The following day was much less windy but the snow was still deep. We climbed on over sections of rock and snow, one peak followed by another, and then another. The exposure was immense but I loved being there. It was a traverse in the heavens, our world dropping steeply away on either side and then spreading out to views of distant peaks beyond. The ridge wound sinuously like a serpent’s coils, decorated with steeply curved cornices poised like frozen waves. Time was stretching out in either direction too. There seemed to be nothing before or after this ridge.
Now we came to a steep gap – our point of no return. We deliberated what to do. It was straightforward enough to cut some of the thin cord and pass it around some rocks and tie a loop. We threaded the abseil rope through this anchor and joined it to one of the fifty-metre climbing ropes before tossing them down into the void. Then I clipped in and slid down the rope. I felt as though I was walking in space, my heavy rucksack tipping me backwards, leaving me feeling cumbersome and disoriented.
Rangdu and I were first down. We climbed across to a snow bank and easier ground, where we fixed the other end of the rope. One by one, the others followed, their crampons scratching and sparking on the rock, before scrambling across to where we waited so they could detach themselves from the rope. The wind howled and stung our faces as we waited patiently for everyone to regroup. Then, as the others climbed onwards, I pulled the climbing rope and left the abseil rope behind.
It was a slender thread of safety. I knew full well that if something went wrong in the next few days we might be forced to come back this way and climb up this blank rock wall. It would be a dreadful predicament if one of us was injured midway between here and the Mazeno Gap and we had to decide which way to go to get back to safety. Retracing our steps would not be easy, but the alternative of pushing on might be impossible. The thought of retreat was unnerving; we would be in a desperate state to make that choice. But there were only three options: press on to the Mazeno Gap, go back the way we’d come or sit on the ridge and freeze to death. Were we now in a place of no return? Had we, with that abseil, totally committed ourselves to getting to the Mazeno Gap? I thought of the climbers who had been here before us, so strong and fast. ‘Ooh la la,’ I thought to myself, ‘what am I leading us into?’ I looked ahead and saw the others tramping along the ridge in front of me, pushing on, dancing along a pathway in the sky which at any moment might become a mantrap. At least right now all was going well. That’s as much as any of us can hope for.
The next bivvy was fine but I found myself growing fractious with my tent-mate. It was a silly, tiny thing. At night as we finished melting snow and arranged our equipment before going to sleep, Cathy would take her rucksack and place it over the stove and pots in the doorway of our bivvy tent. This scuppered my system for waking up in the morning and reaching easily for the stove. One of us had to move her rucksack out of the way first, and this brought a cascade of hoar frost down on to our sleeping bags, where it thawed, making them damp.
It also meant whoever lit the stove had to get half out of their sleeping bag. Normally I could do this lying down, so I could remain in a doze, slowly waking up while the water took its time to boil. Why couldn’t she use her rucksack as a pillow like the rest of us? I realise sitting here at my desk in the comfort of my warm home how pathetic this sounds. Such frustrations are part of life at high altitude and I tried not to say anything about it. But it drove me nuts at the time. I wonder what I was doing that did the same to her.
That morning – 9 July – started with the usual shower of hoar frost, lighting the stove and struggling into my clothes. It was already 7 a.m. – quite a lie-in. I seem to have amazing circulation and during the night get warmer and warmer, so that I actually have to take clothes off. First thing in the morning, when I start moving, I need to cover my skin quickly. We made drinks and some porridge and then exited the tent. By this stage of the climb, after a week on the ridge, the others simply assumed we would be the last to be ready and as usual we were.
This annoyed me slightly but I couldn’t put that down to Cathy’s rucksack routine. The truth is that I love hanging out in my sleeping bag first thing in the morning. Anyway, we were only a few minutes behind the others, and somebody had to be last. Everyone else was busy striking tents or having a pee and barely noticed that we were fractionally behind. It’s of no consequence, so why did I care? Why was I on edge? As we packed up, I sang – badly – a Chuck Berry song, School Day. Then I thought: ‘I must be hard to share a tent with really.’ The sacks were packed, and we were underway again. For a group of six we were actually very efficient.
