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That helps but does not remove the deathly cold. Alex's shivering is now uncon-
trollable.
'I think I'm going to die here.'
'Don't worry about it kid, just stay awake and enjoy the view. You'll get used to
this after a few times.'
The night seems to last a week but, finally, the blackness turns a dim grey. Look-
ing up, we see the snow-covered route back up to the top. Then the mist returns
thicker than ever. I dig out the other half of the chocolate and break it in two.
'Here take this,' I say passing half the chocolate to Alex. 'As much as I don't like
it, I think we have to go down the way we came up. The cloud and snow will make
the descent from the Fou too difficult to find.'
After a couple of abseils, we begin to warm up. We enter the routine of retreat.
When the nuts to abseil from begin to run out, I cut a length from the rope to make
slings. Alex watches everything I do as a dog watches when you are preparing food.
I work as efficiently as possible, hiding my desperation - make no mistakes, try to
be safe. Each abseil anchor is checked three times; sometimes there's just a thin
tape around a tiny nubbin. Then the rising suns breaks through, easing the deep
chill in our bones. With each abseil, the glacier ascends to greet us.
'Back in time for a late lunch with any luck.'
'At this point, I don't know whether to think you are a complete idiot or some
sort of hero. But if we do get down, I'm buying the meal.'
The ropes jam on a V+ pitch and I solo back up to free them. The final abseil
down to the glacier requires acrobatics to clear the bergschrund. A yellow mental
haze accompanies us back to Montenvers and then a black haze of tiredness all the
way back to Chamonix. I remind myself to bring money for a return train ticket in
future. We go straight to the Bar Nash. Rouse and a team are already there as rain
begins to fall from a dark afternoon sky. He laughs at Alex as he comes through the
door.
'Bloody hell. It's Dirty Alex. We thought you were goners when you didn't get
back last night. First climbs can be the last around here.'
'Maybe that will be my last climb, the last with Porter anyway.'
A couple of weeks later, on a pitching ferry back to Dover, John Powell has pur-
loined some cold, half-eaten chicken and chips left on a nearby table.
'Here, have some of this.' Alex nearly throws up.
'I just want to be home and in my bed, then I'll think again about climbing,
maybe.'
