The Beckoning Silence

by Simpson, Joe

  Using a 370-metre steel cable, Corti is recovered from the face. This was the first time a climber had been rescued from the Eigerwand.

  13 Do nothing in haste

  I awoke before the alarm began to beep and quickly deactivated it lest it woke Ray. I lay still for a moment, staring into the darkness, thinking about the day and feeling a rising swell of excitement. I ran quickly through a tick list of the items I had packed in my rucksack. Stove, gas cylinders, food, duvet jacket, hardware, rope, harness, bivi bag, camcorder, spare batteries and film, contact lens case. I tried to think of what I might have forgotten, wondering whether our tactics were right. We had decided to leave the bivi tent and our light-weight sleeping bags behind to save weight. I hoped a duvet jacket would be up to the rigours of two, maybe three, long, cold September nights. We should have at least two bivouacs on the face.

  I had been told not to bring down equipment on the wall because the wet nature of the climb quickly degraded its insulation properties. Jerry Arcari, who works for Rab Carrington, had supplied us with two Rab down jackets with a special water-proof breathable outer layer, assuring us that they would be fine. I had tried one out on Bridalveil Falls, spending ten minutes standing in a veritable shower of icy water convinced the down feathers would be turned into useless soggy lumps. To my astonishment the down had remained dry, so I had persuaded Ray on the basis of this impromptu experiment that the jackets were good enough to allow us to leave the tent and sleeping bags behind. I smiled at the thought of what he would say when we were shivering through our second night on the face.

  Unable to think of any pressing reason to stay in bed I threw back the covers and pulled a thermal top over my head, shivering at the touch of the icy morning air. I switched on the stove ring to heat water for coffee and busied myself with preparing breakfast. Bacon was soon sizzling in the pan and the smell of fresh coffee filled the room. I turned to look for my thermal trousers and the rest of my clothing and noticed that Ray was sitting up in bed, back propped against the wall.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I thought I’d wake you with all the clatter. Breakfast should be ready soon.’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ Ray said in a subdued voice. ‘I’ve been awake since two.’

  ‘You’re not ill, are you?’ I said anxiously as I sat down to pull on my knee-length socks. He remained silent. I began pulling myself into my fleece salopettes, struggling to find the braces hanging down my back.

  ‘I’m not going, Joe,’ Ray said flatly and I stopped looking for the buckle and glanced at where he sat with his arms crossed defensively.

  ‘I’ve been going over it all night,’ he said. ‘It’s doing my head in. I keep seeing all the things that could go wrong. I can’t take that risk. I’m not going.’

  ‘Right,’ I said in shocked surprise. ‘Okay, right, you’re not going.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ Ray said calmly. I said nothing.

  I poured myself a coffee, opened the patio door and stepped outside to sit at the table. I lit a cigarette and tried to think. I felt sick with disappointment. We weren’t even going to make an attempt! I tried to think of what I could say that might make Ray change his mind and realised immediately that there was nothing. Morally I had no right to put pressure on him. It was his decision. I knew he would have been agonising over it these last few hours. He was aware of how much this climb meant to me and he also was painfully aware that he was the cause of reawakening my dream. I knew he felt terrible.

  When we had been packing our gear the previous evening I had noticed Ray looking at the photographs of his two young daughters and I had felt a pang of guilt. I was keenly aware of what they stood to lose. Then I shook the thought from my head. After all, he had made the same choice on every climb we had embarked upon in the past.

  I sipped my coffee and looked at the shadow of the north face. The sky was lightening and I could make out the outline of the west flank and the Mittellegi Ridge. A bright yellow light shone out from the centre of the face. It was the gallery windows where the old farmer had watched two roped parties fall past him. In the end I drank too much coffee and smoked too many cigarettes and stared glumly as the first train made its way up through the picturesque meadows towards Kleine Scheidegg. I stood up and went inside.

  ‘I’m going to see if I can find a partner,’ I said, not looking at Ray. He said nothing. ‘I understand, Ray. It’s not a problem.’

