Bear Grylls (20 page)

Soon the Sherpas were up and we all huddled in the tent, sitting on bundles of rope that were to be used higher up on the mountain. We held warm mugs of tea close to us and sipped noisily. Steam
poured from our mouths as we breathed out. The tent was full of equipment for the route up to Camp Three, some 3,300 feet further up. This next part, from Camp Two to Camp Three, was to prove one
of the hardest sections of the climb.

At the top of the Western Cwm stands the seemingly unscaleable 5,000-feet wall of ice, known as the Lhotse Face. Ranging in angle from 50° to 80° in steepness, it stretches away into the
sky. The great peak of Lhotse stands at the tip of this face. Menacing dark blue ice as hard as rock lines the face in a shimmering glaze. It appears a haunting sight as you strain your neck to
study it. What appear to be small lumps on the face, some three-quarters of the way up, prove under the binoculars to be vast ice seracs, under one of which we would place our Camp Three.

The angle and exposure of this face meant that our Camp would have to be hacked into the ice, to create a platform. Once under the lee of one of these seracs, the tent should be safe from any
avalanches that came down the face. The idea was that the snow should clear over the top of the serac, sparing the tent below. It seemed a little hopeful, but was better than nothing.

Sitting on the equipment that the high-altitude Sherpas would be using up to Camp Three, we quietly talked.

‘Listen, I think we should try and recce the top of the Cwm today. If we can try to find a good route round the Bergschrund crevasse at the foot of the Lhotse Face, it will be good for our
acclimatization and will make the job of the Sherpas much simpler when they start,’ Andy suggested.

I saw our rest day floating rapidly out of the tent before my eyes.

We looked at each other. We knew it made sense, but our bodies wanted to hear otherwise. They lost the battle, and would have to endure another day of punishment. This would now be our third day
of exercise in a row, and I knew we needed rest soon. I switched my focus to the rest we would have at Base Camp a few days from now. Nobody was going to rob me of that one.

We all tried to shovel some muesli down with some hot water, then feeling full after about two mouthfuls, we went to get ready.

The sun was still low in the sky when we roped together on the ice. If you have too little rope between you and the person in front goes through the ice, then they would take the next man with
them; too much rope and it was clumsy and almost impossible to pull someone out if they fell. We measured the distances between us carefully.

As the morning progressed and we snaked our way tentatively across the upper slopes of the glacier, our excitement increased. Neil was in front, meticulously prodding the ice with each step.
Despite the slow pace, the altitude meant that we were soon tired. We leant on our axes as we rested between steps, all of us doubled over in a line.

Every now and then Neil would find a thin snow covering ahead. His axe would penetrate through to reveal a dark abyss below. We would shuffle along until we found a narrow part then take it in
turns to leap across. The others would take the strain, give the nod, then you would run three yards and leap across the unknown. As the dark crevasse soared by below, you hoped the ground on the
other side would hold. When the ground gave a resounding thud, you sighed. You would then move on a bit and adopt a firm position for the next man. In my case this was Mick. His hatred of this
crevasse-jumping was apparent, yet without question he would throw himself across like a fearless three-year-old on skis. I couldn’t help smiling. He’s mad, was all I thought.

No Western climber or even any Sherpas had been this high, so far this year. We were treading on virgin territory on the ever-changing surface of the glacier. The excitement
welled up, and I felt strong. Here I was with those I knew so well, alone and isolated in the rawness and wonder of nature; and it made me feel good.

Soon we found ourselves climbing methodically and slowly up near the foot of the vast Lhotse Face. Up close, the scale and angle of it seemed more severe, and I felt my frailty like never
before. This land of the giants dwarfed me, as walls of rock and ice thousands of feet high soared away from me on all sides and in front. I could only stare in disbelief. My life didn’t even
seem to register on a scale here. I was nothing amongst these.

I remembered how God says He values us even more than these mountains, and it confused me, as I stood feeling so intimidated by them. Yet the more I just looked at these hills, the more I felt
part of them. Here we were, nature, God and man, and strangely all three were beginning to feel in harmony, as if He was right there with us.

From the foot of the Lhotse Face we could look directly up the 5,000-foot ice wall. Around us lay hundreds of small fist-size rocks that had fallen down the face, and embedded themselves into
the glacier ice. One of these travelling at the pace it would, down sheer blue ice, would kill a man at once. We couldn’t stay here long.

We stood tentatively at the lip of the Bergschrund crevasse, peering in. This huge crack in the ice, where the Lhotse Face starts and the Cwm ends, was thirty feet wide and seemingly bottomless
in depth. It seemed surreally quiet. We looked around for a few moments then headed quickly away from the danger-zone of falling stones. We had done well and had laid out a good route for us all in
the weeks ahead.

The excitement of climbing so freely, without fixed ropes or ladders to cross the crevasses, had kept fatigue away – but the descent brought it flooding in. We were tired now and moved as
swiftly as we could back down towards Camp Two, following our footsteps precisely.

We all slept better that night at Camp Two, as our bodies welcomed the release from the exhausting concoction of exercise and altitude. It was almost impossible to replenish the
body with enough fluid at this height. However much we drank we always seemed to remain dehydrated. That night as I peed in my bottle, I clutched it firmly like a baby does a doll. Nothing was
going to let it slip through my fingers this time. Once bitten twice shy; and the first bite had been miserable. The urine was still dark brown; a depressing colour. The only consolation was that
Mick’s was even darker. We compared colours in the fading light and Mick was forced to admit defeat. It came as no surprise that we both had headaches.

