Explorers have risked their lives for hundreds of years to gather the rare herbs and flowers of Tibet's high peaks - including Meconopsis, the only blue poppy in the world. When Colin Monteath joined an expedition to Tibet's Kangri Garpo Mountains, he too found danger, plummeting 25 metres down a steep shaft. Here is an extract from his book about the experience.
The awful sensation of the crevasse bridge collapsing under my skis will never fade. Engulfed by an explosion of powder snow as the wafer-thin crust crumbled, I plummeted 25 metres down a parallel-sided shaft, landing heavily on a plug of snow that hung precariously in the icy chasm.
As I thumped onto my hip one ski ripped off, rattling into darkness below. It took a moment to register that my glasses were smashed and that sharp pain speared through my pelvis. I figured my thumb might be broken. I yelled up to my teammate Wilf Dickerson then, instinctively, pulled out my camera and snapped Wilf’s worried face. As the fog of jumbled thoughts cleared, I focused on one definite problem. The rope was in my pack!
Just moments before, Wilf and I had been skiing un-roped through an icefall at 5,000 metres. Tucked away in an unexplored corner of Tibet, it was exhilarating to be the first climbers to catch sight of the tops of 6,500-metre peaks emerging over the rim of the Lhagu neve. Alas, we had fallen into the trap of travelling blithely on an unknown glacier. Stupid! Our only other hope was the rest of the team, well down the glacier. I could be stuck for at least eight hours. I was already shivering, with cold and shock. With Wilf all-but helpless on the surface, I had to get myself out of this hole.
Clipping my crampons on, I gingerly bridged down the scalloped ice below to a position where I could see the tip of the wayward ski. After a dozen attempts, swinging a pole to and fro on the end of a sling, I managed to snag the ski skin with the hooked self-arrest grip. Remarkably, the crevasse was just the right width for me to bridge. I propped my back against one wall, jammed my legs across the gap and pushed hard. Cautiously I inched upwards. With crampon spikes scritch-scratching on the ice, I wiggled towards the sun.
As I craned upwards, I could see that Wilf had lowered a string of ski poles, safety straps and slings and was valiantly swinging the contraption backwards and forwards in the hope I could reach it. Finally, after a series of desperate lunges with my ice axe, I snared a pole. Gripping the basket in my teeth, I hauled up the free end of the rope and attached it to the pole. Snaking skyward, the lifeline rose towards the light. I took a deep breath and started clawing my way up the wall. With a final heave, I flipped out of the cavern and lay gasping at Wilf’s feet. I trembled with relief as we hugged. Together we hauled out the pack then skied wobbily down to the cluster of tents.
