We climb 'cause it's fun,
and mainly it was fun, you know.
That's all we ever did,
and we were fairly anarchic and fairly irresponsible,
and we didn't give a damn about anyone else or anything else,
and we just wanted to climb the world, and it was fun.
lt was just brilliant fun,
and, every now and then, it went wildly wrong,
and then it wasn't.
By the time l went to Peru , l was 25. Simon was 21 .
But we had done a lot of climbing in the Alps.
To climb mountains that have not been climbed before,
or a new route up a mountain,
is what my climbing life had been moving towards.
A friend of ours who had done
an amazing amount of climbing in South America
had seen this face in the mid-'70s.
l think he said it would be ''a challenging day out.''
lt was the last big mountain face in this range of mountains
that hadn't been climbed.
There's a great unknown there.
What's so compelling is stepping into that unknown.
lt was an isolated spot, two days' walk from a road,
and the mountains all around seemed very big
compared to the mountains l'd seen in the Alps.
We eventually reached a spot on the approach to Siula Grande.
You couldn't really take donkeys any further than this point.
l guess it'd be four or five miles from the bottom of the mountains.
We knew that Siula Grande was in the back, but we didn't see it.
We'd met this lad called Richard Hawking in Lima.
He'd been traveling on his own, and l think we said,
''Why don't you join us on our trip?''
l think he said he didn't know anything about mountaineering.
l didn't really know what part of Peru l was in,
or quite what l was letting myself in for.
We wanted Richard because when we were on the mountain,
if he was at base camp, he could look after our kit.
l got to know Simon quite well.
l don't know whether it was because of his personality
or whether it was because he was more forgiving towards me
being a non-climber in that environment,
but l found it very hard to get to know Joe.
l was much more ambitious about doing it than Simon was.
Siula Grande meant a lot.
We knew a number of expeditions had failed on it.
lf no one had tried, it wouldn't be quite the same.
lt was the fact that people had tried and had failed,
so we knew it was hard.
And my feeling was, ''Well, we'll just do it.
We're better than them.''
Since the 1970s,
people have been trying to climb mountains in the greater ranges
in what's called Alpine style.
Essentially, Alpine style means you pack a rucksack
full of all your clothing, your food, and your climbing equipment,
and you start off from a base camp, and you try and climb
the mountain you 're going to climb in a single push.
You don't fix a line of ropes up it beforehand,
you don't have a set of camps that you stock
and come up and back down from.
That's the purest style,
and that's the style that Joe and l had climbed Siula Grande.
lt's a very committing way of climbing, because you have no line of retreat.
lf something goes wrong, it can be very, very serious.
There's no rescue, there's no helicopter rescue,
and there's no other people.
There's no margin for error.
lf you get badly hurt, you 'll probably die.
l hadn't seen it from this angle, and it looked steep.
l sort of thought,
you know, ''Christ, it's big.''
Looks harder than l thought, than l expected.
But l was excited.
To start doing it is brilliant.
This is what we live for.
Bushed?
l love the actual movement of climbing.
When you 're climbing well, it just feels brilliant.
lt's like a combination between ballet and gymnastics.
lt's that mixture of power and grace.
For me, mountains are the most beautiful places in the world.
When l go into these places, l feel an amazing sense of space,
an amazing sense of freedom,
when l get away from all of the clutter
that we have in our world.
We surprised ourselves at the speed we got up the ice field--
it was about 1 ,000 foot--
and got up to a point where the ice is running through rock bands
and you 've got vertical cascades.
We tried intricately climbing through these.
The fact that you are tied to your partner
means that you put an immense amount of trust
in someone else's skill and ability.
But, at some point, you might end up thinking,
''For God's sakes, Simon, don't fall here.
For God's sake, don't fall here.''
The rope can be something that, rather than save your life,
could kill you .
lf your mate falls off and all his gear rips out, you 're dead.
You 're gonna go with him.
lf you 're going to do that sort of climbing,
at some point you 're going to have to rely...
...wholly on your partner.
l think we were very pleased at the end of that first day.
We had done a lot of climbing, good climbing,
and we were very confident at that point that we should make it.
At that altitude, you dehydrate enormously.
You have to drink a lot of fluid, four or five liters a day,
and the only way you can get it is by melting snow.
Everything's so time-consuming.
To make a single brew at that altitude takes a very long time.
You 're perhaps looking at an hour just to make a couple of cups.
For that reason, we perhaps didn't brew up
as much as we should have done.
But we didn't have an awful lot of spare gas with us, either.
There's not a lot of risk in our lives normally now...
...and to put an element of risk back into it
takes us out of the humdrum.
ln that sense, it makes you feel more alive.
l'd never been that high before,
and it's very, very strenuous to climb ice like that.
Not only is it technically difficult and unstable and frightening,
but your heart is going like nobody's business
because of the altitude.
lt had now got very cold indeed...
