Keeper Of The Mountains

by Bernadette McDonald

  Many wondered why Elizabeth didn’t disclaim the statements made by Hall and Ball. They wondered if Lydia’s personality struck Elizabeth as peculiar or unlikable, or whether perhaps Lydia had said something that made her skeptical. Lydia had a free-spirited, brash personality that might have been off-putting to Elizabeth. Lydia didn’t remember it that way at all, stating that she thought they got along just fine. Elizabeth remembered feeling sorry for her as she returned from an exhausting climb and tragedy on the mountain, only to be faced with rejection by her teammates. She came back from Everest and walked into a “guilty until proven innocent” situation, which Elizabeth placed firmly on the shoulders of Hall and Ball – but which others placed squarely on Elizabeth’s. If nothing else, the incident illustrated the weight of Elizabeth’s opinion in the climbing world at that time.

  Writer and climber Greg Child later wondered whether Elizabeth comprehended the potential scale of the controversy. He doubted she did, because when he went to her years later for information on what had happened, she was as helpful as she could be, giving him signed statements from Hall and Ball stating that Lydia was a liar. They later denied the statements. Child was convinced that Elizabeth initially sided with Hall and Ball because of her past relationship with them, and that it took an enormous amount of fact-finding, and finally proof, to convince her otherwise. In the meantime, the damage was done to Lydia’s climbing career. In Child’s opinion, a large part of the damage was due to Elizabeth’s report, which cast some doubt on Lydia’s claim.

  Lydia is ambivalent about Elizabeth now. From her pre-Everest meeting, she recalled liking Elizabeth’s character and “wicked” sense of humour. Elizabeth seemed “grounded and realistic,” so she was surprised at her attitude at the post-climb meeting, which seemed to Lydia like a bad dream. But maybe it was a bad dream. After all, Lydia was exhausted and devastated by what had happened to her Czech friends on Everest. Perhaps she wasn’t clear and firm with Elizabeth. She wasn’t upset that Elizabeth had doubts about her climb, but she felt it was a shame that Elizabeth seemed to have developed those doubts even before speaking with her. She credits that to Rob Hall’s singular focus and force of personality – “nobody, not even Elizabeth Hawley, could get in the way of Hall once he had an agenda,” claimed Lydia.

  Talking about this incident 15 years later in her Kathmandu living room, Elizabeth’s disdain was not directed at Lydia, but at Hall and Ball, whom she proclaimed to be chauvinists: “They were nice people but they were men!”

  Another dispute arose, although not immediately, with the dramatic solo climb of Jannu by the Slovenian Tomo Česen in the spring of 1989. The 29-year-old sports journalist from Kranj arrived at the 7710-metre Jannu with only a physician who doubled as a cameraman, and no Sherpa support. He acclimatized on a nearby mountain and then headed up alone on a new route on the North Face. Twenty-three hours later he was on the summit, and he immediately descended the Northeast Ridge in howling winds. Perhaps it was his manner that made him so believable. When Elizabeth asked him how he felt about this achievement, he answered, “I am satisfied.” Messner was more effusive. “He climbed the only safe line. It is a beautiful line. This was the best climb of the season.” Česen professed to like climbing solo because it was quicker and there were fewer problems. And so this was reported, recorded and accepted as a significant achievement by a new star in the Himalaya. Time would tell.

  In contrast to Česen’s solo experience, a formidable Soviet assault was taking place on Kangchenjunga. Between April 9 and May 3, 27 Soviet climbers and one Nepali Sherpa made a total of 85 ascents of the four main summits of Kangchenjunga. Even more impressive were the simultaneous traverses by two parties in opposite directions over the long, exposed, summit ridges. This was the first-ever traverse of this mountain’s ridges, and a logistical tour de force. It was a remarkable display of talent by the climbers, one of whom was Anatoli Boukreev.

  That autumn, one of the brightest Himalayan climbing stars – Jerzy Kukuczka, the quiet, determined electrician from Katowice, Poland – fell. He arrived with the intention of achieving the first ascent of the vast, unclimbed South Face of Lhotse, and in fine style: lightweight and fast. He and his team had to compromise on style almost from the beginning, when bad snow conditions forced them into siege tactics. After six weeks, he was poised only 170 vertical metres from the summit. The weather had improved and he was perfectly acclimatized. Even the wind had died down. But Kukuczka slipped and fell, and then his belay rope broke. He fell nearly 3000 metres down the face to his death.

