In a development that has sent shockwaves through the corridors of power, a Nepalese guide has survived a harrowing ordeal on Everest, prompting the UK government to launch an urgent review of tourism safety. For British climbers. Because clearly, the real peril lies not in the Khumbu Icefall but in the treacherous footpaths of the Lake District.
Let us pause to savour this exquisite absurdity. A man falls into a crevasse, spends a night in the death zone, is rescued by a helicopter that could star in its own action film, and Whitehall's response is to convene a committee. To discuss. British tourists. It is like responding to a tsunami in Japan by reviewing the safety of seaside deckchairs in Blackpool.
The guide, a Sherpa whose profession involves strapping ropes to his soul and staring into the abyss on a daily basis, was apparently not the focus. No, the focus is on the plucky British climber, who may or may not have had travel insurance that covers acts of God, gravity, or sheer hubris. The Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport (because of course that's the ministry handling this) has announced a review of 'adventure tourism safety' for UK citizens abroad. Which means some civil servant will now spend three months compiling a risk assessment for activities that by their very definition involve courting death.
One imagines the terms of reference: 'To ascertain whether the purchase of an ice axe and crampons from Mountain Warehouse constitutes adequate preparation for tackling a 29,000-foot ice-covered behemoth.' Or perhaps: 'To determine the optimal ratio of Kendal Mint Cake to oxygen cylinders for the average British trekker.'
The guide, meanwhile, will probably be back on the mountain next week, because his rent is due and the mountain doesn't care about your risk review. He will be paid a fraction of what the British climber frittered on his 'all-inclusive package' with 'free Wi-Fi at Base Camp.' Because nothing says survival like tweeting your ascent.
Let us not forget the broader context: Everest has become a theme park for the wealthy, a Disneyland for the delusional. Queueing for the summit like it's the post office. Bodies frozen in place as permanent warnings. And the UK government's response is a review. A review. They might as well issue a strongly worded letter to the mountain.
What will this review achieve? A few extra bullet points on the Foreign Office website? A leaflet in every airport suggesting that perhaps one should not attempt to climb the world's highest peak after reading a blog post? Or maybe, and I say this with the gin-soaked cynicism of a man who has seen too many committees form and dissolve like morning mist, it will result in nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because the real danger isn't on Everest. It's in the illusion that bureaucracy can tame nature, that a government review can protect you from your own foolishness.
So by all means, review. Draft your guidelines. Consult with stakeholders. Form a working group. But remember: the mountain will not read your report. The wind will not respect your risk assessment. And the next time a British climber gets into trouble, the only thing that will save them is a man like the guide, who understands that survival is not about policy. It is about will. And a good helicopter.
Now, if you'll excuse me, my gin and tonic requires my immediate attention. It's been a long day of watching the world pretend that paperwork is a shield against fate.