...and we were up 20,000, 20 1 /2 thousand feet.
lt was windy, and it started snowing, and it meant
that the whole face was pouring with powder snow avalanches.
The snow would actually stick on the outside of your clothing.
lt would then freeze on top of you
like you were wearing a suit of armor.
The last section on the face
was a few hundred feet of the most nightmarish climbing.
Completely unstable powder snow.
No anchors at any point.
lt was physically very, very tiring-- full-body climbing, really.
lt took us the best part of five or six hours
to climb 200 feet.
We carried on way after it had got dark.
l was getting extremely cold,
because l was just sitting still while Simon was trying to climb.
You know, l was getting near hypothermic.
You just knew that if you just carried on regardless,
it was gonna go tits up.
So we dug a snow cave.
ln the morning, in good weather,
we actually saw what we'd been trying to climb.
lt was this Andean nightmare of flutings of the finest powder
gauged out by snow falling down,
meringues and mushrooms and cornices all over the place.
We'd heard about these strange powder snow conditions
you get in the Andes, and we'd never seen them before.
l don't know the physics that explains why powder snow
can stay on such steep slopes.
ln the Alps, it would just slide off if the slope was above 40 degrees.
lt is some of the most precarious,
unnerving, and dangerous climbing l've ever done.
We were actually scared that we would get to an impasse
where we couldn't climb any further up,
because we knew we wouldn't be able to get back down
what we'd already climbed.
We were climbing ourselves into a trap.
And not only that, we could see this 4 1 /2-thousand-foot drop
that was waiting for us.
And so it was a great relief that, by 2:00 in the afternoon,
we got onto the north ridge and off the west face.
And we vowed that we didn't want to go near Andean flutings again.
We were pretty tired, really, by the time we got onto the ridge.
l was knackered, and l remember thinking,
''Sod the summit. We've done the face.
l can't really be bothered to go all the way up there.''
And then we thought, ''Well, hang on. No.
We have come all this way. We might as well stand on the top.''
Look.
- Hey. - What?
- Long way down, isn't it? - Yeah.
Down there.
l don't particularly like summits,
because 80% of accidents happen on descent.
We'd decided before we even climbed the face
that we were going to come down the north ridge of the mountain,
down to a col between the mountain Siula Grande
and another mountain called Yerupaja,
and then we'd be able to abseil down
a smaller section of the face.
Already the clouds were coming in from the east.
Big clouds.
We expected this ridge to be quite straightforward,
a quite easy way to descend.
We were hoping we'd be able to sort of walk,
and it turned out to be very difficult.
lt was horrendous--
vertical on the west side,
with cornices overhanging the west side,
and, on the east side,
steep flutings running down 3,000 feet below us.
lt was a shock, really. lt was quite dangerous, and it all got a bit--
it seemed to get a bit out of control at that stage of things.
And within about half an hour to an hour
of leaving the summit, we were lost.
We were in a whiteout. We couldn't see anything.
Then we got a little break in the cloud,
and l saw the ridge, so l started climbing back up to it.
l didn't know because of the side of the ridge l was on,
but it was actually an enormous cornice,
an overhang of snow and ice,
and l was walking up over the top of it.
l was left hanging, looking down,
as all this snow and ice then fell away from me
down the west side of Siula Grande.
l got back up on the ridge and l shouted down to Joe
that l'd found the ridge.
l said, ''l've found the ridge, Joe.''
We'd hoped to have got down that day,
but by the time it got dark,
we were still very high, still at 20,000 feet.
And that night, as we made a brew, the gas ran out.
lt was pretty obvious the following morning
that we'd descended the worst part of the ridge,
and l was pretty confident that we'd get back down to the base camp that day.
l thought at that stage it was pretty much in the bag,
l suppose, the whole climb.
l was ahead of Simon.
Suddenly there was this vertical wall bisecting the ridge.
Perhaps l could get down on my hands and knees,
hammer both my axes into the ice at the top,
and then lower myself off the ice cliff.
When you hammer the axe in, you listen to the sound it makes,
and you look at it.
l was hanging by both axes.
l took the hammer out, and what l wanted to do
is now place it in the vertical wall.
And l swung, and the pick went in,
and it just made...
...just a strange sound.
And l thought, ''Well, l'll take it out,
make a good placement.''
'Cause l just wanted to put dead-solid axe placements in
all the way down.
And l was about to swing at the ice again...
Oh, fuck!
God!
This pain just came flooding down my thigh,
and my knee was very, very, very painful.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!
The impact drove my lower leg
straight through my knee joint.
As the bone went into my femur,
it split the tibial plateau straight off
and carried on up.
Fuck!
l was quite wild with pain. l couldn't cope with it at first.
l just breathed a lot, and it started to go,
and l can remember looking across to the west
and seeing that we were level with the summit of Rasac,
so l had a height gauge of where we were.
