THE PERSONAL COLUMN

THETOUR

In the dim light we see Chris sitting at a table, spreading processed cheese onto a thick slice of stale brown bread. Tony enters and sits down opposite him. They do not speak. Tony spreads red jam onto a slice of bread. They eat. Tony pours a pale brown liquid from a metal jug into a cup. As he pours, a sodden tea-bag falls out of the jug into his cup. Tea splashes out onto the table. Tony drops a sugar cube into his cup and stirs it with a plastic stick.

They finish the bread. Chris eats the rest of his jam with his tea stirrer. They get up from the table and exit. It is 4.07 am.

Chris, with a rope tied to his harness and wearing crampons, shines his head-torch on Tony's feet as Tony tries for the third time to secure the strap on his left crampon. He finally succeeds. Taking the free end of the rope he ties a knot and attaches it to his harness. He tugs. It holds. Meanwhile, Chris has deftly wound a dozen coils of rope round his body and tied them to his harness with a neat knot. Tony starts to do the same, but gets in a tangle by switching the direction of the loops mid-way through the process. The coils straggle untidily around his chest, but he ties a knot round them anyway and attaches them to his harness. Chris gives him a long look and speaks for the first time.

Chris: Bit of a wally this morning, aren't we?

Tony and Chris move slowly up the glacier, a rope between them. Tony is in front. To their left the moon, three or four days off full, hangs in a clear, dark sky. Its light catches the slopes of the glacier, which shine in a broad band of silver. The sky is full of stars. Mountains rise all around them. They keep moving.

On a back-projection screen at the back of the stage we see the view down the glacier. Several strings of black dots, some with lights, are following in their tracks.

As we watch, three young mountaineers, closely roped together, enter left behind Chris. They rapidly overhaul Chris and Tony, who keep walking slowly onwards. No-one speaks as they pass. The three move on and exit right. Chris speaks.

Chris: Those were those Germans.

Tony: Yes.

It is full daylight. The sun is shining. Tony is standing sideways with one foot above the other on a narrow ramp of snow at the base of a shallow and easy-angled gully. A sling clipped to a metal ring provides some protection against a slip. The rope passes through his belay plate and disappears up the gully and out of sight.

The minutes tick by. Occasionally the rope moves, and Tony pays another metre or two through his belay plate. Now and again chunks of ice the size of apples rain down from above. After five minutes or so all movement stops. Tony stands and waits. Four Spaniards arrive and stand a few metres below him. More time passes.

Tony (shouts): Chris!? (no answer. He shouts again) Chris!? (still no answer).

1st. Spaniard: ¿Qué pasa?

Tony: J'n'sais pas. Rien.

Ten metres of rope drop down the gully and end in a tangle at Tony's feet. He feeds the loose rope back through his belay plate until the rope is nearly tight again.

Tony (shouts): Chris!? (no answer)

He looks at the Spaniards and shrugs. Two more climbers arrive and join the queue below.

More minutes pass. It is now 8.50am.

Suddenly the rope starts moving again, at first slowly and jerkily, then quickly and firmly as all the slack is pulled in. When the rope is taut Tony tugs it three times, removes it from his belay plate, unhooks the sling from the metal ring, and starts to climb into the sloping gully. He turns to wave to the Spaniards, and disappears left round a corner.

With the stage lights off, the back-projection screen shows a sequence of faded black and white still images of early alpine exploits - sheer rock faces, crevasses, men in tweeds with long alpenstocks and nailed boots, women in long skirts crossing glaciers, etc. The images fade as the lights come up to show ...

Tony, on a 35 degree snow slope with Chris some 10 metres above him crouched over his ice-axe pushed shaft-down into the snow. The rope goes round the head of the axe in an imitation of a belay. Tony climbs up to Chris.

Tony: What happened?

Chris: Keep moving.

They pick up the rope in loose coils and set off.

Tony and Chris walk the last few level metres to the summit - a low pile of rocks and stones surmounted by a plain iron cross. Two other small groups are there too. Tony and Chris each touch the summit rocks, and shake hands.

Tony: Well done! Our first unguided 4000-er.

Chris: And first AD.

Tony: In guidebook time, too.

They turn and walk about 25 metres back along the small summit ridge to a low rocky outcrop where they take off the rope and their rucksacs. They each open their rucksac and take out some food, which they eat slowly while they watch a party of six or seven people, led by a guide with a UIAGM badge, reach the summit ridge from the opposite direction. The group goes to the summit, each touches the rocks or the cross, and they return to near Tony and Chris. The guide takes a bottle of schnapps and several glasses from his rucksac, and pours a shot for each client. They drink. Tony and Chris look on hopefully, but are disappointed. Tony takes a photo of Chris, and vice versa.

Tony nods in the direction from which the other party had come.

Tony: Normal route. Must be our way down.

Chris: Yes.

Tony: What happened back there on the rock step? What took you so long?

Chris: I don't want to talk about it. I made a complete hash of it. Did you find a crab I dropped?

Tony: No.

Chris: Better be off, then.

Tony: No sign of those Spaniards yet.

Chris: No. Wonder if they found my crab.

They rope up, and disappear out of sight below the summit ridge.

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