Chance

Tony and I were joined by Andy, a friend Tony met in Edinburgh. We decided to climb Artebelleza on Innominata. It was fun to climb as a three, being more sociable at belays, and Andy fitted in comfortably with our established systems. The day took longer than planned however, a due to a combination of harder climbing than anticipated, the ropes getting stuck four times, and Tony needing to replace half of the rap-stations. Eventually, we reached the floor at dusk, and hurriedly packed our bags. I was warm and no one was above us, so I removed my helmet.

We rushed to get down the steep snowy gully, hoping to reach the feint trailhead before darkness fell. Tony was somewhere ahead of Andy and me when an almighty cracking noise echoed from above. A pillar of rock the size of a row of terraces was falling away from the mountain directly above us. I yelled "oh fuck" in disbelief. It was surreal to see, and hard to believe this was about to happen to me.

The main body of falling rock impacted on a shoulder and exploded. I intuited that the largest blocks would miss Andy and I, as the topography immediately above us would carry these away from us. This still left the hundreds of fragments that were rapidly dispersing in every direction. Not knowing Tony's exact position, I temporarily put him out of mind.

Above me, the sky was now littered with detritus; some pieces were rocketing down already, others that had been tossed upwards appeared suspended in space, poised to accelerate down on us.

My first thought was to escape. I briefly considered trying to outrun the mass of rocks before they reached me. The idea's implausibility was obvious, the gully too steep and the rocks already moving too fast.

Silhouetted in the sky, one large boulder demanded my attention over any others. Its arcing trajectory appeared to terminate exactly where I stood. Having already rules out escape as an option, I took two strides to my left and dropped into the foetal position, bracing my arms over my naked head and burying my face into the ground. The image of the rock in the sky remained in my mind. I hoped I was wrong about where it would land. With nothing more within my control, I was acutely aware that my life was now left to chance.

Although unable to see the onslaught, a rapidly rising crescendo of artillery fire exploding around me signaled its arrival. Everything vibrated violently. It sounded like the world was being torn apart. I can't remember where I was hit first. The hardest of the blows made my whole body recoil. With each impact my fear of the next increased. Hands and shoulders were hit the most. The hope I still held onto evaporated as pain rocked my head. I didn't think my skull would survive a much larger impact than that. All I could see were pebbles and gravel sliding past my face, sent by impacts just above my head.

As the rocks continued to fall, the thought came to me with surprising lucidity that I just wanted an end to this. If I was going to die, let it be swift. Through this partial expectation, I wondered how much longer it would last. How much longer could it last? Normal notions of time had ceased to apply. Yet rocks still collided all around me. And with me.

In desperation I begged "please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop." I was shocked to hear my own voice, only just audible over the noise, childlike and fragile. Even as the volley of stone fall eventually slowed I remained hyper-tense. I almost expected the ultimate blow to come right at the end, as soon as my guard was down and my hopes were up. A cruel twist that could be played by fate. The twist never came, but there was a delay before I allowed myself to believe it.

I knelt up and drops of blood fell from my head in quick succession. My voice cracked as I shouted to Andy, a vague figure through the thick dust yet only 20m from me. He replied and I was he was moving. The realisation that Tony was so far ahead of us that he could well have been caught in the midst overwhelmed my mind with sudden immediacy. I screamed his name. He answered. He had been safely off to the side.

I was unable to bend my right leg, although it could bear weight. Andy was mostly unhurt, so he and Tony took almost all the weight in their bags and guided me, bleeding and wincing, down the scree. What should have taken an hour took us five. Tony and Andy never showed impatience, although I started to doubt the accuracy of them saying "nearly there now". I never doubted their motive. At the bivvy I could barely keep my eyes open. Tony cooked. I was touched when Andy, judging that I lacked the motivation to even sit up, passed me cheese on crackers so I could stay laid down.

We walked back to town the following day. Again, Tony and Andy took all the weight. I felt significantly fresher for having had some rest, but still limped behind for ten hours. We made it back just in time for the ritual pizza, beer and chocolate, only this time it was accompanied by relief rather than celebration.

Postscript
This happened about two weeks ago now. Just to pre-empt anyone who's concerned, essentially I'm fine. I still limp if I sit down for too long, and my shoulders seem reluctant to shed their bruises. But all things considered, I'm not doing too bad.