Burkett had allowed a day’s rest before the assault on the summit. Any longer and their food reserves wouldn’t last the descent to mid-way camp, any less and they wouldn’t be guaranteed of sufficient momentum on the final climb. Tasker and Kemp would accompany him to the peak. Spinetti and Holmes had taken it well, all things considered. They’d put the success of the expedition before any personal ambition to be the first human beings to stand atop C3.
From first light, the climbing party picked their way through freezing mist, across treacherous ice and vertiginous outcrops of rock. Hour after hour they fought the mountain until at last they gained the summit, breaking through the last vestiges of cloud to stand in fierce sunshine, exhausted and uplifted in equal measure. In every direction the world lay far beneath their feet. Something no man had seen before.
Burkett threw an arm around Kemp’s shoulder while Tasker busied himself with the camera, before shuffling over to join them. Lungs bursting and limbs aching, they managed a reticent smile into the camera for posterity. They may be the first men to stand there, but they’d have no vulgar triumphalism.
The snow at their feet was ever shifting as fierce cross-winds buffeted the summit. Burkett looked down as something scudded along the ground and bumped into his snow-boot.
It was an empty packet of cheap cigarettes.
Burkett scooped it up into his pocket. He saw the others staring at him in utter dejection.
“Wondered where I’d dropped that,” he improvised hastily. “Never do to leave litter up here, would it?”
On the way down, they all pretended Burkett was not a lifetime and almost fanatical non-smoker. When they reached base camp, his first request was for a cup of tea and a smoke.
From first light, the climbing party picked their way through freezing mist, across treacherous ice and vertiginous outcrops of rock. Hour after hour they fought the mountain until at last they gained the summit, breaking through the last vestiges of cloud to stand in fierce sunshine, exhausted and uplifted in equal measure. In every direction the world lay far beneath their feet. Something no man had seen before.
Burkett threw an arm around Kemp’s shoulder while Tasker busied himself with the camera, before shuffling over to join them. Lungs bursting and limbs aching, they managed a reticent smile into the camera for posterity. They may be the first men to stand there, but they’d have no vulgar triumphalism.
The snow at their feet was ever shifting as fierce cross-winds buffeted the summit. Burkett looked down as something scudded along the ground and bumped into his snow-boot.
It was an empty packet of cheap cigarettes.
Burkett scooped it up into his pocket. He saw the others staring at him in utter dejection.
“Wondered where I’d dropped that,” he improvised hastily. “Never do to leave litter up here, would it?”
On the way down, they all pretended Burkett was not a lifetime and almost fanatical non-smoker. When they reached base camp, his first request was for a cup of tea and a smoke.
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2 comments:
Victor Spinetti?
But of course. One of our finest masters of crampon and pick.
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