"Join us on the land" - Boris Lisanevich

"Join us on the land"

Remembering the legendary Boris Lisanevich, founder of the Royal Hotel

I had the pleasure of meeting Boris when I first went to Nepal in 1975 and today found this nostalgic article written by Lisa Choegyal which I am sure she would agree that I run on my blog.

S DNEM ROZHDENIYA: Boris cutting this 75th birthday cake in 1980

We recline on trekking mattresses on the sweet-smelling grass, bees and insects busy in the overgrown garden. Nursing a tin cup of Boris’ signature bullshot, a mix of local vodka, tomato juice and home-made beef bouillon, I take a break from the lunchtime picnic chat and gaze over the brick wall. Across the Valley stand the white peaks, crisp and clear in the luminance of 1970’s Nepal light.

I turn back and see Boris slumped precariously in a plastic chair, his bulk overflowing under the arm rests and a flowered shirt stretched tight across his stomach. He gesticulates with delight, laughing at one of Jim Edward’s more outrageous stories. Boris leans forward with difficulty and I hear him declare in his Slavic lilt: “I swear by vodka – it is part of life. I even have my head massaged with vodka!”

Other guests lounge on the ground, enjoying the wit, the lunch (always delicious pork schnitzel and rich potato salad) and strolling through “the land”, as Boris and Inger’s un-built plot in the south of Kathmandu Valley was known. As in: “Please join us midday Sunday on the land.” Regulars include painter and writer Desmond Doig, journalist Dubby Bhagat and Bernadette Vasseux of the French Embassy.

At the party Alexander Lisanevitch (Boris' son) Lisa Choegyal, Jim Edwards and Toni Hagen.

Boris Nikolayevich Lisanevich is a legend. One of the first non-official foreigners to live in Nepal, he was invited by King Tribhuvan in 1951 to open the Royal Hotel in Bahadur Bhawan. An ebullient White Russian ballet dancer and hunter born in Odessa Ukraine, Boris’ exotic background included fleeing Bolshevik persecution, performing with Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes and Massine throughout Europe, and founding the 300 Club in Calcutta, the first to accept Indian members. With him in Nepal were his long-suffering Danish wife Inger, three small sons and a mother-in-law with a taste for collecting antiques.

By the time I knew Boris, the famous Royal Hotel had already closed, stories of its chaotic hospitality lost in the building’s lofty arches but immortalised in Michel Peissel’s book Tiger for Breakfast. One of my favourites is how Boris had to be extracted from a spell in prison to manage Queen Elizabeth’s 1961 visit. Today, the hotel building in Kantipath houses the Election Commission, but its corridors echo with the former footsteps of Boris’ guests – Jean Paul Guerlain seeking ingredients for his perfumes, Jean Paul Belmondo making a film that was never made, and Queen Sophia of Spain on her honeymoon.

Jim greatly admires Boris and has helped him through many lean times as he struggled with a series of restaurants in Kathmandu, always strong on entertaining but light on business acumen. Boris had restaurants in Dilli Bazar and Durbar Marg, but the first and most memorable for me was his Yak &Yeti in Lal Durbar. Lute Jerstad, the blond, intense climber who summited Everest with the Americans in 1963, took me there for my 23rd birthday in 1974, and Tenzin and I had our first date perched in the uncomfortable window alcoves around the circular hammered-brass fireplace. I was mesmerised by Prince Basundhara, slightly the worse for wear, and the sophisticated choice of flavoured vodkas, borscht, quail and becti fish.

Boris and Inger.

Boris was always kind, enveloping me in a generous bear hug and whispering tonight’s speciality. A highpoint for me was being asked to arrange his surprise 75th birthday party, where dinner-jacketed and bejewelled Nepalis mingled with guests from many continents, wine flowed and Desmond designed the layered chocolate cake.

