Imagine standing on the literal roof of the world.
You are the highest human being on the planet.
The air is so thin, your brain is barely functioning,
the wind is just trying to peel you off the ridge,
and you have just done something that for centuries
was considered physiologically impossible. Something
people thought your body just couldn't do. Exactly.
You look down at the clouds, you look at your
partner, and you realize... in that freezing
oxygen -deprived moment that your life has fundamentally
split into two distinct epochs. Everything before
this and everything that comes after. It's the
ultimate before and after scenario, isn't it?
And for the vast majority of people, the story
of Sir Edmund Hillary begins and ends right there
at 29 ,028 feet on the summit of Mount Everest,
May 29th, 1953. Exactly. We all know the photo
of the climber in the mask raising the ice axe,
which, spoiler alert, isn't even him, but we
will absolutely get to that. Oh, we will. We
know the name from the history test. But here's
the thing that really blew my mind when we started
digging into this. This massive stack of biographies,
expedition logs and personal letters for this
deep dive. The man behind that mask is so much
more complex than just the guy who climbed the
hill. It really is a case where the icon. You
know, the statue in the park has completely overshadowed
the human being. Because when you strip away
the down suit and the oxygen tanks, you don't
find some superhero born with ice in his veins.
You find a painfully shy kind of awkward beekeeper
from rural New Zealand who failed his math exams,
was too terrified to propose to his girlfriend,
and spent a significant amount of his post -Everest
life hunting for the Yeti. We are absolutely
going to get to the Yeti. That is a non -negotiable
part of this. conversation. It has to be. But
you're right. The mission of this deep dive isn't
just to retell the story of the climb, though
we are going to get into the gritty details of,
you know, frozen boots and near -death moments.
The mission is to unpack the life of Edmund Hillary
as this towering figure of the 20th century.
A man who stood at both poles and the highest
point on Earth, but who considered building wooden
schoolhouses in Nepal his greatest achievement.
And that trajectory from a bee -stung face in
Auckland to a night of the garter is what we
need to trace. Because it raises a fascinating
question for us, you know, for the listener.
What is the nature of resilience? Is it something
you're born with? Or is it something you build
day by agonizing day, carrying heavy boxes and
staring down your own insecurities? So let's
unpack this. Let's go back to the very beginning.
Because if you met the young Ed Hillary, say
at age 12, you probably wouldn't have bet money
on him becoming a world -famous physical adventurer.
Probably not, no. He was born in Auckland, New
Zealand in 1919. And to understand Ed, you really
have to understand his father, Percy. Percy Hillary
was a veteran of Gallipoli. And for anyone who
might not be deep into World War I history, Gallipoli
was. I mean, it was a horror show. An absolute
meat grinder. Percy came back from that campaign
medically unfit. He was physically broken, nerve
shattered, and he eventually became a journalist
and an apiarist, a beekeeper. Okay. But the trauma
of the war made him a very strict, very, very
disciplined father. And this beekeeping background,
it's not just a footnote, right? It's central
to his physical development. But before the bees,
there was the grind of school. And when I say
grind, I mean it was a logistical nightmare.
Oh, it was intense. The family lived in Twakaw,
which is, you know, rural south of Auckland.
But his mother, Gertrude, had these high aspirations.
She wanted him to go to a good school, so she
enrolled him in Auckland Grammar. Now that sounds
like a great opportunity. Yeah, until you look
at the map. Exactly. The commute was just brutal.
How long are we talking here? For three and a
half years, starting at age 13, he had to travel
by train and cycle. He was leaving the house
before 7 a .m. and not getting back until after
6 .00 p .m. That is a one hour and 40 minute
journey each way. Each way. I mean, think about
that for a second. You're a teenager. You're
spending nearly four hours a day just getting
to and from school. Right. That doesn't leave
much time for hanging out with friends, playing
rugby, or just... Being a kid. And it had a profound
effect on his personality. It effectively barred
him from any after -school activities. He was
socially isolated. He was initially smaller than
his peers, very shy. And he didn't enjoy school
at all. He described himself as having average
marks. So he wasn't the star pupil. Not at all.