  Some speculated about the poor quality of the rope used by some Eastern European climbers. Others wondered what a successful ascent would have done for his reputation, for it would have secured him a record that even Messner didn’t have: climbing all 14 of the 8000-metre peaks by either a new route or in winter. But Elizabeth only commented that it was a great loss of an intelligent, soft-spoken, patient, modest and well-liked man. It had not been a good decade for the Poles, as many of the best climbers had perished on ambitious and difficult routes. As Kukuczka’s teammate noted after his death, “From the stock of best climbers, only a few are left in Poland.…”

  Elizabeth had met Kukuczka many times, and he was always patient with her. She appreciated that. He was doing interesting things and had been close to overtaking Messner in that “horse race.” She also admired his patience on the mountain. On Manaslu he had waited for an entire month at the base of the mountain for the weather to clear and the avalanche danger to subside. Most expeditions complained about having bad weather for four days – they got trapped in a time-frame mindset that was rigid and unrealistic. They might have to go back to work, or they worried about their girlfriends or their families, or they just grew tired of waiting. In Elizabeth’s opinion, they lacked motivation. She thought Kukuczka was different than most peak baggers. He had a stick-to-it attitude that she liked, something her mother had attributed to Elizabeth. Messner was much more communicative about why he did what he did, and it was more difficult to understand Kukuczka because of the language barrier, but Elizabeth felt she understood him instinctively.

  The year that brought this tragedy to the climbing community ended with a bizarre event that even Elizabeth couldn’t have predicted: a physical battle between two teams. It was probably inevitable, for the Nepalese authorities were granting more permits for the same mountain and even the same route. The incident happened on Cho Oyu, where Sherpas and members of a large South Korean team attacked members of a Belgian team with fists and sticks. The Koreans initially denied their part in the attack, but they admitted in the end that a Belgian did receive a head wound, that a rope was tied around his neck and that his arms were pinned behind his back. The Belgian team told Elizabeth that “mountain climbing should never turn into a battlefield.” Clearly, it had.

  Elizabeth’s mother, Florelle, celebrated her 90th birthday in the spring of 1984. The time had come for Elizabeth to address the issue of where her mother would live out her last years. Florelle needed to leave her apartment in Palo Alto and was grasping for ideas on where to go. Elizabeth invited her to come to Kathmandu and stay with her, as it would be difficult for Elizabeth to return to the United States now and make a living. Florelle decided against this and instead moved back East to live next door to Elizabeth’s cousin, Lee Kneerim.

  But within four years her mother became too frail to live alone. She needed too much attention now. Florelle’s choices were to either enter a nursing home or move in with Elizabeth. The prospect of this mentally alert and curious woman living in a nursing home was too unattractive for the family to contemplate, so Elizabeth’s nephew, Michael, and his wife, Meg, brought 94-year-old Florelle to Kathmandu in 1988. It was hard for her American relatives to say goodbye when she left for Kathmandu, because they all knew she wouldn’t return.

  Florelle was carried up the stairs of Elizabeth’s apartment in a wheelchair, and within the first week she had a stroke. Her leg collapsed a
nd she never walked again. She moved into the spare bedroom in Elizabeth’s apartment and had four women looking after her round the clock. One was a Tibetan nurse; the second was a young, strong Sherpa woman who could easily handle the 94-pound Florelle; the third was a Rai nurse and the fourth was a high-caste Chhetri woman. Their care for Florelle was loving and complete. For Elizabeth, this was a precious time when she and her mother could spend many hours together.

