Dead Lucky by Lincoln Hall

what was a relatively low-budget expedition. Alex had obviously discovered the economic benefits of buying in bulk. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, with many of the climbers happy to sit there indefinitely, talking and joking.
    My priority for the morning was to catch up with my diary. I knew that as soon as the weather lifted, life would get busy, not just with sorting gear and meetings about procedures and logistics but also with the mountain itself. I needed to finish writing about the last two weeks so that I could put the past behind me and give my full attention to being here at Base Camp.
    When I had eaten enough, I returned to my tent and jotted down details, filling in some blank days from early in the trip. Then I set about organizing my tent properly by dividing it into zones. My sleeping zone ran down the middle, with my feet at the door. On my right side, next to where my head would be when I was lying on my back, were my books, notebooks, and cameras—my creative zone. Also on my right was a sports bag for clothes and a big nylon drawstring bag for bulky garments, like my fleece bib-and-brace and jackets. My weatherproof Gore-Tex gear was near the door, so that if it suddenly got cold while I was wandering around camp, I could just reach inside the tent and grab what I needed. To my left were my snacks, of which I had quite a lot. As a vegetarian, I was not sure how well I would fare in the mess tent. I had chocolate, sports bars and gels, plus suckable sweets to soothe my throat, which I knew would be made raw by the constant gasping of freezing oxygen-thin air. Barbara had helped me dry all kinds of fresh fruit. Next to the food were two plastic boxes containing my Pharmanex nutritional supplements, the best quality I could get. The rest of the left side housed my toiletries, a second empty bag ready for dirty clothes, my daypack, and finally, by the door, my footwear. I love the simplicity of having a tent to myself because I can really make myself comfortable.
    When I emerged from my tent, I noticed that the huge dome that Harry had brought specifically for the two film teams was being set up, but nothing much seemed to be happening. At first I thought it was a case of too many cooks—there were three people in Harry’s team, plus Richard, Christopher, Mike, and several Sherpas—but as I approached and became involved, I realized the problem was more fundamental. Whatever we tried to do, the tent fly appeared to be too small. Sherpas are always keen to get a job done, and a few poles were bent as we tried to bully the fly into place. Harry had wandered off but now reappeared with another tent fly. He told us that the tent fly that we had been struggling with was designed for suspension from inside the frame, so that the tent could be pitched as a single-skinned weatherproof tent. What Harry now brought was a larger fly that was meant to go over the top of the frame. The correct fly slipped into place easily. Our timing proved to be perfect. As lunchtime was announced by the clanging of the oxygen cylinder, snow began to fall more heavily.
    The wind picked up strongly during the afternoon and not just at ground level. I was writing my diary when the yellow glow inside my tent—instantly followed by an increase in temperature—told me that the sun was now shining. At the same instant Mike called out to me.
    â€œLincoln, the clouds are gone, so we’ll be able to see the mountain.”
    â€œI’ll be right out,” I replied, but I was caught up with the thoughts I was scribbling. It was half an hour before I stepped outside, cozily protected from the bitter wind by my down jacket.
    The heavy clouds we had been under for days had now been swept from the sky. Our base camp was in a location that offered no view of Mount Everest. In one sense it was good that the mountain was invisible. It was as though we were assembled in a teacher-free classroom, where we did not have