He was the kid reading books on the train because
he had no one to talk to. It really fostered
this kind of internal life. But physically, something
was happening. He eventually shot up to 6 '2",
and he started boxing. And that's where the confidence
started to trickle in, right? A little bit, yeah.
But the real spark, the moment the pilot light
really went on, happened when he was 16. The
school trip to Mount Ruapehu. That's the one.
He sees snow for the very first time. He does
a bit of climbing. And suddenly, the textbooks,
the long commute, none of it matters anymore.
He realized in his own words, I want to see the
world. And it just shifted his focus entirely.
From studying to tramping, which is what New
Zealanders call hiking. But there's another layer
to his mental development that I find absolutely
fascinating, and it's something often left out
of the popular narrative. It's the influence
of a philosophy called radiant living. Okay,
yes. This stood out to me in the notes. To a
modern ear, this sounds a bit, well, is it a
cult? Or just a very intense self -help group?
It was a movement led by a man named Herbert
Sutcliffe in the 1930s. The Hillary family were
foundation members, and it preached physical
health, Christian pacifism, and a specific kind
of psychological self -improvement. And Hillary
didn't just attend casually? No, he went all
in. He actually trained to be a teacher of this
philosophy. And get this. He scored 100 % on
his exam to become a teacher. And the topic of
his test lecture, Inferiority, Cause, and Cure.
Which is incredibly revealing isn't it? Here's
this young man battling deep shyness and feelings
of inadequacy literally lecturing a roomful of
people on how to cure inferiority. He was teaching
what he needed to learn. Exactly. He later credited
this period with teaching him how to speak confidently
and think freely. It was the mental training
ground that prepared him for the international
stage. He was in a way hacking his own psychology.
So you've got the mental training with radiant
living, and then you have the physical training
with the bees. Because beekeeping sounds pastoral
and gentle, but commercial beekeeping is basically
weightlifting in a hazmat suit. It was grueling
work. He joined his brother Rex and his father
in the business. They were handling 1 ,600 hives.
1 ,600. And during the honey flow, they were
lifting thousands of 90 -pound boxes of honeycomb.
And getting stung, the source mentions he was
getting stung anywhere from 12 to 100 times a
day. 100 stings a day. I would quit after one.
I would be done. It builds a certain tolerance
to discomfort, doesn't it? If you can handle
100 bee stings and keep working, a blizzard maybe
seems a bit more manageable. That's a good point.
But strategically, it was the perfect job for
a climber. Beekeeping is intense summer work.
But in the winter, the bees hibernate. which
meant Hillary was physically fit from lifting
boxes all summer, and then he had the entire
winter free to climb. It's the perfect alpinist
lifestyle. So he's climbing, he's working the
hives, but then history intervenes. World War
II breaks out. And this is where his radiant
living background, specifically that pacifist
element, caused some real internal conflict for
him. Right. He initially applied to join the
Royal New Zealand Air Force, but then... withdrew
his application because of his religious conscience.
He didn't want to kill anyone. But as the war
went on and the threat of Japan and the Pacific
grew, he couldn't just sit on the sidelines.
Right. In 1943, with conscription arriving, he
joined the Air Force as a navigator on Catalina
flying boats. He served in Fiji and the Solomon
Islands. These were big, lumbering aircraft doing
reconnaissance. And he faced a major setback
there. Not in combat, but in an accident. The
boat accident. Yes, he was in a motorboat that
caught fire and he was badly burnt. He had to
swim to shore with severe burns. It was a long,
painful recovery. Which again, just speaks to
that resilience we were talking about. He recovers,
he comes home, and now the climbing resume starts
to build and build seriously. He climbs Mount
Olivier, his first major peak. He climbs a Rocky
Mount Cook. And then he gets the call for the
big leagues. The 1951 reconnaissance expedition
to Everest. This was led by the legendary Eric
Shipton. Now, Shipton had a very high opinion
of New Zealand climbers. He called them rough
diamonds. He liked that they could fix a stove
as well as they could climb a rock face. Exactly.
He liked their toughness, their practicality.
