Preserving a mystery

What is it about this highest of all peaks? Why does it exercise such a magnetic hold on mountaineers and armchair climbers alike? How is it that distant happenings in the upper reaches of a distant mountain find resonance in millions of conversations around the world?

“Because it is there,” Mallory said famously when asked about his obsession with Everest. Ever the intrepid traveller, a man whose decades-old corpse revealed a letter from his wife next to his chest, Mallory occupies a special slot in the human imagination in a world where no spot on earth is now pristinely remote and the new, unexplored frontiers are in the realm of cyberspace.

Maybe that is why we so want him to be declared the first conqueror of Chomolungma, why we so want the sunglasses in his pocket to be taken as definitive proof of ascent. Maybe that is why we are indulging in a mass orgy of indignation at a valid point raised by Edmund Hillary that getting back alive is part of the deed, a sentiment the 15-year-old no doubt shares.

Most importantly, maybe we need the Mallory myth to restore the enigma to Everest after a spate of bestsellers that have made South Col and the Khumbu Icefall part of popular conversation, after websites instantly post despatches from climbers at every step of their assault. In fact, Dave Hahn, in his initial report after unexpectedly finding Mallory’s body on the northern ridge — for some strange reason, which has yet to be stated, Hahn and his team thought they were hot on Irvine’s trail — thrilled over this brush with history, acknowledged the consequent edge to what would simply have been the two-minute stardom a successful ascent accords.

And yet, amidst this resuscitated romance, there is something oddly disturbing about the vicarious thrills delivered at mountainzone.com, an online magazine that has sponsored the Mallory and Irvine Research Expedition, of which Hahn is a member. A single click of the mouse brings alive the howling winds, another brings us up-to-date with the everyday, pedestrian thoughts of climbers. A few more clicks and the magic starts wearing off.

So, wide-eyed, we may reconstruct Mallory’s final footsteps and speculate on the secrets trapped in his elusive Kodak camera, but deep within we hope the mystery will endure, that his legend will not be reduced to poorly worded certainties on the Net. Just as we render quiet thanks that Everest House in Mussoorie survives in dilapidated solitude, unencroached by the tourist industry.