And l just thought, ''Fuck, l can't have broken my leg.
lf l broke my leg, l'm dead.''
And then the rope went slack.
l knew that meant that Simon was coming towards me.
l couldn't feel any bone end or anything.
l brought my hand up, and there was no blood on it.
The pain had gone down a little bit,
and l thought maybe l was being a bit wet,
and that l'd just torn a ligament or something.
l tried to stand on it.
And l felt all the bone go, all grating and everything,
and l knew it was broken then.
The look that he gave to me sticks in my mind,
this look of shock and desperation and sort of terror, really.
Lots of things in this single look.
And he said, ''Are you okay?''
l think it did occur to me to say, ''Yeah, l'm fine.''
That was sort of stupid.
l think l said, ''No, l've broken my leg.''
lmmediately, l mean, just doom, really.
l thought, ''Oh, God, we're stuffed.''
We're going to be doing well if either of us get out of this now.
lt did come into my mind, ''lf he slips off the mountain now,
''then l can just clear off and leave him
''and get myself down, and l won't have to have
''all the hassle of trying to deal with him
and with the situation we're in.''
He gave me these painkillers which were effectively headache tablets,
and he didn't really talk about anything.
lt was almost as if he knew what this meant.
He knew that...
and l knew that he was going to have to leave me.
l mean, he could have said, ''l'm just going to go get some help.''
And l'd have gone, ''Right. Yeah.''
'Cause l knew there wasn't any help.
lt would have been an easy way for him to say it.
l mean, l didn't think we really, seriously thought
there was any choice.
l couldn't put my finger on it, really,
why l thought something had happened.
And l started to think, ''ls one of them dead,
or are both of them dead?''
Even if one of them's dead, not which one do l want to be dead,
but, if one comes back, who do l want it to be?
lt's kind of quite cold to say it,
but l guess l would rather it would have been Simon.
l thought, ''Oh. He's not leaving.''
l'd calmed down a bit, you know,
and managed to sort of focus myself again,
to think about how we were going to get--
or how l was going to get him down the mountain.
We discussed between us what we were going to have to do.
We thought, ''We've got two ropes that are 1 50 feet long,
''and if we tie them together, we've got a 300-foot rope
with a knot in the middle of it.''
lf l'm tied to one end and Simon tied to the other,
in theory, he could lower me down 300 feet.
l couldn't really get anchors to lower him from.
lt didn't matter. What l did was cut a bucket in the snow
and sit in that and brace myself.
And l sort of laid down between his legs.
- Get down there. - Okay, let's go.
And Simon started lowering me.
l'd lower him one rope length, 1 50 feet,
and then the knot would come up between the two ropes.
Now, the knot would not go through the Belay plates.
So he would stop me.
l would stand on my left leg, my good leg,
so that l could get the weight off the rope.
lt gave him enough slack to be able to unclip the rope,
thread the rope back through the lowering device
with the knot on the other side, clip it back to himself,
and lower me the remaining 1 50 feet.
He'd make himself reasonably secure,
and l'd down-climb to join him,
and we'd repeat the process again.
Simon was trying to lower me fast,
and it meant that my foot kept jabbing in and bending the knee.
Excruciatingly painful.
l can remember feeling angry with him
because he was hurting me,
and l was thinking, ''Do it slow.''
And l also knew that he had to do it this fast.
He hadn't got a choice.
And he was very grim-faced. l remember looking at him...
...you know...
...wondering if he was pissed off through the whole thing.
l couldn't take too much notice, unfortunately, of these cries of pain,
because we'd got to go down.
We would dig these holes for him to sit in in the powder snow,
and they would last about the length of time it took to lower me.
ln effect, they were crumbling around him.
And he was lowering me on an 8.8 millimeter rope--
that's that thick-- with hands that were frozen.
What he did was quite extraordinary.
l've never heard of any
single-handed mountain rescue like that.
We're now lowering in a full storm.
l don't know what the windchill factor was,
but it would be minus-80 or something like that.
l'd lost a pint and a half of blood into my leg.
l was in shock, and severely dehydrated.
lt was a point where we should have dug a snow cave and taken shelter,
got in our sleeping bags and made a hot brew and rehydrated.
We couldn't, 'cause we had run out of gas.
And we just lost control at this point,
because we couldn't dig a snow cave
and risk getting trapped by a storm that didn't break.
lt was all starting to look up in many ways at that point,
'cause we were virtually down.
And l started this lower thinking,
''Maybe after this we will have one more,
and we'll be on the glacier.''
Suddenly it all got hard under my elbows, and icy,
and it got steeper.
l was going down the slope, and it was starting to get steeper,
and l just was full of alarm.
No! Simon!
Simon, slow down!
l was screaming at Simon to stop as loud as l could,
and he just couldn't hear me.
l did notice that more weight came onto the rope,
but didn't really think a lot about this.
l just thought, ''He's going over some steeper ground.''