He saw something in Hillary. And Hillary proved
him right. In 1952, they tried to climb Chouyou,
another massive 8 ,000 -meter peak. And they
failed, right? They failed to find a route to
the summit, but this is where we see that rebellious
streak in Hillary again. He and his friend George
Lowe just decided, hey, let's cross the Nupal
Pass into Tibet. Which was basically an international
incident waiting to happen. Incredibly risky.
Tibet was Chinese controlled and technically
closed to foreigners, but they just wanted to
see the north side of Everest. So they sneaked
across the border, effectively invading China
for an afternoon. Just for a look. Just for a
look. But it showed Shipton and the British climbing
establishment that Hillary had this drive to
push boundaries to go where he wasn't supposed
to go. And that drive is exactly what they needed
for 1953. Because 1953 wasn't just another climbing
trip. It was the main event. The 1953 British
Mount Everest expedition. And we have to set
the stage here. This was not just a climbing
trip. It was a siege. It was seen as the last
great prize for the British Empire, which was
slowly fading. The scale is just bonkers. We're
talking about over 400 people. 362 porters, 20
Sherpa guides, 10 ,000 pounds of baggage. It's
basically a small army moving up the Khumbu Valley.
And the pressure was immense. Oh, unbelievable.
You have to remember, Tibet was closed. So the
only way up Everest. was from Nepal and Nepal
only allowed one, maybe two expeditions a year.
The Swiss had tried in 1952 the year before and
Tenzing Norgay was with them. And they got so
close. They made it to within 800 feet of the
top before turning back. 800 feet. That is just
heartbreakingly close. It is. So the British
knew. If we don't do it this year, the French
are booked for next year and the Swiss are booked
for the year after that. It was now or never
for the British Empire to conquer the third pole.
And there was a bit of drama at the top, too,
wasn't there? A leadership shakeup. Eric Shipton,
the guy who discovered Hillary, was replaced
as leader by John Hunt. Hillary was furious about
that. He actually considered pulling out of the
expedition. He felt a deep loyalty to Shipton.
But John Hunt was a military man. Super organized,
incredible energy. He eventually won Hillary
over. And Hunt made a crucial decision. He created
two summit teams. This is the part of the story
that always gets me. Hillary and Tenzing weren't
the only ones with a shot. In fact, they were
kind of the backup plan initially. Well, sort
of. Hunt planned a one -two punch. The first
team, the beta team, if you will, was Tom Bordeon
and Charles Evans, and they won first. On May
26th, they launched their assault. Imagine sitting
in a tent at high camp, watching your friends
go up, knowing that if they succeed, you don't
get to go. Your job is done. You just go home.
And there was a technical difference, too, which
is fascinating. Bordeon and Evans were using
closed -circuit oxygen systems. It was experimental
tech lighter, but notoriously finicky. Hillary
and Tenzing were using the heavier but more reliable
open -circuit system. So the experimental team
goes up. How close did they get? Incredibly close.
They reached the south summit. They were within
300 vertical feet of the top. They could see
the final ridge laid out before them. But their
oxygen systems were malfunctioning, freezing
up. They were utterly exhausted. Evans was stumbling.
They had to make the decision to turn back. They
literally looked at the summit ridge and had
to walk away to save their own lives. Which left
the door wide open for team two, Edmund Hillary
and Tenzing Norgay. And let's talk about that
partnership for a second. It wasn't necessarily
a friendship born of long nights at the pub.
It was a partnership of necessity and mutual
respect. Hillary noted that Tenzing had substantially
greater personal ambition than any Sherpa I had
met. They were both hungry for it. Yeah. They
were both the best at what they did. And they
knew it. Exactly. They respected each other's
confidence above all else. So May 28th, they
move up. They pitch a tiny tent at Kambai X at
27 ,900 feet. It's freezing. The wind is howling.
The tent floor is on a 30 -degree slope, so they're
sliding around all night. And on the morning
of May 29th, the day of the final ascent, Hillary
wakes up to a complete disaster. His boots are
frozen solid. Rock hard blocks of ice. This is
before modern plastic boots, remember? These
were leather. If he puts them on frozen, the
leather won't flex. It cuts off circulation.
