The Beckoning Silence (39 page)

‘Yes. Thanks.’ I glanced at my watch. It read a quarter to six. Dark in three hours, maybe less. ‘By the way Simon, when did the lads fall?’

‘Oh, about forty-five minutes ago. About five o’clock.’

‘Right,’ I said, thinking of the strange sound when I had looked up at the Ice Hose. ‘I see.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Ray?’ I called. ‘Bad weather tomorrow. Do we sit it out and go up or go down now to the Stollenloch?’ Ray held my gaze for a moment and then nodded his head downwards. I smiled in agreement.

‘Simon,’ I spoke into the phone. ‘We’re coming down. We’ll head for the Stollenloch but we have to get ourselves sorted out first. There’s a lot of rock-fall so we’ll be slow.’

‘OK, I’ll get Hanspeter to ask the railway people to leave the doors open at the entrance to the tunnel. We’ll be in the hotel. We’ll wait up for you. Be careful.’

‘Will do and thanks.’ I closed the phone. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ I said, even as I watched Ray rolling up his sleeping mat.

At half past six I grasped the fixed rope leading down the vertical crack towards the Hinterstoisser Traverse and swung myself off the ledge.

‘Be careful, kid,’ Ray said. ‘And clip everything you can.’

I lowered myself swiftly hand over hand down the weathered rope, glad of the chance to be doing something instead of brooding on what had happened. When I reached the edge of the traverse I saw that it was streaming with water. A few rocks hissed by and flew harmlessly into space off the ice field above, rattling down the wall below. Reversing the traverse was awkward. I clipped my ropes behind me through the line of old pegs to safeguard Ray and skittered across the slippery, wet rock.

When I reached the belay at the far end I had to raise the hood of my jacket. Water was flooding off the top of the wall, coursing down my sleeves and soaking my arms as I held the fixed ropes. I yelled up at Ray to come down and felt the ropes moving.

The sun was low on the horizon, bathing the face in warm light. I glanced down at the First Pillar, now swathed in frigid shadows, and tried not to dwell on what lay there. Ray and I had a job to do as safely and as efficiently as possible. That was all there was to consider.

I watched as Ray swung across the wall with water spattering across his shoulders and rucksack. The sunshine glittered on the silver streams. I glanced at the horizon and knew that we would not get to the Stollenloch before darkness fell. I dropped my rucksack to the ground and found my head torch. As I was fastening it to my helmet Ray swung down to the stance. I looked at the ground we had to cover to reach the top of the Difficult Crack. I remembered that protection was sparse on the way up and we had clipped only a couple of pitons on each rope length. Down-climbing the traverse was our fastest descent option but it would be awkward and if either of us slipped the consequences were all too obvious.

‘What do you reckon? Down-climb or abseil?’ I said.

‘Abseil,’ Ray replied confidently.

‘It’s all sideways. It might be a bitch getting the ropes down.’

‘It will but we’re in no rush. Let’s be super slow, super safe, eh?’

‘Fair enough.’

We threaded the ropes through the belay, coiled them and threw them out and sideways. They hit the first snow ledge and rolled into a bundle of tangled loops. I slid down the ropes and painstakingly freed the knotted coils and threw the ropes down separately. There was a high-pitched sound and I ducked as a handful of rocks peppered the slope to my right. Glancing up, I saw that we were moving out from the protection of the rock wall.

The light was fading fast by the time we gathered at the top of the gully leading down to the Difficult Crack. Ray pulled the ropes through as I threaded the next abseil point. Stones had been falling almost continuously since we had left the Hinterstoisser. I felt oddly detached. It didn’t concern me that I might be hit. There was nothing I could do about it so I simply ignored the impact sounds around me. As I stood watching Ray making his way cautiously down towards me, ducking as rocks hit close by, it occurred to me that we were doing exactly what we had read about in so many books. It was a strangely surreal thought.

As I began to abseil down the gully I switched on my head torch and looked up at Ray. He was grinning broadly and I realised with a start that he was enjoying himself. I realised that I, too, was grinning. We were in control. All was well. It was a matter of some pride. Even though our plans had been wrecked I was pleased that we could retreat calmly and in good order. Making the right decisions and acting competently in a stressful situation was almost as satisfying as a successful ascent.

