On the slopes of grief

Spring is beginning to melt the thick blanket of snow on the upper flanks of Kedar Dome, a mountain in Garhwal, and, as the sunshine grows w...

Spring is beginning to melt the thick blanket of snow on the upper flanks of Kedar Dome, a mountain in Garhwal, and, as the sunshine grows warmer, a young woman in Kolkata is clutching at straws. Ivy Banerjee’s husband, a mountaineer, died in an avalanche on Kedar Dome last September. Ivy still believes that her husband “is out there, somewhere”. She is writing letters to organisations and mustering support for a search operation in the summer.

The wives of adventurers are often thrown into such excruciating situations. Ivy’s faith is infinitely moving for even the most hardened of adventurers. Yet, if pursued to an extreme, her belief — at the end of the day, little else than naivete — might do her more harm than good in the long run.

German Kurt Diemberger, one of the greatest mountaineers of all time, has had a climbing career spanning over a half-century. Among the numerous deaths he has borne was that of his beloved friend, Englishwoman Julie Tullis, during the killer storm on K2 in 1986. On a subsequent expedition to another mountain, he was again witness to a death. He advised that the dead man’s wife, who was at the base camp, be brought up to see the body, which was inextricable from the crevasse into which he had fallen, as “it is always easier to come to terms with death if you have seen the body”.

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In order to come to terms with death, one must grieve. And it does help the grieving process if one has seen the body. Perhaps this stands in the way of Ivy accepting that her husband will not return. Yet, somewhere deep inside, she is probably coming to terms with her loss — and the habit of applying vermilion to the parting in her hair is perhaps a ritual that, though seemingly an affirmation of hope, is part of the healing process. We all grieve in our own ways to deal with what comes upon us without warning.

At the same time, though it might seem inordinately churlish to state it, the families of those who choose to practise dangerous activities and adventure sports ought not to be utterly unprepared for their deaths.

French climber-skier Sylvain Sudan, who is in the Guinness Book of World Records for the steepest ski descent on a mountain, told me why he had never had children: “I do dangerous things that may kill me. It’s not fair to the children. They lose their father.” When I pointed out that he was nonetheless involved in a relationship with a woman who cared deeply for him, he replied: “Yes, but she chooses to be involved with me despite knowing that she may lose me. The children wouldn’t have that choice.”

Those who have relatives or friends with a passion for adventure activities should always be mentally prepared for their deaths. Hard as this is, it helps to deal with the loss when it finally comes upon you.