Bear Grylls Page 21

  The Lhotse team were also now back at Camp Two; they also were weak and drained. They had fought for some twenty-two hours from Camp Three, up towards the gulley that would lead to the summit of Lhotse. Deep snow had forced these giants of men back with the summit only a few hundred feet above. They also had been plagued by problems with their oxygen sets. It is the nature of the conditions. However robust and well tested everything is, nothing is guaranteed up there.

  They talked little back at Camp Two. They had given their all, but still had been turned away empty handed. I felt shocked at how resilient these vast mountains were, and I felt humbled at how little all these efforts had come to. I don’t think that I had ever realized just how truly hostile these mountains can be.

  That night Mick and I talked together, quietly and slowly. I admired Mick more than ever. I longed to have seen all he had seen up there, even with the price he had paid. He was still shaken and wore the scars of a man who has survived a different place all together. Even his clothes told the story. His windsuit was ripped in eight places, huge gashes appeared where the material lay open. His down trousers oozed feathers from rips all along them, and he had lost every bit of spare kit he had – gloves, waterbottles, photographic equipment, fleece hoodover and head-torch – all gone. He had returned from his attempt, robbed of everything. The mountain had claimed it. But he is a survivor and late that evening as we prepared to sleep he prodded me. I sat up and saw a small smile spread across his face.

  ‘Bear, next time let me choose where to go on holiday, okay? Your choice was lousy.’ As he spoke, I began to laugh with all my being. I needed to, so much had been kept inside. We hugged. Thank God he’s alive, I thought.

  The next morning they slowly left for Base Camp. They desperately needed rest. Their attempt was over. Mick just wanted to be safe. That was all he wanted. I watched them head out into the glacier, and hoped that I had made the right decision to stay at Camp Two.

  We had received a forecast at dawn. Henry had announced that the typhoon was slowing and that it wouldn’t be here for two days. By tomorrow if it was still moving towards us I assured him I would come down. But while there was a hope that in the next few days it might move away, I insisted on staying up here – ready. It was a difficult decision, but somehow it felt right. I sat and watched as they slowly became blurs on the ice.

  Geoffrey disagreed with my decision and had left to go down with the others. I was the only one of the team to stay. It was risky being up here with the likelihood of a typhoon at any moment. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to go up until we knew exactly what was happening with it, and that wouldn’t be for a few days. On top of this, the longer you stay at Camp Two, the weaker your body becomes. It is a fine balance between acclimatizing and deteriorating. Too long up here and I might find myself without the strength to go higher. For a place of convalescence, Camp Two, at 21,200 feet, was a miserable choice. But I stayed and I was never quite sure why.

  I sat and watched until they were all gone from sight. It was now just Thengba and Ang in one tent, and me in another. We had one radio, one pack of cards, a few torn pages from my Spanish New Testament, and a sack of dehydrated food. It was already my fourth day at Camp Two. I had no idea how long my body would keep what little strength it still had.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ALONE

  ‘Man’s loneliness is but his fear of life.’

  I threw the playing cards across the floor of my tent in frustration. It was a stupid game anyway; I hated Patience. Two days ago I decided that if I got all my cards ‘out’, then the weather would give me a chance – if I didn’t then the typhoon would move in. I had lost, so made the contest the best of three. Two days later it was 37–38 to me in the lead, but victory still just eluded me. I lay back down and just stared at the roof of the tent. My socks swayed gently as they dried on the string, slung across the poles. I flicked them impatiently.

  These past few days had been the longest days I had known. My watch seemed to have slowed down, and the monsoon drew ever closer to the mountain, beckoning in the time when Everest would be buried again under five feet of snow.

  My days revolved around the midday radio call from Base Camp, when they would give me the forecast. The call was scheduled daily for 12 noon. Keeping it to certain times saved battery power, and batteries were crucial. I always slept with them down my sleeping bag. It was the warmest place for them and where they would last the longest. I waited anxiously for the forecast today. It was only 9.15 a.m. and already I was fiddling with the radio; checking the squelch just in case.

