Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
ter - but, by two o'clock, he seemed to have lost the ability to swallow. On the edge of the
woodland, I searched the skies for signs of a medevac helicopter and made repeated calls
to the aviation authorities and insurance providers - but there was only endless blue above.
Back beneath the trees, I said, 'We've got to get him out of here.'
'The helicopter . . .'
'We can't wait for any helicopter,' I snapped. 'It's the fire.'
For more than two hours now, the fire had been coming our way. Coaxed by the wind,
and fuelled by wood so dry it was perfect tinder, the flames were growing frighten-
ingly close. Already the smell of smoke was strong, tendrils of grey wafting through the
branches. 'Matt can't stay here,' said Jason.
By two thirty, the fire was less than fifty metres away. Bent low over Matt's chest, Jason
confirmed what we had been fearing: his breathing was fading fast, now barely perceptible
as a rise and fall of his chest.
'We need to move!'
Boston and Jason helped me lift Matt, but he was too heavy for one man alone. Urgently,
listening to the crackle of the nearby flames, Jason rolled out a tarp from his pack. We laid
Matt gently on top and, taking a corner each, bore him off. Moses and Charles, meanwhile,
rushed back towards the fire, hoping to cut around its edges and find the nearest ranger
station - and the help we desperately needed. As they went, they loosed rifle shots into the
air - anything that could draw attention.
Two hundred metres on, the weight was too much. We stopped, momentarily clear of
the grasping smoke, and laid Matt down to trickle the water Boston had brought from the
river into his lips. Only, this time, when Jason bent over him, there was no breath coming
from his throat.
I dropped at his side. I tipped his chin back and put my lips to his. Instinct had taken
over: I breathed out, into his lungs, and began to make compressions on his chest. I contin-
ued: two short breaths and thirty sharp chest compressions; two short breaths, thirty com-
pressions, over and again. I was lost in the attempt to keep him alive, convincing myself
that all he needed was a few more minutes, anything until a helicopter or some rangers
arrived, when I heard Jason shout out on the edges of my vision. It took me a moment to
understand. When I looked over my shoulder, Jason was holding Matt's wrist and looking
as hopeless as I have ever seen a man. 'He's dead,' he said. There was no pulse.
Some time later - I still cannot tell how long - we bore Matt to the very top of the for-
ested hill, two hundred metres of steep, agonising climb. There we waited, at the top of
the world. Matt's empty eyes gazed up at us, his skin finally cold. As Jason threw himself
to the earth in exhaustion, and even Boston looked faint from our charge up the hillside, I
wrapped Matt in a tarp and whispered a prayer. Three nights ago, I was drinking a toast of
