by Bear Grylls
As I sat up, the condensation that had frozen within my tent shook all over me, covering me with icy flakes. Struggling to get into my knee height, high-altitude boots shook the tent even more, and engulfed me again in icicles. These boots alone weigh more than most people’s entire shoe collection put together, and fastening them took almost ten minutes. Reluctant to actually unzip the flap of the tiny tent and allow the wind in, I dressed as much as I could in the confined space of the tent. I rolled over to put my harness on, and pulled it tight around my waist.
‘Morning Miguel,’ I stammered, in the direction of Mick’s tent.
‘Hola Oso (“Morning Bear”),’ the reply came. Mick was learning Spanish very quickly, now that Bernardo and I had been speaking it continually.
My sister had named me ‘bear’ as a baby, and I have no idea why. I certainly wasn’t hairy and rarely growled, but for some strange reason the name had stuck. I had hoped that by the mature age of seven and a half, I would have grown out of it; yet here on this frosty morning at the foot of Mount Everest, at the age of twenty-three, the nickname still remained. I shook my head and smiled.
And so went our standard early-morning greeting. Whether it was at Base Camp with our tents only inches apart, or higher up the hill, with our bodies only inches apart, the greeting each time that we had to get up was the same. Said with cheerful irony, it invariably made one feel better. It made you feel that you weren’t alone in being cold and miserable.
We both emerged from our tents; it was 5.30 a.m. As Mick sorted out his rucksack, I went to try and crap behind a rock. Dawn was always the best time for this, as all the faeces were frozen and didn’t smell. As the sun warmed Base Camp each day, the stench of the makeshift stone hole, smeared with misfires, was pretty rancid.
The challenge I found that early morning was undoing an all-in-one windsuit, whilst trying to keep it off the ground, then squatting, wiping and trying to keep my hands warm, all at the same time. That first time of doing it all dressed up was a shambles. But practice would make perfect; and of practice, I knew, there would be plenty.
We tried to force down some Sherpa porridge, but only really managed a few mouthfuls. I was nervous, and felt sick swallowing the stodgy mess. In hushed voices, as if not wanting to awake the Icefall, we said goodbye to the Sherpa cook, Thengba. We then gently lay a small branch of juniper on the fire and watched it crackle into life. We put our rucksacks on and followed Nima and Pasang through Base Camp, to the foot of the Icefall.
For twenty minutes we snaked our way through the rock and scree, heading for the entrance to the ice. The trail of bootprints left in the slush of yesterday afternoon had now frozen solid, and showed us the route. The entry-point was marked with a bamboo cane that the Sherpas had left. I looked back at Base Camp, and could see the smoke of the juniper still smouldering away. I hoped the prayers would work.
We were the first Western climbers to be entering the Icefall this year. So far only the Sherpas had been into her depths. We sat on the ice at the bottom, with jagged pinnacles rising up above us on all sides. As the Icefall flattens at its end, it fluctuates along, rolling in these crests of contorted ice. Hidden amongst the pinnacles, away from the view of Base Camp, we sat and began for the first time in months to put our crampons on. A mixed feeling of excitement and trepidation flooded my body. At last we were beginning the task that had been a dream for so long. I yearned just to get started, to get my teeth into it. I felt that once the bit was between my teeth, then it would be easier to hold on to. But with it came that nervous, sick feeling. Ahead was the unknown.
We began to weave deeper into the maze. Our crampons bit firmly into the glassy ice, with their fresh, razor-sharp teeth. It felt good. As the ice steepened, and we began to climb further into the frozen labyrinth, the ropes started. The days of hard work by the Sherpas showed us the route, as the ropes snaked away into the distance. We clipped our karabiners that were attached to our harnesses on to the fixed line. The rope twisted up and over the walls of ice in front of us. A few strong pushes and we would clamber over their lip, lying there breathing heavily in the ever higher air.
There ahead would then be the next contorted ice face that beforehand had been hidden. As we went higher we began to see Base Camp below us, getting smaller in the distance.