That day we crossed Mazeno Peak, the highest of the 7,000-metre peaks. The maps told us the height was 7,120 metres, but our altimeters weren’t so generous, registering not much more than 7,000 metres. After a week’s climbing, none of us had much faith that the altimeters were working correctly, but then again, our weather forecast, arriving from a meteorologist in Andorra, had predicted stronger winds and snow for that day, so it was possible the pressure was dropping. That would affect the altimeters. With the prospect of bad weather and the knowledge that the pinnacles, the crux of the route, were now just ahead of us, we decided to stop early at 1 p.m. and get a good rest.
I had no desire to be out on the ridge in bad weather. Earlier, in similar conditions, I had felt a weird itching under my hat as I climbed along behind Rick and the Lhakpas. I scratched my head, thinking it was time to comb my hair to try and clean it a bit. And then it dawned on me that what I was feeling was static electricity crawling across my scalp. All of us felt it, but no-one mentioned it until we’d moved a few hundred metres further along the ridge. We had become inured to such things. We would accept our fate.
The next morning we found ourselves grinding slowly through the pinnacles. The rocks were covered in puffy, unconsolidated snow, making progress difficult. The Sherpas had assumed we would cruise through this section but, not for the first time, they had underestimated the twists and turns of this incredible and apparently never-ending ridge. They had thought we would be through to the Mazeno Gap in six days; we were now on day nine. I had found myself trying to dampen their optimism: ‘No guys, we are carrying tons of gear and the snow conditions are bad. We are here for the long haul – expect nothing and we may be pleased with progress. Live simply, take it one day at a time.’
I was becoming more Buddhist than the Sherpas themselves. During the initial phase of the expedition I had taken ages to acclimatise compared to Rick and Cathy, and felt I was often behind. I had really thought it would be impossible for me to keep up and that I would be unlikely to make it. So I cooled my ambition and resorted to a mantra – one step at a time and let’s just see what happens.
The climbing was getting harder and, while we were making progress, we were moving too slowly. At times we fixed our ropes in a kind of capsule style, with the last climber stripping the gear as he followed, just to keep us moving a bit faster. I knew that the Americans had been through here in about eleven hours and from the few photos they published with their report it seemed that they had more consolidated snow on their traverse than the froth we were obliged to wade through. As time passed I could see frustration building in the Sherpas; we would get glimpses towards the summit ridge of Nanga Parbat and could see that it still looked a long way off. The three Lhakpas and Cathy were becoming a little exasperated by it all.
We had to abseil down a tricky section and then traverse a very sharp ridge to some more abseils. At times it was around Scottish grade IV, but, with the complication of high altitude, grades seem meaningless. Searching for suitable anchor points was not always easy on rock that was quite broken, and while pulling the ropes afterwards they brought down a shower of loose stones. Happily, it was only the ones wearing helmets who got struck on the head. Sometimes the ropes stuck a little, and we’d panic, but they never jammed completely. On one 50-metre abseil we found a piece of tat, a small human reminder that someone had been this way before.
Finally, as the sun was setting and we climbed in the pink evening light, we came to a point that we knew was very close to the Mazeno Gap. After eleven hours on the go we had done it. We cleared an obvious site to camp knowing that we were just a few hundred metres of easy ground short of our first big goal. That evening we felt relieved and delighted – we were finally there. All the team were still together and Cathy had become the first woman to traverse the ridge. Ten people in total had now reached this point, six of them on our expedition. We felt elated; an important milestone had been reached and as we drank and ate inside our tents we all felt very pleased with ourselves.
The next morning, 11 July, we woke late after the trials of the previous day – at 8 a.m. The reality of our situation now became clearer. It was our tenth day on the route. In planning the climb, I’d thought that the Mazeno Gap would be a smart place to rest up for a day. The altitude is around 6,940 metres and, I imagined, we would have been on the hill for six to eight days by this stage. Our tired bodies would be glad of a rest day and the spare time would allow us to melt snow and get properly hydrated. Now that we were actually there our food supply was getting sparse; none of us had enjoyed a proper meal since leaving Base Camp. Thanks to the altitude and the strain of climbing, we were probably burning something like five to six thousand calories a day. We had already had a rest day, forced on us by the forecast of bad weather. The truth was that we didn’t have enough supplies, apart from gas canisters, or the physical reserves to hang around. On top of that, the weather was perfect.
