We all have special heroes and who they are depends very much on our personal interests. Young sports enthusiasts admire Bermuda's Clyde Best for his superior achievements in the football world. Aspiring golfers follow the career of Tiger Woods with interest.

Whether your focus is on sailing, sea angling, art, music or literature, there's someone who stands out for you in that field.

For this journalist with a passion for mountains, New Zealander Sir Edmund Hillary was a giant, standing head and shoulders above other mountaineers. And that's true both literally and figuratively.

At six foot five inches, he towered above fellow climbers, but maintained a shy, very modest demeanour despite making headlines not only conquering Mount Everest but in the Antarctic and Arctic as well.

When he died on January 11 at age 88, he left an overwhelming legacy, yet insisted to the end he had done nothing special.

But as impressive as meeting the challenge to be first to reach the summit of Everest and reach Antarctica's South Pole via motorised vehicle, his proudest achievements involved improving the lives of Nepal's Sherpa people.

Our paths first crossed on my initial trip to Nepal in the 1970s. Travelling there had been a life-long goal, a dream since high school. It was finally achieved, detouring there on a trip to India.

That entire travel experience had been a dream come true, since it first included a side trip to Kashmir, where I stayed on a houseboat "Texas" in Lake Dal, shopped my way through Srinigar and roamed the Shalimar Gardens.

Hypnotic barely describes Everest's lure to mountain enthusiasts. Most visitors arrive expecting to see it looming up above surrounding peaks in all its 29,028-foot grandeur. But it's very elusive, often shrouded in clouds totally hidden from view.

Lunching at Katmandu's Yak and Yeti Hotel that first autumn trip, we all rushed up to the roof when someone shouted: "The mountain is out!" Some seasons are better than others for viewing Himalayan summits in all their glory.

And to show just exactly how small a world it is, the hotel manager, Dick Plant, had previously worked in Bermuda.

Yet on three subsequent autumn visits to Katmandu, Everest was remarkably clear and dazzlingly visible.

Reaching that summit not only challenged climbers' stamina, but access was extremely limited. The Chinese had closed Tibet, and Nepal allowed only one expedition annually.

The year before Hillary's success, a Swiss team had come within 800 feet of the summit.

Remembered as a very shy student, Hillary's daily train trip to school took two hours each way and he liked to recall how he spent that time reading and daydreaming of a life filled with adventure.

His interest in climbing began during a school trip to the mountains at age 16. After studying mathematics and science at Auckland University, he embarked on his first major climb in 1939 in New Zealand's southern Alps.

Often described as a "beekeeper", he said choosing that profession with his brother gave him time to climb in winter. Certainly no stranger to adventure, during World War Two, he was navigator on a Catalina flying boat.

Nepal is such a magical, mystical place, it's hard to imagine any traveller not finding it fascinating. On my first trip, it had been more than 20 years since Hillary's triumphant ascent on May 29, 1953 at age 33. But already his name had become more than legendary.

"He is something like a godfather for Sherpa people," explained a local tour operator. "Summiting Everest was not his greatest achievement. His work for the Sherpa changed our community forever, especially in fields of health and education."

A foundation Hillary established to help them has built and supported 63 schools, two hospitals, a dozen medical clinics, bridges and miles of trails. It also provided safe drinking water in the Everest area.

"He made huge improvements in our remote community," admired a trekking guide.

"This was a great calling in my father's life," said son Peter at the time of Hillary's death in his native New Zealand. Both he and Tenzing Norgay's son, Jamling, participated in the funeral service.

They had both climbed Everest as part of a 50th anniversary celebration.

I've written here before about what I call "The night of the leeches" when invited to camp with famous Sherpa guide Tenzing Norgay, who accompanied Hillary on that climb.

Small climbers' tents had been set up on a slope overlooking the high Himalayas. The monsoon season had returned for an unexpected late encore and while nearly washing it all away, had brought out the leeches that crawled up our legs and onto our clothes.

That was the night Bermuda's "Dark 'n' Stormy" was appropriately introduced to Tenzing, when it was discovered both dark rum and ginger beer were available.

Just days ago, looking through my files saved from that first trip, there was the actual printed invitation to the campout.

The modern traveller needn't set out for Everest base camp to get close to the world's tallest mountain. There are special flight-seeing excursions from Katmandu that take passengers there for a very close-up view.

Also in that file is a large, quite dramatic certificate with an Everest image recalling the date of my first such flight-seeing trip. Invited to the cockpit to view the mammoth peak from a vantage point was definitely special.

There have been other flights since, some continuing on to Tibet and they have all been spellbinding. For those intrigued with mountains, it's like an incurable virus.

Hillary was a frequent visitor, not only working on his beloved humanitarian projects to improve Sherpa life, but also climbing ten other peaks in the area.

We also couldn't resist going further afield deeper into then remote areas. A handful of us arranged to leave the less adventurous in Katmandu, rented a small bus, driver and guide and took off for Pokara for a look at Annapurna, elevation 26,504 feet, the world's 11th tallest mountain.

Staying at a royal family-owned resort in the middle of a lake near Pokara, it took most of the day to drive to that area.

Two of us then spent dawn to far past dark trekking up a steep, narrow mountain trail to some Tibetan refugee villages, ending up with far more unforgettable adventure than anticipated. But that's another story.

Sir Edmund's life was one long adventure, but also touched by tragedy. His wife and daughter were killed in a small plane crash in Nepal en route to meet him there in 1975 where he was working on building a hospital.

His best friend Peter Mulgrew was one of 257 passengers killed when a sightseeing trip to Antarctica crashed in 1979. Hillary was supposed to be narrator on that flight, as previously, but a conflicting engagement saw Mulgrew substituting.

By frightening coincidence, we were to be on that same flight as part of a cruise expedition and were so disappointed to turn it down because of other assignments.

Three journalists we knew well did accept, however. One gave up her seat to a journalist's wife and all aboard perished. Hillary married Mulgrew's widow in 1989.

Descended from hardy stock, Sir Edmund's grandparents migrated to New Zealand from Yorkshire; his father fought at Gallipoli in World War OneI.

The great adventurer also reached the South Pole as part of the Commonwealth Transantarctic Expedition, leading the New Zealand sector in January 1958.

His party was first at the pole overland since Amundsen in 1911 and Scott in 1912. Certainly no sit-at-home type, he also led a jet boat expedition from the mouth of the Ganges River to its source.

In 1985 he became High Commissioner to India as well as Bangladesh and Nepal concurrently. That year, he and Neil Armstrong flew out over the Arctic Ocean, landing at the North Pole in a twin-engine ski plane. Imagine being the first to not only summit Everest, but reach both poles!

On the day of Sir Edmund's funeral, Nepalese gathered by the thousands in monasteries, homes and schools across Nepal to pray for him.

Since then, the airport he built closest to Everest has been renamed Hillary-Tenzing in honour of the two climbers. (Tenzing died in 1986.) The trail they followed has also been named after them and a mountain is under consideration. As the Tourism Minister said: "They put Nepal on the map."

"He didn't consider himself to be anything special," was something one heard over and over. And yet that's one reason the world realised just how special and compassionate he really was.

A journalist commented at the end of an interview with him: "You really are a very modest man," and he replied: "I have a lot to be modest about."

Definitely not true. Just ask Sherpas of Nepal once that troubled country again becomes safe enough for travellers to feel comfortable there.

Hillary lamented the self-centred attitude of some modern climbers who passed those in distress to rush ahead, callously leaving them to die abandoned and alone, an attitude he found abhorrent.

Next week: Where celebrities meet the desert