Now, l had looked down, and l had glimpsed
that there was a big drop underneath me.
l was horrified to discover what l'd gone over.
And l could clearly see a large crevasse under the cliff,
about 80 feet below me.
l was trying to get my axes
to see if l could reach this wall that was out there.
l think almost as l started to try and do that,
l started being lowered again.
l was thinking, ''Christ, don't do it.''
l knew there wasn't enough rope to get me to the bottom,
and if l couldn't get my weight off the rope,
he couldn't disconnect the rope to get it on the other side,
and l knew all this, and l was screaming again not to lower me.
So l carried on lowering him until l reached the knot,
then tugged at the rope,
my signal to him to take the weight off the rope.
And nothing happened.
And nothing continued to happen.
l knew that the only way out of this is if l could climb up the rope.
l had two Prussik loops.
Prussik loops are thin cords of rope.
And if you use a special twisting knot on the rope,
you can slide it up the rope and pull on it,
and the knot grips the rope.
Clip a snap link and a sling to it, and you can stand up.
lf you 've got another one tied above it, you slide that one up.
Stand in this loop that's now higher.
l was trying to hold myself upright to keep the rope in place,
then trying to put this knot through itself and through itself.
And it was this fiddly, bloody rope.
lt's just hard to describe how l couldn't do it,
because l just couldn't feel the fingers at all.
And l'd be looking at it and trying to push the thing in
and using it with my teeth,
and getting it round and getting it round.
My hands were cold. My feet were cold.
You know, l was very, very cold.
Of course, if you sat there, you don't warm up.
lt was a desperate position, made worse by the fact
l had no idea what Joe was doing or what position he was in.
l just couldn't figure out why it was taking him so long
to get his weight off the rope.
There was no sensible explanation for it.
l got one on, and l clipped it to my chest
because that would keep me upright,
and l tried to put the other one on, and l had real trouble with my hands.
And l dropped the bloody thing, and l watched it fall.
And l knew that l was stuffed then.
l just thought, ''Well, l can't climb the rope.''
This idea that you can climb hand over hand--
you can't, especially if your hands are frozen.
You just can't do it.
There's nothing l can do, you know?
And l felt completely helpless,
and really angry.
There was nothing l could do.
l couldn't get the weight off the rope.
l was just there, and this went on for maybe an hour and a half,
during which time my position became more and more desperate.
l was struggling to maintain this seat.
This sort of sugary seat that l sat in in the snow
was gradually sliding away from under me.
So my position was--
yeah, it was getting desperate, really.
Joe!
l think psychologically l was beaten.
There was nothing l could do.
l just hung on the rope and waited to die.
And l think l would have died pretty soon, actually.
The windchill was very low.
l was literally going down the mountain
in little jerky stages
because this sort of soft, sugary snow
collapsed away underneath me.
l was expecting him to come off,
and l couldn't do anything about it.
He was going to fall about 300 feet.
You know, 1 50 feet away from me--
he was going to fall double that, and he was going to die.
And he really didn't know
whether l was 10 foot off the ground, one foot off the ground.
He just didn't know.
But he knew, l think, pretty certainly that he was going to die.
Then l remembered that l had got a penknife
in the top of my rucksack.
l took the decision pretty quickly, really.
To me it just seemed like the right thing to do
under the circumstances.
Because there was no way that l could have--
l couldn't maintain my position where l was.
Sooner or later, l was going to be pulled from the mountain.
l took the rucksack off,
then managed to unzip the top pocket with one hand
and get the penknife out.
Then...
lt was an awful night, and my mind was pained
with the thoughts of what had happened to Joe.
And it took a long time to warm myself up,
and really l didn't properly, l guess.
l had a very, very cold night.
The overriding memory, l was just feeling desperately thirsty,
to the point where l felt l could smell the water in the snow around me.
l felt that very strongly.
lt was quite a strange thing.
l didn't know what had happened.
What l'd landed on wasn't flat, it was sloped on each side,
and l was sliding in the dark.
l think l must have fallen about 1 50 feet in total.
l was pretty surprised to be alive.
The head torch beam just went down and down.
The darkness just ate it. lt was just gone.
l felt very unnerved, very, very vulnerable.
lf l'd landed two or three feet further to the right,
l would have just gone down this huge hole.
l got this ice screw in pretty quickly.
And then looked round, and thinking...
''This is going to be nearly impossible to get out of.''
My rope was going all the way up, 80 feet up to this small entry hole.
And l thought, ''Simon's on the end of that.''
But l felt sure he was dead. And it didn't mean anything, really.
l just thought, ''lf l pull on this rope, it'll come tight on his body.''
'Cause he would have flown off the cliff onto the downside of the crevasse,
and then, lying dead there like a counterweight,
the rope would have come back up and dropped into the crevasse.
