fingers into his pouch of resin from time to time to aid his grip as he scaled the cliff, moving with a smooth confidence, pausing briefly to scan the next stretch of rock and then moving upwards again, making use of the smallest cracks and projections as hand- and foot-holds. He free-climbed but trailed a safety rope for the others as they followed him, their movements slow and hesitant by comparison.
Shepherd was barely aware of the biting cold of the air because he was concentrating so intensely. When he reached the top, the muscles of his forearms were still trembling from the effort and he was finding it hard to breathe again. He looked around while he waited for the others to follow him. Beyond the head of the waterfall, the river ran through an ice-gouged hanging valley, weaving a braided course around the vast drifts and moraines of grey gravel and ice-shattered rock swept down from the mountains in the spring floods caused by the snow-melt. At the far end of the valley, right against the wall of the mountains, he could see the sunlight reflecting from the black, still waters of a lake.
‘There are hundreds of those glacier lakes hereabouts,’ The Rope said, following his gaze. ‘But they all want watching. Every now and again one bursts without warning, with catastrophic consequences for those living further down the valleys.’
‘Thanks,’ Jock said, as he hauled himself over the edge of the cliff. ‘You’re a real bundle of joy, you know that?’
The light was beginning to fade and they turned back at that point, using their ropes and carabiners to abseil back down the rock face they had so laboriously climbed and trekking back down the valley to the police post where the Nepali police had indeed prepared a curry for them, served up with the Nepali beer, Chang, and the fiery spirit, Raksi, distilled from fermented millet.
They spent the next few days enjoying their splendid isolation. They left early each morning and spent each day climbing a different virgin rock face with The Rope. Each time he went first, then lowered a safety rope and encouraged the rest of the team to follow him, making as little use of the rope as they could manage. Whenever one of them got into difficulties over a move, The Rope would give them a little time to solve it themselves and if that failed he would then use his incredible body strength to pull them over the snag until they could start climbing again. Slowly all of them gained in skill and confidence.
They arrived back at the police post on the fifth night to find the garrison on stand-to with the road barricaded and all passers-by were being stopped and searched. The Rope spoke to them in Nepali and then relayed the information to the others. ‘There’s been an incident to the east,’ he said. ‘They won’t say what it was, but it was clearly pretty serious. They are searching for a band of terrorists who are believed to be heading in this direction.’
Shepherd immediately contacted the Embassy from the radio in the police post and when he broke the connection, his face was grim. ‘The Gurkha recruiting party has been ambushed and Gul has been killed, along with several others,’ he said. ‘The Gurkha pension money’s been stolen. The perpetrators are a gang of about twenty Maoist terrorists who are now thought to be heading back towards the tribal areas in the west of Nepal.’
‘No bloody way,’ said Jimbo.
‘Yeah, this is my attempt at humour,’ said Shepherd. ‘Gul’s dead. The bastards killed him.’
‘And so are they,’ growled Jock. ‘They just don’t know it yet.’
The Rope and the patrol had a quick Chinese Parliament to sort out a plan of action; whether they contributed to the discussion or not, everyone took joint ownership of the plan, ensuring that there could be no recriminations after the event.
The Rope took a map from his backpack and traced a route with his finger. ‘They won’t come this way,’ he said. ‘The most
Shepherd was barely aware of the biting cold of the air because he was concentrating so intensely. When he reached the top, the muscles of his forearms were still trembling from the effort and he was finding it hard to breathe again. He looked around while he waited for the others to follow him. Beyond the head of the waterfall, the river ran through an ice-gouged hanging valley, weaving a braided course around the vast drifts and moraines of grey gravel and ice-shattered rock swept down from the mountains in the spring floods caused by the snow-melt. At the far end of the valley, right against the wall of the mountains, he could see the sunlight reflecting from the black, still waters of a lake.
‘There are hundreds of those glacier lakes hereabouts,’ The Rope said, following his gaze. ‘But they all want watching. Every now and again one bursts without warning, with catastrophic consequences for those living further down the valleys.’
‘Thanks,’ Jock said, as he hauled himself over the edge of the cliff. ‘You’re a real bundle of joy, you know that?’
The light was beginning to fade and they turned back at that point, using their ropes and carabiners to abseil back down the rock face they had so laboriously climbed and trekking back down the valley to the police post where the Nepali police had indeed prepared a curry for them, served up with the Nepali beer, Chang, and the fiery spirit, Raksi, distilled from fermented millet.
They spent the next few days enjoying their splendid isolation. They left early each morning and spent each day climbing a different virgin rock face with The Rope. Each time he went first, then lowered a safety rope and encouraged the rest of the team to follow him, making as little use of the rope as they could manage. Whenever one of them got into difficulties over a move, The Rope would give them a little time to solve it themselves and if that failed he would then use his incredible body strength to pull them over the snag until they could start climbing again. Slowly all of them gained in skill and confidence.
They arrived back at the police post on the fifth night to find the garrison on stand-to with the road barricaded and all passers-by were being stopped and searched. The Rope spoke to them in Nepali and then relayed the information to the others. ‘There’s been an incident to the east,’ he said. ‘They won’t say what it was, but it was clearly pretty serious. They are searching for a band of terrorists who are believed to be heading in this direction.’
Shepherd immediately contacted the Embassy from the radio in the police post and when he broke the connection, his face was grim. ‘The Gurkha recruiting party has been ambushed and Gul has been killed, along with several others,’ he said. ‘The Gurkha pension money’s been stolen. The perpetrators are a gang of about twenty Maoist terrorists who are now thought to be heading back towards the tribal areas in the west of Nepal.’
‘No bloody way,’ said Jimbo.
‘Yeah, this is my attempt at humour,’ said Shepherd. ‘Gul’s dead. The bastards killed him.’
‘And so are they,’ growled Jock. ‘They just don’t know it yet.’
The Rope and the patrol had a quick Chinese Parliament to sort out a plan of action; whether they contributed to the discussion or not, everyone took joint ownership of the plan, ensuring that there could be no recriminations after the event.
The Rope took a map from his backpack and traced a route with his finger. ‘They won’t come this way,’ he said. ‘The most
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