Triumph without conquering, win glory without defeating

In the age of sound bites that we all live in, winning and losing are often equated with statistical scores and medals. The dichotomy of the “others and me” is as flat as the world was during the time of that scoundrel Christopher Columbus, whose motley crew staged a mutiny after several days of sailing, fearing that they would fall off the edge of the Earth.

But throughout the history of mankind, we have been shown time and again – and yet have quickly forgotten – that there is more to wining than conquering, and glory does not have to be concomitant with winning. In Lady Gaga’s song “Edge of Glory”, that moment of glory came when her grandfather was in the last moments of his life on his deathbed. She metaphorically described him as standing at the edge of a cliff with nothing to prove, nothing to fret about; he tipped his hat to himself, and he went.

Two weeks ago – amidst the anticipation prior to the London Olympics, with athletes increasingly assuming celebrity status and their outrageous behaviour willingly tolerated – the world lost, without much notice, a great mountaineer and sportsman, the 55-year old alpinist Roger Payne. His life and his accomplishments illustrate the big difference between triumph and conquering, and glory.

We use the term “conquering” for climbers who reach the top of the world’s highest mountains. Sir Edmund Hillary has been called the first man to “conquer” Mount Everest. “Conquest” is another term used to describe Sir Edmund’s feat. That’s how most people see life and sports.

But it is not Payne.

Like Frank Lloyd Wright, who objected to the notion of architecture conquering nature or its environment, Roger Payne did not seek to conquer, but to make himself one with the mountains he climbed – like Zen architecture that “borrows” from the landscape without tampering with it. His approach was one of minimalism and self-sufficiency. In all the more than 20 expeditions he undertook – which included K2, the second highest mountain in the world, but more treacherous than the Everest – Payne went lightly and with a tiny team, taking with him no oxygen and, most of the time, no fixed ropes. He respected the mountains he climbed, and in so doing, himself.

Because Payne never sought out “celebrity” mountains to climb, or bragged about “conquering” any peaks, he was never the best-known mountaineer. But that was not what he sought in life. He lived his life simply – simply loving the mountains, being with them, and looking after their wellbeing as much as he could. In every climb he made, he brought down from the mountain every piece of equipment and every piece of trash he took up. He also brought back down rubbish left by other climbers. He had no issue about aborting his most ambitious ascent, K2 in 1993, in order to rescue another sick climber. He and his wife, who is also an alpinist, brought that climber safely down to base camp despite extremely poor visibility and strong winds. He chose the unsung 6,000-7,000-metre mountains as his preferred treks because the number of metres above sea level were to him just numbers, no more and no less. 

To Roger Payne, mountains mattered as much as their indigenous inhabitants. He brought non-polluting micro-hydroelectric systems up to the K2 villagers. He worked with the United Nations and World Conservation Union to promote awareness of the effect of climate change on the Himalayas and the Alps. He organised a conference in Switzerland on mountain protection and the fate of a glacier in Pakistan.

But what Payne was best known for is the meticulous syllabus he developed on avalanche safety, which is now widely used across Europe. Payne and his wife both chose to climb in the most natural and sublime manner, and were very conscious of the enormous and deadly danger that lay ingrained in their activities. He would never push his luck and was well respected for his expertise on mountain security, which he also taught.

It is indeed an irony that it was an avalanche that took his life while he was attempting a dawn ascent on Mount Maudit (4,465 metres) on the Mont Blanc Massif on the French-Italian border. The snow slide that claimed the lives of nine climbers was described by the Mayor of Chamonix as one of the deadliest in recent years. Despite some reports that the strong winds that had been blowing over the past two months in that area must have created numerous “wind slaps” – like the one that collapsed on Payne and his fellow climbers – Chamonix officials insisted that there was no weather bulletin that gave out any warnings of avalanche risk on that day.

In French the name Mount Maudit literally means “Cursed Mountain”. As Sir Chris Bonington, the famous British mountaineer put it: despite Payne’s expertise and his high level of caution, avalanches are by nature unpredictable, and the victims were simply “unlucky”. Once again we are reminded that there are times when the worst thing can happen to the best people. 

On July 12 Roger Payne might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but for what he stood for in life and his views on nature, he serves as a reminder that triumph is not about conquering, and glory is not about defeating. 

If only enough of us could comprehend that notion, the world would be a happier place.