You can't read any book on mountaineering without finding some mention of George Mallory and his famous response in 1923 to the question of why he continued to attempt Everest: "Because it is there". That answer is the ultimate for climbers and others who go into the wilderness - it's the perfect blend of obvious and obtuse that makes the speaker sound thoughtful and the one asking sound like a bit of an idiot (or at the very least not as thoughtful). It has always bugged me though because really, what the hell is that supposed to mean? You could say the same stupid thing about why you ate a sandwich or watched HGTV or made an appallingly bad fashion choice. I kind of felt a bit like everyone watching the emperor however - if I was truly cool enough I would get that answer and not doubt it. Plus Mallory is the first true martyr to Everest and questioning his legacy on anything is kind of bad form.

And I don't climb mountains so really, my opinion is pretty much irrelevant anyway.

But along with guys in the wild, mountain climbers also get lost a lot and also talk a lot about looking for the same undefinable "wildernessy" something, so read Thoreau for woods, Kerouac for the road, and Mallory for the mountains. (And a whole bunch of other guys too.) And reading the Mallory biography, The Wildest Dream, has made me understand a lot more about him and why a man who loved his family so much would keep trying to do a near impossible thing which finally killed him.

Here's what never gets mentioned in all those grand out to conquer mountains/rivers/deserts/tundra/etc stories: what happened to the family you left behind for this moment of solitary achievement? They are sometimes mentioned as blandly supportive, sometimes decried as "those who never understood/appreciated" but generally just a bump in the road of the big I did it climax. Mallory's myth has been no different. He loved Ruth, they had children, he felt the pull of Everest and that is it. And maybe if he was climbing in 2009 I would believe that because Everest is all that and a bag of chips both in the mountaineering world and, maybe more importantly, the Outside subscribing, Krakauer loving, but never gonna climb anything, pop culture pseudo outdoorsy world. But in 1924 when hardly anyone knew it was there (or where there was)? Not so much. I needed more and after reading some articles and the biography (and nope I'm not done yet), I think I get it.

Everest was partly about climbing (Mallory had been an accomplished climber for years). It was also about finishing what he started, which was Everest (he was lost on his third attempt which was the third formal attempt to climb it). And the finishing was partly about justifying all that time away from his family - if he never got to the top then had those lost years been worth it, especially with such young children left behind? But being the first to the top would be huge and it would be forever and it would lead to the biggest reason of all and the one anyone struggling to support their family would understand - guaranteed income for the rest of his life.

Reach the summit and he would write about it, lecture on it, and generally make money off it forever. He wouldn't have to teach again (loved the students/hated the bosses) (boy can I ever relate), he wouldn't have to rely on his in-laws for support and he wouldn't have to worry about not being enough for the ones who loved him. Everest was not the future Mallory sought (he was chosen by others for the first expedition and proved himself too valuable to leave out of the next two) but it was the one he embraced. It was the one that would give him his happily ever after. He just had to get to the top and then he could go home.

I think this might be a candidate for the saddest story I ever heard but it also makes me very happy. Everest wasn't about just winning for George Mallory - it was also about love. Too bad that never made it into the myth; I think we all would be a lot better for it, if it did.

[Post pic of George & Ruth; Mallory on the right, 1913.]