Without much conviction, I mentioned the idea of resting up for a day anyway. It occurred to me that one of the team might have been looking forward to stopping for a bit and hanging out in this wonderful place. All three Lhakpas, Rick and Cathy made it perfectly clear that they were keener to push on; we couldn’t let this good weather slip through our fingers. Without further discussion we struck the tents and packed up; we were on our way again at 10.30 a.m., climbing down to the Mazeno Gap proper before starting the climb back uphill, turning some pinnacles on the Rupal side of the face, to our right-hand side as we faced the summit.
It was much harder going steeply uphill and I did wonder if, in our enthusiasm and excitement at having achieved so much, we had given adequate consideration to the state of our bodies. Perhaps we should have taken a rest day? As we climbed we talked a little and decided we could always take a rest at the next bivvy site if we felt we really needed it, although the lack of supplies made that unlikely. We all seemed to be feeling positive in our three teams of two. The weather was sunny and the climbing absorbing, with some tricky traverses and a steep gully of soft unconsolidated snow that felt difficult at that altitude.
Finally, we came to a scree slope that curved upwards into a small flat plateau at about 7,160 metres. There was now a slight breeze and, since the spot looked so accommodating, we decided to camp at around 2.30 p.m. We took our time moving some boulders and lumps of rock to get level platforms – hard and mundane work at high altitude – and then secured the tents with stones. We fully expected the winds to strengthen sooner rather than later.
Having camped on rock, we were able to sit in the afternoon sunshine on boulders outside the tents, chatting together as a group rather than being isolated in our pairs. The stoves purred away, melting snow to water, as we wrapped ourselves in down jackets and drank tea. Once more, I suggested it would be cool just to stop and have a day off, but my idea got short shrift from the others so I let it go. And when we got out the food supplies to have a proper look we realised that there was very
little left indeed. That night we took only half a meal each. Cathy and I shared our first and only freeze-dried meal of the trip and drank more tea.
The team was divided over tactics. Zarok, Rangdu, Nuru and Cathy, as well as Rick, were all pushing to go for the summit next day, while I was still thinking we should rest up, perhaps move our camp higher so as to cut a few hundred metres from our summit day. We still had almost a thousand metres of ascent to go. The others were adamant. Given the lack of food, the Sherpas said that in their opinion we had to go for the summit tomorrow or we would starve. Rick was pushing a bit too, and given that I didn’t mind that much, the decision was made. I knew better than to waste energy by trying to convince them otherwise.
As the day wore on the wind got up; the weather forecast had predicted winds of thirty miles-per-hour and that concerned me. Even at 4,000 metres that would be close to borderline for a summit attempt. At 8,000 metres it felt to me completely unrealistic. I expected the others to review the plan, but they had their minds set and that was that. I felt detached, as though I was observing us all from another perspective – outside myself looking down.
The lack of food was driving the others on but I wasn’t too worried; supplies were low, but we were getting on okay. I had known we would have very few supplies left by this stage and so felt mentally prepared for the situation. It didn’t seem that important in the grand scheme of things. I was slightly concerned that we had run out of quick soups and powder drinks and sugar to add to water; at altitude they are a great way of getting energy. But as long as I knew we had some gas cartridges to melt snow I was happy enough. And if we had the luxury of something to add flavour to the meltwater, even an old teabag, then so much the better. Hydration was the main issue. We had enough body fat and muscle to burn for a day or two. When I got home the weight loss would benefit my rock climbing. But no water? That was a crisis.
I felt a bit outnumbered. The Sherpas were concerned and I understood their point of view. I could see they were tired. Cathy was too. Rick and I had done this sort of stuff before, although not for quite so long, and we knew that at this altitude one could hardly digest food anyway. But given that the team were so keen to keep moving, it would have been a brave leader to talk them out of their attempt. I worried about the wind; I wondered, given how tired the Lhakpas were, that they wouldn’t want to try for the summit if it blew hard. I thought it would be the Sherpas who would be the stronger members of our team at this point. I fully expected us Westerners to be wasted by this stage.
All things considered, I decided it was best just to go with the flow and accept the democratic view. We discussed a plan and agreed to go to bed as soon as possible, wake at 11 p.m. and try to set off around midnight. We didn’t really discuss the descent. That would be for the following day. It was generally assumed that if we did summit then the obvious descent would be by the Schell route, as we were camped right on it. With some good luck it would take about two days to descend back to the isolated herder village of Latabo. We finished our drinks and settled down for the night, having made sure our equipment was ready for the off in the wee small hours.
