ISBN (paperback): 978-1-59485-742-3

      ISBN (e-book): 978-1-59485-744-7

      TO THE PATIENT PEOPLE WHO HELPED

      GATHER UP THE WORDS THAT

      ALMOST ESCAPED ME

      Acknowledgements

      Thanks to Mandy, who unlocked many doors, and helped me discover who I could be—and for being my toughest critic. And for giving me Ella and Ewen, gifts that will take me a lifetime to unwrap.

      To my Mum, the strongest person I’ve ever met. It’s a shame people don’t write books about people who climb real mountains every day. I finally get what you mean about the world being my oyster.

      To my Dad, Pete, who gave me my thirst for adventure to begin with—one of the greatest people I’ve ever known. The older I get the more I understand.

      To my brother, Robin (you’re a real hero, not the wimp I’ve made you out to be), I just want to say sorry for pushing you in the docks that time (and all the other stuff . . . like the fish tank). To my sister, Joanne, who has climbed her own mountain to become the type of teacher every child deserves, and to another teacher, Mr. Peterson of Villa Junior School, who took the time to see between my spelling mistakes.

      To Karen Darke for stopping me from writing, and reminding me that having adventures is more important than writing books about them.

      To Tony Whittome, Marni Jackson, Jim Perrin, and Andrew and Sharisse Kyle at Mount Engadine Lodge and everyone at the Banff Centre for giving me the chance, and the push I needed, to write this book. And to Bill Gates for Word, without which I’d never have written a word in the first place. Thanks to Duane Raleigh and Alison Osius at Climbing magazine who made me believe I was a writer, plus they would actually pay me for my words, and not forgetting all those poor editors that came afterwards who pulled their hair out with my never-ending “eny’s” and “becouses’s” that slipped past the spell checker.

      To Dick Turnbull for giving me a job, but never giving me an easy ride, and for inspiring me to suffer in the first place. I am also indebted to the support from Berghaus, Black Diamond, British Mountaineering Council, Buffalo, Lyon Equipment, Petzl, PHD, Mount Everest Foundation, Sportiva, and Patagonia, without which I’d never have been able to afford to go away or replace the thousands of pounds of kit I lost or dropped over the years. I also want to single out Chris Watts and Siobhan Sheridan at First Ascent for always going out of their way to help and making me feel like a sponsored hero.

      Lastly to all my climbing partners, who I expect, if you bump into them and ask about their role in this book, will tell you that every fall was half as far, and every near-death experience was nothing to write home about. Don’t believe them, they’re all in denial, it was always worse. But it was always more fun than it sounds . . . wasn’t it?

      Prologue

      I sat alone in the small white room, my attention drifting from the snow that built up on the windowsill outside to the two test papers on the desk in front of me. I fidgeted with my pencil, chewing the end until my lips were speckled with red chips of paint. My mouth tasted of damp wood. The wind rattled across the corrugated roof of the building. The sound of air being sucked under draughty doors and past ill-fitted windowpanes grew loud, taking my concentration away with it.

      Time was running out.

      Although this was an exam I had sought out, it felt no better than all the others. I felt small, awkward and stupid. The first paper had been easy, but the second had turned my brain into a thick, slow glue as the numbers fell from their places, lost upon