  ‘You’re no good at lying,’ he replied bluntly.

  ‘Maybe not,’ I conceded. ‘I just think I won’t get another chance, that’s all. I was wondering whether Nick Bullock is around.’

  Nick was a friend of Bruce French, who I had been told was climbing in Chamonix that summer and had plans to come over to try the Eiger in mid-September. I was hoping his partner might have dropped out. I almost laughed at the irony that once again I was in exactly the same position as I had been twenty years before when Dave Page had said he wouldn’t climb the Eiger with me.

  ‘Failing that, I’ll ring Simon Wells. He’s using some guides. He might know how much it costs to be guided on it.’ Even as I said it I felt mildly guilty at the thought of being guided. It was anathema to me. We had all taught ourselves to climb. All of us had been furiously independent and the very idea of paying to be led by others was the antithesis of everything we hoped to do in the mountains. Apart from the expense, and I had no doubts how costly a Swiss guide’s rates on the Eigerwand would be, I would also not be allowed to lead anything on the route. In fact I suspected that no guide would take a client on such a serious route without having climbed with him beforehand. I didn’t have enough time for that. I hoped that the guide might have heard of me and then chuckled at the idea of the German-Swiss edition of Touching the Void being a recommendation to any aspiring climbing partner. He would probably run a mile. But there was no other choice.

  In truth, I didn’t want to be guided because I wanted to experience the climb with a close and trusted friend; someone who thought the same way about the importance of the climb as I did. I had no ego problems about using a guide since I knew I could climb the route and it wasn’t as if I would be being dragged up something completely beyond my ability. Yet I wanted to do it with Ray so we could grow old with the memory of it, so that it would always be something special, something shared. However good the guide, it would always be an isolating experience and I knew I would miss Ray.

  Deep down I knew that Ray wanted to do the route more than any other climb he had ever attempted. I knew he would regret this decision. If I went and climbed it successfully with a stranger it would only make his recriminations worse. I felt that I should explain this to him but that would be tempting him to change his mind against his better judgement. I had to respect his choice. I wanted to shout at him that he was wrong.

  After an hour of fruitless ringing around I was no better off. Simon Wells knew of no British climbers in the area so it looked as if Nick Bullock had changed his mind about the Eiger. He also said that he would ask Hanspeter Feuz, his head guide, what the rates were and if they were any guides available. He was sympathetic but there was nothing he could do for me. He had his hands full with his own filming project.

  I left a message for Samuel Zeller, a Swiss guide from Interlaken introduced to me by Jerry Arcari, but learned that he was guiding in another area of the Alps. Simon Wells then called me back to say it would cost nearly £1500 to be guided and that he thought it unlikely a guide would take me on the Eiger untried. It was no more than I had expected. I wondered whether I could justify spending so much money on a guide and knew immediately that I would have paid double if the opportunity arose. Simon added that his team were starting up the face the following day, Monday 11 September. The plan was for Heinz Zak and Scott Muir to climb the face as they were filmed by Will Edwards. Will was to be looked after by two guides, Hansruedi Gertsch and Godi Egger. The forecast was stable. There was supposed to be some overcast weather on the Tuesday and then it was set fair until Thursda
y, possibly right through to Saturday. The French climbers who had climbed the route in twelve hours had reported that the face was in dry condition and improving with every day of sunshine. I put the phone down, sickened by a curdling mixture of envy and disappointment.

  Later that day I strolled up to our favourite restaurant and ordered a beer on the terrace. The waitress asked why we were not on the wall. We had made the mistake of telling her our plans the previous evening.

  ‘Ah well, my friend has had a change of mind,’ I said diplomatically.

  ‘That is good, no?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said and I gave her a vague disingenuous story about our future plans. I rang Pat to tell her what had happened. She was understanding and concerned about Ray’s welfare. She also knew how disappointed I was, but I sensed the relief in her voice.