I was getting used to wearing crampons again and stepped carefully to avoid tearing my windsuit on the sharp teeth. I was rusty, and twice the blades sliced a gash in the material as I tried to kick a crampon into the ice.
The dawn brought with it some haze and soon Base Camp was obscured from sight. We checked our equipment again, and kept moving on. The pace behind the Sherpas was steady and manageable; I was feeling good. Despite now going higher than I had been since we had arrived in Nepal, I was coping okay in the thinner air.
Soon we came to the first of the aluminium ladders that spanned the yawning chasms that appeared amongst the broken ice. Elaborate systems of ropes secured these ladder bridges, but still occasionally we would reach a point where the crevasse had shifted. Here the existing ladders would be suspended, twisted in the air, ropes torn apart as the weight of the moving ice wrenched the structures asunder. We would wait and watch as Nima and Pasang, who were also known as the Icefall ‘doctors’, would get to work repairing and fixing the route across.
All work in the Icefall was undertaken in silence. It was safest like this. During the regular breaks that we would take, the Icefall doctors would quietly smoke, leaning against the ice walls all around. Smiles would be exchanged. As sections were repaired, we would continue on up. We would change onto the new rope, clip in, and start across the precarious ladders, with the crevasses stretching away into the blackness of the abyss below us. The Sherpas believe that some of the crevasses are so deep that they come out in America. Looking deep into them, I could understand their reasons. There was something sinister about the nature of these silent tears in the ice.
We would focus carefully on each step across. Our spiked crampons would slide on the metal ladders until they gripped in a groove and held fast. Only then would you step again, your eyes keenly focused on the ladder and not the drop below. That was the key to crossing these safely.
We didn’t want to have to test the strength of the ropes that we were clipped into. They were a precaution rather than a lifesaver. Because of the amount of rope required in the Icefall, the standard of the rope was low. They were designed really just to support you as you climbed, rather than be able to cope with the strain of a long fall. It was thin multi-purpose rope, and you would not want to rely on it in an emergency. Instead, we would just have to be cautious with each step.
Once across, we would be panting heavily; we would unclip and clip into the next rope ahead, and move away from the danger of the crevasse edge. Then we would rest and recover our energy.
Four and a half hours of this slow progress, and we were getting right into the heart of the Icefall. Tucked under the shadow of an overhang, we drank and rested. It wasn’t the safest of places, but then again nowhere was on this frozen waterfall. The sun was now getting stronger. As we rested, we covered our heads and faces with our hoods to protect ourselves from the glare and reflection all around us. We knew the danger of the sun in this place, and carefully reapplied the thick sunblock.
We started moving again, following the ‘doctors’ up through the broken mass of ice. We would shuffle over giant ice cubes and frozen bridges that lay at 50° angles, right under the face of a dark overhang. I knew that what we were standing on had, a day ago, been part of the overhang now above us. We could see where they had peeled off.
Soon we reached a flat area of plateau, about halfway through the Icefall. We thought we could see the top of the Icefall, far above and in the distance; but we weren’t sure. It was noon.
The Sherpas then announced that they were going to remain on this plateau, to finish repairing a section we had just crossed. The two of us agreed to carry on for a couple of hours,
to try and reach the three-quarter point before returning to meet them, and all descending together. They told us to turn around before 2.00 p.m. at the latest. We had now been in the Icefall for six hours.
We set off alone. I led the way, feeling still relatively strong. It was wonderful and freeing to be alone here with Mick, climbing together, communicating silently, and working our way up the Icefall, where only the Sherpas had been before.
It was good to have that focus of concentration where your mind is uncluttered and thinks only of the job in hand. Our minds felt sharp as we kicked into the ice and secured ourselves to the next rope. The air felt fresh as it filled our lungs. Your body needed all the oxygen it could get from each breath and it seemed to savour the moment as the air rushed in. It felt good.