I dozed intermittently, but at 11 p.m. the tent fabric was flapping like crazy in the strong winds so we delayed things a bit, hoping the wind would ease. By 1 a.m. we were all ready. I was happy to give it a go but not wildly convinced we could get far in such strong winds; if one of the others had given me an indication of support for my wish to stay put I would have readily called a halt. I felt like crap, and the thought of a first ascent was way down my list of motivational incentives. The wind was too strong and I knew it. I struggled to walk and adjust my head torch, goggles and various hoods all at the same time.
At first I was right at the back as the others climbed off into the night. I was roped to Rick, who was at least semi-patient. He knows that under stress I can vomit most of my breakfast and then feel fine and start functioning as well as anyone. He slowed the pace slightly for me and we managed to keep up with the others. The route we were taking was steep as we tried to follow the natural line along the main crest of the ridge. Rock features curved steeply upward, dividing the Rupal and Diamir faces. The climbing was superb, quite hard at times but never too technical. There were a few occasions when we had to stop and climb one at a time, but in general we all moved together, making good progress.
The wind-chill persuaded us to keep moving; we needed the heat of exercise in the black night. As light slowly crept in from the east, the view around us deepened and took shape. I became aware of the huge exposure below me and to the right where the Rupal Face plunged into the shadows. At around 6 a.m., after climbing for five hours, we came to a little summit from where I expected the ridge to continue in a relatively straightforward line to the Merkl Notch at around 7,900 metres. It was here that Reinhold Messner and his brother Günther had endured the bitter cold of their bivouac after reaching the summit in 1970.
Now we discovered that the terrain was more complicated, exposed and technical than any of us had expected. Seeing the terrain ahead of us, with the summit so far away, Nuru and Cathy became totally despondent. Perhaps they thought the summit we were on would have been much closer to the true summit; as it turned out there were other similar intermediate summits to overcome before we got to the top. They both seemed physically tired and emotionally worn out. Cathy told us she wanted to turn back. Since Nuru had agreed to team up with Cathy if she opted to descend, he untied from Zarok and swapped ropes with Rangdu, who had been climbing with Cathy.
It was a sad moment, but a realistic decision. Encouraging words from the rest of us would have made no difference. We decided to descend slightly as this seemed an easier line to the summit, but climbing down proved very awkward and much more technical than I thought it would, and more time-consuming. At times we’d have to torque our ice axes into cracks, or hook them over spikes and lower ourselves down steep overhanging walls while the wind blew updrafts of loose snow into our faces. We balanced our crampons on tiny ledges in the rock. The climbing was all determined and rather ungraceful. In a few places it was easier just to let ourselves drop.
After descending like this for a couple of hundred metres, we came to a place where it seemed that Cathy and Nuru could traverse back on easier snow ramps, with relative ease, to our bivvy at 7,160 metres. We, aiming for the summit, would be faced with a very steep wall leading to a small snow band with the summit pyramid beyond. We said our goodbyes, but didn’t take long about it. Time was pressing and the wind was as strong as ever. ‘Take care then, mind how you go,’ I said. ‘Catch you later.’ And then we were off in opposite directions.
The climbing was technical, Scottish III or IV, with much loose rock. It was pointless putting in protection since the wall was so friable and loose. Anyway, Zarok and Rangdu had our few pitons and nuts with them. Rick and I were happy moving together on this type of terrain. I tried where possible to flick the rope over spikes and that offered some sense of security, but we knew that falling off was not an option. Soloing on this kind of ground is a necessary part of climbing new Himalayan routes in alpine style. The climbing was absorbing and the absolute focus required seemed to relax my mind. I thought of little else but the moves in front of me. Time flowed past; I focused on my breathing, filling my lungs, keeping the rhythm. I controlled my mind, kept it tight on a leash, so that I didn’t raise my expectations that the worst was over. I needed to keep within my limits so we could keep going for hour after hour. There would be more ahead, the altitude would be higher, and the air thinner. I needed to accept that.
