Bright Air - Barry Maitland [83]
20
We were wakened by the first glow of the sun directly in front of us. Anna jerked out a leg and kicked me on the knee.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, and we disentangled ourselves and sat up, yawning and scratching, to watch the golden disc rise free of the horizon into a hazy sky. The wind had died away and only the occasional seabird disturbed the silence.
‘How do you feel?’ I asked.
‘All right, considering. How about you?’
I shrugged. ‘Stiff, sore.’
‘A bit of exercise’ll fix that. Let’s see your hands.’ She peered at them; the previous day’s swelling had reduced and she said they’d do. I found myself admiring her sturdiness; the dogged persistence that had irritated me yesterday now seemed rather admirable. I smiled at her and she said, ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘We have to go on, you know—to the top if necessary.’
‘Yes, I know.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘This isn’t too difficult, just bloody hard work. Luce could have climbed it in her sleep. I was wondering if it was about speed, leaving her gear behind. She’d have been able to move much faster.’
‘True.’ But what would have been the point in that? It seemed more likely to me that she’d just stopped caring about safety.
I thought about that a good deal as I led the way off the centipedes’ ledge. My muscles were stiff and aching in strange places, my hands thick and clumsy and sore. I began traversing the flank of Winklestein’s twin spires, making for the horizontal Cheval Ridge beyond. The height, three hundred and fifty metres of sheer cliff below us, worried me, and I was being very careful about where I looked and what I allowed my mind to think. But at least there were plenty of cracks and bumps and other reasonable hand- and footholds on the weathered basalt, and I was making cautious progress until I came to a slab of smooth rock with no purchase on it at all. There was a promising crack on the far side, and I thought I could just reach it at maximum stretch. I tried, extending myself as far as possible, but couldn’t quite make it, and suddenly found myself flattened against a smooth rock face with only my right hand and foot properly engaged, a position I couldn’t hold for long. Terrified of developing sewing machine leg, I forced myself to spring the few centimetres across to the crack, in which I safely jammed my left fingers and toes. But now I saw that there was another smooth stretch ahead, and that I was in the same unstable position as before, with nothing for my right hand and foot to cling to. I was further from protection now, and vividly remembered those anchors pulling out on Frenchmans Cap. Heart pounding, I knew I only had a moment to get out of this, but couldn’t see how. Then a memory came into my mind, of a manoeuvre I’d seen Luce perform on that same climb in Tasmania. It was called a barn door, and involved turning your back to the rock face and swinging out, as if on a hinge, to grab whatever lay beyond with your free hand and foot. I could hardly believe it when I saw Luce do it, and knew I’d never have the nerve to try if I gave it any thought. So I didn’t think, I just swung, flinging my right arm and leg desperately out into space and around to slam against the rock.
My fingertips and toes found something there, some minimal grip, though barely enough to support any weight. But the other problem was that, in twisting myself over, my rope had wrapped itself around my neck. I was now lying flat across a near-vertical surface, in danger of sliding off at any moment. If my anchors held I’d be strangled, if not I’d plunge three hundred and fifty metres into the drink.
‘Anna,’ I croaked. ‘Anna …’
I heard nothing but the cry of gulls and sigh of the wind.
‘Anna, help. I need you.’
Some loose stones clattered down from above, bouncing off my helmet. I was frozen, unable to look upwards. I felt the strength ebbing from my fingers, and gazed out at the bright air, waiting for it to happen. Then Anna came abseiling down beside me, at what I thought was a rather leisurely pace.
‘Having fun?’ she said. She clipped a rope onto my harness,