Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [100]
At 1 a.m. we clambered over one more ledge and collapsed in the snow.
We were at the balcony. A sense of excitement filled my body. We were now twenty-seven-and-a-half thousand feet above sea level.
As I removed my mask in a bid to conserve oxygen, the thin air seemed to burn my lungs like frozen fire. Hellfire.
I sat back in the snow and closed my eyes.
We had to wait for the Sherpas, who were bringing the spare oxygen canisters, which we would swap with our half-empty ones. These fresh tanks should then last to the summit, and back to the balcony. It would give us around ten hours to complete the final ascent.
Time up here was all about oxygen – and oxygen at this height meant survival.
The temperature was minus forty degrees Fahrenheit.
At 2 a.m. there was still no sign of the Sherpas – and both Neil and I were beginning to get really, really cold. On such a small flow of oxygen, frostbite can creep up on you – silently and quickly.
Suddenly the entire sky lit up.
The mountains flashed as if in daylight and then disappeared again. Thunder then rippled through the valleys.
This shouldn’t be here, I thought.
Seconds later the sky flashed again. It was an electric storm moving up through the valleys.
If it reached us, though, it would be fatal. It would turn the mountain into a raging mass of snow and wind that would be impossible to endure.
Somewhere beneath us, Geoffrey and Michael were also fighting a battle.
And humans have a habit of losing any battles that they fight in Everest’s Death Zone.
CHAPTER 92
Geoffrey was having problems with his oxygen set.
The flow wasn’t running properly, and was choking him. He struggled on but soon had to acknowledge that it was futile. He turned around. His attempt was over.
Michael also decided to turn back. He was utterly spent. The beckoning storm was the final clincher. He had climbed all his life and he knew both his body’s limit and the mountain-weather rule. ‘If there is doubt, there is no doubt, you go down.’
They both slowly started to descend back to the col – as we waited.
At 3 a.m., shivering incessantly, and on the threshold of our ability to survive immobile much longer, we saw the torches of the Sherpas below.
We then struggled with ice-cold fingers to change our tanks. At base camp we had got the process down to a fine art. But up here, in the dark and sub-zero cold, it was a different game altogether.
I just couldn’t get the threads on the oxygen cylinder fittings lined up. Small, ice-choked screw threads, in the dark, in freezing sub-zero, make for a pig of a job.
I had no choice but to remove my outer mitts to be able to get a better grip on the regulator.
My shivering was now totally uncontrollable, and I screwed the regulator’s screw threads on at an angle. It instantly jammed.
I swore out aloud.
Neil and Alan were ready by now. Neil knelt next to me, waiting. But Alan just got up and left, heading for the ridge.
I fumbled crazily.
Come on, you brute.
I felt the whole situation begin to slip away from me. We had come too far to fail now – too far.
‘Come on, Bear, bloody get it working.’ Neil stammered through his mask.
I knew I was holding him up, but it was jammed, and there was little I could do, except keep trying.
By now, Neil had lost all feeling in his feet completely. This was bad. He was getting more and more frostbitten with every minute we waited. Then suddenly I managed to get the thread loose. I lined it up carefully, and this time it fitted snug.
We were on our way.
One of the three Sherpas then suddenly stopped. Silently, he pointed at the sky and shook his head. He turned around and headed down without a word.
Everyone makes their own choices up there. And you live by those decisions.
The storm lingered to the east, and beneath us – still some way off.
Neil and I looked at each other, then turned and headed up on to the ridge.
It was just a relief to be moving again, and soon I found a renewed energy that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I guess