So l thought, ''lf l pull on this rope, it'll come tight on his body.''
And it just kept coming and kept coming and kept coming.
As soon as l saw it, l knew it had been cut.
l thought, ''You 're gonna die in here.''
l had a pleased feeling that it meant Simon was alive.
Simon!
Looking at where l was, it was an awful prospect.
You know, you don't die of a broken leg.
l think l did turn my head torch off to save the batteries.
lt was dark, and it began to get to me.
There is something about crevasses.
They have a dread feel-- not a place for the living.
l could hear the ice cracking, and wind noises in the ice.
But l turned the light on again 'cause l didn't like it in the dark.
l felt very, very alone.
And l was very scared.
l was also, um...
l was 25, you know.
l was fit.
l was super ambitious,
and this was the first trip we'd been on,
and l wanted to climb the world, and it just didn't seem--
this hadn't been part of our game plan.
lt must have been quite late.
l think that l pretty much was thinking
that l wasn't going to get out.
Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid. Stupid!
Fuck!
As a climber, you should always be in control.
You know, you have to be in control,
so doing that could be seen as a mark of failure.
You 've lost it.
You cunt! You fucking, fucking, you fucking cunt!
lt was just childish. l just cried and cried.
l thought...
l thought l was...
l'd be tougher than that.
lt was getting lighter, so it was five or six.
And l started screaming Simon's name again.
Simon!
l got myself up,
got dressed in there inside the snow hole,
and packed everything away.
There's just a horrible feeling of dread.
By this stage, l strongly felt that Joe
had been killed the previous day,
and that now l was going to die
as some sort of form of retribution.
But rather than just sit here feeling sorry for myself or whatever,
l'll get on with it and l'll die on the way down.
Very quickly, the ground dropped away steeply,
so l skirted around this area of steeper ground.
As l abseiled down,
l could see this overhanging ice cliff,
which is what l'd lowered him over,
so l knew that he'd have actually been hanging in space,
which is the reason he couldn't get his weight off the rope.
And, as l went down lower, l could see to my horror
at the base of this ice cliff was an enormous crevasse.
Perhaps 30 feet wide,
and just awesomeness from where l was looking at it.
Simon!
He would have been up at first light, l thought,
'cause l was desperately thirsty, and he would have been,
and he would have wanted to get down and get water.
And he would have wanted to find me.
Now, l did stop and pause,
and l shouted across into the crevasse.
l yelled and yelled and yelled, ''Joe! Joe!''
And l suppose again, with the benefit of hindsight,
after l'd got off the rope,
l should have gone and looked into the crevasse
to see where he was.
But, to be quite honest,
the thought didn't occur to me at that time.
l was just convinced he was dead.
Simon!
l'm absolutely convinced by ten,
totally convinced, that l was on my own,
that no one was coming to get me.
l was brought up as a devout Catholic.
l had long since stopped believing in God.
l always wondered, if things really hit the fan,
whether l would under pressure turn round and say,
you know, a few Hail Marys and say, ''Get me out of here.''
lt never once occurred to me.
lt meant that l really don't believe,
and l really do think that, when you die, you die.
That's it. There's no afterlife.
There's nothing.
And l was thinking, ''How could l climb out of here?''
80 feet of overhanging ice.
No way. l couldn't do it with a good leg.
l knew that they were both dead,
but l couldn't just clear off and leave the camp.
For one thing, l didn't know anything about them
except for their first names, Joe and Simon.
l didn't know their family names. l really knew nothing about them.
And l had this bizarre idea that if they'd fallen off the mountain,
they would have just landed at the bottom of it.
l thought perhaps that from the bottom of the glacier
l'd be able to see them,
and set off with the aim of going as far as l could.
l started to go down the glacier on my own.
And at this stage, l was still certain that l was going to die myself.
Crossing a glacier is very, very dangerous on your own
because there are crevasses in the ice,
and the snow covers them.
Fortunately, l managed to find a faint outline of our tracks
from when we walked in.
lt was only when l got off the glacier,
l realized that l was going to get down
and l was going to get out of it.
l was gonna live.
l can't really describe how scary the night had been.
l thought it would be like that for days.
You 've gotta make decisions.
You 've gotta keep making decisions, even if they're wrong decisions.
lf you don't make decisions, you 're stuffed.
Short of dying on the ledge, my only chance
was to lower myself deeper into the crevasse.
l didn't know what l would find down there.
l was just hoping there might be some way out
in the labyrinth of ice and snow.
And l really struggled to make that decision.
l was so scared of going deeper.
The other option was just to sit there,
blindly hoping that somehow it might get better.
And l just knew it wasn't going to get better.
l didn't want to look down.
l was horrified at the thought. lt was just empty down there.
l didn't put a knot in the end of the rope.
lf there was nothing down there, l wouldn't be able to hold the rope,
and then l would fall, and it would be quick.
Fuck!
