my throat clutch. I understand the magnitude of that place. I understand, somehow, the animation and god-force present on that mountain. I guess that is why I've never understood the demeaning role the amazing Sherpas have been relegated to in the history books of Everest. It is so clear: if not for their generosity, bravery and knowledge, no people (outside their own tribes) would have ever reached the summit. Not all the techie gear in the world can insure that "prize". It is the Sherpas' mystical connection with the landscape which allows them access--something that has always been shiningly clear to me, even as I see accounts of the mountain from thousands of miles away.
The mountain is not simply a pile of frozen ice or strewn rubble. The mountain is alive. It carries God. (Perhaps, it IS God, in a disguise Westerners cannot see through?) Sometimes, though, like the Old Testament "Father", it, too, wreaks vengeance--something Westerners should recognize.
Given these facts, it was with utter horror that I saw the latest "National Geographic" article about the mountain. In the June issue, Mark Jenkins wrote about what it might take to "repair Everest".
REPAIR? The word implies that something on the top of the world has gone horribly wrong...wrong in a human-made way. "Repair" implies that what once worked is now broken. (How can a mountain be broken? WHO can break a mountain? Why would anyone want to engage in such an atrocity?)
Jenkins goes on to report the absolute desecration of the routes to the summit: litter, human feces-- left where they dropped, old gear, torn tent remnants abandoned on the sides of the mountain, broken lines, hardware rusting in the howling winds, weathered clothing, boots, broken goggles, and finally, the biggest shocker: the dead.
Now, dying on Everest and finding a final resting place against her breast, would seem to me, a kind of hero's end. It would be beautiful. It would be clean. It would be sacred--a privilege granted to those few who sought her solace. I'm not talking about that scenario. (Nor am I talking about tribal people filling the mountain with their ancestors.)
Mark Jenkins writes about failed (often novice) climbers who expired on the mountain. Their climbing teams lacked the skills, or desire (maybe the money) to bring the body back down...thus, as one ascends to the top of the world, one passes several decomposing human corpses--close enough to the trail to be touched. Attempts to cover them, of course, are in vain. The blizzards rip away any shroud. The mountain will expose our feeble attempts in the most obvious ways...these dead knew that going up. If they didn't, they know it now.
It is not the presence of the bodies, per se, it is the presence of the bodies left on the route, like a bad carnival funhouse ride. It is the presence of the bodies amid the rest of the trash and human waste. This is not a war zone. This is not the site of one big tsunami nor volcanic eruption. This is the sacred mountain whose "visitors" were ill prepared to take the trek. Their spiritual awareness seems to have been almost "nil". Their respect--for their Sherpas' judgement, their own limitations, the very land they were trekking, was lacking. Whether they be professional visitors or simply guided tourists, understanding the undertaking --and respecting that which they did not understand-- was missing. (Or so it seems to this armchair wanderer.)
Mark Jenkins included photos of "traffic jams on the trail"...climbers in gaudy, puffed up clothing, all with designer outdoor labels, huddling together as they waited their turns to "go up to the top". Sometimes as many as 500 humans have mobbed the top. (This in 2012.)
Jenkins writes: "....roughly 90 percent of the climbers on Everest are guided clients, many without basic climbing skills...having paid thirty-thousand dollars to one hundred and twenty-thousand dollars to be on the mountain, too many callowly expect to reach the summit...(two of the routes) are not only dangerously crowded, but also disgustingly polluted, with garbage leaking out of the glaciers and pyramids of human excrement befouling the high camps...and then there are the deaths."
How can we live in a time when it is clear that human beings have now polluted their planet, for profit, all the way to the Top Of The World?
For a moment, ponder this...Maybe it is the rich who can afford to dangle all that money in third world areas, paying the poor far too little to shepherd them to the last unpolluted spots on the globe? Or maybe it is the organizations and explorers and outdoor outfits who go up there, unregulated, not giving back to the land they exploit? Or maybe it is all of us who read about this behavior and still, in our own lives, litter. (Have you ever left a gum wrapper or beer can in a campsite? Have you ever taken a dump in the woods, too close to the trail, and simply left the toilet paper there, barely covered, or worse?)
Or maybe it is our arrogance, that we truly believe we have a right to every inch of this planet--to lay claim and to over-develop and to use for our own pleasure with no thoughts about impact or planetary distress? Jenkins feels that maybe we are guilty. He also feels that there are some people with clean-up and repair plans that could help.
Regulation of the ascents would be the beginning. Regulation of the ascents via Nepal and countries wanting access...regulations of the climbs via organizing and standardizing climbing requirements, licenses and permits--not just pay-off fees. (Everest is not a theme park...) Certification of climbers and requiring people to prove prior climbing experience--successful experience--before being allowed on the mountain. Fewer expeditions--which may mean more expensive fees paid to Nepal, etc. but funding increases would cut down on the human traffic on the trails. Patrols that are paid to monitor the clean-up--demanding climbers "leave no trace". If they pollute, they are fined, or imprisoned--made to clean up other messes in the country! (my idea...hah!)
Finally: remove the bodies.
All the bodies. From all nations. Charge each country that left its citizen on the glacier. Demand they come in, or pay professional removal companies to come in, and with as much dignity as can be mustered, and take the bodies off the trails. (They are not dummies in a haunted Halloween scenario.) They are human remains.
Some day, I will visit Nepal; I will wander in Tibet; perhaps even climb to the bottom of the Top Of The World. When I go, I will be going with bowed head. Prayerflags will be in my pack. I will be holding my beads in each hand, chanting with humility, thankful for the people who allow me the pilgrimage. You won't find me hauling oxygen bottles up the trail, but if I come upon any empties, I will haul them down.
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