Page 37 - 2014 AMA Summer

the legendary category. Until recently I had met him only once in 1997. Three friends and I were about to travel to India to attempt the Sharks Fin on Meru Central, a climb Pritchard had attempted in 1993 with Jonny Dawes, Noel Craine and Phillip Lloyd. We met in a Welsh pub to chat about it. Rain ran down the windows. I had only been climbing for a few years and so in awe, I didn’t speak to Pritchard once, but last summer Paul had returned to Llanberis and I had begun to know him.
“Tell me about Rubble Paul.”
His slim suntanned face cracked into a cheeky grin. Feathered with blond streaks bleached by the sun, his brown hair jutted in all directions. Etched beneath the stubble chiselled laugh lines grew. Crows feet crease at the side of eyes burning bright deepened...
...and he was there then, back in Wen Zawn, a place he had made his own –
Just for a second he was there. And in that second I was there with him. I could feel sticky salt on my skin. I could smell seaweed. My heart pulsed with camaraderie. The wind ripped through Wen’s, hewn cleft. Grey seals circled beneath white-turquoise turbulent waves. Crashing rock, crashing sea, greasy rock – a dark intimidat- ing place but one that had been lit by Pritchard’s legacy – Then we were back in the packed pub, jostling and swaying, feet sticking to the carpet, a fug of sweat... and the rain ran down the window. Paul was standing, awkward and off balance. A large support brace wrapped around his ankle, a sling cradled his arm.
“It’s HVS... except for the E7 bits!” Laughing he limped away bumping and blending into the throng, pint sloshing...
...In the morning I climbed and looked over the snow crest just above our bivvy. My heart leapt. A steep runnel sidewall led into another runnel system. “Its on, it’s really on.” We left packs hoping the lack of weight would help with levitation and set off aiming for the completion of our dream.
Deep into the guts, surrounded by carvings of sugar-snow like a winter Devils Tower in Wyoming, slicing air branded lung skin. I took my mind from the pain. Pritchard is badly disabled after a rock took half his head off while abseiling the Totem Pole in Tasmania
– Paul had obviously lived too many life-times, burnt too bright, but still he refused to give up, he was back climbing and he was still an inspiration. I dug into snow looking for ice but found none. Continuing, I wondered about my future, my remaining time.
Two of my friends from the Shark’s Fin expedition were now gone, time for them had been cut tragically short. Time for Phillip Lloyd from Pritchard’s Sharks Fin expedition had also run out. In the valley, the loss made no sense, but here, up high, surrounded by thousands of mountains, pushing my body and mind to its limit, living minutes that felt like hours, climbing and mountaineering made every sense.
Houseman took over the lead and eventually climbed out of the fluting onto a wild windy exposed summit crest. Belayed to a snow bollard we met. Taking no gear apart from that which I had collected on the way, I continued. The brightness of the sun lit my soul. I kicked and tried not to stop but the gusting wind had me repeatedly dropping onto my axes. Pumice granules scoured. Crawling, I prayed for no false summits. Crawling, I prayed for success. Kicking, a few more metres was everything. I swung an axe that cut the crest and there through the slot I could see Kangchenjunger’s north face and Jannu’s summit. I could see a million mountains. I could see contentment and peace, but then, in an instant, I could see the hands of the clock begin to speed.
Left to right: After a very long day 2, we made it through the crux rockband to bivvy here for the night • On the summit
• This is the bivvy on the 3rd night high on the upper face at approximately 6500m we used this bivvy on the 4th night after summiting as well • We reached the base and safety day 5 at approx 10pm • Chang Himal at night.
Epilogue
After down climbing from the summit, a fourth night was spent at the highest bivvy. The fifth day on the face dawned cloudy and threatening. We decided to abseil our line in a single push until thirteen hours later I stood waiting for houseman to set up the last abseil before we would start to climb down the narrows. Above, in a slow spinning sky, a million stars flicker and in the still of night the soft jangle of Yak bells floats across the creaking moraine.
ARMY MOUNTAINEER 35