Bear Grylls (35 page)

As we crossed each crevasse, the mountain began to feel more distant behind us. We were emerging slowly from her jaws. I hadn’t descended below Camp Two now for over ten days. I knew that
I was leaving something extraordinary behind me. We all walked in silence, lost in our thoughts.

Twice during those few hours moving through the Cwm, I quietly wept behind my glasses. I wasn’t quite sure why I was crying. I thought of my father waiting back home. Somehow I knew that
he understood what I had gone through. I just longed to be home. I didn’t try to stop the tears; they had been stored up for a long time. I just let them flow.

Two hours of wading through the powdery snow of the avalanche, and we sat at the lip of the Icefall. The tumbling cascade of frozen water seemed to beckon us in, one last time. We had no choice
but to oblige.

Neil strangely crossed himself again at the lip and plunged in, the rope buzzing as he abseiled over the edge. He was gone from sight. I smiled; that was twice he had done that now. Something
deep had happened up there with him, I could see it. I pushed the thought away, clipped in, checked the rope and followed Neil down into the glassy depths.

The route had changed beyond all recognition. There must have been a lot of movement whilst we had been up there. The new ropes snaked over the giant ice cubes and led us through treacherously
angled overhangs that would crush a house in an instant if they chose that moment to come loose. I swallowed and raced through them. Geoffrey and the others followed on. The ice must have laughed
at our feebleness as we hurried nervously through the dark shadows of its jaws above. With each mousetrap of ice we passed through, I felt some of the tension leave me. Each step was a step towards
home.

We could see Base Camp to our left, below us. My body filled with excitement and I felt energy fill my weary limbs. I could hardly believe we were almost back. I felt like it had been an age
since I had last seen Base Camp. An entire lifetime seemed to have passed up there. The tents seemed to shimmer below us, as if calling us back. I hurried through the ice.

At 12.05 p.m. we unclipped from the last rope for the final time. I let my head fall on my chest as I moved across the ice, out of the Icefall; I couldn’t quite believe it, but it was
true. We were home – a little ruffled, but home.

Neil and I threw our crampons to the ground and hugged like three year-olds at a birthday party. I turned excitedly and looked back up at the tumbling, broken glacier and shook my head in
disbelief. I was breathing heavily. It had let us through. I thanked the mountain sincerely in my mind and looked around me.

I hardly recognized the bottom of the Icefall now that summer was coming and some of the ice was beginning to melt into stream water. Relieved, so relieved, we splashed in the puddles of
freezing water. It felt cool on my sweaty face. I splashed water into the air, dunked my head in the stream and then shook it violently. Waves of worry and tension seemed to leave me as I yelped
and threw my head back and forth, shaking my hair. The sun was warm and we knew we were safe at last.

We hugged again as Geoffrey, Michael, Andy and Ilgvar arrived with Pasang and Ang-Sering. It was one of the finest moments I have ever known. We shared the same emotions; the same relief swept
over us all. It showed in our eyes. They were all ablaze.

The walk across the rocks to our camp, that before had been the curse of us, suddenly became a delight. I skipped over them with renewed vigour. I could see everyone at Base Camp waiting outside
the mess tent. I was dying to see Mick.

My windsuit now undone to the waist, karabiners clipped to my jacket and with water dripping off me, I dropped my pack for the last time. Neil beside me was smiling from ear to ear. He looked a
different person now that the strain was lifted from him. He whacked me hard on the back and grabbed my head in his arms; we had come a long way together.

I turned to Mick and we hugged. Grinning, he shook Neil and I with excitement. We had done it together. Mick had also tasted life up high – near the top; he knew what was up there; we had
climbed this mountain as a team, as brothers. Mick felt no bitterness about having got so close. He had seen and experienced too much to feel bitter. He had come within a whisker of dying, and he
knew it. His family had implored him not to go back up, and a lesser man might have ignored them. He had made the only real decision and was alive now. That was all that mattered. In my mind he had
reached the top. I have never thought of it as any other way. He is my bravest friend.

Still sweaty from the descent and soaked from the melt-water at the bottom, we drank in the morning sun. The vast jeroboam of champagne that had sat like some idol at Base Camp
for two months was ceremoniously produced. It took four of us twenty minutes of hacking away with ice-axes and leatherman tools to finally get the cork off. I feared it would blow a hole in the
tent at 17,450 feet in Base Camp. I squinted behind Neil as we wrestled with it.