  I desperately longed for news that the typhoon would move away. Yesterday it was reported to be stationary. Today would be vital. I waited anxiously. I knew that we were running out of that precious commodity: time. I checked my watch again.

  At 12.02 p.m. the radio came to life.

  ‘Bear at Camp Two, it’s Neil. All okay?’ I heard the voice loud and clear; the reception was good today.

  ‘Yeah, in the loosest sense of the word,’ I replied, smiling.

  ‘I’m worried you may be going slowly insane up there, am I right?’ Neil joked.

  ‘Insane? Me? What do you mean?’ I replied. Neil chuckled into the radio.

  ‘Daft,’ he replied. ‘Now listen, I’ve got a forecast and an e-mail that has come through for you – from your family. Do you want to hear the good or the bad news first?’

  ‘Go on, let’s get the bad news over with,’ I replied.

  ‘Right, the bad news. Well, the weather’s still shit. The typhoon is on the move and heading this way. If it is still on course tomorrow you’ve got to get down. I’m sorry. We all hate it.’

  He had said it straight. I paused before replying. I knew he would say something like that. I had prayed so hard, yet it hadn’t worked. I shook my head.

  ‘. . . and the good news?’ I asked dismissively.

  ‘Your Mum has sent a message. Says all the animals are well.’ Click.

  ‘Well, go on, that can’t be it. What else?’

  ‘Well, they think you’re still at Base Camp. Probably best that way, you know. Otherwise your mother may just suddenly turn up,’ Neil chuckled.

  ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow,’ I replied. ‘Pray for some change. It will be our last chance, eh?’

  ‘Roger that, Bear . . . oh, and don’t start talking to yourself. Out.’

  ‘How’s Miguel getting along . . . Hello, Neil.’ He hadn’t heard me.

  I dismantled the radio and put the batteries down my bag again. I had another twenty-four hours to wait. It was these moments just after the radio call which felt the longest. I lay back down and shuffled the cards once more.

  That afternoon I walked for twenty minutes up the glacier to the Singaporean Camp Two. I wanted to see if I could borrow some cough medicine. I had finished all mine but still I was being kept up most of the night heaving and spluttering. I wondered who would be in their camp.

  Only a few Singaporeans remained now at Camp Two. The rest had returned to Base Camp some days ago, after their summit bid had failed that fateful night that Mick had fallen. The two who were still here undid their tent flap. One of them was the leader of the team. We sat and chatted for a while. It was good to have company.

  ‘No, Bear, I’m not going any higher, it’s my ribs. They’re screwed,’ the leader said. ‘It’s all this coughing. I’ve managed to actually crack two ribs, I’ve been coughing so hard. It hurts to breathe. It won’t let me go any higher.’

  I sympathized with him as I coughed hard into my jacket sleeve. My own ribs were taking their own pounding up here. I asked if they had any extra cough medicine.

  They produced a vat, the size of about four waterbottles. Across the front in felt-tip was written ‘cough medicine’. My eyes lit up. I had been swilling my cough medicine from a tiny pot, the size of a shot-glass. It had made no difference. I filled a big mug full, chatted a bit more then shuffled carefully back down to my own tent. This shoul
d cure me, I thought, I mean, just look at the colour of it. It reminded me of diesel oil, but it should do. I took a giant swig and smiled as it soothed the inflamed back of my throat.

  As I wrestled with life and solitude at 21,200 feet up the mountain, back in England at Mick’s parents’ home all was very different.

  Mick’s father had been following the team’s progress closely on the internet, from his office. Various other teams were keeping their web-sites updated daily, and by the time of the summit attempt a few days earlier they were updating almost hourly. Such was the advance of the Americans’ communication that during the confusion everyone had encountered at the South Summit (at 10.00 a.m. on 19 May), Mick’s father, Patrick, was receiving live reports on their progress. He knew his son was up there at the same time and shared in the disappointment when he heard they were being forced back, having got so close. Nothing, though, prepared him for what he heard next.

