Free The Lost Explorer by Conrad Anker, David Roberts Page A

filmed our initial scrutiny of the artifacts. The mood in the tent was pensive, as each of us weighed the scope of the discovery. The next day, we were concerned about moisture damaging the objects, so I built a drying table to spread them on. Then Jochen took over the process, as planned, inventorying, measuring, and describing each object. He was very fussy about the procedure that had to be followed. First he had to hear our account of the find, then he examined and cataloguedeach artifact, then he reviewed the video. Like a connoisseur savoring a wine, Jochen relished every detail.
    Jochen, Liesl, and I opened the letters that Mallory had wrapped in his handkerchief and read them carefully. The next day, Liesl made a transcription on her laptop, as backup in case anything happened to the originals.
    Meanwhile, we learned from Erin in Seattle that there was a huge demand for photos of Mallory’s body. For expedition climbers, used to going off to remote places where we’d be out of touch with the rest of the world for months at a time, it was hard to realize what the wonders of modern technology might mean. But it began to dawn on us that while we were still on the mountain, with the trip far from over, pictures we had taken could be digitally transmitted to the U.S., sold, and published. We realized there might be a hefty chunk of cash coming in for the photo rights.
    We had a group meeting at Base Camp to discuss how to handle photo rights. Prior to the expedition, the climbing team had agreed to pool the proceeds and divide them equally. Liesl suggested we turn the digital images over to Gamma Liaison, a well-respected agency she had worked with in the past. That seemed like a good idea.
    It quickly became clear that a bidding war for exclusive photo rights had already begun among the magazines and newspapers on at least three continents. For young guys like Tap and Jake, struggling to make ends meet as climbing guides, you could understand the temptation to sell to the highest bidder. From one photo, they might make as much money as they could in three weeks of guiding on Denali. Dave wanted to sell the pictures to as many publications as would run them, to give himself the maximum exposure as photographer, a profession he’s serious about.
    I felt we should aim for the publication with the highest credibility, in hopes that it would put the most positive spin on mountaineering. Climbers get maligned all too often. Every time some drunk falls off a road cut, the media call it a climbing accident. Or people see
Cliffhanger
, and they think that’s what climbing’s all about. I make my living at climbing, and I’m very sensitive about how our sport is portrayed. I didn’t want our expeditionto be seen as a bunch of thrill seekers or treasure hunters.
    For the same reason, when the guys talked about what they’d do with the money, I said that I planned to give mine to some charity that would help out the people of Tibet. I was always mindful of how fortunate I was to be here climbing on this great mountain, which we couldn’t have done, for instance, without the help of our Tibetan yak herders. I’m comfortable with the living I make climbing. I saw the find as a way to generate goodness.
    In the end, the photo went to the highest bidder. Newsweek won the auction in the U.S.; for a while, we were hearing numbers upward of $14,000, though in the end they may have paid a lot less. Unfortunately, in the U.K. and Australia tabloid newspapers won out.
    For about a week, however, we were flying high—everybody seemed happy about our discovery, everyone showered us with congratulations. Then we began to hear the first notes of discord. They came principally out of Britain, and we were shocked when we learned that what we had done at 26,700 feet had elicited not only praise, but savage criticism.
    DR
    T HE NEWS ABOUT M ALLORY indeed galvanized the world.
Newsweek
ran a responsible story with its exclusive photo of the