Editorial: Huge climb in esteem for all

Fo Sir Edmund Hillary, the lead-up to the 50th anniversary of the first ascent of Mt Everest must sometimes have seemed as gruelling as the climb that led to the peak of the world's highest mountain. As early as late March he was feted at an official luncheon in Wellington. That seemed almost a case of his fellow countrymen getting in before Sir Edmund was again ensnared by the type of international attention reserved for those who have gone where no others had gone before.

Through it all, while not always in tip-top health, Sir Edmund has endured with patience, fortitude and candour, declining, above all, to become a slave to the pomposity that can dog such commemorations. He rebuffed pressure to celebrate the anniversary at a dinner in London hosted by the Queen. This, he decided, was a time to be in Kathmandu with the people of the Himalayas.

His choice was the right one. New Zealanders, to whom Sir Edmund is the archetypal decent bloke, have long come to expect nothing less. Nor, even in a country loath to bow to the trappings of fame, would any deny the impact of his achievement, both as a source of national pride and as an important influence on the national psyche. The conquering of Everest virtually coincided with the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. New Zealanders, who then considered themselves the most loyal subjects of the Empire, had reason to be proud that one of their number, as a member of a British expedition, had added lustre to that occasion.

Fifty years on, our ties to Britain are much looser, royalty is less revered and our place in the world is more problematic. Ironically, that has probably helped to ensure that our pride in the skill and courage of Sir Edmund remains undiminished. His feat proved beyond doubt that New Zealanders were capable of footing it with anyone on the international stage. Even now, it represents an important stake in the ground for a small nation questioning its place in the world. When he completed the final step to the summit of Everest, much of the inferiority complex typically reserved for the isolated vanished underfoot. Subsequent generations were emboldened, and encouraged, to take their talents out into the world.

That world also reserves a special admiration for Sir Edmund and his companion, Sherpa Tenzing Norgay. Everest was, arguably, the greatest challenge remaining to man. Fifteen previous expeditions had tried and failed. A technological revolution was just round the corner, but man had yet to demonstrate the bravery and endurance necessary to topple this physical Goliath. Even if, as Sir Edmund insisted, Everest had only "relented", mankind had imposed itself on one of the last remaining bastions of the physical environment. Only the space above and the water below remained as untravelled destinations, and they would be tackled more by technology than raw courage.

Yet the manner in which the world honours Sir Edmund on this day reflects not just the conquering of Everest by the world's best-known adventurer, or an appreciation of his modesty and self-deprecating humour. It says much also about his subsequent unblemished career. Some renowned explorers and adventurers have exploited their fame for unworthy causes. Not Sir Edmund.

It is a mark of the man that he has described the building of schools, hospitals, medical clinics and airstrips in Nepal as his most worthwhile achievement. For him, fame has not been an asset to be used for personal gain but a resource to be employed to help others. Sir Edmund became a protector of, and provider for, the Sherpas of the Himalayas, not just the conqueror of their most imposing peak. How appropriate it is that he celebrates one of man's crowning achievements as their guest of honour.