The route now steepened and a series of ladders strapped together leant against huge forty-feet vertical ice blocks. The overhangs became bigger and more sinister. We were careful to be precise in what we did, and became acutely aware of our surroundings. We didn’t talk. At 1.45 p.m. we could go no further. The route ahead had collapsed the night before, and a jumble of vast ice blocks lay strewn across the face. The rope shot vertically down below us, drawn as tight as a cable, as it stretched under the weight of the ice around it. I looked at Mick behind and he pointed at his watch. We were at our time limit and needed to turn around.
I was just ahead, and noticed that I was standing in a particularly vulnerable part of the Icefall. I felt suddenly very unsafe and started down towards Mick. Suddenly, 200 metres to my right, I heard a large section of ice break off. The block tumbled, like a dice across a board, down the Icefall. I crouched, just staring. As the snow settled behind it, I got to my feet, then hurried my pace down towards Mick. I wanted to get out of here now, I felt too exposed.
The colour of the ice where we were was dark blue, and pinnacles reached over us, 100 feet high. It seemed unstable and flaky, and was beginning to drip from the heat of the sun. It is at this time, in the mid-afternoon, that the Icefall is most dangerous, as it melts, and parts begin to collapse.
Racing all in one go under these overhangs that cast menacing shadows was impossible; the body wouldn’t allow it. Repeatedly we would be halfway through, then would be forced to stop and recover our breath, still deep within the jaws of the overhang. But there was nothing we could do; the body had to stop and get more oxygen.
Once safely out the other side we would sit and recover and encourage the other to follow quickly. We were new to the Icefall and were trying to learn its tricks.
Soon we were out of the nasty section and back among more familiar territory; ahead we could see the plateau where we had left the Sherpas. We passed through the part that they had been repairing. We could be no more than 100 metres from the Icefall doctors now. I was looking forward to seeing them, and then getting down. We had been in the ice for almost nine hours now and were tired. Little did I know that the day was far from over.
As I came round the corner of a cornice, I could hear the whispered voices of Nima and Pasang nearby. Energy flooded back and I leapt from ice block to ice block down towards them. Ten yards later I needed to stop and rest; they were close now. I smiled at the sound of their hushed and tentative tones.
I unclipped, and clipped into the next rope down, and leant against the ice, recovering. Suddenly the ground just opened up beneath me.
The ice cracked for that transient second, then just collapsed. My legs buckled beneath me, and I was falling. I tumbled down, bouncing against the grey walls of the crevasse that before had been hidden beneath a thin veneer of ice.
The tips of my crampons caught the edge of the crevasse walls and the force threw me across to the other side, smashing my shoulder and arm against the ice. I carried on falling, then suddenly was jerked to a violent halt, as the rope held me firm. The falling ice crashed into my skull, jerking my neck backwards. I lost consciousness for a precious few seconds. I came to, to see the ice falling away below me into the darkness, as my body gently swung round on the end of the rope. It was eerily silent.
Adrenalin soared round my body, and I shook in waves of convulsions. I screamed, but can’t remember what. My voice echoed round the walls. I looked up to the ray of light above, then down to abyss below. Panic overwhelmed me and I clutched frantically for the walls. They were glassy smooth. I swung my ice axe at it madly, but it wouldn’t hold, and my crampons just scraped along the ice. I had nothing to lean against, no momentum to be able to kick them in. Instead the flimsy stabs with my feet hardly even brushed the surface of the ice. I clutched in desperation to the rope above me, and looked up. ‘Hold, damn you. Hold.’
I grabbed a spare jumar device from my harness. (This is a climbing tool that allows you to ascend a rope but won’t allow you to slip down.) I slapped it on to the rope as added security. Suddenly I felt strong pulls tugging on the rope above. They wouldn’t be able to pull me out without my help. I knew I had to get out of here fast. The rope wasn’t designed for an impact fall like this. It was a miracle that it had held at all, and I knew it could break at any point. The pulls on the rope above gave me the momentum I needed to kick into the walls with my crampons. This time they bit into the ice firmly.