And l thought, ''Jesus, this is big.''
By this stage, l was completely physically done in, you know,
staggering back down these moraines,
still desperately thirsty.
There were all these thoughts swirling around in my mind--
guilt, worry,
thinking about, ''How on earth am l going to explain this
to Joe's parents, my friends, to Richard?''
The thought did cross my mind
that maybe l could think up a decent story
that would make me look better.
And l did think about that for quite a while.
Really, the only image that sticks in my mind
from all the time in Peru
is seeing this figure.
And it was fairly close before l could see who it was.
But he looked absolutely horrendous.
You wouldn't recognize him.
And l said, ''Where's Joe?''
And he just said, ''Joe's dead.''
l told him the whole story.
As we walked back to the camp, l told him the whole story
of what had happened.
He wasn't in the slightest bit judgmental about me
or what l'd done.
He took it very well.
l must have lowered myself about 80 feet
from where the ice screw was at the bridge.
l was now in the base of-- seemed to be in the base of a crevasse
that was shaped like a big hourglass.
To the ceiling was probably about 160 feet.
l think it's as big as St. Paul's dome in scale.
l remember looking down,
and there was just solid snow.
And l thought, ''This is the bottom of the crevasse.''
About 50 feet away from me
there was a slope leading up.
And right at the top, there was the sun coming through this hole...
lt was shining, this big beam of sunlight coming in.
This was the way out l'd been looking for.
l remember thinking, ''l can climb that slope.
l bloody well will climb that slope.''
''l'll crawl across this flat floor.''
l started crawling across on my stomach.
Then l heard things breaking away underneath me.
And l realized that this wasn't a solid floor.
lt seemed to be hollow underneath it.
Well, l was absolutely horrified.
lt was suddenly as if l was on an eggshell.
''lf l break through, l'll never be able to get across to this slope.''
And that was my way out.
''lt's all right. l'm on it. This is solid now.''
l started to get my axe in and hop up.
lt was extremely painful.
As your legs hopped up, they both came down together.
l would try and get into a body position
so that my left foot went in first,
but l inevitably went onto my broken leg.
l'd feel the displacement go, the bone move.
At every hop, l'd nearly faint.
lt was just excruciatingly painful.
And it was a bright, sunny day.
''Wow. The whole world has come back.''
l was lying on the snow, just laughing.
That was the relief of getting out of that place.
And l then looked at the glacier and l thought,
''Well, you haven't even started, mate, you know.
lt's miles, it's miles, and on really bad ground.''
And l think l was contemplating just sitting there
because l was coming at this
having done the most serious climb of my life.
lf you come down safe from a climb like that,
you 'd be exhausted for days.
You 'd just eat and drink and sleep.
l'd just come out of that.
l'd badly broken a leg, l was in great pain,
l was highly dehydrated, l had no food,
and l was looking at trying to do that.
There's just no way you 're physically going to do that.
And then it occurred to me that maybe l should set definite targets.
l started to look at things and think,
''lf l can get to that crevasse over there in 20 minutes,
that's what l'm going to do.''
lf l got there in 1 8 minutes, l was hysterically happy about it.
lf l got there in 22 or 24 minutes,
l was upset almost to the point of tears.
And it became obsessive.
l don't know why l did it.
l think l knew the big picture of what was happening to me,
and what l had to do was so big, l couldn't deal with it.
l stayed on Simon's tracks, and they were weaving around
over humps and past obvious crevasses and stuff.
l thought, ''Well, unless l come to a hole
''with his body in the bottom of it,
these tracks will lead me through the minefield of crevasses.''
You have all these huge mountains around you .
You know, big mountain walls.
And they do make you feel small and vulnerable.
And you wonder whether there's some sort of malign presence
that's out to get you .
lt was like somebody was just teasing an ant
and putting something in its way all the time
and was eventually going to stand on it.
l could see that Simon's tracks were filling in.
They were my lifeline off the glacier.
And l started to get very desperate.
l carried on crawling in the dark,
which was a stupid thing to do, but l was frightened,
and l was just trying to see Simon's tracks.
ln the morning, it was a bright, sunny day.
All the tracks had gone.
And l started quite early.
Every now and then l had to stand up on one leg
and look around to try and see the way
and then sit down again and shuffle along.
There was one very horrendous crevasse bit right near the edge,
and l ended up in a maze of them.
l suddenly came to a point where l could see ice running down,
then l could see rocks.
lt was probably me that brought up the subject of leaving,
partly 'cause l was worried about Simon.
l just felt it was best to get as far away as possible
from where it happened.
l didn't want to leave immediately.
l felt l needed a day or two just to collect my thoughts
and to regain some strength, really.
l spent a long time washing myself.
lt felt quite good to wash my hair and to wash my face,
to have a shave, to sort of get the...
