Friday, 5 October 2007

The day we left a climber to die near the summit of Everest

The Times, October 5 2007

It will be remembered as one of the blackest moments in mountaineering history - the day when a stricken climber was left to die near the summit of Mount Everest. A team of four men elected to continue their climb rather than go to the aid of Dave Sharp, an engineer from Guisborough on Teesside, despite the fact that they knew he was still alive. It was a decision described as "pathetic" by Sir Edmund Hilary, the first man to reach Everest's summit.

Now a harrowing new documentary has been produced revealing the tensions and doubts which gripped the climbers who might have saved Sharp's life. It will be shown later this month at the Edinburgh Mountain Film Festival. Dying for Everest focuses on the expedition of four New Zealanders, including the celebrated disabled climber Mark Inglis, who encountered Sharp on their ascent to the summit in May 2006, and passed him again, still breathing but close to death, as they descended nine hours later.

Testimony from all four men makes clear that there were divisions within the party after their first encounter with Sharp and while the experienced climbers elected to continue their trek, the relative novice among them – Wayne ‘Cowboy’ Alexander – was deeply moved by his predicament.

The group’s failure to help a dying man caused at international outcry and prompted Sir Edmund to accuse the party of sacrificing their humanity for ambition. A few hours after his first encounter with Sharp, Inglis became the first double amputee to summit Everest.

Sharp was an experienced climber who had attempted the ascent of Everest unaccompanied, and with only two bottles oxygen. His decision to strike for the summit in the afternoon of May 14 exposed him to one of the coldest nights of the short climbing season on the mountain.

When the New Zealand group first encountered Sharp at 1am the following morning they were ascending into the ‘Death Zone’ of the North Ridge to Everest’s summit. He was unconscious but sitting upright, huddled in a cave, with his breath emerging from his hooded jacket. Only Alexander appears to have been drawn towards him.

“It was incredibly uncomfortable, it was horrible. The worst thing I have seen in my life. I became transfixed,” said Alexander, who is the designer of Inglis's prosthetic legs.

“There was movement, just a small movement of the head. In something seemingly lifeless it is a huge movement because it represents life. There is a desire to be tactile to someone in such need, drawing me right to him, to a point that I wanted to touch him. But there is a dignity in death that makes it hard to touch. I said ‘God bless and rest in peace’ because I knew we were leaving.

“The people who knew about these things had seen this before and they’re qualified to make that decision. They had made it we were leaving him, we were moving on.”

A reconstructed sequence in the documentary shows Sharp, huddled in cave 300m from the summit, while the New Zealanders assess his condition before continuing their climb. One man, Mark Whetu, is heard to shout, “Hey mate, get moving.”

Despite Sharp’s evident signs of life Inglis and the ascent leader, Mark Woodward, were in no doubt that the Englishman was doomed.

“It is a hard thing to explain and it is not an easy decision to make, to go past someone like that, but that’s what it takes, these are the hard calls you sometimes have to make in mountaineering,” said Woodward. “If you are going to have an accident up there, you need to be walking, you need to be conscious to be rescued.”

The minute you die, you stop being flesh and blood and you become part off the mountain,” said Inglis who lost his legs to frostbite after being trapped for 13 days in a blizzard on Mount Cook in 1982. “You can’t be moved, you adhere to frozen rock. I felt desperately sorry for whoever it was in there. The level of frostbite was tragic.”

In the weeks following Sharp’s death controversy raged over radio messages which the party claim to have sent to their expedition organiser, Russell Brice, seeking advice about a possible rescue before they continued their climb. Brice, who operates teams of sherpas on Everest, insists he received no such messages.

“If I had received a message that David Sharp was in trouble at that time of the morning, yes maybe I could have done something. Who knows the day might have been totally different if there had been a radio call,” said Brice.

Inglis concedes that altitude sickness may have caused his mind to have played tricks on him. “From my memory I used the radio, I got a reply to move on, there is nothing that I could do to help. Now I’m not sure if it was from Russell or from someone else or whether it’s just hypoxia and it’s in your mind,” said Inglis.

At 9.30am that day, a Lebanese climber called Max Chaya encountered Sharp, whose face by then was black with frostbite. Chaya radioed for help and was told by Brice at Camp Four that for his own safety he should continue his descent. The New Zealanders heard that radio conversation and they too passed by Sharp for a second time as they continued their own journey from the summit.

Two of Brice’s sherpas, travelling with a third party then found Sharp and carried him into the sun. Sharp revived sufficiently to tell them his name with his dying words. “It took him about 25 minutes to move four steps before they put him down again. So here’s two extremely strong sherpas going ‘There’s no way we can rescue this man,'” recalled Brice.