‘If it hits you, Neil, it won’t make much difference to you, so let me tuck in here behind,’ I argued. He chuckled as we wrestled frantically, shaking the jeroboam way beyond
the recommended ‘safe’ limit. Neil tried to shield his head under his arm, but before he managed to get it there, the cork just erupted like some tectonic explosion. It flew round the
room what seemed like four times, then lodged itself in a bucket of used tea-bags. Screams went up. The party had begun.

I groped for the cigarettes that Patrick had brought out for me over two months ago. I opened them, lit one and spluttered violently. My throat was still red and sore from my illness and the
incessant coughing up high had reduced it to an inflamed mess. I spat blood-filled saliva on the floor. Much as I would have loved to have my first cigarette for ten months there and then, I just
couldn’t. I stubbed it out on the floor and sipped at the champagne. At least I had tried.

I felt like drinking a gallon of this Moët et Chandon that had travelled so far, yet my body just couldn’t cope. Sipping slowly was all I could manage and even after a few of those I
felt decidedly wobbly. People were noticing this, but I didn’t care. I closed my eyes and flopped against the rock wall; a huge smile was plastered across my face.

An hour later I began to peel myself off the wall. I felt hungover, and I had only had three and a half sips. I felt sure that climbing Everest meant that I would be able to drink like a whale.
Something must be wrong. I rather sheepishly got up and staggered out of the tent, squinting in the bright sun. The Sherpas were chuckling as I emerged. I smiled and waved at them to be quiet. My
head hurt.

Ed Brandt announced that the sat-phone was charged. We could call home. I remembered his waterbottle that I had dropped. I winced; I would tell him some other time. I went into the
communications tent, sat down and dialled home. Someone could let Colonel Anthony now know that I had really reached the top. I grinned. I am sure he would just turn and say that he knew that weeks
ago.

That afternoon I lay in my tent with Mick. I peeled off my clothes and got into fresh socks and thermals. I had reserved a set especially for this moment. It had been a good decision. Mick wore
my tweed cap and plied me with questions. We sat huddled for hours and talked and talked. I had missed him.

‘How come Geoffrey has lost two stone in weight, I’ve lost about one and a half stone, Neil looks like he’s fresh out of Weight-Watchers HQ, yet you still have love handles,
eh?’ Mick joked.

‘You know what they say, Miguel, it takes courage, faith and chocolate cake to climb Everest.’ He shook his head in disbelief, and I secretly felt my sides to see if I did have those
love handles. He was right.

Henry poked his grinning face through the tent. He had done his job well. He had orchestrated the entire expedition successfully. That in his books meant that we were all alive.
To him that was what mattered. His face showed the relief.

‘Well done, boy. Well done, eh?’ he said to me, smiling. He had watched me on Ama Dablam, all the way through to now. He had trusted me and helped me; I owed him a lot for that
trust. I had lived up to his expectations; it was all I had hoped for. I thanked him; it was his help and advice that had carved the way for me. He knew how grateful I was; I hardly needed to say
it.

‘I knew you had it in you,’ he added.

‘I’ve been lucky, though, Henry, you know. Very lucky,’ I replied.

He reeled on me, his eyes ablaze.

‘No, Bear, you haven’t been lucky. No.’ He spoke fast and abruptly. ‘You, young man, have pushed and pushed for this. You alone got there. Do you understand? You pushed
hard, didn’t you?’ I remembered our conversation before I had left Base Camp. Our eyes met. I nodded. We smiled and he withdrew from the tent chuckling.

As the day dragged on, with Sherpas moving slowly around Base Camp, exhausted but exhilarated, the rest of us focused on Neil’s feet. They were in the early stages of severe frostbite. The
feet and toes looked blistered and puffy. He sat soaking them in warm water. They were tender and battered. He suspected that he wouldn’t ever feel them again properly. We didn’t know
whether he would lose them or not. We didn’t discuss it.