He gets frostbite. Loses his feet. At best. Yeah.
At worst, they both die. So while time is ticking
away and their precious oxygen is running low,
he spends two full hours holding his boots over
a priming stove, trying to thaw them out. I love
that detail. The history of the world hung in
the balance while a guy from Auckland cooked
his shoes. It grounds the whole achievement,
doesn't it? It's not just about glory, it's about
the smell of burning leather. So they get the
boots on, they strap on the 30 -pound oxygen
packs, and they start climbing. They pass the
south summit, the point where the first team
turned back, and then they hit the final major
obstacle, a 40 -foot rock face that is now famous
as the Hillary Step. This is the boss battle
at the end of the video game. It is. On one side,
you have a sheer drop down the rock face thousands
of feet into Nepal. On the other side, a massive
unstable cornice of snow hanging over open air
into Tibet. No room for air. None. Hillary found
a crack between the rock and the snow. He jammed
himself in there back against the rock, feet
clicking into the ice, and literally wriggled
his way up backwards using every ounce of strength
he had left. He drags himself up, then he belays
tensing up, and then... The ridges is off. Hillary
top steps over bump after bump, wondering where
the top was. He was hacking away with his ice
axe, just completely tired, hypoxic. And then
suddenly there was nowhere left to go up. 11
.30 a .m., May 29, 1953. Top of the world. 29
,028 feet. They stood there. He said they shook
hands in a sort of formal British way. And then
Tenzing threw his arms around Hillary in this
huge, joyful hug. And how long were they up there?
Only about 15 minutes. And this brings us to
the famous photo mystery. Right. The photo everyone
knows is of Tenzing Norgay. He's holding his
ice axe, flags fluttering the U .N., Britain,
Nepal, India. But there is no photo of Edmund
Hillary on the summit. None. Tenzing says in
his autobiography that he offered to take a picture
of Hillary, but Hillary declined. Why? I mean,
was he just shy? Was he worried Tenzing didn't
know how to use the camera? We can only speculate.
Hillary later said, pretty pragmatically, I didn't
think it was a good time to start teaching Tenzing
how to use a camera. But maybe it was just that.
Let's get the proof and get down. Or maybe it
was a kind of humility. But the result is that
the first man to stand on Everest is invisible
in the documentation of that moment. So they
leave some offerings. Tenzing leaves chocolates
in the snow. Hillary leaves a cross given to
him by John Hunt. They head down. Yeah. And then
we get the quote, the line that is just so perfectly
New Zealand. They meet George Lowe on the descent
at the South Call. Hillary lifts his oxygen mask,
looks at his old friend and says, well, George,
we knocked the bastard off. We knock the bastard
off. Not we have conquered the peak or glory
to the queen and empire. Just we knock the bastard
off. It's rough. It's understated. It's completely
irreverent. It treats the mountain not as some
sacred temple, but as a formidable opponent in
a boxing match that they just won. It perfectly
captures that Kiwi spirit of practical, no -nonsense
achievement. You don't brag. You just get the
job done. So they get down. And the world goes
absolutely crazy. It was the perfect storm of
timing. The news reached Britain on the very
morning of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation. The
press immediately called it a coronation gift.
It was viewed as this final glorious jewel in
the crown of the fading British Empire. People
in London were literally dancing in the streets.
And the honors started raining down before they
even got home. Oh, immediately. Hillary and John
Hunt were knighted. Tenzing received the George
Medal. Interestingly, and this is a point of
historical contention, Tenzing wasn't eligible
for a knighthood because he was a Nepalese citizen,
which is a distinction that reflects the politics
of the time. But in the eyes of the world, they
were equals. So Ed Hillary goes up the mountain,
a beekeeper from Tuakau, and he comes down a
knight commander of the Order of the British
Empire, Sir Edmund. That has to change a person.
It did. He was suddenly a global celebrity. He
couldn't walk down the street. But what's so
fascinating is that he didn't just retire to
a comfortable life of giving speeches and signing
autographs. He kept venturing. He became obsessed
with the polls. This is the three polls challenge
part of the story. I feel like this gets forgotten.