  An American report came through saying that a ‘British climber had fallen’, nothing else was known. The words flashed up on Patrick’s screen. He stared in horror. It was 8.45 a.m. in the City, the heart of London.

  For the next three days he heard nothing more on the incident. Why? What had happened? Couldn’t they say? Had someone died? Was it Mick? His mind raced with the possibility, the strong possibility, that the ‘British climber’ reported to have fallen might have been Mick. Our satellite phone was switched off at Base Camp. Everyone there was too busy trying to get Neil and Mick off the mountain safely. Patrick could get no more news.

  He dared not tell his wife, Sally. He couldn’t. He describes those days and nights as the most ‘agonizing experience imaginable’. He is a man of great strength but even he was shaken. He recounts: ‘What was so hard was not being able to share it with Sally. I couldn’t, as I didn’t know for certain. I couldn’t work, sitting there, looking at the screen in front of me, the screen that had given me the news originally – it made me feel sick. I dreaded facing the reality. The possibility that our only son was dead.’

  It was not until Mick eventually returned to Base Camp that he was able to ring his father and tell him he was safe. Mick had had no idea that Patrick knew anything about it. Relief swept across his father’s face. A relief that only a father, I guess, can know. Mick assured him all was okay, and announced that he would not return again up the mountain. Ever. He knew only too well how lucky he had been. He took off his Everest crampons for the very last time. He thought of me still up at Camp Two, and looked knowingly up the mountain.

  Meanwhile, some 3,700 feet above Base Camp, I waited for that next and final forecast, longing with all my heart for a chance. That chance was now in the hands of the weather.

  That night in my tent I could hear the deep rumble of the jet-stream winds above me. The sun had disappeared down beyond the bottom end of the Western Cwm. It left me all alone. I curled tight inside my bag and closed my eyes. I really missed the others.

  I crept out of my tent long before dawn. The glacier looked cold and hostile as it swept away to the west. I zipped my down jacket up and stumbled across the ice to have a crap. It was 4.30 a.m. I waited for the sun to rise whilst sitting in the porch of my tent and wondered what it would bring today.

  Thengba and Ang were still asleep in their tent. I wished that I was also.

  I couldn’t believe that all the work we had done so far, boiled down to today. I prayed for the umpteenth time, for that answer to my prayers. The typhoon had to move or peter out. It had to. My mind wandered to being up there; up there climbing in that deathly land above Camp Three. That land where, as I had read, only the ‘strong and lucky survive’. Please. I dozed off dreaming about it.

  By ten o’clock I was ready on the radio. I rechecked the strength of the batteries. They were nice and warm. I looked at my watch again. Come on.

  This time they called early. It was 11.58 a.m. I jumped for the set.

  ‘Yep, Base Camp, I’ve got you,’ I said anxiously.

  ‘Bear, you dog. It’s come.’ The voice was excited. It was Henry speaking.

  ‘The forecast has said that at 11.00 p.m. last night the cyclone began revolving, and has spun off to the east. They think it will clip the Eastern Himalaya tomorrow, but nowhere near here. We’ve got a break. They say that the jet-stream winds are lifting again in two days. How do you think you feel?’

  ‘We’re rocking, yep, good, I mean fine . . . I can’t believe it. Alrighty.’ I punched the air and yelped. Thengba came scurrying across to my tent and peered in inquisitively. I howled again. Thengba grinned and climbed in. I couldn’t stop patting him violently on the back. He laughed out loud, showing all his two black teeth. He kind of understood. It had been a long five days.

  Neil was already preparing at Base Camp to come back up. Another chance had suddenly opened and he had to take it. It might be his last attempt ever. He had openly said that if he was turned back this year as well, he would never return. Already he had climbed to 28,700 feet and now only a few days later he was preparing to go up again. It was unheard of. People said that his body would not be able to cope. They didn’t know, though, what was going on inside him. Just one last attempt. My last one, he thought. And this time something excited him more than ever before.