The long wait we had both had at the Balcony had left its mark on him. We had to get him evacuated as soon as possible. He would need proper medical attention on them soon, if he was to keep
them. Andy helped bandage them carefully; they had to be kept warm and protected. There was no way that he would get them in a pair of boots; he needed an airlift out of here by helicopter.

The insurance company said that dawn the next day was the soonest they could get one out to us. At 17,450 feet we were on the outer limits at which helicopters can fly. Only the Nepalese
military pilots have the suitable choppers and local knowledge to reach here. One would be with us, they hoped, weather permitting, at 6.30 a.m. tomorrow morning. We waited in anticipation; yet no
amount of anticipation could keep sleep from me that night. I knew I would sleep like never before as my body began to wallow in the elusive rest that it had so longed for. I daydreamed for a while
for some strange reason of getting a dog. Yes, I’ll get a dog when I get home, I said to myself, then I fell fast asleep, smiling.

‘One only, one only!’ The Nepalese pilot bellowed over the noise of the rotors. I took no notice and hopped in.

‘I am his personal doctor, I must under all circumstances be with him,’ I fibbed unconvincingly. The pilot looked somewhat bemused.

‘What?’

‘Yes, that’s right, at all costs,’ I insisted, bundling Neil in. He grinned. His feet all bandaged up looked like loaves of bread. I winked at him.

The co-pilot looked bemused as well. ‘Most unusual, but if you are his doctor then I’ll take him down to Lobuche then come back for you. The air is too thin to take off with two
passengers.’ I felt a wave of guilt come over me and nodded gratefully.

‘Yes, I must insist,’ I continued, showing the patience of a pregnant camel in the latter stages of labour, ‘I’ll be waiting here.’

I pray the insurance company never gets to hear about this. I’ll be stung for thousands, I thought. Oh, sod it.

The chopper struggled to lift off, then pointed its nose down and swept away across the glacier fading from sight in the glaring sun that was now rising.

Mick and Geoffrey never believed it would work.

‘That’s the last you’ll see of them,’ they joked. I sat staring into the sun, squinting to see if I could see it returning. There was no sign.

Twenty minutes later, the distant sound of rotors could be faintly heard. I could still see nothing. I dared not get too excited. I couldn’t face a thirty-five-mile walk out to Lukla, in
the lower foothills. I didn’t have the strength. ‘It has to come back.’

Slowly noise grew and on the horizon I could see the tiny speck of a helicopter winding its way through the valley. It was coming back. My heart leapt. Geoffrey and Mick shook their heads in
disbelief.

‘You dog, I can’t believe it,’ they shrieked over the noise of the chopper, now hovering above the ice. It touched down and I clambered in, grinning. I tapped the pilot on the
shoulder to say okay. All I had with me was my filthy fleece and my ID documents; everything else would have to be taken down through the valleys by yak. If this was going to work then there
wouldn’t be room for any surplus baggage. I knew that I wouldn’t see any of my equipment again for some time.

Inside the cockpit both the pilots were breathing through oxygen masks. They needed to, coming straight into this height. They pulled on the throttle and angled the blades. The chopper strained
under the weight, then it slowly lifted off.

Six feet up, though, all the warning lights flashed and buzzed furiously. The chopper began to lose height then just dropped the last three feet down on to the ice. It had been an abortive
take-off, the rotors didn’t have enough air to bite on. We tried again and failed. The Nepalese pilot scurried round to the fuel dump and let a load out onto the ice. He scrambled back in and
we tried one last time. If it didn’t work then they would have to leave without me. I can’t be that heavy, I thought.

The chopper struggled and just managed to lift off, then dipped its nose and swept only feet above the rocks that raced away below us. The skids missed some of them by what seemed like only a
few inches. The pilot strained to get more speed and lift; the joystick shook in his hands. Their eyes darted between the dials and the rocks below, just beneath the height of the skids. They were
sweating. Now would be a bad time to die, I thought, having just got off the mountain safely. I knew that only a few years ago a chopper had crashed trying to take off from here, killing everyone
aboard. I swallowed, I couldn’t do this as a living.

Slowly the chopper gained height and the glacier dropped away below us. The pilots sat back in their seats and looked at each other, then at me and grinned; it had been close. I think they knew
that I wasn’t a doctor, but they also knew when someone was desperate. That is why they had come back. I thanked them and smiled.