...get the remnants of the mountain out of my system, really.
l was desperately thirsty
because it doesn't matter how much snow you eat,
you just can't get enough water into your system.
l saw the rocks and l knew how big these boulders would be
and how far it was,
and that was the first time that l really thought about
whether l could get the distance.
l got rid of all my gear.
l knew that l couldn't crawl over these rocks--
they were just too big and jumbled--
and that the only way to do it was to try and hop.
So l knew l was going to fall a lot.
l'd fallen virtually every hop,
and it was just like having your leg broken every time,
and l remember, looking back at where l'd come from,
it was 25 yards and it had taken ages,
and the pain just to go that 25 yards.
l can be insanely stubborn,
and l do like to have things my way,
and things were seriously not going my way over these days.
l'd look at a rock and l'd go, ''Right, l'll get there in 20 minutes.''
Once l'd decided l was going to get that distance in 20 minutes,
l bloody well was gonna do it.
And it would help me because l'd get halfway through the distance
and l would be in such pain, l just couldn't bear the thought
of getting up and falling again.
But l'd look at the time and think, ''l've got to get there.''
And l'd think, ''l'll just lie a bit longer.
No, you 've got to get there. You 've only got ten minutes left.''
lt seemed like there was a very cold, pragmatic part of me that was saying,
''You have to do this, this, and this if you 're gonna get there.''
''Come on, keep moving, keep moving.''
''Right, get up and do it again.''
lt was quite insistent and quite clear.
lt was almost like a voice or a separate part of me
telling me to do something.
Very uncaring.
No sympathy,
no acknowledgment of the fact that l might be tired or hurt.
lt was very, very odd.
A part of me kept saying, ''Keep moving. Stop resting.''
And the other part of me-- my mind anyway--
just was, like, looking around and absorbing things.
And as the hours went, and certainly as the day started to go,
it became weirder and weirder.
So l was very, very, very thirsty and very dehydrated.
And the agonizing thing is all these boulders, these moraines
are on top of the glacier.
And you could hear water running all the time.
l'd hear water and l'd start digging around, searching for it.
Couldn't find it, couldn't get it.
And it was driving me mad to be able to hear water.
l was worried about Simon, about his health
'cause his fingertips were still quite bad from frostbite.
And l just felt it wasn't a place to be lingering in.
We just started getting ready to leave in the morning.
l did eventually collapse amid the rocks,
and l didn't sleep very well.
My leg was very painful. lt was agony.
lt was the first night, l think, it hadn't stormed.
lt didn't snow on me and didn't rain.
And l could see the stars.
l can remember lying on my back
for what seemed endless periods of time
staring at the stars.
At one point l had this weird sensation
that l'd lain there conscious for centuries, for lifetimes,
becoming part of the rocks
and part of where l was never going to move from.
The sun came up, and it started to warm me.
And l thought it'd be just so nice to just lie there,
don't move and it won't hurt.
And, Christ, l got so, so close to doing that.
l genuinely believed that l wouldn't make the distance,
and l also believed that l was going to die,
and l sort of acknowledged it in a very matter-of-fact way.
lt seemed very irrational to keep on crawling
if you didn't think it was going to be of any good.
l think that it was that loneliness,
that sense of being abandoned was there all the time.
l didn't crawl because l thought l would survive.
l think l wanted to...
...to be with somebody when l died.
lt was probably just a symbolic act
to say good-bye to him, really, in my own mind, you know,
by doing that.
l drank liters and liters of it.
And it was just like putting fuel in.
l could feel myself immediately just getting stronger.
l kept wetting myself.
l can remember actually quite liking the sensation of the warmth of it.
lt was just a slow, steady reduction.
Not just physically-- physically it was very obvious--
but you -- everything, yourself.
l felt left with nothing, really.
l didn't care anymore.
Didn't have any dignity.
You didn't care whether you 're brave or weak or anything.
You just became almost nothing. lt was strange.
l was still doing these tests,
20-minute things, ''Get here, get there.''
And then l saw these footprints.
And l got convinced that it was Simon and Richard.
They were up above me, and they were just following on.
And l carried on crawling down,
utterly convinced that they were wandering along behind me.
And l can remember thinking,
''lt's really stupid. They would come and help you .''
l think l persuaded myself that they were just following on
because they didn't want to embarrass me
'cause l'd peed myself and l was crying.
l don't know how long it lasted-- maybe about an hour.
l totally believed it,
and then suddenly it was like popping a bubble.
Then l realized that they weren't there,
and l felt utterly shattered.
lt was about 4:00 when l reached the lake.
And l knew that at the far end of it, there was a moraine dam,
and from the top of that moraine dam,
l would be able to look down
into the valley where the base camp was.
ln fact, l would be able to see the tents.
For the first time, l thought, ''l'm gonna make the distance.
l can actually make the distance.''
Almost as soon as l thought it, the next thought was,
''Will there be anyone there?''
l thought, ''Christ, this is the fourth day since l saw Simon.''