Rangdu was in front and Zarok followed on the other end of their rope, taking a curving line up the face. I saw how much slack they had between them and insisted that Rick and I stop to coil our rope, putting the spare into the top of my sack. Now with twenty-five metres of rope between myself and Rick, I followed the approximate line Rangdu had taken, but a little more directly to avoid any stones they might accidentally send down. There was some soft snow, but the wind had blown much of it from the steep rock and, as a consequence, our route diverged some more as we followed a route parallel to that of the Sherpas.
I was enjoying myself, overcoming this obstacle with my good pal on the other end of the rope, but was concerned that we still had a long way to go. I was also kicking myself that we hadn’t researched this upper section of Nanga Parbat more thoroughly. We’d been thinking so hard about the Mazeno that we rather thought the rest would take care of itself. Not many people had been this way: the Messner brothers of course, on their famous descent from the Rupal Face; Hans Schell’s team in 1976; and a handful of Spanish, Polish and Czech climbers. The problem was that I don’t speak much German and the other languages even less, so I had hardly read any of their reports. I had scanned some pictures of this part of the mountain, but had to admit that I didn’t absorb all the detail.
Back then I had been planning on taking the ridge between the Diamir and Rupal faces. I had assumed it would be technically difficult, but that we would cope with it. A climb that felt like a pipe dream had turned suddenly into reality – like being a teenager and knowing that you’ll probably end up buying a house, but not caring too much about what kind of kitchen you want.
Despite the gaps in our knowledge, we were enjoying ourselves and closing in on 8,000 metres. We had reached easier ground and I now looked behind us to see how Cathy and Nuru were getting on traversing back to camp. I had thought the Sherpas might stop to have a drink once they reached the snow, but they were still bashing on. I felt a surge of frustration; they knew they should be looking after their bodies at this altitude. They weren’t far ahead and I called out to them, but the wind was strong and there was no sign they had heard me.
Rick and I stopped for a quick drink from our water bottles and adjusted the rope so that we were now no more than twelve metres apart before moving off again. We were heading for a steep rock band above the Merkl Notch. As we reached it we met Rangdu and Zarok descending rather despondently toward us. I could see their footprints leading uphill and the point at which they had turned around. Why had they not waited for us? I felt a flash of anger that they’d made the decision for us. They seemed surprised that we were so close behind. Maybe they’d pushed on just to satisfy us that it really couldn’t be done?
I scanned the steep wall ahead and, beyond that, the snow and rock slopes that led to the summit. There was still a long way to go, a good part of it above 8,000 metres. We stood together, the wind stinging our faces. The Lhakpas seemed really dejected. ‘It’s very steep up ahead and we are too late,’ Rangdu said. It was now 11 a.m. or so. I looked up again, tracing a line past the wall and up systems of couloirs leading to the top. My friend Robert Schauer had been up there somewhere as part of Hans Schell’s expedition. I knew I could climb it, but it was a long way. How long would it take us? My mind wound slowly through the calculations.
‘We have to go, Mr Sandy.’ Rangdu said. Zarok nodded in agreement. Rick was silent. I thought, it’s seven hours to the top if the climbing doesn’t get much harder. We would get to the top at around five or six o’clock. I knew I was probably being optimistic. Then, of course, we would have to get down. We had head torches and perhaps half a litre of water each left in our bottles. Rick and I would probably have an open bivouac somewhere around the Merkl Notch. The Messners had done that, so it wasn’t impossible. Then again, Günther had been in a ragged state and fallen to his death next day. And the Messner brothers were amazing.
The wind was now very strong, so if anything went wrong or my estimate was out we would get benighted and our bodies would be right on the limit – dehydrated, exhausted and exposed to the elements. I kicked myself: why did we not bring a stove? I sensed Rick running the same equations through his head. We have climbed together at these high altitudes for most of our lives. Our ambitions are often beyond what other people think is wise or possible, but we know our limits.
Rangdu was insistent. He is my friend too, I thought. With Zarok we have endured tough times together. It is too late and too windy. We don’t really know how much climbing is left. I looked at them, deep into their eyes. I looked at Rick, who was, I assumed, as keen as me to keep going but also aware that without a stove or sleeping bags it was a risk too far. I wondered if he was also kicking himself?
‘You’re quite right Rangdu,’ I said. ‘We have to go down. It’s still early but we have been on the move since 1 a.m.’
