Number in series 70; Year of publication 1986 - Fell and Rock ...

110 THE NORTH-EAST SPUR OF THE DROITESBritish to prepare their own, and soon the room buzzed with animatedconversations in half a dozen languages. By 9 o'clock we were off to bed with amotley crew whose common denominator was a desire to rise at 2 a.m. Thedormitory was typically hot and stuffy, resounding with garlic-laden snoresfrom some of our fellow alpinists, so sleep came slowly. My mind wrestled withthe doubts that precede a big route; more so on this occasion because of anincident shortly before the holidays.I am superstitious about climbing during the last couple of weeks before theAlps in case of injury, but this year a particularly sunny evening had lured meout to Castle Rock with sixteen days to go. I thought I had successfully passedthrough the danger zone as I reached the stance at the top of ThirlmereEliminate but the gods had decided otherwise. I belayed to the tree and gazedcontentedly across the wooded valley, feeling relaxed — too relaxed. As mythirteen-stone second removed a jammed stopper at the crux his foot slipped,and without warning he took to the air. The world was suddenly inverted as Ipivoted on my waist belay and was flipped upside down to hang from the tree,my only contact with the rope being through my bare right hand. In a numb,detached way I was aware of rope zipping through the tightly-clenched fist asmy companion glided smoothly down to the last belay ledge like a rather heavypantomime fairy. With the emergency over, I opened my hand to survey thedamage; much of the skin from the inside of three fingers and the palm had beentorn off and dragged into a crinkled heap near the thumb and the whole thingstung abominably. When Spencer Tracy did a similar trick in 'The Mountain',blood gushed dramatically from his hand, but all that I could conjure up was aslight ooze of clear fluid. The hospital casualty doctor gave an emphatic 'No' toany climbing for at least two months, but climbers are optimistic creatures andafter 3 weeks I found that, with a leather glove, the hand worked quite well, andI was now into my fourth route (and third glove) of the holiday.I subsided into fitful dozing until, around 1 o'clock, a call of nature took meout onto the balcony. Around me, crampons and axes clinked as climbersstumbled down the moraine by torchlight. Feeble pinpricks of light against theblack bulk of Les Courtes showed that some teams had left before midnight.Our German friends must have been among them for their lights were alreadywell up the 65° ice apron of the Droites. Thus inspired I crept back to bed andinstant deep sleep, oblivious to the moves and more significantly the shrillcrescendo of electronic watch alarms at 2 a.m. We surfaced at 3 a.m., force fedourselves (appropriately, with pate) in readiness for a long day, then lurchedinto the darkness with that numbness of mind and body special to an alpinestart.For a major ascent of 1100 metres we were late in leaving the hut; it couldprove costly if an afternoon storm should catch us high on the spur, but with aprediction of two days 'beau temps' from the Meteo one can becomecomplacent. Anyway, a bivouac on the summit or descent was all part of the280