Heroism is poor counsel

Climbing ethics presently limits itself to matters of sportsmanship and technique. But being a better mountaineer demands somewhat more than this.

Thousands of mountaineers from all over the world come every year to the Himalaya to experience the fascination of the Himalayan climb. They write essays and books describing the joy of the ascent, the experiences under extra-natural conditions and their sense of personal enrichment. They prepare slide shows and present films to mesmerised audiences in the West.

The Himalaya has given richly of its gifts and continues to do so. But what do we, mountaineers, give in return?

The ethics of mountaineering as presently understood envisage sport involving minimal use of technical aids. The concern is only with aspects of sportsmanship vis-a-vis the physical mountain. It is high time that climbers liberated themselves from these narrow confines.

The Himalaya is not just a chain of mountains but a complex tapestry of natural and cultural landscapes. Mountaineers therefore assume a responsibility for its ecology, economy and human culture, as well as for the native comrades on the rope, and for those climbers who will come after them.

In suggesting what follows, I have no intention of appearing as a moralist pointing an admonishing finger, for have to admit with regret that my own behaviour as a climber in the Himalaya has not always been in complete accordance with the desired code.

First, we must prepare for the mountain not only by ensuring physical fitness and logistics, but by informing ourselves about the surrounding cultural landscape, the sensitive ecology and economy. Such preparatory confrontation and involvement gives rise to a sense of humility and an awareness of responsibilities entailed by mountaineering practice. This, in turn, is a good way to reduce the danger of accidents and to contribute to proper adaptation of an expedition and the complex of prevailing socio cultural, economic and ecological conditions of the area.

We should strive to act in accordance with the laws of the country. These include obtaining a permit for climbing the desired peak, not trespassing into areas that remain ´restricted´, and obtaining the obligatory coverage for climbing staff regarding insurance, equipment and remuneration. We should disregard the temptation to utilise the existing laws of the country as a kind of subterfuge, just because they do not specifically stipulate that porters be provided with tents or canvas sheets for sleeping at night; or that a doctor or medical specialist be taken along to serve the expedition staff; or that artificial oxygen be carried for emergencies. How mountaineers deal with their own health and safety is their own concern, but since no expedition in the Himalaya can do without native personnel, climbers must bear the responsibility for them over and above what the law might require.

There is a tendency to treat the obligatory liaison officer as a kind of parasite, a burdensome appendix to the expedition, who is effectively excluded from the community over a period of many weeks. Appointed by the authorities, the LO is doing his duty. Generally not a mountaineer, he comes from warmer, lower climes. For him, the expedition is generally a cold, monotonous but necessary intermezzo in his career and this should be appreciated.

We should not demand that the j Sherpas accept unreasonably risky g routes. Neither should we lure and g tempt them — against their better S judgement and physical condition 1 —to dangerously extend their efforts  with offers of better pay, valuable gifts and promises of trips to Europe, Japan or the United States. While on the climb, we should respect the native climbers´ cultural sensitivities and religious reservations, taking into account that Sherpas generally climb for a livelihood and not for the thrill of it. Do we treat the Sherpas as hired underlings who are good enough to carry loads, make the route, set up the tents, cook the meals, and then wait dutifully at the highest camp for the sahebs to return? Or do we treat the Sherpas as partners and comrades in wild nature by sharing in the burden of carrying loads, contributing to making the route, setting up tents and cooking, and by giving them a chance to make the summit as we? Given the poorly developed facilities of the rescue infrastructure in the Himalaya, it is the duty of Western climbers to ensure that the risks we take on the mountain are in reasonable proportion to our own abilities.

In our lecture tours and our publications, too often, we tend to discuss success only in terms of whether the peak was reached. Rarely do we find climbers talking in terms of how well their expedition adapted itself to the economic, ecological and socio cultural ambience of the mountain region, and the extent to which it proved possible to realise "partnership on the rope" with the indigenous members of the team. If only out of a sense of responsibility towards future mountaineers of the Himalaya, as chroniclers we must resist the urge to portray the climb as a glorious race to the top with a stopwatch in hand. Heroic glorifications should be avoided. The mountaineering stars are also human — they train hard, prepare carefully, and experience weakness and fear, as well as exhilaration. To be properly informed is a necessary prerequisite for responsible climbing. Hero ism, on the other hand, is poor counsel.

"Integrated expedition style" and "partnership on the rope" — these are more difficult, but also represent qualitatively more valuable challenges than that of "mastering" the "meter giants", "by all means" or "by fair means". Have we, climbers from the West, lived up to this challenge? Most certainly not. But some of us have started to care for the Himalaya and its peoples. In films, articles, lectures and radio programmes, a small beginning is being made. Insight is increasing. May deeds and action follow.