In a development that has sent ripples of both relief and eye-rolling through the climbing community, a British mountaineer identified only as 'Crispin' (because of course it is) has been plucked from the icy clutches of Everest's 'Death Zone' after a harrowing six-day ordeal. The rescue, a logistical nightmare undertaken by a team of Sherpas who apparently subsist on oxygen and sheer bloody-mindedness, has drawn gushing praise from the UK mountaineering body, the British Mountaineering Council (BMC).
Let's be clear: Crispin, a 47-year-old investment banker from Surrey, decided to tackle the world's tallest peak with the meticulous planning of a man who books a stag do in Magaluf. He ran out of oxygen on the descent. He 'got confused' near the Hillary Step. He texted his wife, 'Ran out of O2. Bit cold. Send more bacon sandwiches.' Actually, I made that last bit up, but does it sound implausible? No. It sounds entirely plausible for a certain breed of adventurer with more money than sense.
The BMC, in a statement lubricated with the kind of platitudes that could only come from a committee of well-meaning duffers, hailed the 'extraordinary courage and skill of the Sherpa rescue team.' Colour me shocked. The BMC has finally noticed that Sherpas exist. These men, who haul tents and oxygen bottles up the mountain for a fraction of a Western climber's budget, are routinely referred to as 'support staff' in breathless summit dispatches. Now, when a Brit gets himself into a pickle, they're 'heroes.' Where was this praise when a Sherpa died fixing ropes so that some dentist from Doncaster could tick a box on his bucket list?
Let's talk about the elephant in the room, or rather, the elephant on the mountain: the sheer, unadulterated arrogance of attempting a climb like Everest without the requisite survival skills. Crispin had summited Mont Blanc once. He had a gym subscription. He'd watched a documentary. Clearly, this qualifies him to tackle the highest point on Earth. The rescue operation, I'm told, involved multiple helicopters (no small feat at that altitude) and a team of Sherpas who risked their lives to save a man who, by all accounts, had simply forgotten to pack his brain along with his thermal underwear.
One cannot help but wonder: what will Crispin do next? Write a book, no doubt. 'Crispin's Climb: From the City to the Summit and Back Again', featuring a foreword by Bear Grylls and a chapter on how he 'found himself' in the thin air. There will be a motivational speaking tour. He will be lauded for his 'resilience'. Meanwhile, the Sherpas who actually carried him down the mountain will return to their villages, perhaps to build a new school with the meagre gratitude money they receive, assuming they receive any at all.
The real story here is not the rescue. The real story is the systemic devaluation of Sherpa labour and the absurdly low bar for what constitutes a 'brave' Western climber. The BMC should hang its head in shame. Instead, it issues press releases. And Crispin, I imagine, is already sipping a warm beer in a Kathmandu hotel, dictating his memoirs into an iPhone.
But worry not, dear reader. The mountaineering world will continue to churn out these cautionary tales until the end of time, or until the glaciers melt, whichever comes first. And I will be here, glass in hand, ready to pour scorn on the next jolly good adventure that goes pear-shaped. Cheers to the Sherpas. As for Crispin? May his next expedition be to the bottom of a very deep glass of single malt. He's earned it. Sort of.