Sharp’s body was abandoned on the mountainside. He was one of 11 climbers to die on Everest last year. However, by what Woodward described as “a twisted irony” a week after Sharp’s death, an Australian climber called Lincoln Hall survived a night on Everest.

Dying for Everest will be shown later this month at the Edinburgh Mountain Film Festival. Its producer, James Heyward sympathised with the New Zealand group. “Your decision making process is altered at the at kind of altitude and in those circumstances. These people are humane – they are not all blinded by summit lust,” he said.

* Dying for Everest, Edinburgh Mountain Film Festival, October 20.

Tuesday, 2 October 2007

Janet and Me

She’s got big hands, bloody big feet and a great big voice. "Hurry up," she yells, "I’m freezing me tits off."

Janet Street Porter is sitting with her Olive Oyl legs dangling over the triangulation point on the top of Edinburgh’s Blackford Hill. She’s not being rude, unkind or unpleasant, she just’s being, well, Janet Street Porter. Sort of stentorian.

Behind her, a huge panorama stretches away to Edinburgh Castle, Inchcolm and beyond to Fife, half of Scotland united in the sweep of an eye. But around her, opinion has quickly divided into love and hate, high on this hill. The photographer - the object of the tits remark - is in the former camp, he’s lapping it up; in the latter, the birds have stopped singing.

They are not alone. Wrapped in their raincoats and cowering under flat hats, the Calvinist residents of Edinburgh’s villa quarters linger warily below the summit, their morning constitutionals on hold. Even their mutts know instinctively to avoid this woman. The bravest scamper up, slobbering, but quickly retire with a whimper. "I hate dogs," Street Porter calls after a Labrador as it dives down the slope to its owner, both of them now sharing a gloomy kind of look.


That's the opening to a jolly interview I had with the journalist and British TV personality Janet Street Porter four years ago when she came to the Edinburgh festival. I had to write it fast because as soon as we came off the hill, I was right on deadline, so I hammed up the incident with the dog a bit, in the interests of speedily-achieved comic effect. Strangely enough, Street Porter repeated the insignificant dog incident in an article she later wrote for the New Statesman.

You can read my Scotsman interview and Street Porter's New Statesman column if you click on the links below.

Her and her big mouth

New Statesman Diary

Monday, 24 September 2007

Something from the weekend

Check out the stunning view from the top of Hverfjall, a volcano in the north east of Iceland, and, on the right, one of my smaller relations. I spent two weeks in Iceland this summer. Scotland on Sunday ran a pretty straight forward account of the trip which, hopefully, will be the first of three or four articles on the subject. The paper also ran three other pieces under my byline at the weekend: a (phone) interview with celebrity photographer Terry O'Neill about his forthcoming book on Frank Sinatra; a write-off from an autobiography by the Scottish rugby player, Gregor Townsend; and a 1500-word piece which was my contribution to the mountain of stuff written about Madeleine McCann and her parents. Biff the relevent buttons below and you can read one or all of them.


Iceland

O'Neill

McCann

Townsend

Monday, 17 September 2007

Reality Check

To begin at the end. Garry Otten used to write a very entertaining column in Scotsgay magazine called Scottishmediamonitor, "examining the treatment of sexuality in the Scottish media" alongside this excellent logo. Each week he would turn that big gun of his on journalists and opinion formers in Scotland who had the temerity to write about sex and morality. Katie Grant and Joan Burnie were his favorite targets, but at last young Gazza has pounced on me, appending this comment to the piece I wrote at the weekend for Scotland on Sunday.

"Now, how about an opinion from a less sexually repressed writer - if SoS has one - that could give an entirely different account of this. It is full of inaccuracies. The writer yearns for the days of fishtrader, Cameron Stout. Perhaps because the Netherlands doesn't treat sex like a pantomime favourite is why they are generally less homophobic, start sex later and boast a teenage pregnancy rate seven times lower than ours."

To which I reply:

(i) Though I'd had the article in my mind for a month, sadly it was written in a hurry on Friday evening and if there are inaccuracies that's a shame and I apologise.
(ii) I have a thing for fish. As a lad I worked on a fish market and later very much admired the inflatable haddock which used to be carried to games by Grimsby Town football fans.
(iii) The article isn't about sex, it's about reality TV.
(iv) I had a look around the newsroom the last time I was in, and sad to say, Scotland on Sunday has no-one who is less sexually repressed than me.

But maybe Garry's right. Your call, at:

Reality Check

Wednesday, 12 September 2007

The road race to wellbeing

It’s six miles into my first 50-mile cycle before there’s any sign of a crowd lining the route to cheer me on. But when they finally make their presence felt they’re gratifyingly noisy. At least from a distance.