  Florelle, still mentally sharp, would get up in the morning, eat breakfast with Elizabeth, then read the papers, magazines and books and take frequent naps during the day. She had brought her favourite books with her, some of which were murder mysteries. She left the flat only once, because she hated the terrifying trip up and down the steep stairs in a wheelchair. Since Florelle couldn’t get out and about, the world came to her. A hairdresser arrived on a regular basis, as did a doctor and dental hygienist. Elizabeth and Florelle ate dinner at 5:30 p.m. each evening, but before dinner they would sit and have a relaxing cocktail. Elizabeth usually had a beer or whisky, but Florelle was faithful to a particular combination: Canadian Club with unsweetened apple juice. She enjoyed that drink every night until three days before she died.

  One morning in November of 1989, Elizabeth went into Florelle’s bedroom to say good morning. Florelle announced she wouldn’t be getting up for breakfast that morning and could someone please bring it to her in bed. She never got up again. Shortly before she died she pleaded, “Elizabeth, please let me go.” Two nights later she had a stroke in the middle of the night. She died at age 95.

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. Ang Rita, who worked downstairs in the Himalayan Trust office, remembered the morning he came upstairs to learn that Florelle had died. He asked Elizabeth what she wanted to do about the cremation and, uncharacteristically, she didn’t have an answer. After two days she told him her mother had wanted to be cremated, so she asked if he would help her. Ang Rita and the other Himalayan Trust Sherpas were like brothers, helping her make the necessary arrangements for Florelle’s final, fiery end. Elizabeth arranged for the body to be kept in the American embassy’s freezer. It was then transferred into a simple wooden coffin and transported to the cremation ground in the Himalayan Trust’s small pickup truck, with Elizabeth at the wheel. They organized Buddhist lamas, prayer flags of five different colours, musicians and offerings for the gods. Ang Rita was one of many Sherpas who had benefited from Elizabeth’s care and attention through the Himalayan Trust, and he remembered her concerns for him when he first came to Kathmandu as a student. He was glad he could help her in this time of sorrow.

  The cremation took place along the banks of the Bagmati River in the untouchables section. Traditionally, the eldest son would light the funeral pyre. But there was no eldest son; there was only Elizabeth. So when the time came, surrounded by her friends on a cold, wet day as the lamas chanted their traditional prayers, she stepped forward and lit the pyre on which her mother’s coffin was placed. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done.

  Just days before she died, Florelle had written in a shaky hand a birthday greeting to her daughter: “Happy Birthday dear Elizabeth, I am so grateful for the good care and interesting life you provide for me.” Florelle had often told Elizabeth that it had been the right decision to come to Kathmandu, and Elizabeth agreed.

  A month later Elizabeth carried her mother’s ashes back to the United States in a beautiful antique bronze urn about twelve inches high. Lee and Will picked her up at the airport, where they found her in a more emotional state than they had ever witnessed. They opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and settled in. Elizabeth talked and wept and talked some more – about how difficult life had been and how important a role model her mother had been. She expressed how important it had been for her, after all those years of separation, to be able to bring her mother to Nepal and care for her. She was honest about her regrets and the sorrows in her life. The loss of her mother, even though it was expected, was even more difficult for her than the premature death of her brother years before.

  Almost the entire family assembled in Dorset, Vermont. They stayed in an inn next to the cemetery, which sloped steeply downward with a view of the mountains beyond. Florelle’s ashes were buried in the same plot as her husband and son John. Elizabeth’s cousin, Lee, sang Bach’s “Come Sweet Death,” others read or told stories about Florelle, and Elizabeth read from a letter she had written shortly after Florelle died, describing her mother’s last days. And so ended an important chapter in Elizabeth’s life.

  In June of 1990 Elizabeth received an unusual offer from New Zealand. They wanted her to be their honorary consul in Nepal – honorary because she wasn’t a New Zealand citizen. The position intrigued her and it was clearly an honour. It also paid. She said yes. Her work fell into two categories: helping Nepalese citizens get to New Zealand for study or for pleasure, and helping New Zealand citizens do what they wanted to do in Nepal. This sometimes meant arranging permits or visas, but more often meant getting them out of whatever jam they’d gotten themselves into. Occasionally, it meant arranging for a body to be returned to New Zealand. Those were the jobs she dreaded.