Boris is long gone (he died at age 80 in 1985) inconveniently during Dasain so Jim and I had to mobilise a team of Mountain Travel Sherpas to dig his grave. Buried in the British cemetery, the funeral service was dramatic with Russian wailing, sobbing and embracing the coffin – followed by the final Boris party.

Outside today’s Chimney Restaurant, where the decor and even the menu are little changed, a plaque in the Yak & Yeti Hotel garden remembers Boris as the father of Nepal tourism. At its unveiling a couple of years ago amidst in-laws, grandchildren and Kathmandu’s travel industry, I was astonished to find myself the only person who had actually met him. 

Another stint in Nepal - The Himalaya

I first visited Nepal in 1975 when I worked for the International Red Cross, supporting the Nepal Red Cross conducting a national disaster preparedness programme.

Some months after the massive earthquake struck Nepal on April 25 2015, I returned to Nepal to work again. Here are some of the photos I have taken.

                                                     Mt. Everest taken from Kala Pattar

                                                                          Ama Dablam

                                            Another view of Mt. Everest and the west ridge.

                                                     On the Lumding La with Sherpa Neema.

                                            From Pokhara looking up to the Himalaya

                                         With two Sherpas from Kumjung, Domalay and Neema

                                             A young Tibetan girl in  Namche Bazaar

                                                     Ama Dablam on the walk in from Lukla

                                                                          Pumori

                                                                         Pumori

                                                                    Langtang peak

                                      Houses hign in the Himalaya damaged by earthquake

                                    Carrying earthquake supplies to the higher Langtang region

                                                                              Ama Dablam

                                                                             Kwandge

                                                                Carpet making

                                                               A Sherpa village

Ama Dablam - A fascination with a mountain for over 40 years

     Ama Dablam

I find the naming of mountains fascinating and in the Himalaya many mountains are seen as a Goddess, God or protector. Forty years ago when I first started trekking and climbing in the Nepal Himalaya, the peak Ama Dablam started a life-long fascination for me. While Sagarmatha, Chomolungma or Mount Everest is the Goddess Mother of the Universe, Ama Dablam appears protected by Sagarmatha, but has her own beauty and meaning. I think it is so fitting that the name fits in so comfortably with the current Yama Panchak festival in Nepal
The main peak of Ama Dablam is 6,812 metres (22,349 ft), the lower western peak is 6,170 metres (20,243 ft). Ama Dablam means "Mother's necklace"; the long ridges on each side like the arms of a mother (ama) protecting her child, and the hanging glacier thought of as the dablam, the traditional double-pendant containing pictures of the gods, worn by Sherpa women. Other writers extrapolate the meaning to "charm box, and is a special pendant worn by elder Sherpa women that holds precious items.”

More meaning is added to the ‘mana’ of the peak as it was first climbed by two New Zealanders I know, Mike Gill and Wally Romanes, along with Mike Ward and Barry Bishop on 13 March 1961 They were well-acclimatised to altitude, having wintered over at 5800 metres near the base of the peak as part of the Silver Hut Scientific Expedition of 1960-61, led by Sir Edmund Hillary. I know Mike and Wally personally and you couldn’t find two such humble people.
In all religions mountains are revered and one of my favourite quotes is: “I lift mine eyes unto the hills whence cometh my strength…

My Sherpa friend Neema from Kunde, on the3 Lumding La with Ama Dablam in the distant background. Photo: Bob McKerrow

Ama Dablam stands proud and can be seen from so many villages in the upper Khumbu. Photo: Bob McKerrow

Up in the clouds, Ama Dablam makes a brief appearance. Photo: Bob McKerrow

First descent of the Chobar Gorge, Kathmandu Nepal, 1975.

I spent nine months in Nepal in 1975, working with the Nepal Red Cross to build its capacity. One of the areas we identified for training and strengthening, was water safety. People were frequently drowning crossing rivers and streams, and volunteers reluctant to travel to remote district during the monsoon. We looked at ways of developing tradition methods of crossing rivers and I also got an inflatable rubber raft from the Swedish Red Cross as I felt that this was a very safe method of getting 5 or so people across a flooded river.