I reached the top of the Difficult Crack and tried to see whether the abseil would reach the belay ledge beneath the roof. The beam of my head torch picked out the ropes as I flicked them out into space and tried to guess whether they were long enough. I decided that they would just reach on the stretch of the ropes and lowered myself down into the airy space of the corner. My boots touched the ledge just as the knot in the end of the ropes came hard against my hand. Clipping myself to a bolt, I carefully released the ropes from the belay plate and kept a tight hold on the knot.

‘OK.’ I heard Ray’s faint cry of acknowledgement that the ropes ran free and I let the knotted rope ends bounce away up into the darkness above me. A few moments later there was a scrabbling sound and rocks dislodged by Ray tumbled down the corner as he stepped down the gully. I ducked under the protection of the roof.

‘It won’t budge,’ Ray muttered as he heaved down on the green rope holding the knot joining the two ropes.

‘Here, let me help.’ I reached over and added my weight to the rope. It stretched, slipped a few inches, then held fast.

‘Bugger.’ Ray eased the pressure on the rope. ‘That’s the last thing we need.’

‘I’ve put this cam on the rope,’ I said, indicating the small brass camming device gripping the rope tightly. ‘If I stand in this sling I can jump off the ledge and put my entire weight onto it.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘I’ll tie into the other bloody rope. I’m not a complete idiot.’ I tied off a length of the blue rope to the piton and clipped it to my waist. ‘The sudden impact might rip it free. I reckon it’s jammed in that thin crack at the top of the gully.’

‘You’ll go flying,’ Ray pointed out helpfully.

‘Thanks. I know,’ I said, glancing down into the darkness below. I checked the blue rope was secure. ‘OK. Let’s pull as much stretch down as we can.’

When we could gain no more rope I took a deep breath and jumped off the ledge with the sling wrapped around my boot, tensing for the sudden jerk and the fall. I bounced in the air a foot lower than the ledge, feeling rather stupid – and Ray burst out laughing.

‘Ah, well, bugger that for a game of soldiers. I’ll climb up the green. You belay me on the blue.’

‘It might pull free.’

‘I’ll clip the pegs in the crack as I go.’

‘It’s not worth it,’ Ray said firmly. ‘It’s just a rope.’

‘It’s brand new,’ I complained.

‘It’s still not worth your life,’ Ray said. ‘Leave it, youth.’ He let go of the green rope and it sprang up into the darkness out of reach. He untied the knot, releasing the blue rope.

‘If we go straight down we should be able to reach the stance where we made that long traverse to the left,’ Ray pointed out. ‘After that we won’t need a double rope.’

‘Well, we haven’t got one now, have we?’ I said, sharply. ‘Is it more than 30 metres?’ I added, peering down into the darkness.

‘You’ll find out,’ Ray said confidently as he threaded the single blue rope through the belay, knotted the ends and dropped the doubled coils down the wall below. They disappeared into the darkness. I peered anxiously into the depths, whipping the rope out with my hands, trying to spot the knot. I could see nothing.

Forty feet from the end of the ropes I caught sight of a snow-covered ledge. The knot swung disconcertingly high above the snow. As my feet touched it the rope was at full stretch and I struggled to release it from the belay plate. I glanced along the ledge which ran to the left. It was about 18 inches wide and covered with wet snow lying on top of loose scree. Gripping one end of the rope I searched for a piton or a crack into which I could place a wire. I was sure that there was a belay somewhere near me but in the darkness and the flickering light of my head torch I could find nothing. The rock was compact and featureless. Reluctantly, I let the rope go and it whipped out of reach. I shouted up for Ray to come down and then stood still, keenly aware of the gulf behind me. I knew that there was reasonably easy ground from where I stood leading to the door of the Stollenloch tunnel three or four hundred feet horizontally to my right. We were nearly there. I began to relax.

With heart-stopping abruptness a rock the size of a football thudded into the snow ledge 6 feet to my right. It hurtled off into the night. I listened as it cracked down the wall, dislodging a flurry of smaller rocks. Fright galvanised me into action and I frantically searched the rock wall again, spotted a hairline crack, and pounded a knife-blade piton into it until the eye was hard against the rock. It was impressive how fear could make previously invisible things suddenly apparent. I clipped myself securely to it just as a shower of stones rushed down from the wall above, striking me painfully on the arm.

Ray came swiftly down the ropes and landed beside me on the stretch.

‘That’s a piece of luck,’ he said, as he released the rope and pulled one end down to him. ‘I didn’t think it would reach.’

‘Thanks for telling me,’ I said and he laughed.