  The greatest volume of work came from Nepalis wanting to go to New Zealand. Elizabeth didn’t issue visas in her office, however, as they were handled in New Delhi. But that didn’t stop people from coming to see her or calling her in droves. Her Reuters replacement, Gopal Sharma, watched her in action many times when some unsuspecting person would wander into her office looking for information about a visa for New Zealand. If they were at all confused about what they wanted, she would pounce on them, demanding, “What exactly do you want?” “What is it that you need?” “What is it that you are here for?” When they finally collected themselves enough to tell her, she would calm down, walk them through the process and send them on their way. Despite her brusque manner, she was sympathetic. “There are hundreds of thousands of people who want to go to New Zealand to study, or to disappear into the woodwork,” she says. “So the New Zealand authorities watch carefully to ensure that each person has real intentions of coming back.”

  She had three cases of New Zealanders dying. One was on the north side of Everest in Tibet. Fortunately for Elizabeth, her Kiwi friend and mountain guide Russell Brice was there. Although he was forced to dispose of the body on the mountain, he brought the deceased’s belongings back to Elizabeth – including his passport. It was these objects that Elizabeth forwarded to the New Zealand embassy in New Delhi, who located a relative in Australia to whom to send them.

  In the second case, a Kiwi had fallen fell to his death while climbing a modest mountain roped together with his teammates, all of whom perished. Elizabeth arranged for his body and belongings to be returned to his grieving family.

  The third death was a young woman, age 23, who had just qualified as a doctor and who had come to Nepal to do volunteer work at a hospital at Pokhara. When she finished her work stint, she went on a trek, but on the way back to Pokhara the bus stopped for a bathroom break and she suddenly collapsed. Her two friends commandeered a taxi to transport her to the Pokhara hospital and they did what they could to keep her alive on the way, but she was dead on arrival. Upon their return to Kathmandu, they contacted Elizabeth. With the help of an Austrian man who ran both a trekking agency and an undertaking company, she managed to wade through the multitude of international regulations and return the woman’s body to New Zealand.

  Less gruesome, but more irritating, was the story of Kiwi Tony Paroli, who found himself in Nepal without a valid visa. Paroli’s problem was that his visa was six or seven months out of date, and when he went to the authorities to finally renew it, they said, “Certainly, but we will have to charge you double the fee.” He became angry and refused to pay, so they said, “Well then, come with us.” To his surprise, they took him to a jail cell, from which he promptly called Elizabeth. There was nothing she could do at that moment and, unluckily for him, it w
as late Friday afternoon of a three-day weekend, so nothing could be done until Tuesday. She went to see him on Saturday morning for a little chat – it was no mean trick getting through all that barbed wire to visit him, and she ripped her clothes in the process.

  By the next week, Paroli was ready to pay. Of course, he didn’t have enough cash with him, but he did have an ATM card. The problem was that his maximum disbursement was only $250 a day – and he needed $8,000 for his expensive new visa, his unpaid hotel bill and travel costs out of Nepal! This was going to be a long, slow process. Elizabeth brought him to her office, where he phoned his father in New Zealand, asking for help. His father had some money, but not enough. He agreed to $6,000, and in due course Paroli went to Western Union to pick it up. After paying for his inflated visa, he was eventually released in Elizabeth’s custody. But the authorities made it clear he needed to leave the country, and it was now her job to get him on a plane. She booked a seat for him and delivered him directly to his hotel in Thamel, and he swore he would come to her place the next day. Much to her surprise, he did. What a relief when she finally delivered him to the airport and saw him through immigration and safely onto the plane – out of Nepal. Imagine her surprise when he called her up again a couple of years later. This time he was in Pokhara – without any visa at all!

  Visas were not something to treat lightly in Nepal. Two young New Zealand women came to Nepal with legal visas, but when they needed to renew them, they entrusted them to their travel agent. They got the visas back, but, to their dismay, discovered the visa stickers, arranged for them by the travel agent, were counterfeit; the first time they presented them for inspection they were promptly slapped in jail. There were four jails in Kathmandu, and these women ended up in Dilli Bazaar jail – a truly dreadful place. Elizabeth visited them and brought them food, but their luck soared when their New Zealand member of parliament charged into Kathmandu. He met with the prime minister’s office, emphasized the women’s innocence and managed to free them in about three days.