LITMIR.BIZ

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my way impatiently through immigration and then customs. I entered the noisy arrivals hall, weaving my trolley laden with my three bags of kit past endless leather-jacketed men calling, ‘Taxi, taxi, do you need a taxi?’, and was met by a fixer from Madison Mountaineering, who was holding a little board with my name on.

      ‘Welcome to Kathmandu, Ant!’

      Part of the deal for agreeing to have my expedition filmed was that I wasn’t going to do it in the luxury style at which Madison, in particular, excelled. Any normal commercial expedition up Everest involves a large team of people led by Western guides and supported by teams of local Sherpas, who all work with between ten and twenty clients at any one time. As you’d expect, these companies can and do ply their trade with safety as a top priority. One of the biggest dangers on Everest concerns the many problems that come as a result of the lack of available oxygen. This is not just an issue in the death zone. People can fall sick, become confused and make perilously bad decisions even down at Base Camp, which sits at over 5,000 metres above sea level, where there’s 50 per cent less oxygen in the air than in the lowlands.

To try to combat this, Westerners are taken up the hill slowly. When you’re ascending from sea level to nearly the cruising altitude of a jumbo jet, you need to allow your body to become used to the conditions as gradually as possible. This is why climbers use a system of ‘rotations’ to acclimatise. Having first done the long trek to Base Camp, where they can stay for two weeks or more, the rotations start with the ascent from there to Camp I, where they stay for two nights. Then it’s a couple of nights in Camp II and then back down to Base Camp again. The second rotation is the same, with the addition of Camp III. It’s pretty standard to complete a third rotation. And then, finally, you get to do the summit rotation.

      That sounded like a lot of hassle to me. I didn’t think I could be bothered to complete three rotations only to have to start all over again from Base Camp to get to the top. I decided I’d see how I felt when I got on the mountain, but I honestly didn’t feel the need to be as careful as all the other Westerners. I wasn’t there for my health and safety.

      And there were also some other ways in which I intended to do my climb differently to most. I made it clear to Madison Mountaineering that, as far as possible, I’d be my own boss. While they would take care of all the general organisation, and I’d stay in their camps and make use of their supplies of food, drink and oxygen, I wasn’t going to be chucked in with all their wealthy clients. I didn’t want to be part of any tour group. I also refused the help of their Western guides. My expedition was just going to be me, a Sherpa, Ed to film us and another Sherpa for him. And unlike all the other fresh-faced visitors, I wasn’t going to rely on Sherpas to lug my stuff up the hill. Westerners are sometimes guilty of viewing the locals as little more than mules – I wasn’t going to be one of them, and I would carry my own kit.

‘Your Sherpa’s outside waiting to meet you,’ said Madison’s American fixer, trying to take my trolley off me so she could push it. ‘His name is Dawa Lama. And your cameraman Ed’s here too.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said, politely but insistently pulling my trolley back.

      As soon as I left the airport building I clocked Ed. He was walking towards me with his large camera held at chest height and his headset on. I’d heard that this tall Scottish hard-man was an alpha, and he certainly appeared to be a very capable individual. He was six foot five, lightly grizzled and looked to be in his forties. He was fit and lean in his untucked shirt, black trousers and hiking boots. I realised it was important that our relationship struck the right balance from the outset. I knew, from sore experience, that having two alphas working closely together could be difficult, and it usually requires some precise handling. A couple of days earlier he’d called me so we could make our final arrangements to meet and begin the process of getting to know each other. When I answered the phone, he said, ‘I’m on Ben Nevis.’ Obviously it was necessary that he called, but why do it from the highest mountain in Britain unless you’re making a point? He seemed like a decent and smart guy when we chatted, but that phone call had put me on slight alert. I thought, ‘Let’s see how this pans out.’

Although I was happy to meet Ed in the flesh, as soon as I saw his camera pointing at me I felt my heart sink. It wasn’t the fact of the camera itself, it was all the attention that being filmed naturally draws towards you. You become instantly highlighted. Lines of blue-uniformed policemen stared at us, as did all the porters, drivers and tourists who were milling about the busy airport parkway. I could see them squinting at me thinking, ‘Who in the hell’s that?’ It was a sudden reminder of the compromise I’d made in allowing this thing to be filmed. If I’d arrived alone, as planned, I’d have been feeling utterly free and joyful right about now.

      As I approached the smiling Scotsman, I had to give myself a little pep talk: ‘This is my thing. He’s following me up a mountain. I’m not going to let him take my trip over and turn it into a “show”.’ I made a promise to myself. My attitude towards Ed was always going to be, ‘Follow me. If you get your footage, you get it. If you don’t, you don’t.’

      ‘How you doing, mate?’ I said, shaking his hand. ‘You good?’

      ‘Yes, mate,’ he said. He fixed me with a slightly quizzical look. ‘Do you realise what you’ve got yourself into?’

That got my guard up. In his own subtle way it seemed that Ed was instantly questioning my ability. The skill set involved in being a member of the Special Forces is a lot different to what’s needed by an elite mountaineer, and he knew it. Not only that, but since our chat on the phone the other day he knew I’d only ever been as high as 6,100 metres above sea level. That’s pretty high, but it’s not Everest. The whole situation threatened to put me on the back foot immediately. I could tell that Ed was extremely sure of himself and didn’t take any shit. He’d be an easy guy to get on with if he respected you, but he didn’t suffer fools. Quiet worries crowded in on me: ‘Am I going to have to live up to his standards? Am I going to have to follow him up to the summit?’

      Although he was probably acting subconsciously, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was trying to assert himself as the leader from the start. While I knew it wasn’t a personal thing – it’s just what alphas do – I also knew I had to turn it around. And quickly. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have stepped back and let him take the reins. It would even have made logical sense, given that he was by far the more experienced mountaineer. But I wasn’t going to allow Ed to make the decisions. I couldn’t ever have a situation in which he was telling me, ‘Well, Ant, there’s a bit of wind today so we best go tomorrow.’ A bit of wind? Good. All the more reason to go now. This trip was mine and I was doing it for my own reasons. They’d jumped on my bandwagon, not the other way round.

And then, out from behind Ed, as if by magic, appeared the man who would be my Sherpa. Dawa Lama had been picked especially for me by Madison and I was a bit shocked when I saw him. I’m only small myself, but Dawa was positively tiny. Not only was he five foot nothing in height, he had a bit of weight on him. I’d imagined someone a bit more trim and a lot taller. Was this really the man who’d be leading me up the world’s most deadly mountain? But he had to be capable, I told myself. He wouldn’t have been selected if he wasn’t. The only way we were going to find out what he was made of was by getting him up on that hill.

      Dawa was holding a garland of marigold flowers and I bent down so he could put it around my neck. I could instantly tell that getting on with him wasn’t going to be a problem. He radiated a kind of natural, easy-going warmth.

      ‘Welcome to Nepal,’ he said, shaking my hand.

      I pulled him up into a bear hug. As I did, the sky above us blasted into a fantastic rip of thunder.

      ‘That’s what I love to hear, mate. That gets me excited,’ I said. ‘Are you ready, Dawa?’

      ‘Yeah,’ he said.

      ‘Are you sure, brother?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      This was my opportunity to signal to Ed that it was me who’d

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