Looking across the Chobar Gorge early in the morning. The Kathmandu valley under cloud and mist.

 I found 2 or 3 young volunteers in the Nepal Red Cross who were strong swimmers and during the first ever national disaster preparedness training course in Kathmandu, we did many sessions on water safety. I remember well that the most outstanding swimmer who adapted well to rafting was Hari Krishna Lovely.

In August 1975, Limbo (Keith) Thompson, the first member of the 1975 New Zealand Jannu expedition arrived and stayed with me to do the initial organisation for the main expedition which arrived a month later. Like me, Limbo had done some rafting in New Zealand. We learned that no one had descended the Chobar gorge, a long and fast flowing section of the Bagmati River. We spent 3 days checking the gorge, the river which is situated just southeast of Chobar village in Nepal, where the Bagmati River cuts through a section of the Chobar hill, the picturesque Chobar Gorge is spanned by a narrow suspension bridge, which was imported from a manufacturer in Aberdeen  in Scotland in 1903. The bridge was transported to Nepal in pieces across the mountains via India and then put together at the Chobar Gorge. This was seen as a huge technical accomplishment at the time and visitors agree that the view of the Chobar Gorge and surroundings from this historic suspension bridge is breath-taking. See photo below. The river was at a very low level when this was taken.

Chobar village is located on a high ridge overlooking the Chobar Gorge and can only be accessed on foot. The rocky cliffs of Chobar Gorge are riddled with caves which are popular as meditation retreats. It is believed by many that an underground passage runs from one of these caves to the Adinath Lokeshwar Temple in the village of Chobar. No-one seems to know where this secret passage begins, however, which adds to the mysterious myths and legends surrounding Chobar Gorge.

We asked many of the local people if anyone had been through the Chobar Gorge by raft or boat, and the response we got was no, but they reminded us that it was a popular place for cremating the dead. The banks of the Bagmati River on the south side of Chobar Gorge has been paved with steps down to the river. These are used for ritual cleansing and cremations in the Bagmati River as well as for the laundering of clothes, and serves as a daily gathering place for the local people.

We learned that geological studies have shown that the Kathmandu Valley was previously a huge lake that drained southward through the Chobar Gorge, opening up the valley. Buddhist legend asserts that the lake, which was known as Nag Hirat (tank of serpents), contained magical snake-like beings that were guarding treasure lying at the bottom of the lake. Bodhisattva Manjushri sliced through the circle of mountains with a single stroke of his Sword of Wisdom, thereby draining the lake and creating the Kathmandu Valley. Countless snakes were said to have been washed out with the departing waters, but the king of the snakes, Kartotak, is believed to have remained behind at the request of Manjushri and now resides in the Taudaha Lake. The Hindu belief, however, is that Krishna created the Chobar Gorge by throwing a thunderbolt that split the mountain.

                              Another view of the Chobar Gorge, Nepal.

 At the bottom of the two hills is the three-tiered Bagh Bhairab Temple  with the ferocious deity Bhairab in the form of a Tiger. Alongside, there is a temple to the left of the entrance with Lord Vishnu riding Garuda. The triple – roofed Uma Maheshwor temple can be approached by climbing the stone stairway by the saddle. The main deities in the temple are the standing Shiva and Parvati. From the temple there are excellent views of the surrounding area. The Chilanchu Vihara is on top of the southern hill.

After carefully exploring the gorge from the steep cliffs we decided it would be wise to pick a day when the river was flowing high as we would be less likely to get snagged on various man-made projections that were on the river side.

