Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
he had come to some moment of epiphany, a simple, chilling realisation. 'Oh my God,' he
uttered, and I wish I could say it was in disbelief, 'I'm going to die.'
Jason knelt at his side. 'You're not,' he said. 'You'll be fine,' he insisted.
I had seen this before, when I was in Afghanistan. This was heat exhaustion: hyperther-
mia, the overheating of the body, is just as deadly as hypothermia, but - beyond summer
sun-stroke - is barely ever talked about. I had never had a man die on an expedition, not
even in my tour of Afghanistan, and this could not be the first. I scrabbled in my pack for
my satellite phone and, as Jason arranged Matt's body into the recovery position, I made
my first emergency call.
In the forest behind me, Jason was feeding Matt water, but there were no longer any
words coming from his lips. Now he only made odd, whimpering noises - noises that will
remain with me through all of my years. On the phone, I reached our insurance company -
but, this deep in the wilderness, their options were limited. I called home, to ask a contact
to arrange a medevac helicopter. I called my old friend, the army doctor Will Charlton, for
medical advice. In desperation, I called the Ugandan Civil Aviation Authority - but they
didn't feel able to send a helicopter, not in this great heat, and not with nowhere for it to
land.
'We need to cool him,
fast
,' I told Jason.
The river was too far away to submerge him, so we emptied all our canteens into a bowl
and used it to cool his head and body. 'Find a village,' I told Boston. 'Go and bring help .
. . and more water!'
Boston needed no other impetus. Taking Charles with him, he hurried back into the sun
to follow one of the game trails to the edge of the river. Meanwhile, I turned to Moses. 'If
they send a helicopter, it'll need somewhere to land,' I said. 'Burn a landing zone . . .'
Moses took off, while Jason and I remained at Matt's side, sponging him with what little
water we had left, fanning him in a vain attempt to cool him down.
By the time Boston returned with water, half an hour later, Matt's breathing was ragged
and faint. He had not opened his eyes and, though he had tried to make words, they came
out as stunted groans.
I smelt fire and hoped the smoke would attract attention - but, with mounting horror, I
realised the smoke wasn't coming from the elephant grass on the plain. For some reason,
Moses had lit the fire on the hill above us - in completely the wrong place. The flames
were raging - and, what was worse, the wind was driving it in our direction. Every time I
ventured to the treeline, they had intensified.
We bathed Matt. We sponged water onto his lips. When we thought he was lucid enough
to understand, we told him that he was going to be okay, that he would soon be back in
New York where the African heat could not touch him, where his wife Jessica and family
were waiting. When we could, we helped him tip his head back and drink some of the wa-