  Mick was staying firmly at Base Camp. He was still in shock. He needed rest. He helped Geoffrey and Neil pack up one final time. If this failed we all knew our attempt was over. The monsoon hovered down in the Nepalese plains, awaiting its grand entrance. In one week’s time, we knew it would all be over.

  During the course of the day, both the depleted Singapore team and Bernardo had left Camp Two towards Camp Three. It meant that they would be a day ahead of us in the attempt. This was good. They would have valuable information on the conditions above the South Col. I prayed that they would be safe. Those of us still on the mountain were a small group now.

  By 7.00 p.m. that evening, Camp Two was again full of friends. Neil and Geoffrey were there along with Michael and Graham, both now recovered from their illness. Carla and Allen had also come back up for a second attempt. The weariness of trying again showed dreadfully in Carla. Her body was crying out for relief. She looked understandably gaunt and frail. Allen took two hours longer than everyone else to arrive. The fatigue was showing in him as well.

  The Lhotse team were also back. Andy and Ilgvar would try once more. Nasu, alternatively, had decided to leave Base Camp the day before to return to Kathmandu. I wouldn’t see him again now. He believed he had actually reached the summit of Lhotse on the first ascent, as he was ahead of the other two. Andy didn’t really believe this. He knew that the summit had been still too far away. An air of doubt hung around it all; but no one would ever really know.

  I was so relieved to see Neil arrive at Camp Two. He smiled and we hugged. We both knew the chance that was ahead of us – words weren’t needed. I had missed him especially.

  Darkness came quickly or maybe time just seemed to race by, now that others were here. It was funny how the minutes had crept by so slowly for almost nine weeks in total. Nine weeks I had waited for this chance. And now that it was here, the minutes didn’t seem to be able to go slowly enough. Despite the excitement, part of me dreaded what lay before us. In less than ten hours, the struggle would begin. I knew the next four days, God willing, to the summit and back to Camp Two, would be undoubtedly the hardest of my life. But there was a purpose to it. At its end was my dream that I had held on to for so long. The summit of Everest, I felt, was waiting for us.

  I shared my tent that had been all mine for so long with Michael, the Canadian. As I had got to know him over the past two months I had come to like him a lot. He had a tenderness under his outdoor rugged image that I couldn’t help but warm to. He was as scared as I was. I could tell.

  He busied himself nervously in the tent; sorting out his kit, rechecking each item meticulously. Counting glucose tablets, checking the length of straps for waterbottles that would hang round our necks (the
best place to stop them freezing), checking the simple things which are always the first to go wrong: spare gloves, spare goggles, tape, blister kit, ready-tied prussik knots for emergency rope work, you name it, it all came out and was checked. It took our minds off things.

  We shifted around tentatively, trying to give each other some room. I knew Michael needed space to be alone before it all started, we all needed it, but we had to try and cope with what we had. I understood. I tried to quietly rest as he sorted his things out. I lay back on my rucksack and closed my eyes. I felt that mixture of fierce excitement and deep trepidation. I couldn’t quite believe what now lay before us.

  The words that my grandfather had written to me in one of the letters that Ed had brought when he arrived, rang in my head. They were powerful words to me. At ninety-two years old, he had a wisdom that cut right to my core.

  ‘Keep on in there, your struggles are a triumph for guts and Godliness.’

  The words guts and Godliness struck me hard. It was all that I aspired to. I knew somehow my grandfather understood me.

  That night we tried desperately to sleep. From 5.00 a.m. the next day, the biggest battle of my life would begin. I found it hard to even pray.

  Michael and I shuffled nervously all night. I peed at least four times. Michael chuckled as I rolled over with my pee-bottle and filled it again.

  At 4.45 a.m. I started to get ready. It was invariably always the worst time; the time when you felt warm and cosy and were trying to shake the heaviness from your eyes. By 5.15 a.m. I crawled out of our tent and breathed deeply in the morning chill. It would allow Michael some space to get ready.