Recently I read where the intrepid Bostonian mountain climber, map maker, and natural history museum director, Bradford Washburn, had passed away at the age of 96. I remember well Brad and his devoted wife Barbara, but most of all I remember the time I threw his mother-in-law out the window high over the Himalayas.
We first met in Katmandu, Nepal, some 25 years ago. Although small and wiry in stature with bright blue eyes, there was nothing small about Brad’s goals or his ability to charm others into helping him fulfill his aspirations – which he pursued with relentlessly organized determination. Brad had come to Katmandu to take aerial photos of nearby Mount Everest in order to make a new topographic map of this, the greatest of all mountains.
I was a young technical advisor living in Katmandu under contract to the US assistance agency, USAID. One morning I received an urgent message to come to the American Ambassador's office at once. Bad news! The Ambassador doesn’t ask to see fellow Americans unless there’s trouble. But this time he looked relieved when I walked through his office door. With him was a short, well dressed man with a hooked nose who didn’t wait to be introduced. Charging up to me, he put his finger in my chest, and announced in a gruff Boston accent: “I’m Bradford Washburn, Chairman of the Boston Museum of Science and I’m here to make the best damn map of Mount Everest. Who are you?”
I managed to stutter: “I’m the American remote sensing advisor to His Majesty’s Government of Nepal”.
“Just the guy I’m looking for! ... need you’re help in taking aerial pictures of Mt Everest.”
“Humm…” I said, “The Government here doesn’t like people taking pictures of their mountains from airplanes”. But to the visible relief of the Ambassador, I said I do what I could and he gracefully shooed us both out of his office.
With some trepidation I helped clear Mr. Washburn’s aerial camera through customs by taking personal responsibility. (The Himalayas divide Nepal from China and it’s forbidden to take aerial photos at the risk of being arrested as spy.) Since I had cleared Mr. Washburn’s camera, I was now responsible. I carefully explained to him that if he took his pictures, I’d be arrested and shot. In a concerned and very kindly voice, he explained to me that he didn’t like it, but he’d just have to take that chance.
Well, Mr. Washburn did take his pictures and made his map, which was published by the National Geographic, and to my surprise, I wasn’t shot. However, it took four years to get all the permissions needed, so I got to know Bradford Washburn quite well. To make a long story short, Brad persistently hounded Nepalese government officials every fall for four years. He’d arrive in Katmandu in October and for 6 weeks, we’d make the rounds to different government offices. Worn down, the officials finally said he could take his pictures over Mt. Everest if the Chinese government would agree – knowing well that the Chinese would never agree. However, Brad got the Chinese officials to agree to the same terms: China would give permission if Nepal would agree. In the end, it's not clear that either agreed first but Brad simply declared that the other had and so, took the pictures he needed to make his “best damn map”.
During those years, Brad asked if I’d look after his camera and other gear when he returned to the US. I agreed to store his gear under the front stairs at my house, not knowing that it included in a silvery tobacco pouch with the ashes of his mother-in-law – evidently an avid mountain climber, who upon death wanted her ashes conveniently located in the Himalayas.
Well, continuing to make the story short, Brad returned to Katmandu in the fall of 1984 and hired a small plane to fly us high over the mountains. While Brad and Barbara said a few appropriate words of remembrance, I launched his mother-in-law out the window.
Well, the old lady went down like a rock! Having gone through three monsoons under my front stairs, mother-in-law had retained moisture and put on weight. If she had arrived in Katmandu light and fluffy, she was decidedly composed when she became airborne and disappeared behind the plane.
I had visions of reading a headline in the next morning’s Katmandu Times: “Unsuspecting mountain climber beaned by Bradford Washburn’s mother-in-law”. I was sure I’d be shot for giving the lucrative mountain climbing business an unfortunate reputation. Good News! The next day there were no reports of unexpected things falling out of the Nepal sky. All I can suggest is, somewhere on the slopes of the Himalayas, Bradford Washburn’s mother-in-law lies in peaceful repose.
