What’s it like at the top of Everest? Not so great for growing chickens
On the 28th of May thirty years ago, Jon Muir stood completely alone on the summit of Everest, taking a leak.
“People talk about the relief they feel at reaching the top of Everest,” he says to a captivated crowd at a recent and rare speaking event hosted by World Expeditions, “but my relief was something else.” Despite guiding infrequently these days, the 57-year-old still knows how to get a laugh out of his punters. “I’m sorry, but that’s my truth.”
Muir describes himself as a ‘simple’ man but from the outside, he’s a smash of colour and contradiction. A larrikin but a loner, a leader but a recluse, he’s a muscular bear wearing a kilt, with a kindly-voice, an unruly beard, and his Nanna’s wedding ring around his neck. A Braveheart-meets-Costa-from-Gardening Australia figure – Jon Muir is a unique Australian character with an OAM and an empire of 76 chooks.
“I’d never heard of him before tonight,” confesses the 20-something environmental science undergrad sitting beside me at Jon’s Brisbane lecture. “But I like bushwalking and I’m kind of into guerrilla planting [growing food in cheeky corners of his campus]. And my mum bought me this ticket.”
“YOU’VE GOT TO PLAY YOUR CARDS RIGHT IN HIGH-RISK ENVIRONMENTS.IF YOU DON’T, YOU’RE PROBABLY DEAD.”
Swallowing disbelief and a hefty generation gap, I reassure my young friend that his mum is a wise woman.
