Eternal Alpinist | Extract

In Eternal Alpinist, Mick Fowler shares - with his trademark wit - a gripping and deeply personal account of battling illness while refusing to surrender his passion for exploration. Taking readers to Chombu, the wild sea stacks in County Kerry, Spitzkoppe in Namibia, Yawash Sar in Pakistan and Patkhor in Tajikistan, this is a remarkable story of determination and an unbreakable affinity for mountains.

In the following extract Mick, along with his climbing partner Simon Yates (above), is pursuing Patkhor, an eye-catching 6,083-metre peak in Tajikistan.

‘It’s snowing.’

Our alarm had gone off, and Simon had peered out of the tent. 

I could hardly believe it. All the signs had looked so good the night before but now there was no doubt about it, we were in dense cloud and heavy snow. We knew there could be route-finding problems on the open summit slopes, but with only two days of half rations left it was essential that we made a move. An awkward pinnacle led to the summit snow slopes proper where big cornices directed us to keep low and follow rocks on the north side. At length these ran out, and we continued up deepening snow in a white-out in the general direction of the summit. Visibility declined, the skies darkened and suddenly we came across an unexpected rock buttress.

The hours were ticking by; the fresh snow was building up, we were not sure of our position and our tracks were rapidly filling in behind us. We were tired and our food situation was such that waiting for improved weather was out of the question. The choices were clear; we either pressed on blindly up increasingly avalanche-prone slopes, risking getting lost without food, or we retreated following our steps while we still could. One side of me desperately wanted to continue, but the deep snow was slowing us such that even if it had cleared, I didn’t think we would be able to keep to our schedule. A short discussion ensued but ultimately the decision to retreat was easily reached. By mid-afternoon we were a distinctly gloomy duo back at the previous night’s bivouac spot. Snow and zero visibility continued throughout the night and into the next day. On the evening of the next day it cleared, we ate the last of our food and, at 2 a.m., started what we knew would be a long and tedious abseil descent.

Whenever possible we abseil using Abalakov threads, named after the Russian mountaineer Vitaly Abalakov who first used the technique as long ago as the 1950s. (It was Vitaly’s brother, Evgeny, who was part of the team that made the first ascent of Patkhor in 1946.) The technique involves using a long ice screw to make two angled, connecting holes in the ice. A length of sling or rope is then threaded in one hole and out of the other to make a V‑thread, which can be abseiled from with a back-up ice screw placed as a security measure and removed by the last man. When constructed well in solid ice, Abalakov threads are amazingly strong – easily strong enough to hang an elephant from.

On the fourth or fifth abseil, the ice screw that we were using to make our Abalakov threads broke. It was a steel-tipped lightweight alloy screw and the steel thread parted company with the alloy tube. After that we had to use a shorter screw which meant shallower, less secure abseil threads. Nevertheless, we made pleasing progress and by mid-afternoon were back at our food poisoning bivouac enduring the full strength of the afternoon sun. The sun had really got to me on the last couple of abseils and I arrived feeling sick and exhausted.

The couloir we had to descend the next day would catch any early morning sun and so, as on the way up, we set our alarm for midnight so we could get safely down before the sun loosened any rocks or melted the snow.The alarm we used was an unusual two-battery model and I didn’t notice that the battery controlling the alarm had fallen out; the LED display was fine but the alarm didn’t go off and by the time we woke up it was too late to descend safely. Frustrating as it was, we had to spend a whole foodless day roasting in the sun waiting for the next night when we could try again.

The alarm woke us up this time, but we commented on feeling tired. Of the last seven days, we had now spent four on half rations and were into our third (including the day we shat everything out) with no food at all. The top section of the couloir was quite steep, and we decided it would be safest to abseil. On the third and final abseil we set up an Abalakov thread in a constricted position in a runnel that would become a watercourse later in the day. The ice was rather wet, and I gave the sling a good pull to test it. As Simon clambered past me and weighted the rope, I noticed that we had not clipped the backup screw into the abseil sling.

After that, everything is a bit of a blur. I remember trying to alert Simon but I’m not sure if any words came out. As I was reaching for a sling to clip in to the backup, the thread pulled and Simon was away. He had been leaning backwards, and I watched in horror as he somersaulted down near-vertical ground for six metres or so before appearing to cartwheel down in a clatter of axes and hardware. The light from his headtorch then rapidly hurtled down the couloir before disappearing around a bend. It was about 2 a.m. and I was left standing alone attached to the backup screw but with no ropes. I had no idea what had happened to Simon, but I knew full well he could have gone to the foot of the face. It was obvious that he could be seriously injured, or worse.