ROGER: I heard about Alex’s death in the postscript of a letter from Nick. I refused to believe it. Alex and I had discussed our futures and he had been quite clear that he would survive another five years of dangerous face climbing and then take on the job of simply ‘being famous’. Death was for much later. Paul confirmed Alex’s change of plans by phone, but these were simply words: ‘hit by a single stone whilst coming down … fell 800 feet … body in a crevasse.’ I had Alex’s words in front of me, the draft for this book, and they were full of life. He had told me he’d last a while yet; he’d worked it out and I believed him – most people did, for Alex told the truth.
I finally felt Alex’s death driving to work very early on Monday morning. I broke down – he’d lied to me, the bastard – it wasn’t possible – all that vitality taken out by a single stone – we had things to do, mountains to climb. No, no, no and no. I thought of him sitting in bed, in a squalid room in Nyalam, Walkman on, watching the absurd debate between us and the Chinese Army over a rotten piece of canvas. I was outraged – he was simply amused; he knew it wasn’t important. I thought of him when he walked through the hotel door after the fight to tell Doug he loved him, no justification, no blame, just letting his friend know what was in his heart.
The deaths of Joe and Pete touched Alex; he decided to reduce his risks and withdrew from an attempt to climb Everest in winter. But he still left for Annapurna in the autumn, having written his part of this book. By now Alex’s mother will have put up a stone at Annapurna Base Camp which reads:
It is better to live one day as a tiger than a hundred as a sheep.
Alex was a lucky man, he did well what he wanted to do – climb big mountains – and he did it with a full heart. I miss him.