We dig a hole in the snow, about a meter and half deep, nothing firm, just crumbly grainy snow which made the digging easy. To tired to care about avalanches, we huddle together on the rope, a foil bag above us. We fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Born in Zimbabwe, reared in South Africa, Rory McCrea was introduced to bouldering and scrambling in the mountains above Cape Town by a good friend. It wasn’t until I had moved to the U.K. and got a job with Snow and Rock that he got into sport and trad climbing, under the influence of a group of polish climbers. From there, much to his surprise he got into alpine climbing and mountaineering.
He has a love/hate relationship with the cold.
Contact Rory via email
I look across at Grzegorz, dangling off the same sling. “Where is the rope?” I shout, throat raw. We look around frantic headlights stabbing into the white. Behind us, the ropes streams up, out of reach. We had left the ropes running through the first point above us so we could move quicker. Not securing them near to either of us. We can’t see Merak’s light. We scream into the storm but can’t hear anything above the wind. Merak must still be on the rope. That’s why it’s so straight. The feeble glow of hope had just gone out. We hang there for another cold numb eternity, getting colder and colder. If we stay here all night , we will die. I try to reach the rope with a walking pole but it was out of reach. Grzegorz suggests extending the sling with another one. Pull an axe free, swing into the ice. Other hand jammed into a icy crack. Kick front points into ice. Nod to Grzegorz, he quickly gives me another 120cm reach. Put axe away, get pole, fall back…the rope is just out of reach. I scream with frustration, bouncing up and down in anger. I snag the rope but it slips. Finally I catch it again.
I go down the icy ropes and look for Merak but there is no sign of him, no blood nor rocks either. I shout as Grzegorz comes down to tell him to find a abseil point. I have to untie so he can swing across the icy rocky slope until he finds one. Then I have to climb 15m of bowel loosening ice and rock to reach him. I tell him Merak’s gone. The ropes are frozen. We manage to get one down and undo the knot but the other won’t come. Another two short abseils and we were on a slightly less steep snow slope. We roped up and set off. We were still about 3000m up and we weren’t sure which slope we were on. We found boot prints - big yeti-like tracks. Must be Merak, no one else on this mountain has size 13 feet.
Relief and anger renewed tired arms and legs. Not sure whether I’d punch him or hug him when I see him. We zigzag through the clouds, the snow and night limiting sight to a couple of meters. The storm not finished with its dramatics. Then there was an edge. I gingerly down climbed until I my head lamp illuminated the maw of a gaping crevasse Slowly and carefully I climbed back up to Grzegorz. Merak’s footsteps had just carried on over the edge.
No way of setting up a secure anchor in the soft sugary snow so I can check the crevasse properly. Tired, freezing and hungry, we move back and forth unable to find a point where we can jump across the chasm. We dig a hole in the snow, about a meter and half deep, nothing firm, just crumbly grainy snow which made the digging easy. To tired to care about avalanches, we huddle together on the rope, a foil bag above us. We fall asleep in each other’s arms.
A slithering pattering of snow sliding across the foil startles me awake. Pull it off it to see the clouds have lifted. I can see the moon and the warm lights of Argentiere down in the valley. I know where we are and where we want to be. We’re still high up, still a way to go.
We find a snow bridge across the crevasse on the far right of the cwm and tip toe across it before the clouds swallow us up again. We just had to keep down climbing. I tried to walk at one point, promptly falling and sliding for a couple of meters. On and on it went, plodding down. To tired and cold to care about crevasses or avalanches. Finally, in the predawn gloom we stumbled onto the glacier. Just another 2 hours to the bivy site.
Two young British blokes walked us back across the glacier. A helicopter buzzed in and of the clouds surrounding Du Chardonett. A quick phone call on a bad signal established they were looking for a three-man team. The chopper left the mountain and buzzed across us before heading back. We couldn’t make out what had been said about the third member of our party.
We passed a group of people leaving the refuge. I was staring bemusedly at a beautiful face when she said my name. Turned out I knew her from London. She started telling me about this crazy scene where ‘this polish guy staggered into the refuge going on about his friends he’d lost on the mountain.’
I grinned. Merak was o.k.
We weren’t prepared for the alps. We were a little lucky and learned a lesson. Not panicking and being stubborn helped but we were lucky. The storm lasted for more than 10 hours. I was not struck by lightning. I was electrocuted by static electricity discharge from the granite. According to Grzegorz, I was surrounded by a blue glow before I fell down.
Unfortunately no super powers have been revealed.
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