Up I pulled, kicking into the walls, a few feet higher every time. I scrambled up, helped by the momentum from the rope. Near the lip, I managed to smack my axe into the ice and pull myself over. Strong arms grabbed my windsuit and hauled me with great power from the clutches of the crevasse. They dragged me to the side, out of danger, and we all collapsed in a heaving mess. I lay with my face pressed into the snow, eyes closed, and shook with fear.
Nima and Pasang sat with their heads in their hands, breathing heavily; then glanced furtively around. Known to be two of the bravest, most hardened men of Everest, the Icefall doctors now looked visibly shocked. They knew that it had been close. Mick was still trapped on the other side of the crevasse that had collapsed. Nima laid a ladder down and Mick shuffled tentatively across. He put his arm round my shoulder and said nothing. I was still shaking.
My confidence plummeted. Mick had to escort me the two hours back down the Icefall. I clutched to every rope, clipping in twice. I crossed the ladders a different man; one who had experienced that thin line between life and death. Gone was the brash certainty of before, when I had confidently shuffled over them. Instead each one now took me what felt like an eternity to cross. My breathing became harder, and all my strength seemed to leave me.
My elbow was stiff and swollen, having been smashed against the hard ice walls of the crevasse. I tried to use my good arm to descend with, but I knew it didn’t bode well.
Lying in my tent alone that night back at Base Camp, I found I was shaking as it began to dawn on me just how lucky I had been. Undoubtedly I owed Nima and Pasang my life.
I wrote:
31 MARCH, MIDNIGHT:
My whole body feels drained. The emotions of today just overwhelm me. I feel dehydrated and worn out by nine hours’ hard climbing in the intense heat of the Icefall. It’s also beginning to dawn on me just how lucky I was. It could have so easily gone the other way. I can’t quite fathom how the rope held my fall. I have this vision of the crevasse below me that fills my mind – it scares me.
Over supper this evening, the Icefall doctors spoke in rapid voices, using vivid gestures, as they recounted the episode to the other Sherpas. I received treble rations from Thengba, but found I couldn’t eat anything. I needed company but at the same time felt this thirst to be alone.
My tent that before was so organized and tidy, with everything in pristine condition, is now a jumble of ripped windsuit, gaiters and boots, from where my crampons tore them as I fell. I’ll start repairing them tomorrow. Thengba has said that he’ll help me with this. His smile as he said this warmed me like nothing else. Never has a mouth full of black teeth been so attractive. He’s a kind man.
It’s now midnight and all is strangely quiet outside. I long for rest, but my mind is
too busy thinking the same thing over and over. I dread going back into the ice.
I really miss Shara, and my family. I long for the company now of friends; of Charlie, Trucker, and Ed. I wonder what they are doing right now. Maybe if I pray for them then they’ll pray for me; I really need it now.
I dozed for an hour earlier, but the crevasse dominated my dreams. Falling is this helpless feeling, where you are powerless against it. It strikes those same emotions of my parachuting accident. I pray for protection against these nightmares, please.
Through all my experiences with the Army, and breaking my back like I did, I have never felt so close to dying. It leaves me with this deep gratitude for all the good and beautiful things in my life. I don’t often think about it, but the bottom line is that I don’t want to die. I’ve got so much I want to live for. It makes me question why I’m even taking these risks at all.
Despite the immediacy of the fear, it still somehow feels right to be trying. My expectations are maybe becoming lower, but I’m going to stay. I just pray with my whole heart never to go through such an experience again. Tonight, here alone, I put in words, ‘Thank you for helping me, my Lord and my friend.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
WARNING SHOTS
‘He who has a “why” to live, can bear almost any “how”.’
Nietzsche
The morning of 1 April was glorious. Sitting on the ice in the warmth of the morning sun, I started to stitch my ripped kit. My elbow was still swollen and ached annoyingly whenever I bent it. Mick sat beside me and we talked of the mountain and everything that lay ahead. It was all that was on our minds.
‘At least I don’t have to explain to Neil and Henry that you’re no longer with us,’ Mick said jokingly. ‘Although it would have meant I could have your roll-mat, I suppose.’