Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [99]
It is why death can seem so strangely attractive – as if it is the only way to find blessed relief from the cold and pain.
That is the danger of the place.
I tried to sit up from where I lay. The zip of our porch was slightly broken. It fluttered half-closed.
From where I sat, I could see across the desolate col towards the start of the deep-snow face ahead. The mountain looked cold and menacing as the wind licked across the ice, picking up loose fragments of powdered snow and chasing them away.
I could see the route where Mick had fallen. He had been so lucky.
Or had he been protected? My mind swirled.
I thought of all those mountaineers who had lost their lives in pursuit of their summit dreams.
Was it worth it?
I could find no answer.
What I did know was that they had almost all died above the col.
7 p.m. Half an hour to go until we started the laborious task of getting kitted up again.
It would take us at least an hour.
By the end no part of our bodies or faces would be visible. We would be transformed into cocooned figures, huddled, awaiting our fate.
I reached into the top pouch of my backpack and pulled out a few crumpled pages wrapped in plastic. I had brought them just for this moment.
Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall. But those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:29–31.
I felt that this was all I really had up here. There’s no one else with enough extra strength to keep you safe. It really is just you and your Maker. No pretence, no fluff – no plan B.
Over the next twenty-four hours, there would be a one in six chance of dying. That focuses the mind. And the bigger picture becomes important.
It was time to look death in the eye. Time to acknowledge that fear, hold the hand of the Almighty, and climb on.
And those simple Bible verses would ring round my head for the next night and day, as we pushed on ever higher.
CHAPTER 91
We had decided to leave camp at 9 p.m. It was much earlier than climbers ever normally left for their summit bid.
Our forecast had promised strong winds higher up, which would increase during the day. We wanted to do as much of the climbing at night, before they got any worse.
Geoffrey, Alan and Michael soon also emerged from their tent, like astronauts preparing for a space walk. The Sherpa tent was still closed up. Neil roused them. They told us to go on. They would follow behind.
There was something mystical about the five of us moving across the col. Like soldiers wearily moving forward to battle.
As we reached the ice, the gradient steepened dramatically.
We bent lower into the face, our head torches darting around as they lit up the snow in front of our feet. Our world became that light: it showed us where to kick our crampons, where to place our ice axes.
The light was all we knew.
As time passed, the group naturally divided into two. Alan, Neil and I led the way – Geoffrey and Michael followed. They both soon fell way back.
After two hours, the three of us were perched on a small lip of ice. We looked down below.
‘Are you scared?’ Alan asked me quietly. They were the only words any of us had spoken so far.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But not as scared as I’d be if I could see the angle of this face we’re on,’ I continued, with no trace of irony.
It was true. It was too dark to see the danger. All we could see was the intensity of the snow and ice, lit brightly by our head torches.
At midnight we came across deep powdery drift snow. We hadn’t expected this. It drained our reserves as we floundered about, attempting to wade up through it.
Each step we took, our feet would slide back. It took three steps just to make the ground of one. Snow filled my mask and gloves, and my goggles began to steam up. I swore under my breath.
Where the hell is the balcony? It’s got to be soon.
All I could see above was