The day finally came when everything looked good. Limbo and Hari Khrishna Lovely plus 2 Nepal Red Cross volunteers made up a strong team of five. This was real exploration and as leader, I wondered if this was wise to attempt a first descent of an unknown stretch of water. But at 27 years of age, fear is not so well developed, and Hari and Limbo were eager to do it. We gingerly put the raft in at the top of the gorge and paddled in a calm spot to build confidence. Next we slowly paddled towards the start of the river where it picks up speed and we appeared to be sucked downwards into the wild gorge. We had chosen a high water level which covered logs, branches and snags, but had made the river much swifter. We were now totally committed and there was no turning back. We were paddling well as a team and while concentrating on picking the safest course in the swirling river, I had glimpses of people with startled looks on their faces at the top of the gorge and some eagles hovering on the updrafts, and diving into the eddies for fish. We were buffeted by huge waves throwing us against enormous rocks, as we slithered through the gorge. After about 15 to 20 minutes we were spewed out of the gorge and landed right next to the temple river platform. The Priests and Monks were astounded as they thought some supernatural event was happening. Hari explained we were indeed from this realm and had come down the gorge on the river from Kathmandu. Limbo and I recalled being showered with praise and hospitality mixed with a high degree of disbelief as we were told no one had ever been down this gorge in a boat or raft.

A months or so later I did another descent of the Chobar Gorge with Graeme Dingle, a member of the NZ Jannu mountaineering expedition. Somehow it seemed easier, and less exciting but I had time to take in the scenery; very beautiful scenery.

The keeper of the mountains of Nepal.

This recent article on Liz Hawley reminded me of the first time I met her in Kathmandu in 1975. I don’t think she was that impressed by me or the 1975 NZ Jannu expedition. Jim Strang records in the 1976 NZAJ (p14) “Crawford writing off two push-bikes at Bob McKerrow’s place in Kathmandu.”  I invited Liz Hawley to this farewell party to the NZ Jannu expedition I hosted.  I had a small two storey house in Kathmandu in 1975 and Lynn Crawford got this bright idea that it would be fun to cycle down the stairs. Next morning I had to face the owner of the hire company and pay for the two mangled bikes and three other badly damaged ones.  For the records, members of that expedition were:Limbo Thompson, Geoff Wayatt, Jim Strang, Pete Farrell, GraemE Dingle, Lynn Crawford, Bryan Pooley, Brian Fearnley, Noel Sissions, Ian Jowett, Roger Foley, Don Cowie. 

Here is an excellent article written by Billi Bierling, 

CHRONICLING HIGH-PEAK HISTORY WITH ELIZABETH HAWLEY

“Isn’t Miss Hawley coming?” a disappointed Hiro Takeuchi asked me when I was debriefing him about his expedition. The Japanese climber had just come back from a successful expedition to his 14th and final 8,000-meter peak and had become the first Japanese to complete this impressive feat. It was difficult to tell the 42-year-old mountaineer, who had known Miss Hawley for over 20 years and had been “examined” by her several times, that she was busy. She and her driver, Suban, were on their way to meet another expedition and, as usual, they were stuck in the mad Kathmandu traffic in her 50-year-old baby-blue Volkswagen Beetle.

Elizabeth Hawley, who lives in a modest flat in the Nepalese capital Kathmandu, has archived expeditions to so-called expedition peaks in Nepal for 50 years, and it’s difficult to escape her grilling interview technique. “It sometimes happens that we miss an expedition, but most of the time we find them—even if it is years later,” Hawley says. In order to keep up with the rising number of expeditions—this year there were more than 50 on Mount Everest alone—she has three assistants, who help her scan the streets of Kathmandu for mountaineers. 

Most climbers deem it important to get into Miss Hawley’s records, as she’s considered the last instance for them to get recognition from the mountaineering world. Hawley, however, doesn’t quite see it this way. “I am not a judge. I am a historian and all I do is collect data. And that’s what I would like you to do,” she said to me when I started working for her in 2004. Even though the 89-year-old has never climbed a mountain herself, she is very tough with her questions and has made some mountaineers sweat and wrack their brains to remember the right dates. “Come on, get your act together. You must know when you slept the first night at Camp 1,” I once heard her bark at a climber at the Yak & Yeti Hotel in Kathmandu. 

