As the dawn breaks, over roof slates, hope hung on every washing line. Thanks Richard. We had to walk around on to the main thoroughfare for breakfast. Chicken drumsticks all round. It took an hour to cook them and they were raw in the middle.

The plan was to go to the airport and hustle for tickets. None available on tinternet. Nine flights to Kathmandu and we’re getting on one or hiring a bleeding helicopter.

Bad news. All flights from Janakpur cancelled. Wtf! The weather is fine. This is just malice.

Nir was buzzing. We packed and he took us to a bus stop. A grotesquely overloaded bus but we’re on it. I suspected that this was some kind of Tibetan magic carpet ride to Jiri. But we were heading to Bardibas. A town on a main highway. Well, a main road, of sorts.

Here we would board a jeep which had a few people on board already, but this lad driving knew a way to Kathmandu. Yeah, right.

Our fifth jeep.

This driver meant business. Focussed, concentrating, hooting and overtaking, even on blind corners. When it might be really dodgy to overtake he sounded his police siren. Like every ten seconds.

This road was east to west, around 80 miles south of Kathmandu. We would actually drive past Kathmandu before turning right and climbing up into the mountains. We understood that all roads were blocked. Is this a deliberately failed attempt to generate hope and profit, before despair and loss?

We were in a convoy and the passengers were all Nepali. There must be a chance. A police roadblock gave our driver instructions. They didn’t turn us round!

Some people were enjoying the roaring floods!

This road climbed well up to over 9,000 feet and it was beset by landslides all the way. But none fully blocked the road. A digger done the biz! Eight hours after setting off we were still climbing. Then the road levelled.

And even the tiniest views of Manaslu and Annapurna were emotional. Part of my past but not my future. Thanks for the memories.

We began to drop down north easterly. The Everest range shone brightly in the setting sun. Too distant for a decent photo. But the irony, that we started from there nearly four days ago and were now heading back in that direction

The darkness descended and we continued to drop. Surely it couldn’t be blocked now. There were vehicles coming the other way. They didn’t look like turnarounds.

Then the well surfaced road that we were cruising on was blocked. We were shunted off this road, with forty odd miles still to go, we were shunted onto a boulder track. Bang bloody bang on the suspension and my arse. The track meandered and split in the dark but our driver kept us on course and we kept passing trucks coming the other way. This glorified footpath was now the main route from Kathmandu to Delhi.

We hit some steep parts of the track that were deep in mud. Our boy got his foot down and skidded us up. Climbing and climbing. Until we reached a small settlement. Pie and pees.

Well, a drink and a tiddle.

It was nearly 9.30 pm and we knew we were near Kathmandu. We can smell it. Don’t screw us over now please.

We got back in the jeep. And drove over a pass at the top of this mountain, that opened up before us. Majestically set out in the huge valley below were the lights of Kathmandu. Everybody shouted ‘Kathmandu’! Some of us added Doo Doo Doo for good measure. Nobody will stop us now.

This pathetic depiction is the majestic lights of Kathmandu.

The city was rammed with queueing vehicles. Thousands of lorries stacked up trying to get to Pokhara. Hundreds stacked up trying to get to India. After a log jam we wormed our way through and arrived at the Oasis Hotel where we had left our suitcases. It was fully booked. A place just down the road fitted the bill. Aircon and clean bed. Heaven. Eighty three hours since we left Lukla. Five jeeps, one bus, one taxi, seven hours climbing.

Made it.

This is my last Nepal trip. If every one could be guaranteed to be this good I might think again! I love it. I love the people. The mountains are beyond divine. The trekking has to be the best in the world. Surely ref? But there is a lot to do nearer home.

John O’Groats to Africa

The Spanish Pyrenees

The Alps

Scottish Munros

Finish SW Coast Path

Reus to Valencia

Thank you to my darling nephew Danny Boy. It was a pleasure, once I got used to his style. I thought, what an abrasive bastard, but he was soft in the middle. I’ll be blogging again in January from North East Spain up in the mountains with my mate Gazza.