We’re near Easterhouse and I’m pedalling up a hill, slowly gaining on a group of Lycra-clad women cyclists. “Go on, girls, get those lovely legs moving,” yells a joker in a shell suit. Beside him, his mate sees me trailing in their wake. “Go on yourself, big man, get your arse in gear,” he bawls. “You might catch them in the hour.”

“Aye, you might get lucky by Airdrie,” cries his mate.

Big man? Arse? By Airdrie? I grit my teeth. Surely the lithe and easy movements of my limbs make it plain that I am destined to sweep past these women within a few hundred yards ...


That's the beginning of an article I wrote for The Sunday Times after taking part in Pedal For Scotland last year. The event is coming up again this weekend, and if you want to know what it feels like to take part, click on the link below.

Picture by Katie Lee. Note Accrington Stanley centenary jersey, emblazoned with Holland's Pies logo.

The road race to wellbeing

London calling

The article below about the London Gathering appeared in Times northern edition on Monday. Photos are by my good friend Rob McDougall, whose site you can link to from this blog.

The image on the right shows Alastair MacKenzie and myself smiling because we had spent the whole day on a fruitless search for a geezer with a wider waistline than me, and then just when we were flagging, Hardeep Singh Kohli suddenly turned up.

What the article doesn't say is that the actress and singer Clare Grogan was at the Gathering, and we had a brief catch up, following the interview I did with Clare earlier in the year. That was rather a touching story about her struggle to have a child, and you can read that article by hitting this link.

Clare Grogan's baby talk

Little piece of Scotland at London 's heart

From the window of the Inner Temple, the scene below might have been transported from Glen Bogle, an impression sharpened by the sight of Alastair MacKenzie, the star of TV's Monarch of the Glen, loafing around in his best Sunday kilt.

But this is not the Highlands. This is the Inns of Court in the heart of London, the setting for the London Gathering, an annual festival inaugurated at the weekend and designed to present the best of contemporary Scottish culture to curious cockneys, for just £35 a ticket.

Once the Inns' gardens provided the red and white blooms that became the emblems of the War of the Roses. Now Goldie and Grant, two vast Scottish tenors, are bellowing out Flower of Scotland. MacKenzie looks on, standing with another of the event's hosts, the writer and broadcaster, Hardeep Singh Kohli. Scot Gardiner, the London Gathering's owner and director, is delighted by the incongruous effect, so lovingly planned. "We were looking for a beautiful venue and when we found one, we thought its would be a twist to put something Scottish in an arena like this," he said.

The bill was inspired partly by the Edinburgh festival and partly by Tartan Week, the Scottish promotion that takes place in New York. Mr Gardiner devised it - "I kept thinking 'What would I like to come to see?'" - and set about hiring the talent.

A day ticket bought customers a literature and whisky event - including the authors AL Kennedy, Alan Bisset, Isla Dewar and Christopher Brookmyre - cookery displays by Nick Nairn and Mary Contini and music from a cast including the singer songwriter Sandi Thom and Bee Cake, a band fronted by the screen actor, Billy Boyd.

Getting this far was not easy for Mr Gardiner, nor was it cheap, though he declines to reveal the final figures. Suffice to say that you pay more per square foot to hire the Inns of Court than you do for the Royal Albert Hall. Mr Gardiner carried most of the costs with a quarter of the budget generated from sponsors, including VisitScotland.

Preparations were nearly destroyed a week ago. With a final advertising blitz planned and paid for around the London Underground, the first Tube strike in a decade erupted virtually overnight. After a brief "head-in-hands" moment, Mr Gardiner had 100,000 leaflets printed and sent 100 casual workers out to publicise his event all over central London.

It worked, just. On Saturday - competing against televised sport on the grand scale -the gathering amounted to just four or five hundred. On Sunday, advance sales were five times higher.

This is Mr Gardiner's first venture in the arts. He is from Broughty Ferry and was sales manager at Rangers FC before being chosen by Sir Alan Sugar as commercial manager of Tottenham Hotspur. When he struck out on his own four years ago leasing jets to businessmen, it was Sir Alan - the curmudgeonly host of TV's The Apprentice -who lent his private plane to get the venture off the ground.

Mr Gardiner now has a clutch of businesses, but the London Gathering is his "real baby". He has put in the the money for a second year and expects it to be "flying" by 2009. Next year the gathering will open on Friday evening with a "Scottish proms", featuring, he hopes, the Scottish National Orchestra.

Mr Gardiner's motto, emblazoned on his business card, is: "I brought you to the ring and now you must dance."

William Wallace said that and Mr Gardiner believes it encapsulates the London Gathering, though he adds with a wry smile: "I never tell anyone he said it just before Flodden."