  ‘We may come home early,’ I said. ‘See you soon.’ And I rang off.

  I read the paper and tried not to keep glancing at the mountain. Leafing through one of the magazine supplements, my eyes were drawn to a page of astrological predictions. Out of curiosity I read what it said for Leo, my star sign.

  Believe it or not, with Mars in your birth sign, it could be that certain people are thinking along the same lines as you.

  ‘Bollocks!’ I said a little too loudly, startling a group of American tourists at the adjacent table. They glared at me and I glared pleasantly back.

  However, this is not easy for them to admit, so you might have to spring into action, rather than walk off and miss your chance. Having said that, you could find yourself sucked into a situation from which there is no way out. As you begin the week you are still disgruntled over sudden developments that involved the use of your resources and certain individuals who insisted on making decisions for you. These may have been both unfair and unwise, but battling to reverse them achieves little.

  ‘Too bloody right!’ I snapped angrily and watched as the Americans paying their bill threw disapproving looks in my direction. I searched the horoscope page for the Taurus prediction, Ray’s star sign.

  As you don’t have total control over current situations you must make sure that colleagues will be there when you need them. Making the best of it demands only that you go along with sudden – and unsettling – changes.

  I burst out laughing at the irony of it. It was me who was having to deal with sudden – and unsettling – changes. I ordered another beer and morosely thought of what could have been.

  ‘How are you doing, kid?’ I looked up to see Ray standing by the table.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Didn’t get much joy from Simon. Maybe Samuel will be able to help. I’ve left him a message. I’m prepared to pay fifteen hundred, more if I have to. It’ll be worth it even if it’s not quite what I wanted.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking this through,’ Ray said, drawing up a chair. ‘And don’t get me wrong. I don’t feel pressured by you in any way. In fact, I was quite surprised. I expected you to blow up.’

  ‘I did, inside,’ I said. ‘But we said from the start we would respect each other’s decisions. It was your choice. There was nothing I could say.’

  ‘I want to do it.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at Ray.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ he continued. ‘I let it get to me. All that psychological baggage stuff. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You know, worst-case scenarios and all that.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I did that thing months ago,’ I said, somewhat bitterly.

  Ray shrugged. ‘I’ve sorted it out now. Got it into perspective. I thought about climbing up to the Stollenloch the other day and how much I enjoyed it. I’ll kick myself if I don’t at least give it a proper try. I want to do it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I looked at him. ‘This is all a bit muddled.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I feel pretty stupid about it all. I just got a bad feeling and couldn’t shake it off. I was scared. You know what it’s like.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve all been there,’ I said. ‘We can’t go tomorrow, even though the forecast is great.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Simon told me that Heinz and Scott are heading up tomorrow. If we try to reach Death Bivouac there will be seven of us spending the night there. And it will screw up their filming schedule if we keep getting in the frame.’

  ‘First train on Tuesday, then?’ Ray suggested and I nodded agreement.

  ‘We’ll go up tomorrow and have a look at how they’re getting on. We should be able to monitor them through the big camera – see what the conditions are like – and we can also check out the west flank descent route.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Hello,’ the waitress greeted Ray and placed a beer on the table. ‘So you are not climbing the wall?’ she said in a loud voice. I put my head in my heads.

  ‘We’ve changed our minds,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, your friend is not going,’ she said, and Ray scowled at me.

  ‘He is now,’ I said.

  ‘I changed my mind again,’ Ray said with a grin. ‘It’s my prerogative. I’m a man.’

  ‘You are crazy. This is bad decision. The wall is dangerous,’ she scolded him.

  ‘Let’s not go into that again,’ I said and watched as she stalked away.

  The next morning as we disembarked from the train at Kleine Scheidegg I saw Mark Stokes fussing over the camera that was set up on a large tripod outside the hotel. It was weighed down with heavy sand bags to prevent camera shake. Simon stood talking earnestly to Hanspeter Feuz. I glanced at the wall looming in the background and wondered how the team were getting on. Simon spotted me and waved us over.