People think he did Everest and then just quit.
Far from it. In 1958, he led the New Zealand
section of the Commonwealth Transantarctic Expedition.
Now, the main goal was for a British team led
by Vivian Futes to cross Antarctica. Hillary
was just supposed to be the support crew setting
up supply depots for them. But Hillary doesn't
really do support crew, does he? No, he had these
modified Ferguson tractors. Wait, let's pause
on the tractors. These aren't like high -tech
snow cats. These are... Farm tractors. Basically,
yes. Little red farm tractors with tracks put
over the wheels and a canvas cab to keep the
wind off. He was driving farm equipment across
the coldest, most hostile continent on Earth.
And once he had laid the final supply depot,
he realized the tractors were performing really
well. So ignoring his original instructions to
stop and wait. He went rogue again, just like
the Nupla Pass. He just kept going. He saw the
goal and went for it. He pushed forward, navigating
treacherous crevasse fields and reached the South
Pole overland on January 4th, 1958. He was the
first person to do so since Captain Scott in
1912. And unlike Scott, he made it back alive.
And he did it on a tractor. That is just incredible.
And then later he completes the set. In 1985,
he flew to the North Pole with Neil Armstrong.
I mean, can you imagine that conversation? The
first man on the moon and the first man on Everest
just hanging out together on the ice. This made
Hillary the first person in history to stand
at both poles and on the summit of Everest. But
in between all that serious exploring. There
is the Yeti hunt. We promised the listener we'd
talk about the Yeti. We did, and we must. In
1960, he organized the Silver Hut expedition.
Now, it had a serious scientific purpose, studying
how the human body adapts to high altitude over
a long winter. But to get the funding, he partnered
with World Book Encyclopedia, and they wanted
a scoop. They wanted the abominable snowman.
Was he a believer? I mean, did Sir Edmund Hillary
actually think there was a monster in the mountains?
He was open -minded. He had heard the stories
from the Sherpas his whole climbing career, and
he respected their knowledge of the land. But
he approached it like a scientist. He didn't
just wander around with a net. They gathered
evidence. They found these so -called Yeti scalps
in remote monasteries. They found mysterious
footprints. What did they find? He brought the
evidence back to the lab. The scalps turned out
to be made from the hide of the blue bear or
the sero, which is a type of goat antelope, and
the footprints. He actually demonstrated that
if a small animal like a fox walks in the snow
and then the sun melts the edges of the print,
it expands and distorts into a shape that looks
exactly like a giant human. footprint so he debunked
it he did he concluded the yeti was not a supernatural
creature but he did it with a lot of respect
for the local legends he didn't mock it he just
explained it he was just restless he took a jet
boat up the ganges in 1977 the ocean to sky expedition
the man just could not sit still no but while
his public life was full of these triumphs and
these wild adventures his personal life had a
mix of profound joy and just devastating tragedy
let's talk about the personal side We mentioned
he was shy. How shy are we talking? Well, he
married Louise Mary Rose shortly after the Everest
expedition. But despite being a knight of the
realm, a global hero, he was too terrified to
propose to her himself. No way. The man who conquered
the Hillary step couldn't pop the question. He
asked his future mother -in -law to propose on
his behalf. He essentially said, could you? Could
you please ask Louise if she'd marry me? That
is actually very sweet in a completely terrified
sort of way. It worked. They had a wonderful
marriage and three children, Peter, Sarah, and
Belinda. They were a very tight -knit family.
But in 1975, tragedy struck. Louise and their
youngest daughter, Belinda, were flying into
the mountains to visit Ed, who was building a
hospital in Phiflu. And the plane went down.
It crashed near Kathmandu shortly after takeoff.
Louise and 16 -year -old Belinda were killed
instantly. That is just unimaginable. To be waiting
for your family at a small mountain airstrip,
scanning the sky, and then just silence. It was
a turning point in his life. It marked a really
somber shift. He blamed himself for a long time
because they were coming to visit him, you know.
He threw himself even deeper into his work to
cope. And when we say work here, we don't mean
climbing. We mean the Himalayan Trust. This is
what he always said was his true legacy, right?