At 8.30 a.m. the next day we were back down at the top of the Icefall. We had covered the distance between Camp Two and One in only two and a half hours, as our bodies enjoyed the richer air as
we descended through the valley. By 10.45 a.m. we were back at Base Camp. Whilst we had sampled the beauty of the land of the giants somewhere up there in the clouds above, back at Base Camp
nothing seemed to have changed. I liked this. It was about the only constant factor in our existence up here; that Base Camp was welcoming, mostly sunny, and full of food.

Jokey, though, seemed worried. I don’t think it had hit her what we were doing until now. All of us were gaunt. Our skin was burnt a dirty, black colour from the fierce sun, and our faces
looked drained. Having no idea of what was up there causing all this made her imagination run wild. All she saw was us disappear in the early mornings into the cloud and reappear days later looking
battle-weary and weak. It distressed her.

In our haste to reach the sanctuary of Base Camp and the prospect of one of Thengba’s fresh omelettes, we had hurried down too fast. The weariness of the last few days engulfed me that
last hour through the bottom of the Icefall. I didn’t linger long with the others, and was soon asleep in my tent. I woke at noon and wrote in my diary:

After one of the finest night’s sleep that I had had in Nepal I woke to Mick bellowing, ‘Morning, Oso.’

I replied, as per custom, with a resounding, ‘Morning, Miguel.’

Mick had obviously shared in that good night’s sleep. All our bodies were relishing in the rest and thick air. Today I really would call home. Michael was up the hill and his
communications officer let us use it again on the quiet. It still cost us $7 a minute.

‘Mum, it’s me.’

‘Bear … it’s … BEAR!’ she shouted, summoning everyone around.

It was wonderful to hear all their news. All the animals were well, and Mungo my nephew was now walking. Lara promised that he had even said ‘Mamma’, although Dad swore that it was
the poor baby just being sick. I smiled.

I told them that we were going to try to reach Camp Three soon, and then it would be the waiting game for the jet-stream winds to lift, before we could attempt a summit bid. I told them about my
narrow escape in the crevasse in the Icefall.

‘You fell in a what … a crevice?’ Mum warbled.

‘No, in a crevasse,’ I replied.

‘Speak up, I can hardly hear you.’ She tried to quieten everyone around her, then resumed, ‘Now, about that crevice …’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I chuckled.

I promised I would call again when we got back from Camp Three in a week or so’s time, then hung up.

When I came out of the tent everyone was laughing, having listened to our conversation. Allen confirmed his belief that poms were mad, and Neil sat there grinning away.

Geoffrey had gone back up the hill with the others on their acclimatization climb to Camp Two – so we missed again. He seemed to be going well, which was encouraging. Scott, our doctor,
was recovering from his sprained ankle and was hoping to climb soon, even if only to glimpse the Western Cwm. I admired this courage.

Having spent so much time alone at Base Camp whilst everyone else was climbing, he was beginning to miss his fiance´e desperately. It showed. In many ways, one of the hardest factors of
climbing such mountains is the time away from loved ones. These are feelings, though, that everybody knew, and everyone coped with in their different ways.

Henry had also had a bout of some illness that irritated his Scottish temperament; it wasn’t in his nature to be ill. Three days later he was better and had now gone up with Geoffrey to
Camp Two. Base Camp was left relatively quiet. We chatted to Charles again, who mentioned that, according to the statistics, only one in four of us would summit. Sitting alone reflecting on this, I
thought of who it would be in our team. They were all so powerful: Graham, Neil, Allen – they were amongst the top climbers of their countries. I felt that it could not logically be me. I
knew my only hope was to ignore the statistics; it was just that they seemed quite heavy. Neil, as ever, said not to listen to him.

‘We’re a team, okay. Just keep doing what you’re doing. The difference between those who make it and those who don’t is that the latter stop believing they can –
their spirit goes. We’ve both got that spirit, you know that deep down, Bear, all right?’

We only had one more rest day at Base Camp before our last acclimatization climb up to Camp Three at 24,500 feet. Henry had reminded us over and over again that it was this stage that was make
or break.

‘If you can reach Camp Three in reasonable time, in under seven hours, and cope more or less with a night at that height, then you’re qualified in my book for a summit bid. If
you’re too slow then I can’t risk you any higher. You’ll come back to Base Camp and stay here.’

Henry had laid down the parameters. As leader of the overall expedition and in charge of the logistical support, what Henry said went. He had been climbing here for years, and his specialist
knowledge of Everest was immense. He nearly always climbed up to Camp Three or Four – but no higher. He was there to ensure safety for the summit teams. His altruism in this brought him his
satisfaction.

‘The joy for me is the climbing in these mountains and helping summit teams be successful. Over the years I’ve developed a pretty good feel for those who will and those who
won’t make the summit on Everest. When somebody gives their all and achieves it, it changes their life. You can see it in their eyes. In helping them achieve that is my satisfaction,’
he would say.

We all knew the pressure upon us to perform well on this final preparatory leg. We could not afford to make a mistake now. If we were to be on the summit team, we had to show our capacity to
work to the pressure, and climb with strength and, above all, kindness. Up high, there is no one more unpopular than the selfish man.

We were all getting ready and focusing on Camp Three. We discussed the most effective way of climbing the blue ice, debating different crampon techniques. We all knew that at that height, with
that sort of gradient, there would not be room for error. But we were hungry to do it. I didn’t want to wait any longer.