  ‘Hi, guys. How’s things?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, fine,’ I said. ‘Our usual decisive selves, you know. Are they on the wall?’

  ‘Yes, Scott and Heinz are climbing up to the Stollenloch. They should be there within the hour. Will and the two guides will pick them up from there. They just went up on the train. Hanspeter has an arrangement with the railway to let people out of the tunnel.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ I said as Simon turned away. I looked at Ray. ‘I’ve got a cunning plan,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, God. What?’

  ‘Well, since we’ve already climbed up to the Stollenloch and it was a load of rubble why don’t we ask whether we can get let out of the window on the first train tomorrow? That way we can get to Death Bivouac easily in a day.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be cheating?’ Ray said dubiously.

  ‘If we hadn’t already climbed that part of the face, yes,’ I replied. ‘Do you want to do that again?’

  ‘Not especially,’ Ray agreed. ‘It’s not as if it’s good climbing.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous slag heap,’ I said.

  ‘But would they allow us to stop the train?’

  ‘As for the train, well, that’s where my cunning plan comes in. Simon knows we would have gone up today, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And he knows we held back so we were not in his way. I’ll bet he’ll put a good word in for us with Hanspeter. After all, we’ve done him a favour by holding back.’

  ‘Cunning, very cunning.’

  ‘Anyway I’ve always fancied stepping out of the train straight onto the face. It would be surreal.’

  ‘You have a weird idea of fun, Joe.’

  ‘Hey, Joe, Ray,’ Simon called, smiling mischievously. ‘Come over here. There’s someone I think you guys would like to meet.’

  We wandered over to where a knot of people were gathered around a table laden with cameras, sandwiches and beer bottles. A man stooped with age and wearing a black jacket stood with his back to us as Simon extended his arm towards us in greeting. The man turned around as Simon introduced us and Ray and I stood stock still in shock.

  ‘Anderl, I have some friends here who would like to meet you. Ray, Joe, this is Anderl Heckmair. I think you may have heard of him.’

  ‘Hello, good to meet you,’ Anderl Heckmair said,
removing a vicious-looking black cigar from his mouth and extending his hand. I shook it and mumbled something inane about honour and privilege. Ray shook his hand wordlessly. ‘This is my wife, Traudl,’ Heckmair held his hand out to a petite lady who smiled broadly and shook our hands.

  ‘Simon tells me you are going for the Eigerwand tomorrow,’ Traudl said.

  ‘Er, yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘We wanted to go today but didn’t want to get in Simon’s way.’

  ‘You be careful, boys,’ Traudl said and waved us towards the table. A waitress brought fresh beers and I watched in admiration as Anderl drank freely and kept re-lighting his cigars during the hour we spent chatting to him. At ninety-one years of age he seemed pretty sprightly. At one point a tourist approached proffering a camera.

  ‘Herr Maestro Eiger,’ the tourist greeted Heckmair, the first man to climb the Eigerwand. A group of his friends stood respectfully in the background. Clearly Heckmair’s fame in Switzerland was widespread. I took a photograph of the tourist standing beside his hero and Heckmair smiled and then grimaced as the man departed.

  ‘I don’t understand why these people think of me like this. They are not climbers. They do not know,’ he said sorrowfully.

  ‘Is it very irritating?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he shrugged. ‘I just don’t understand it. I prefer the company of climbers. I know they understand.’

  ‘I think this climb you made,’ Ray said, ‘was the greatest mountaineering feat of its time. It still is. That is why we want to climb it.’

  ‘It was a climb. One of many,’ Heckmair replied modestly. ‘I didn’t think it would still be with me so many years later.’

  ‘When I read The White Spider at fourteen years of age I vowed never to be a mountaineer,’ I said. ‘I was so scared of the Eiger and now here I am twenty-five years later and I meet you. Amazing.’

  ‘Have you climbed many mountains?’ Traudl asked.