More than Everest. Absolutely. He founded the
Himalayan Trust in 1960. He felt this deep, profound
debt to the Sherpa people. He didn't just want
to be the guy who used their labor to get famous.
He wanted to give back. He built schools, hospitals,
bridges, airstrips. The Lukla Airport, which
is now the gateway to Everest, was largely his
project. He was out there marching up and down
the runway with the Sherpas to pack the dirt
because they didn't have steamrollers. But it
was the schools and the hospitals that mattered
most to him. He spent decades fundraising and
physically helping to build these structures.
So it's not just writing a check. Not at all.
He was there with a hammer. If you ask the people
of the Khumbu region, Hillary isn't a hero because
he climbed a hill. He's a hero. They call him
Burra Sahib, the big man, because he brought
education and health care to their children.
It's such a powerful shift from conquering nature
to nurturing a community, from taking glory to
giving service. And it connects right back to
that radiant living philosophy of service we
talked about at the very start, doesn't it? The
idea that a full life involves lifting others
up. As we move toward the end of his life, the
honors just keep piling up. But there's one specific
honor that tells you everything you need to know
about his character. The New Zealand $5 note.
Yes. Since 1992, his face has been on the $5
bill. He was the only living person who wasn't
a head of state to appear on a New Zealand bank
note. But when the Reserve Bank asked him about
the design, he had a very specific request. They
wanted to put Everest in the background, right?
The scene of his great triumph. Yes. And he said
no. He insisted the backdrop be Ayoraki Mount
Cook. His home mountain. Exactly. The place where
he cut his teep as a young man. The place where
he learned to climb. It shows that despite being
a global icon, he remains so deeply rooted in
his identity as a New Zealander. He didn't want
to be defined solely by the foreign peak. He
wanted to honor his roots. Sir Edmund Hillary
passed away in 2008 of heart failure. He was
88 years old. He was given a state funeral, which
is incredibly rare for a private citizen. Thousands
of people lined the streets of Auckland, and
his ashes were mostly scattered in Auckland's
Hauraki Gulf. But there is a poignant footnote
to that. A portion of his ashes was sent to a
Nepalese monastery. There was actually a plan
to have a Sherpa friend carry them to the summit
of Everest for a final scattering. To finally
leave him on top for good. Yes. But the plan
was canceled. The llamas and the climbing community
decided that the mountain was becoming too commercial,
too crowded, and it just wasn't right to use
the sacred summit as a scattering ground. Probably
for the best, really. He respected the mountain
too much to want to clutter it up. I think so.
But his name is everywhere. The Tenzing Hillary
Airport. The Hillary step, though, that feature
has actually collapsed geologically since the
2015 earthquake. There are even mountains on
Pluto named Hillary Montez. From the honeycomb
to the edge of the solar system, it's an unbelievable
journey. It really is an incredible arc. So what
does this all mean for us? We've unpacked the
beekeeping, the frozen boots, the tragedy, and
the triumph. What's the big takeaway here? I
think it comes back to the motto on his coat
of arms. When he was knighted, he had to choose
a motto for his family crest. He chose, nothing
venture, nothing win. Simple, to the point. Simple,
but... Profound. This was a man who failed his
math exams. A man who failed his first attempt
at shouyou. A man who was too shy to speak to
girls, let alone propose to one. A man who was
physically unfit after the war, but he kept venturing.
He kept putting one frozen boot in front of the
other. It reminds us that extraordinary people
are usually just ordinary people who refuse to
stop moving forward. Precisely. He wasn't born
a knight. He wasn't born a summit conqueror.
He was just a boy on a train with a long commute
who decided he wanted to see the world and then
worked harder than anyone else to make that happen.
So here is the question for you listening right
now. What is the venture you are hesitating on?
What is the mountain, whether it's a project,
a conversation, or a literal hill that you're
staring at thinking, I'm not the kind of person
who does that? Because if a shy, bee -stung apiarist
from New Zealand can knock the bastard off, maybe
you can too. Thanks for diving deep with us.
Keep venturing.