Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
stance and handover point. To drop one would mean disaster. That is the reason
we jumar with them on our backs rather than risk hauling them over overhangs of
rough granite.
On the last rappel, Alex makes a terrible mistake. He gathers the coiled rope
where we stored it, and clips on with his descending device, intending to unravel it
on the way down to avoid the danger of the wind taking it off line. But he has
clipped into the bottom end, and, before he realises his mistake, he steps back into
the abyss. There is a high-pitched shriek and he is gone. The rope hisses off the
edge. It is terrifying. For a few seconds, time is measured at a rate of thirty-two
feet per second. The rope is taking a sounding of the void beneath. Then it is gone
from the ledge completely and the impact of Alex's fall hits the piton with an ex-
plosive snap and twang. It holds. I immediately shout like a madman into the
empty cloud beneath, but realise even if Alex is okay the wind is too strong for him
to hear. I try to lift the rope, but it carries Alex's full weight and there is no chance
of me pulling it up. I wait a minute and try again, wait and try again. The rope is
still weighted. Ten minutes pass. I am attaching prusik slings to the rope to des-
cend when the rope suddenly comes free. He has either fallen off the end or is
there somewhere, probably badly hurt. I can do nothing but rappel down as fast as
possible to find out.
There is no sign of Alex near the bottom of the rope, only the safety knot gently
slapping the wall. But then there he is, a short pendulum away, draped over the re-
maining two Haston sacks, as pale as the snowy mist that surrounds him.
'Christ! Alex? Are you alright?'
He looks up at me and whispers: 'I don't want to play this game just to have a
rucksack named after me.'
Day eight: Proper granite cracks at last. I make good progress for three pitches at
around HVS or E1 with a couple of nuts for aid to surmount bulges. At the end of
my sequence of leads, I am pleased that the overhang above with a dodgy looking
icicle on the lip has fallen to Alex in the rotation. Staring up at the bottom of his
crampons, I can tell the climbing is desperate. Alex hangs a sling for aid from his
ice axe and steps into it. He swings alarmingly, but stretching up, hangs on long
enough to get a secure placement with one Terrordactyl high on the icicle. He
manages a one-arm pull-up and exits over the top. The icicle collapses and pum-
mels me painfully. Now we are on the 'Cyclops' Eye', a steep snowfield at 22,000
feet in the top centre of the face. We climb diagonally up to the left and exit via a