K2 is the second highest
mountain on the planet.
It’s located on the border
between Pakistan and China.
Due to its technical
difficulty coupled with adverse weather it is known as the mountaineer’s
mountain.
Climbing K2 in mountaineering
terms is well above (pun?) summiting Everest.
K2 has a well-founded
infamous reputation.
One climber for every four
who’ve succeeded in making the summit has died in the attempt.
A father and son from New
Zealand were killed on its slopes this week, swept away in an avalanche.
What on earth could possess
someone to ‘spin the roulette wheel of life’ knowing you have a 25 per cent chance of
being killed?
Hearing the distraught daughter/sister
of the Kiwi climbers on last night news emphasised the impact such tragedies
have on the family.
But this was a tragedy that
needn’t have happened.
Both climbers knew the
dangers but wanted to be the first father and son to get to the top.
They accepted the odds and
lost.
As an outsider looking-in just
how much sympathy can one give, given before they even attached a crampon they were
fully aware they had a 1 in 2 chance one of them would perish?
If these extreme adventurers
want to risk their lives then I applaud their bravery.
Just don’t expect me to feel
genuine sympathy when things go pear-shaped.
Climbing dangerous man-killing
mountains isn’t compulsory even for those at the cutting edge of the sport.
Call me a cruel bastard but I
can’t see the deaths of mountaineers on K2 to be construed as shocking or calamitous.
In the cold hard daylight
there was a 50 per cent chance one of them was going to die.
It’s just part of the
territory.
I do feel for their families.