‘Did you hear that rock-fall?’ Ray said. ‘I was hit on the shoulder.’

‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘I’m fine, just bruised.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Let’s keep going.’

At ten o’clock I traversed across the broken, snowy ledge towards the yellow rock wall at the base of the Röte Fluh. My head-torch beam picked out the dark shadow of the Stollenloch door set into the rock. Clipping the bolts by the door I dropped my rucksack to the floor and shouted for Ray to come across. As he stepped up onto the ledge outside the door I reached an arm around him and gave him an uncharacteristic hug, feeling slightly self-conscious. I thought of Tat and knew he would have squeezed the life out of me in the same circumstances. Ray was grinning broadly and clapping me on the back.

‘Well done, kid. Well done,’ he said.

‘And you. I’ll ring Simon, let him know we’re safe.’

I had to extend two 8-foot slings from the bolt and hang far out over the face before I received any reception. Even then I kept getting cut off just as I heard Simon answer the phone. After five attempts I pulled myself back into the doorway.

‘Come on, kid, forget it. Let’s go,’ Ray said.

‘I can’t,’ I replied. ‘Simon heard me trying to get through. If we don’t tell him that we’re safe he might think we’re in trouble and call out a rescue.’

‘Damn.’

‘Hi, Simon? Is that you?’ I said, as the phone rang.

‘Joe? Are you guys OK?’ His voice sounded strained and concerned. He had endured a long, bad day.

‘Simon, we’re fine. We’re in the Stollenloch. We’re safe.’

‘That’s great news. We were getting worried. It’s been four hours …’

‘It wasn’t easy, mate. Rock-fall, lost ropes, darkness. You know the score. Listen, we’re heading down the tunnel now. Should be with you by eleven, I reckon.’

‘Good. Hanspeter says the door has been left open for you. We’ve got food here for you. We’ll be waiting.’

‘Hey, get some beers in for us before the bar closes will you?’

‘We got the lot, don’t worry.’

‘What about Heinz and Scott and the boys? Did they get off the wall?’

‘Yeah, they’re safe, bivouacking on the Mittellegi Ridge right now.’

‘That’s grand news. See you soon.’ I closed the phone and smiled at Ray. ‘Let’s go, Ray. It’s over.’

We hurriedly stuffed our harnesses and hardware into our sacks, coiled the rope and clipped our axes and crampons onto their holders. As Ray heaved at the wooden door, releasing a latch, it suddenly burst open with the force of the updraught, almost pushing him off balance. I chuckled as he stumbled and grabbed at the walls for support. Squeezing through the trap door, we emerged into a strange greenish light faintly illuminating the tunnel. We pulled the door shut and dropped the latch and the wind instantly stopped. It was silent, calm and warm. I stared at an incongruous green neon sign advertising beer, chocolate or something inane and then stared at the wooden door. One moment we were exposed to rock-fall on the north face of the Eiger, next minute we were reading adverts.

‘Bizarre,’ I muttered. ‘It’s almost as if today never happened.’

‘I know,’ Ray said, as he turned to walk down the narrow boardwalk running alongside the rack railway. ‘It would be funny but for those lads.’

The tunnel seemed to go on for ever as we tramped down at a toe-bashing angle, leaving the green neon glow behind. At one point Ray slipped on some grease stain on the wooden boardwalk and crashed onto the rails. His torch flickered out. He cursed and struggled to his feet. It was pitch black. It would have been a nightmare without our torches. Half an hour later we trudged out of the tunnel entrance and walked through the deserted Eiger Gletscher station. The lights of the hotels at Kleine Scheidegg sparkled half an hour’s walk below us. Suddenly I felt weary. It hadn’t been a hard day, but knowing during our descent that two men lay broken and lifeless on the rocks beneath us had got to me. I let Ray stride ahead and followed slowly, thinking about the mountain. I wondered whether it was worth the risks. I knew in my heart that I still wanted to climb the face but some of my romantic idealism about the route had been destroyed.

They had known the risks,
I told myself.
We all do. Nothing’s changed – not for us anyway.
When we came around the curved ridge leading down to Kleine Scheidegg I looked back at the vast black amphitheatre silhouetted against a star-lit night sky. In its centre the gallery windows’ light glowed gold from the black depths of the wall. I wished we were still up there, regretting our decision to retreat. It had been there for the taking. We might not get another chance. I wondered whether Ray still wanted to try again.
Maybe not this year.