towards Russell Square. London: the rampired heart of it, protected by miles of sunned, sooty walls; a world away from the swept helm of Everest and the choughs that echoed their cries by Snowdon …
‘Fleece was wearing a red windcheater, so we had no difficulty in picking him out. It was sunny, with a cool southerly breeze, and the visibility was a hundred per cent. We started off around ten-ish, intending to take the ascent easily, most of us choosing the lower route down by the llyns and the old copper mine. Heslington and Fleece preferred the Pyg Track and Heslington set out a little in advance. There are two or three paths which begin that route. Fleece chose a different one to Ray’s.’
Before him Gently had a large-scale map of the Snowdon theatre, a fierce brown-tinted piece of cartography full of swirling lines and fretted teeth.Overton pointed to the chopped lines which indicated the tracks which had been taken: desperate thoroughfares they looked, fit for goats and sheep only.
‘The Snowdon group is a rough horseshoe stretching from the Lliwedd round to Crib Goch, a pretty useful lot of rocks taking one with another. It encloses Llyd Llydaw there, which is crossed by a causeway, and in a lap higher up is the Glaslyn, which drains into Llydaw. Now the Pyg Track runs here, along the footslopes of Crib Goch, and as you can see it’s a good deal shorter than the llyns route. In fact I was just pulling up to the Glaslyn when I caught sight of Heslington; and by then he was on this ridge joining Crib-y-ddysgl to the Wyddfa.’
‘Are you positive that it was Heslington?’ Gently interrupted.
Overton hesitated, his eyes distancing. ‘I thought it was Heslington at the time. True, he was wearing nothing distinctive, just the usual rambler’s trim, but my automatic reaction was “There’s Ray up ahead.” Then, after I reached the Glaslyn, I saw Fleece’s windcheater on the Zigzags, which are the series of traverses here stretching from the Glaslyn to the top of the ridge. I waited for the others to come up with me before I started on the Zigzags, and by that time Fleece had gained the ridge and gone up along it towards the summit. I saw the windcheater show once or twice where there were gaps among the rock-rims.
‘Now try to picture this if you can. You’re at the foot of the ridge inside the horseshoe. It lifts up above you about twelve hundred feet, all fairly steep going overloose rock and outcrops. Closing you in on the right is Crib-y-ddysgl and Crib Goch, and on the left stand the Wyddfa and the Lliwedd rocks. The Wyddfa falls away in a cliff almost sheer down to the Glaslyn, about fifteen hundred feet without footing enough for a fly. The summit cairn is out of sight. It stands a few yards back from the edge.
‘Hold that picture. When the others arrived I continued my way up the Zigzags, which are a straightforward section, though they tend to be exhausting; and I reckoned I was better than halfway up, about on a level with Crib Goch, when I heard that frightful cry and saw Fleece come plunging down the cliff.’
Overton broke off; a peculiar expression was on his rounded, olive face. His brown eyes glittered. They seemed to stare through the map at which they were directed.
‘It’s something I’ll never forget, my God. It’s difficult to give any real impression of it. He seemed to be falling so very slowly, as though he’d got no weight at all … And he didn’t kick or lash with his arms; he just fell, and kept on falling. And those cliffs have a terrible echo. I can’t get his cry out of my ears.
‘I heard him strike, but I had turned my head: I couldn’t watch it, it was something obscene. Once, twice, and then he began rolling. He came to rest a few hundred yards from the llyn. But here’s something I didn’t give you in my statement, I was too confused at the time I made it. I remember hearing something before the cry, as though Fleece had first called or shouted at
‘Fleece was wearing a red windcheater, so we had no difficulty in picking him out. It was sunny, with a cool southerly breeze, and the visibility was a hundred per cent. We started off around ten-ish, intending to take the ascent easily, most of us choosing the lower route down by the llyns and the old copper mine. Heslington and Fleece preferred the Pyg Track and Heslington set out a little in advance. There are two or three paths which begin that route. Fleece chose a different one to Ray’s.’
Before him Gently had a large-scale map of the Snowdon theatre, a fierce brown-tinted piece of cartography full of swirling lines and fretted teeth.Overton pointed to the chopped lines which indicated the tracks which had been taken: desperate thoroughfares they looked, fit for goats and sheep only.
‘The Snowdon group is a rough horseshoe stretching from the Lliwedd round to Crib Goch, a pretty useful lot of rocks taking one with another. It encloses Llyd Llydaw there, which is crossed by a causeway, and in a lap higher up is the Glaslyn, which drains into Llydaw. Now the Pyg Track runs here, along the footslopes of Crib Goch, and as you can see it’s a good deal shorter than the llyns route. In fact I was just pulling up to the Glaslyn when I caught sight of Heslington; and by then he was on this ridge joining Crib-y-ddysgl to the Wyddfa.’
‘Are you positive that it was Heslington?’ Gently interrupted.
Overton hesitated, his eyes distancing. ‘I thought it was Heslington at the time. True, he was wearing nothing distinctive, just the usual rambler’s trim, but my automatic reaction was “There’s Ray up ahead.” Then, after I reached the Glaslyn, I saw Fleece’s windcheater on the Zigzags, which are the series of traverses here stretching from the Glaslyn to the top of the ridge. I waited for the others to come up with me before I started on the Zigzags, and by that time Fleece had gained the ridge and gone up along it towards the summit. I saw the windcheater show once or twice where there were gaps among the rock-rims.
‘Now try to picture this if you can. You’re at the foot of the ridge inside the horseshoe. It lifts up above you about twelve hundred feet, all fairly steep going overloose rock and outcrops. Closing you in on the right is Crib-y-ddysgl and Crib Goch, and on the left stand the Wyddfa and the Lliwedd rocks. The Wyddfa falls away in a cliff almost sheer down to the Glaslyn, about fifteen hundred feet without footing enough for a fly. The summit cairn is out of sight. It stands a few yards back from the edge.
‘Hold that picture. When the others arrived I continued my way up the Zigzags, which are a straightforward section, though they tend to be exhausting; and I reckoned I was better than halfway up, about on a level with Crib Goch, when I heard that frightful cry and saw Fleece come plunging down the cliff.’
Overton broke off; a peculiar expression was on his rounded, olive face. His brown eyes glittered. They seemed to stare through the map at which they were directed.
‘It’s something I’ll never forget, my God. It’s difficult to give any real impression of it. He seemed to be falling so very slowly, as though he’d got no weight at all … And he didn’t kick or lash with his arms; he just fell, and kept on falling. And those cliffs have a terrible echo. I can’t get his cry out of my ears.
‘I heard him strike, but I had turned my head: I couldn’t watch it, it was something obscene. Once, twice, and then he began rolling. He came to rest a few hundred yards from the llyn. But here’s something I didn’t give you in my statement, I was too confused at the time I made it. I remember hearing something before the cry, as though Fleece had first called or shouted at
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