‘We want to go home,’ Rangdu said. ‘It’s too much. There is no food left and it’s too technical. We’ll need a long time to climb this.’ I’d been climbing long enough with Sherpas to know that once they’ve made their mind up, that’s it. ‘We are going down tomorrow,’ he added. Really he was telling me that we all had to go down, that our attempts at the summit were over. It was obvious to me that both Rangdu and Zarok were done.
I looked at Rick, wondering what he would do. Like me, he could happily cut loose and solo to the top. We’d done similar things before and I wondered if we were about to do it again. I felt as though I was in the middle of a game of mental chess. I felt calm and relaxed. In my notebook at home is a quotation from the industrialist Andrew Carnegie, born in Dunfermline: ‘The man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’
I felt sympathy for Zarok and Rangdu but sensed also that Rick and I were keen to climb. I tried to take emotion out of it. I wanted to make sure that these two friends got back to camp. Their contribution to the expedition had been immense. They had been the key that unlocked this upper section to us. We had done what we had set out to do, and reached the Mazeno Gap with energy and supplies to spare and we’d done it as a team. I was aware that the wrong words from me now could unravel this strong team spirit. We had successfully traversed the Mazeno Ridge. Was that not enough?
I knew I had the strength to keep going, but the wind was too strong and we did not have a stove. Okay, I told myself, today is not the day.
‘Right. Let’s go down.’
Rangdu said, ‘We are finished Sandy, down tomorrow!’ Then he and Zarok turned and walked away. Rick and I took another look at the wall above and then turned after them, following the tracks back the way we had come. Within seconds I knew I had made the correct decision; I felt certain it was the correct call. Rick was with me.
After a few hundred metres I shouted to the Sherpas against the roar of the wind to stop. They waited and we grouped together. I explained I had seen a traverse ledge that cut the corner we’d made after we left Cathy and Nuru. It may be possible to descend more quickly and maybe come back up it next time. I noticed Zarok and Rangdu both ignored my comment about another attempt. But they were happy to descend another way if it saved time. Abandoning our tracks, we all walked directly down the slope. It was much easier walking straight downhill as the snow became shallower, but we had to take care not to trip on the loose rock beneath and fall down the cliff we were traversing above. Disappointment and exhaustion were creeping over us.
Despite this, the sun was shining and the wind had dropped now that we were in the lee of the summit slopes. We stopped for a drink and bite to eat, and I opened my zips to cool down a little. Then came an awkward traverse along a rock bench and I tore the front of my down trousers, inhaling a mouthful of expensive duck feathers which almost choked me. I continued down, placing my pick on the rock and easing my weight precariously down with the Sherpas following, grumbling about my route.
We came to some old fixed hawser rope, blanched white by the sun and degraded by exposure to the elements. Some big old pitons swung freely on a steep wall, high above us out of reach. The snow must have been deeper when the climbers who left them came through. They had secured fixed ropes, a line of safety back to base camp. We didn’t have that luxury.
The traverse was tedious and scary, protection was minimal, so we occasionally hitched the rope over a spike. If one of us fell, our rope-mate would probably get pulled off too. Then we were past the traverse’s difficulties and heading towards a snow ramp, which we hoped would lead easily to a rock buttress. Below this, easy climbing and a few abseils should take us back to camp. Cathy and Nuru should be there by now. I hoped they had the energy to melt some snow for us.
We were now quite exhausted, but by 2.30 p.m. had almost managed to traverse off the steep section. Two awkward abseils had brought us to an easy snow traverse that led to the ramp. The ground was steep and the snow softer. Now was the moment Zarok tripped on his crampon and fell. He tried to get his ice axe in to stop himself, but to no avail. I watched Rangdu kick himself into the soft snow, trying to get a good, solid stance in preparation for the rope going tight. Once again there was too much slack rope so the impact was high; as soon as Zarok’s weight came on the rope, Rangdu was catapulted off his feet and fell after Zarok, passing him in a matter of seconds.
All Rick and I could do was watch helplessly. The two Sherpas continued to fall past each other; as one recovered the other would shoot past and drag him off his feet and down the slope again. I really thought they were going to go all the way down the Diamir Face. Then, by chance, just as they approached the edge of a band of ice cliffs, their direction of fall took them to a point where a huge sérac had lifted slightly. This change in angle was just enough to bring them to a halt, right on the edge of the cliff. I could hardly believe their good luck. They had stopped.
