Friends in High Places

Just a few reflections on the demise of Sir Edmund Hillary, and on the changing sense of geography that he and a few other luminaries in the world of exploration and discovery have brought to us. There's the standard obituary, in the New York Times, which as usual is competent and efficient. But I like the one by Verlyn Klinkenborg, who usually writes about farming and nature, a good bit more. He picks up on the quiet and modest qualities of Hillary, who was the son of a New Zealand beekeeper, and, in fact, was a beekeeper himself. The theme of humble roots isn't one I'd want to obsess about, but I think there's something to the whole process of coming from behind ... 

I might add that I never met the man, though I'd sure have liked to do so, but he was of that astounding 1950s-1960s generation that were, in truth, the last of the really great explorers: He and Jacques Cousteau, and the original astronauts (so affectionately, if somewhat satirically, treated in Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff), all people who bit off big chunks of the world (and space itself) and left a permanent mark. 

Many of them weren't all that nice or approachable, necessarily, in person (not a job requirement, either), but they took the chance, went into the field, pushed the boundaries of the "reasonable" and the "safe" to someplace altogether new and different, and in the process altered our understanding of the world. And Hillary (led and assisted by Tenzing Norgay, in one of the great humanistic partnerships) was among the kinder ones; he spent a great deal of his later life (of course, he'd collected a brace of awards and recognition and some fame, if perhaps a bit less fortune, for his accomplishments) trying to help folks in Nepal, who had made his ascent possible in the first place.

And a word about the wonderful document that survives him — the deservedly classic document by (then) James Morris, who had been assigned by The Times (London) to report on the expedition, and who had to go to extraordinary measures (rather wonderfully described in his book about the event, Coronation Everest) to keep from being scooped on the story.  And the Morris account is an early offering from one of the two or three best geographical writers in the world today; thank goodness she's still around, even if (self-allegedly) no long writing. It's the legacy that survives — a reminder about writers and books.

since original posting: Just thought I'd note that there's been a wealth of material added since I wrote this, unsurprisingly, including a nice appraisal by Edward Rothstein (with a great photograph of the two principals). No doubt The Economist will have a suitable obituary note, and I'll include a link to that, since they usually leave those accessible. But my favorite comment so far comes from John Noble Wilford, long-time Science write for the New York Times. In his memorial piece, published Sunday the 13th, there is this:

At least once the two who epitomized exploration before and after Sputnik held a summit meeting of sorts. In 1985, Sir Edmund and Neil A. Armstrong, the man of the "giant leap for mankind," flew a twin-engine plan over the Arctic and touched down at the North Pole. Oh, to have listened in to the man on the Moon and the man atop Everest, together in a cockpit, again looking out on a stunning but forbidding landscape.

In my book, that's truth itself.