'To Risk is To Live' - by Alison Stockwell

Her face is close; so close he can feel her warm breath drift over his bare chest like a soft breeze on a summer’s day. Idly she traces the thread of a faded scar and probes his ribs, wondering if she can feel which ones were once broken.

His strong arms are wrapped around her and he caresses her fair hair, which is mingled with sunlight and lies draped across his shoulder.

*****

The wind roars like an express train through a long tunnel getting louder and closer until it crashes full-force into the tiny tent which bends and bows and slaps against the two tense bodies inside.

“We can’t stay holed up here at this altitude any longer. We’ve got to go down.”  

“It’s madness to try and get down in these conditions. Let’s give it another day.”

“I can’t last another day. I’m going down.”

“You go if you want. I’ll stay.”

The solitary figure braces against the blizzard; staggering hastily in each brief lull before the blast.  It’s all about survival; the mission is to live and every meter matters. The whirling snow cuts across his face, plastering up his goggles so he has to raise them in order to see at all. Squinting through swirling whiteness he picks out a way ahead.  With snow softly deepening he slides, barely in control. There is serious avalanche danger here, but this is no place to stop. To risk is to live.

Scurrying downwards, navigation is hard. But through guesswork and instinct and years of experience he finally reaches the ropes. They are frozen stiff and it’s a struggle to free them, but breathing is easier now and his head is clearer too.

Clipping in, the descent is protected for a while.Snow sloughs over the escaping prisoner, who struggles on until at last his numb feet reach the glacier and the angle eases. But the mountain does not easily release its prey. Cavernous crevasses lay hidden beneath, and the track is covered by swathes of soft, fresh snow. Without warning the ground gives way and the victim is catapulted into the icy snare. Desperately, with flailing axe and thrashing feet he fights to regain control. Blue jaws gape below, but with one final, decisive lunge his axe bites and control is restored as quickly as it was lost. Now there is hope and he is all at once alert and focused. No time for fear; adrenaline courses as he works methodically to secure his escape. So very alive and now he’s free! Free, and running, running towards camp. At last safety is reached and he slumps into the  tent and still in boots and crampons, he crashes into a long, deep sleep.

Much later he wakens. All is calm. The blazing sun overwhelms the little tent and he blinks in its brilliance. He is hot and parched and his head is throbbing. His whole body aches and every movement is an effort, but he has never felt so alive. He gorges on water and feels reassuringly nauseous. Dragging himself out of his sweaty clothing he bathes in the chilly waters of a nearby stream. The snow is melting on the high walls and the whole scene is one of peace, beauty and tranquillity.

 But everything is not all right. It is too quiet and relief turns to concern which steadily deepens with the next looming front. Hours become days as he waits and hopes. Better weather follows and he searches vainly as his voice echoes unheard in the mountain. He whittles a safe track across the glacier; an easy path for a lost soul to follow and considers going higher, to try and retrace their route, but his body is wasted and he has neither the strength nor the will for the mountain. Ultimately he is defeated and with all hope gone he carves an inscription on a large mottled rock: a solitary name, a date and three letters; R.I.P.

*****

“Tell me the story about these scars” she says.

“It was a climbing accident, just one of those things. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

For a few minutes they lie together silent and thoughtful, and then she asks;

“When will you go mountaineering again?”

His face broadens into a deep smile.

“Soon.”

She struggles for a way to articulate her feelings; looking at him hoping for a cue. But he has drifted far away; dreaming about his true loves.

Preview this months magazine >>
Back to home page >>