Many of you might know that I am eternally fascinated by Mount Everest. I read everything I can about climbing it. I watch and re-watch the Everest series on Discovery Channel. I’ve read The Ascent of Everest, Edmund Hillary’s account of being the first man to the top of the world’s tallest mountain. And so I was sad when I read that Sir Edmund Hillary passed away at the age of 88. The CNN obituary contains powerful information about the humble man:
He wrote of the pair’s final steps to the top of the world: “Another few weary steps and there was nothing above us but the sky. There was no false cornice, no final pinnacle. We were standing together on the summit. There was enough space for about six people. We had conquered Everest.
“Awe, wonder, humility, pride, exaltation — these surely ought to be the confused emotions of the first men to stand on the highest peak on Earth, after so many others had failed,” Hillary noted.
“But my dominant reactions were relief and surprise. Relief because the long grind was over and the unattainable had been attained. And surprise, because it had happened to me, old Ed Hillary, the beekeeper, once the star pupil of the Tuakau District School, but no great shakes at Auckland Grammar [high school] and a no-hoper at university, first to the top of Everest. I just didn’t believe it.
Contrast what Sir Edmund said about his triumph versus football players who act like they just scaled Everest when they catch a single touchdown pass in a losing effort.
Some day when I’m standing at Everest Base Camp (as high up as I’ll go), I’ll think about Sir Edmund Hillary, beekeeper.
