The Beckoning Silence (31 page)

Brian Nally retreating across the Second Ice Field after the death of his partner, Barry Brewster.

Carruthers and Moderegger on the Second Ice Field before they fell to their deaths.

Karl Mehringer and Max Sedlmayr waiting for good weather at the Hotel des Aples, Alpiglen, August 1935.

'We are deeply indebted to Frau Jossi for her hospitality. She was always there with a helping hand. From two poor climbers, with our warmest thanks.' Entry in the visitors' book of the Hotel des Alpes, Alpiglen.

'Bivouac on 21/8/35. Max Sedelmajr, Karl Mehringer, Munich. Munich H.T.G. Section Oberland.' In June 1976 a Czech rope found a cigarette tin with this yellow note on the Second Ice Field, 41 years after it was written. It was probably Mehringer who wrote the note, since he misspelled the name of his climbing companion.

A youthful Toni Kurz smiles back at us from the past. Alpiglen, 1936.

'If only the weather holds,' said Andreas Hinterstoisser to the photographer, Hans Jegerlehner. Unluckily for Hinterstoisser and Kurz, the weather did not hold. But that was only one reason for the disaster.

Austrians Heinrich Harrer and Fritz Kasparek and Germans Anderl Heckmair and Ludwig Vorg (left to right) on 24 July 1938 after the first ascent of the North Face of the Eiger.

Stefano Longhi, trapped above the Traverse of the Gods, waves to a passing plane. 'Fame! Freddo!' were his last desperate words.

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.