Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [107]
Sergei, her husband, had stumbled down to find help for her. Dazed, fatigued, and desperate, he then fell to his death.
The Russians asked me if we had seen a body, or just … anything.
Their voices were weak. They knew that it was unlikely, but they had to try. Their eyes looked dead. I felt a numbness well up inside as I thought of Sergei and his wife both dead on the mountain – and us somehow strangely alive.
That fine line between survival and disaster can be so slender.
That afternoon, lying on my bed, I struggled to understand why we were alive, when others weren’t. Sergei and Francys Arsentiev hadn’t been the only ones to die in the past few weeks.
Roger Buick, a New Zealand climber, had collapsed and died from a heart attack. Mark Jennings, from Britain, had reached the top but, again, died on the descent.
They’d all been experienced, fit climbers.
What a waste, what an unnecessary waste.
As I lay there, I found no real answers. But the Russians, buried in deep despair, weren’t interested in answers. They had simply lost their buddies.
Human nature hungers for adventure – and true adventure has its risks. Everyone knows Everest is dangerous, yet the reality of seeing this first-hand makes words like ‘adventure’ seem so hollow.
These were real lives, with real families, and their loss still confuses me today.
I remain loyal, though, to the belief that those brave men and women who died during those months on Everest are the true heroes. They paid the ultimate sacrifice, in pursuit of their dreams.
This must be their families’ only relief.
It is always strange looking back at a time that has had such a profound impact on one’s life. And when it comes to Everest, I see two very clear things: friendships that were forged in a tough crucible, and a faith that sustained me through the good, the bad and the ugly.
I survived and reached the top of that mountain because of the bonds I had with those beside me. Of that I am in no doubt. Without Mick and Neil, I would have been nothing.
Down that dark crevasse, I also learnt that sometimes we really need each other. And that is OK. We are not designed to be islands. We are made to be connected.
So often life teaches us that we have to achieve everything on our own. But that would be lonely.
For me, it is only by thinking about our togetherness that I can begin to make some sense of what happened on that mountain: the highs, the lows, the fatalities, the fear.
Such things have to be shared.
Looking back, it is the small moments together that I value the most. Like Neil and myself on the South Summit, holding each other’s hands so that we could both stand.
It was only because our friendships were honest that, time after time, when we were tired or cold or scared, we were able to pick ourselves up, and keep moving.
You don’t have to be strong all the time. That was a big lesson to learn.
When we show chinks it creates bonds, and where there are bonds there is strength.
This is really the heart of why I still climb and expedition today.
Simple ties are hard to break.
That is what Everest really taught me.
CHAPTER 100
It took me quite a while to begin to recover physically from Everest.
The thick, rich air of sea level, in comparison to the ultra-thin air of Everest, was intoxicating – and at times it felt like too much.
Several times I fainted and had quite bad nosebleeds. As if from oxygen overload.
Above all, I slept like a baby.
For the first time in years, I had no fear, no doubts, no sense of foreboding. It felt amazing.
Everest had taken all my heart, soul, energy and desire, and I was spent. The way I was after SAS Selection.
Funny that. Good things rarely come easy.
Maybe that is what makes them special.
I didn’t feel too guilty about taking a little time off to enjoy the British summer and catch up with my friends. It just felt so great to be safe.
I also did my first-ever newspaper interview, which carried the headline: ‘What Makes a Scruffy 23-Year-Old Want to Risk It All for a View of Tibet?’ Nice.
Before I left I would