This past few weeks have seen our Verdes heroes Pap Mamorey and Bod Beag making a bold, first ascent attempt on the Scheisskopf in the the Austrian hinterland.
This peak had often eluded the bold Pap and failure on this occasion would and could not be tolerated.
We had packed all the relevant gear for the trip although I fear that my trusty Scotland golf umbrella (used on many an occasion as an emergency bivvy at high altitude) had been 'borrowed' by my wife.
It was an ill omen for the climb.
Bod Beag was his usual self and had elected for the alpine style ascent he had favoured on previous occasions - ultra light and built for speed.
I had also elected to go light weight as my previous attempt had been thwarted when my gas barbecue had jammed in a rock crack at 3000m. A double blow, because in cutting it loose, I inadvertently cut through the straps that held our only kayak and it was lost too.
So here we were. No ropes, no food and no bivvy equipment, travelling as light as possible. Of course, we had packed the essentials; Bog Beag had stashed his iPod and, in an effort not to be outshone by a mere sherpa, I had packed my XBox 360.
Progress was easy at first and we had gained a good 200m by the end of the first week. Having sacrificed our acclimatisation period in an effort to get to the top earlier, we had taken it easy on the first few days.
However, after a couple of weeks we could see that the decision not to take food may have been a trifle hasty. Bivouacked at 2000m we had a debate about continuing or turning back. We had been licking rocks for the last few days and if I didn't eat soon, then Bod Beag was starting to look tasty.
I think he sensed this change of mood and, in the semi intelligible, monosyllabic grunting of his people, he confessed to having a secret stash of Mars Bars secreted in his loin cloth.
Oh joy! Never has my Welsh companion ever saved me so!
Thus, suitably fortified, we continued with haste, as neither of us had been 'poo poo' for the duration of the climb either.
The next 1500m passed really quickly. Minutes became hours, hours became days in a frantic effort to summit. We had heard on my wind up television that two other teams had joined the race to the summit and were already closing on us. They had foolishly gone for the roped technique and had carried the extra weight of food and water, but somehow had gained a lead.
This was a blow, but we battled on regardless, sucking on Bods last Mars Bar for sustenance.
Suddenly we came to the 'Uber und unter' step. We were mere metres from the summit. The negotiation of this final hurdle would see us in front of the other teams and on the summit in record time.
But damn! We needed a rope. If only I had foreseen this requirement instead of bringing the 12 piece picnic set that I had picked up from Yeomans!
But improvisation is the mother of innovation as we used to say in the regiment. As I clambered on top of a propped up, semi conscious Bod Beag (he had declared that he didn't want to be a human ladder and I'd had to resort to felling him with the television to gain his compliance) I felt for the ledge that would allow me to pull myself up.
Damn! I needed about another two feet. I climbed down defeated. Then, I spotted Bod's new trainers. Still semi conscious and by this time bleeding quite badly, I removed his shoes and tied them together by the laces, thus giving me the two feet required.
I climbed once again onto the head of my make shift ladder and by throwing the shoe over a rock spike, I pulled myself up onto the ledge. There in the gloom, some 15 metres away, was the summit, but more worryingly, I could hear Italian voices from the East and French from the West side.
Reaching down, I slapped Bod a few times with his new Nike Air Pegasus to bring him round. He wasn't pleased I can tell you, but he accepted that it might have been an accident with the television. In his own inimitable style he scampered up the step, even refusing the aid of his trainers.
We made the summit a few minutes later, stopping only to throw snow balls at the Italian team. They were the least sporting of the competition, not even returning one ball before they fell. The French faired only slighty better, heaving a few back (and the odd piton).
Fun and ambassadorial effort over, we jogged to the trig point (I thought this was a first ascent? Ed.) and were lounging around, sucking our Mars Bar and watching Catchphrase on the telly when the French arrived.
Too late Frenchies!
Another first for the Verdes boys!
Further posts to follow, following our tribunal and subsequent incarceration by the Italian authorities..
Remember! Don't look down and don't look back....
Pap