And as l worked it out, l thought, ''Why would they be there?''
l knew it got dark at 6:00, and l thought, ''l've gotta get there.''
l was trying to do it as fast as possible.
The rest of that afternoon,
l was plagued by this dreadful feeling
that they would have gone.
l hadn't paid attention to what was happening with the weather.
Between leaving at 4:00 and getting to the top of the moraine at about 6:00,
the weather had changed.
So when l looked down at the valley, it was just full of clouds.
Simon!
And l listened intently,
hoping to hear a whistle or an answer, a cry back.
l didn't hear anything at all.
And l spent a long time, sat there crying, really,
not sure what to do.
l thought about getting in my sleeping bag.
lt just seemed a bit of a pathetic way to end things,
just in a sleeping bag.
l thought, ''Well, might as well just keep going.
You 'll end it down there somewhere.''
Don't move.
l don't know entirely what happened for the rest of that night.
Yes.
l stopped looking at the watch,
and everything just started to go apart.
And l think l just got lost,
and l didn't know what l was doing anymore.
l don't remember thinking of anyone or...
...anybody l loved or anything like that.
l did have one time when l got a song going through my head,
and it was by a band called Boney M.
l don't really like Boney M's music.
Who's that?
And it just went on and on and on for hours.
l found it very upsetting
'cause l wanted to try to get it out of my head,
and l wanted to think of other things.
l was thinking, ''Bloody hell, l'm gonna die to Boney M.''
l remember sometimes-- not waking up--
l think l was awake all the time--
but coming to-- it was like waking up--
and sort of finding myself sitting there.
l didn't know where l was.
lt was pitch black and snowing. l'd think l was back on the glacier
or in a pub car park and l'd been beaten up again.
And then l would just drift off again.
l remember smelling something.
lt was a really strong smell, and it acted like a smelling salt,
sort of cut through all this delirium.
l remember being confused. l couldn't understand what it meant.
lt took me ages to work out what it meant.
l mean, l thought it was me.
And very slowly l worked it out.
l thought, ''l've crawled through the latrine area of our campsite.''
And l realized then that l was close to the tent.
Simon!
As l was shouting it, l thought, ''This is it.
''This is as far as this game goes.
l'm not capable of going any further.''
Simon!
l'd made the mistake of having a little bit of hope
that they'd still be there.
And when l shouted and they weren't there,
l sort of knew l was dead then.
That moment when no one answered the call...
Simon!
...it was...
l lost something.
l lost me.
l woke up, not knowing why,
and was aware of this strange atmosphere--
l could hear the wind howling outside the tent--
and started hearing something.
lt did slowly dawn on me
that, really, the only thing it could be
would be Joe outside shouting.
But that was completely impossible
because he was dead,
and he'd died three or four days ago.
And then heard it again much sharper,
and it really sounded like somebody shouting ''Simon.''
l kind of got in a panic
that first, it couldn't be Joe because Joe's dead,
and then, if he is out there,
it's gonna be this horrible thing, you know.
lt can't be a human being
because no human being can possibly go through that
and be outside the tent.
l was just kind of laying there, really not knowing what to do.
And then Simon woke up.
''Simon,'' you know.
lt was quite clearly a shout of my name.
l knew it was Joe, actually.
l knew immediately.
l was looking around,
and then l saw this thing floating.
Of course, Simon exploded into action.
Suddenly l heard voices.
Joe?
ls that you ?
l was holding back
because l didn't really feel it was a human being out there.
Simon!
We went back up the streambed
from where these calls had come from,
maybe 200 or 300 yards outside the camp, and there was Joe.
- Simon. - My God.
l couldn't completely believe it until l actually saw him.
But then it was still a little difficult to believe that
because of the eerie night and the state he was in.
Simon.
Absolutely awful state.
lt was almost like he was this sort of ghost-like figure.
lt was like l had to sort of pinch myself almost
to believe this was true, that this was really happening.
- Help me. - Oh, fuck, Joe.
You 're okay.
Fuck!
Simon was...
He was swearing a lot. He was swearing a lot.
Fuckin' hell!
Richard, lift him!
Richard, hold him, you stupid bastard! Lift him!
lt's okay, Joe.
l remember Simon grabbing my shoulders
and holding me.
Lift his legs.
l remember that...
Okay, Joe.
...that feeling of being held.
Okay, okay.
Hush, hush. You 're safe.
He, you know, thanked me for...
...for trying to get him down the mountain,
for all that l'd done up to the point...
...where l'd cut the rope, you know.
And he said to me, ''l'd have done the same.''
Those were the first words he uttered to me.
l remember, before we'd done anything to him,
before we'd even closed the door, he said, ''Where are my trousers?''
We had to explain that we'd burnt his trousers,
which made him quite angry.
And l think that kind of brought me back into life to some extent,
realizing it was the same old Joe back again.