Hawley was born in Chicago. She studied politics, English and zoology. She never followed a career in any of these subjects, but became a journalist. Her first job was with Fortune magazine in New York, where she worked as a researcher. Not content to sit behind a desk day in and day out, she jumped when her employer gave her the chance to travel, enabling her to discover the world. However, wanting to spend more time in the countries she visited, the young journalist quickly got fed up with the short trips. In 1956, she quit her job and embarked on a journey around the world, which eventually took her to her future home, the Himalayan Kingdom of Nepal. 

She arrived in Nepal during a time when the kingdom opened up towards the West, a movement that absolutely fascinated Elizabeth Hawley. In order to properly follow this process, she decided to immigrate to Nepal in 1960. At first, she worked as a correspondent for Time Magazine, and later moved to Reuters. In 1963, when the first US expedition to Mount Everest arrived in Nepal, the young journalist was commissioned to report about it. Hawley followed this expedition closely and found her work with the mountaineers so fascinating that she decided to interview the second expedition. And the third. And fourth. Her initial interest became her vocation, eventually developing into the worldwide reference for mountaineering. 

Something she just “slipped into,” the job is something she speaks of as if she were still thinking of changing her career. “This job literally just happened to me, and I am not really progressing, which I have to change,” she says.

However, changing her career would be difficult now that she has become the Keeper of the Mountains. With more than 340 mountains on her list, she has interviewed countless expeditions for the past 50 years,  the collected data handwritten on paper, some of which has yellowed in her office’s huge drawers over the years. “I will have to stop at one point, as I am running out of space,” she observes, pulling out a file reeking of mothballs. 

Despite never having worn a pair of crampons or used an ice axe, Hawley knows each mountain’s routes like the back of her hand. “I want to sleep in a bed, eat at a table and be driven around in my beetle,” she says, regarding her lack of enthusiasm to climb a mountain, and she does not understand why people like me are attracted to high peaks. “What, you are going climbing again?” she yelled at me when I told her about another expedition in spring. “I need you in Kathmandu and not on top of some stupid mountain.” Even though a certain interest in mountaineering is necessary, Miss Hawley doesn’t like her team to be away from Kathmandu. Preferably they should be available to her 24/7, as finding and interviewing the hundreds of people going to various expedition peaks has become a huge task each season. But despite turning 90 this year, Hawley still managed to see about 40 expeditions this spring.

With an ever-increasing number of punters wanting to climb Mount Everest and other 8,000-meter peaks, it’s very unlikely that Miss Hawley’s system of meeting all the teams personally and writing the information down on paper will be sustainable. Her data has already been available on a CD-ROM, known as The Himalayan Database since 2004, and getting the information electronically will probably be the future. However, as long as Miss Hawley is the boss, we will happily continue to do it her way. And even though getting the information electronically will mean a lot less work for the team in Kathmandu, we will certainly miss meeting up with the usual suspects every season.

Toni Hagen A pioneer in Nepal

On this blog I try to record the lives of people who have had a huge influence on me through
their approaches to humanitarian aid.
Toni Hagen was one of these giants who died  on April 18, 2003 in Lenzerheide, Switzerland.
 I worked for the International Red Cross in Nepal throughout 1975 and came across
many places he had visited, projects he started and many Nepalis who spoke so highly of him.

I met him briefly in Bangladesh in January1972 where he was head of the UN relief operation.

Not only did he do a lot to support the people of Nepal, he worked closely with Sir Edmund
Hillary and would often loan him the Swiss Government Pilatus Porter, especially
 on the 1960 Silver Hut Expedition. Below is a typical alpine airfield in the Solo Khumbu.