After a small delay both stood up, apparently uninjured. I waved and shouted but I am sure they heard nothing, my voice carried away in the light wind. Rick and I wanted to help, but it was obvious the two Lhakpas were well enough to extricate themselves. Rangdu was looking up at me. I wondered what he was thinking. Although they’d survived a terrifying fall, and were mentally celebrating a narrow escape, they had probably just realised that they now had the hard work of breaking a new trail back to the top of the ramp.
I made some hand signals to Rangdu, telling him that we would traverse downwards to come closer to them. If they took an easy rising traverse we would meet them halfway and could continue breaking trail more directly to the upper reaches of the snow ramp. Then it would be a short climb down to camp. We seemed to understand each other and I watched them untangle their rope and move upwards on a low-angled rising traverse. I set off with Rick and it was easier now we were traversing downhill. Soon we were reunited with Zarok and Rangdu.
The four of us sat and chatted, Rick and I consoling the Sherpas. They were shattered, blown away by their near-miss. It had been incredibly good luck to come to a halt where they did. Zarok and Rangdu had clearly had enough of Nanga Parbat and spoke emotionally about their experience. There was no way they’d be coming back for another go. We encouraged them to keep moving and get back to the tents, sharing the dregs of our water with them before continuing uphill, desperate work in the softening snow.
As we slogged up to the snow ramp, we found an old stash of supplies, which Rick was enthusiastic to explore. The tins were labelled in German. I simply ignored it, knowing that while there was a slight chance some of the food might be of use, a good brew at camp would be much nicer. Rick found some dried fruit, offering it around as he ate some. I declined, not wanting to risk poisoning myself. While Rick dug through the tins and packets like a magpie, I whiled away the time looking at the view and reflecting on our situation. Rangdu and Zarok were desperate to get back to camp and quickly disappeared behind some steep rocks.
The view was spectacular. The Mazeno Ridge and all its 7,000-metre peaks were shrouded in a wonderful mist that reflected the dwindling sunlight. Rick and I had no need to talk but I am sure that we both understood we were approaching a crossroads in the expedition. It was simpler for Rick to occupy himself with burrowing through the decades-old stash than voice opinions. Besides, events were too fresh. I felt I needed time to let the dust settle. I looked behind me and traced the traverse line of our descent with my eyes. I was trying to etch it into my memory so that I could find it in a storm. It was a habit I had developed as a kid initially gathering sheep on the Haughs of Cromdale and then navigating my way on the featureless arctic plateau of my beloved Cairngorms.
The truth, as I saw it, was that Cathy and Nuru were despondent and knackered. I assumed they had made it back to camp, but there was as yet no sign of them. Rangdu and Zarok were most definitely at their wits’ end. Was there any human who would not be, having gone through so much? Rick and I were dealing in our own ways with the range of emotions of a failed summit attempt and the sight of the two Sherpas sliding uncontrollably towards their deaths.
I needed quietness and time to think. I was happy to be alive, happy that all the team were alive. I also knew we should not have set out in the wind early that morning. We had burned up scarce resources which we could ill afford to lose. I should have been more confident in my own assessment of the situation. I should have found the courage to tell the others that leaving at 1 a.m. in that wind was silly. Then again, I realised that they would have simply tried without me. It’s not called summit fever for nothing. Why had I fallen for such temptation?
Perhaps I should not have been so insistent about a new line to the summit – Rick and Cathy had always advocated taking the easier line to the summit if we did get through to the Mazeno Gap. I knew there was an easier snow couloir lower down that would be a good way to top out. Sitting on the rocks, waiting for Rick, I looked back at our descending steps and saw there was a potential line. It would lead us to the upper Kinshofer route. But by that time Rick had had enough of tinkering about in the abandoned food dump and was packing a corroded tin of something into his rucksack. I thought he was nuts but knew better than to comment.
‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s get out of this wind and have a cup of tea.’ Down we went. I took a nice photo of the setting sun and the mist-wreathed Mazeno. As I took the double fisherman’s knot out of one of my prusik loops and threaded the thin cord around a spike for the final abseil, I wondered if I would come back to this place again. Mentally I was preparing myself for our arrival at the tents. It would be ace to get a brew in my hand from Cathy or Nuru. But I felt that when we joined the others the mood would be bleak.