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bivvy in the moraine with a Thermos of tea and cooked porridge. All was now well.
Krzysztof seemed to come round. K. T. took my rucksack and Lech took
Krzysztof's. We staggered down for the last few hours to base camp. The meadow
was dressed in autumnal colours and a large herd of blue sheep grazed uncon-
cerned as we passed.
A mixture of euphoria and exhaustion now overtook us. We lounged around for a
couple of days. The mountain had absorbed much effort but far less time than ex-
pected. We had twenty days before the porters were due to return, time for at least
one more peak; but it was now my turn to become ill. I couldn't keep any food
down for six days and I suffered extremely painful stomach cramps. I lay in the
tent moaning. This was too much for Lech and one night he gave me a shot of
morphine in the backside to shut me up. It did. For a couple of days, I really
doubted I would ever leave the sanctuary. I took a short walk one day and found
the perfectly intact head of a bharal sheep staring up at me open-eyed. The rest of
the body was nowhere to been seen. A snow leopard had been near. It can't have
been more than 200 yards from our camp.
Alex and Voytek set out to attempt the north-west face of Nanda Devi but when
they got to the start of the real difficulties at half height, they were without enough
equipment to carry on. They also realised how tired they were. While they were
away, I discovered the root of my stomach problem. We had been cooking with wa-
ter straight from the river, which was full of sediment. I found a small spring and
using its pure, clear water, I quickly recovered. Why weren't the others ill? I'd
thought I was tough.
On the fourth evening after setting off, Alex and Voytek returned to camp and
collapsed into their sleeping bags. Next morning we did some calculations. The
food was running out and the porters were not due for twelve more days. Someone
needed to go and get them. Krzysztof was still not right and apart from looking like
a stick insect, I was the most rested. It was agreed I would walk out on my own. It
had taken eight days to get in. Four days should do it going out.
Long solo walks in the mountains are good for the soul, a chance to reflect, to get
back to normality. Our climb of Changabang was possibly the hardest technical
climb yet done in the Himalaya but I wanted to put that behind me as quickly as
possible and take in the mountains without the risk. I left at dawn in the hope of
completing four stages in one day. Darkness caught me halfway across the Tilman
slabs and by the light of my headtorch I scrambled precariously up a hundred feet
to find a small grassy ledge. A leopard's scream echoed suddenly in the gorge,
punctuating the continuous dull road of the Rishi Ganga. Rishi I knew meant 'holy
scribe'. The Ganga was etching its path through the world. I munched some sweets
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