 He was widely credited with being responsible for the modern pattern of development aid, which he had pioneered in Nepal under the slogan "wages not handouts", a philosophy set out in his books Paths and Wrong Paths in Foreign Aid (1989) and Building Bridges to the Third World (1992).

Here are excerpts from his obituary in the Telegraph.

Hagen, a Swiss geologist, first set foot on Nepalese soil in 1950 as a member of a Swiss foreign aid mission which had been invited by the government of Nepal at a time when the country was still "forbidden" to outsiders. He was the first foreigner to be granted access to areas which, even today, are not readily accessible.

Starting from the Tarai plains, then still malarial, he crossed Nepal's populated midland region and travelled up to and beyond the Himalayas. At first he was provided with 200 porters carrying everything from portable showers to teapots and bone china dinner services, but progress was so slow, he soon reduced his retinue to a few selected porters and Sherpa Aila, who became his trusty companion.

Later, over nine years, he walked a total of 14,000 miles, enduring everything from icy blizzards to torrential monsoon rains, while carrying out the first geographical and geological surveys of the country for the Nepalese government and for the United Nations.

The cover of his best selling book on Nepal.

During this period, Hagen's interest switched from the geology of Nepal to its inhabitants. He was instrumental in persuading the Swiss government to begin humanitarian assistance and development aid, especially for the building of roads and bridges (Nepal is now a major beneficiary of Swiss development aid), and took a particular interest in the plight of Tibetan refugees fleeing the country after the annexation of Tibet by the Chinese.

In co-operation with the Dalai Lama, he developed a concept of self-help and took the lead in setting up camps and establishing carpet-weaving units to provide the refugees with work and an income. After the failure of the Tibetan uprising in 1959, he brought between 1,000 and 1,500 refugees to Switzerland, establishing a colony which now numbers some 2,000.

Hagen's Nepal: The Kingdom in the Himalayas, first published in 1961, revealed the dramatic landscape and the people of a country which, while no longer "forbidden", was still unknown to most of the outside world. The book became a classic and went into several editions, the last of which, lavishly illustrated, was published in 1998.

Later Hagen became an adviser to the UN's Development Programme and, in the 1960s and 1970s, led missions to trouble spots around the world. He was widely credited with being responsible for the modern pattern of development aid, which he had pioneered in Nepal under the slogan "wages not handouts", a philosophy set out in his books Paths and Wrong Paths in Foreign Aid (1989) and Building Bridges to the Third World (1992).

Toni Hagen was born on August 17 1917 in Lucerne. After taking a diploma in engineering and geology from the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich, he took a doctorate in the geology of the Welsh mountains, then became a research assistant at the Zurich Geological Institute.

After his first visit to Nepal in 1950-51, Hagen worked as a guest of Mohan Shamser, the last Rana ruler of Nepal, as a government geologist. In 1959 he was appointed director of the Basic Survey Department of Nepal on behalf of the UN, and was involved in carrying out aerial surveys, planning road schemes, building power stations and administering foreign aid plans. In 1961-62 he worked as chief delegate of the International Red Cross, arranging for the aid and resettlement of Tibetan refugees in Nepal and Switzerland.

Hagen left Nepal in 1963 to work as UN representative in Bolivia, advising on the development of the country's oil reserves. From 1966 to 1971, as adviser to the UN's Development Programme, he was given a special mission as "trouble shooter" in crisis-hit areas throughout the world, and travelled widely in Africa, the Middle East and Asia.

From 1969, as Special Representative of the UNDP, he undertook three missions to Peru to manage the emergency relief effort after a series of devastating earthquakes; he was chairman of the UNDP reconstruction programme in North Yemen after the seven-year civil war; and in 1971, he led the relief operations in East Pakistan, remaining in the country after the end of the civil war when it became Bangladesh.

Hagen retired from the UN in 1972 to work as a freelance adviser for organisations involved in foreign aid. Two years later, he returned to the Federal Institute of Technology at Zurich where he lectured on the problems of the developing world.

Travelling remained his passion and Hagen made regular visits to Nepal. In the early 1980s he established the Toni Hagen Foundation to promote democratic reforms and better understanding between different ethnic groups in the country. In 1984, at a ceremony in Kathmandu, King Birendra of Nepal awarded him the Birendra Pragya Alankara, Nepal's highest honour, for his service to Nepal.

Nearly 50 years after his first visit, in 1999, Hagen returned to Nepal accompanied by a film crew in order to return a ring, known as "the Ring of the Buddha," to an old friend, the Buddhist monk Chogye Trichen Rimpoche, the last surviving teacher of the Dalai Lama. Rimpoche had given Hagen the ring 40 years earlier as a token of appreciation for his tireless commitment to the welfare of Tibetan refugees.

A documentary feature film The Ring of the Buddha, recounting Hagen's life's work, is now playing in German and Swiss cinemas.

Hagen died on Good Friday, three days after his wife, Gertrud. He is survived by a son and two daughters.

Toni Hagen

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Toni Hagen (August 17, 1917 in Luzern – April 18, 2003 in Lenzerheide) was a Swiss
geologist and a pioneer of Swiss development assistance. After taking a diploma in engineering
 and geology from the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich, he took a doctorate in the
geology of the Welsh mountains and then became a research assistant at the Zurich Geological Institute.^[1] Hagen first visited Nepal in 1950 with a first Swiss development assistance mission.
In 1952 he was employed by the government of Nepal and also worked for the United Nations.
He explored the geography of that Himalayan state.

Dr. Hagen was the first foreigner to trek throughout Nepal during geological and geographic
survey work and mapping on behalf of the United Nations. He clocked over 14,000 km walking
several times across Nepal, where the topography is mostly hilly to snow-covered. He filmed
Nepalese cultural and ethnic diversity originally as produced as a silent documentary, and later
 with an English narration in his own voice.^[2] Dr. Hagen is also the author of several books
 including a book entitled Nepal (ISBN 99933 13 03 3; LCCN 99937099) ^[3][4]

From 1966 to 1971, as adviser to the UN's Development Program, he was given a special
mission in crisis-hit areas worldwide including Africa, the Middle East and Asia.^[5] Hagen was a
pioneer in the field of development aid, undertaking missions to the Himalayas, eastern Africa
 and South America in a career spanning over 60 years.^[6] After Tibet was taken over by China in
1959, Hagen used his influence to help the Tibetan refugees. During the next years he gained
Dalai Lama's confidence. He managed to bring approximately 1,000–1,500 Tibetans to
Switzerland.^[7] Hagen retired from the UN in 1972, worked as a freelance adviser for organisations
 involved in foreign aid and later returned to the Federal Institute of Technology at Zurich where he
lectured on the problems of the developing world. In the early 1980s he established the Toni Hagen
 Foundation in Switzerland and Nepal to promote democratic reforms and better understanding
 between different ethnic groups in Nepal.^[8]

In 1999 Dr. Toni Hagen filmed a story of his life, The Ring of the Buddha (German title: Der Ring
 des Buddha), which also included some original materials from the 1960s. Soon after the film
 was shown, he died in early 2003 at the age of 85 in his home in Lucerne^[9] on Good Friday,
 three days after his wife,^[10] Gertrud in Lenzerheide.

The Hillary Step on Mt. Everest

 SIXTY years ago this week, as Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay approached the summit of the world’s highest mountain, they were stopped by a 40-foot wall of rock and ice. It was, Hillary later wrote, “a formidable looking problem ...We realized that at this altitude it might well spell the difference between success and failure.”

Employing the skills he had learned in the New Zealand Alps, Hillary jammed his feet, hands and shoulders into a thin crack between a ridge of ice and the rock and, as he put it, “levered myself” up the wall. Then he brought Tenzing up on a tight rope, and together they climbed the final 300 feet to become the first humans to stand on the summit of Mount Everest.

Today, that 40-foot wall is called the Hillary Step. Each May, large numbers of climbers line up to attempt it, causing a lengthy — and dangerous — backup. But this past week, it was reported that the Expedition Operators Association, a Nepali organization that manages teams climbing Everest, has proposed a solution to this final obstacle on the standard route to the top: putting a permanent ladder on the Hillary Step.

Between 1987 and 2009, I went on 11 expeditions to Mount Everest, reaching the top seven times. I’ve climbed both up and down the Hillary Step six times. I think the ladder is a bad idea. It won’t solve the real problem, which is overcrowding on the most famous route in mountaineering. At its best, installing a permanent ladder to surmount the Hillary Step would be like slapping a Band-Aid on an artery that’s hemorrhaging.

Because guided commercial expeditions on Everest have become so popular, scores or even hundreds of clients go for the top on the same day. Each May, the weather forecast pinpoints the optimal dates for a summit thrust. Most of the teams seize that precious window, as a kind of “group think” takes hold. That is what causes the overcrowding. And now that fixed ropes are strung by Sherpas up every foot of the South Col route, from base camp at 17,000 feet to the summit at 29,035 feet, a perilous traffic jam inevitably forms on the final ridge. Because of their dependence on the fixed ropes, clients can move no faster than the slowest person in the queue. It’s become routine to have to wait two or three hours to tackle the Hillary Step.

Even if a ladder is bolted to the rock on the Hillary Step, it won’t alleviate the bottleneck that inevitably develops there on summit day. Climbers will still clip their ascenders (mechanical devices that grip ropes) to the fixed lines that parallel and safeguard the ladder, and because there’s no alternative to that narrow passage, the two-to-three hour wait will still impose its treacherous delay. For that matter, wearing goggles, down suits and oxygen masks, mountaineers can hardly see their own feet, so climbing down the ladder promises to be every bit as difficult as rappelling the Step on a fixed line.

It’s the traffic jam that causes all the trouble. Climbers run out of bottled oxygen and collapse, or they push upward long after a sensible turnaround deadline and end up descending in the dark, or they succumb to hypothermia and frostbite simply because they’re forced to stand in place for hours, waiting their turn. My fear is that if the ladder is installed, even more climbers will throng to Everest, convinced that a metal contraption has solved all the problems of the South Col route.

A ladder isn’t the answer. Nor can the government of Nepal be expected to regulate how many climbers are on Everest, let alone how many go for the summit on a given day. It will be up to the climbers themselves to coordinate their schedules to avoid overcrowding. This is going to be very hard to do. Personal ambition, a herd mentality and summit fever all too easily overwhelm good judgment.

Aside from these practical concerns, there’s an aesthetic issue at stake. The Hillary Step is a crucial part of the majestic challenge Everest still poses. Just when you think you’ve got the summit in the bag, the mountain throws one last roadblock across your path. It’s the final test you pass to earn the summit.

When I first climbed the Hillary Step in 1991, there was only a short section of tattered rope in place. Unwilling to trust it, I climbed the 40-foot wall without using the rope. Thus I surmounted the Step the same way Hillary had, and it was deeply gratifying to solve its technical difficulties with no aids other than the ice ax in my hand and the crampons on my boots.

The glory of mountain climbing lies in the fact that success is never guaranteed. In recent years, Everest has been degraded by its sheer popularity. Let’s not degrade it further. Let’s leave the Hillary Step as close as we can to what Hillary and Tenzing confronted at 11 a.m. on May 29, 1953.

Thanks to Ed Viesturs for permission to post his brilliant article here.

Ed Viesturs is the only American to have climbed the 14 highest peaks in the world, all without supplemental oxygen. He is co-author, with David Roberts, of the forthcoming book “The Mountain: My Time on Everest.”