We have rested here in Kathmandu and I’m ready to go home.

Night night darling boys and girls.

The digger dug and did the biz. Three hours and we can pass over the rubble in our jeep. And drop down to the swollen rivers. The first bridge we arrived at had been under water yesterday. We were lucky that it was still standing.

On the south side of the river was another police roadblock. At this point in time we were still aiming for Ranechap. The driver spoke to the coppers and there seemed to be some activity. Yep!

Some people were saying that if we cut over the mountains, continuing southwards towards the Indian border, we could possibly find a way to Kathmandu. The driver saw his opportunity. If we all paid a supplement he would take us all the way to Kathmandu. Hands in pockets, let’s hit the road! Well, it’s mud really. Let’s hit the mud!

Good news. The road is blocked by a very big landslide. Booo! But we’ve got a maggot farmer of a JCB up ahead and he’s going to clear it all away. Hooray!

After a couple of hours it was going dark and we hit the blockage.

Three hours later and we were ready to rock.

Talking to different groups it seemed like we had very little chance, if any, of getting to Kathmandu. All roads were still blocked. However we could make it to Janakpur, down on the Indian border, and take a plane or helicopter to Kathmandu.

Let’s see. After two hours we dropped down into the town of Katari. The driver was talking to himself, staring into the darkness, like Gollum. Was he leading us to Shelob?

But he picked up a good, well surfaced road signed to Kathmandu. Soon we had just 55 miles to go. We headed up into the hills and copped for another police roadblock. They turned us round. It’s going to take weeks to dig this road out. And damningly the policemen said that there is no road open to Kathmandu.

After four jeep rides, bouncing over boulders and rolling over rocks, eighteen hours of rattling around in a tin can. To get a setback after such hope was very saddening. Particularly as we knew that those trapped in Lukla had probably all escaped by air.

We persuaded the driver to take us down to Janakpur. It took us an hour of driving around the most horrific, post-apocalyptic, rubbish strewn, wild dog riddled shithole to find a hotel with someone asleep in reception. It was way after midnight. We knocked him up, bought beers all round and got to bed.

Our jeep pushed off for Kathmandu with just two passengers left. I couldn’t face getting up to 9,000 feet altitude again and being turned round by the scuffers. Nice as they are, they’ve got safety to enforce.

Mad dogs and Englishmen. The best way to see Janakpur. Blurred.

Night night.

We were very tired. But we got up three hours later and were ready for the day. When your adrenaline rises up to the day you can do it. Ours did.

The lad driving was a bit of a pillock, which you don’t want when you’re relying on him as the difference between safety and danger. We were off at around 4am.

The night was dark and we bounced over rough ground, which rose up many thousands of feet over the course of three hours. An amazing climb, which me and Killer had done on foot. Now we had done it on wheels. At the summit there was a tea house where we rested.

The pillock hadn’t noticed a punctured front tyre, and he ignored any advice on how to change it. Resulting in a two and a half hour wait for the next jeep driver to show him how to do it. Back on the road.

We were hearing ominous stories of avalanches and floods throughout Nepal. As we approached Salieri it was clear that we didn’t have many options.

Nir said we should walk for a couple of days and then get a bus to Jiri. We were dropped at a tea house in the village and we decided to stay there overnight. We were tired and we understood that the main road to Kathmandu was flooded, blocked with mud and closed by a huge landslide. Tomorrow morning might shed some light on the situation. We found a snooker hall and loafed around. Trying to pot something, anything. It’s not fair. The table’s too long.

We slept well and woke ready for action. Amit had slipped away into the night. A nice man. Our friend. But Nir was still here to keep us safe.

Our third jeep ride. And this driver was an idiot. We debated where to go. Jiri was out, if for no other reason than Nir was beginning to get on our tits going on about Jiri. We saw footage of flooding and mudslides blocking the main Kathmandu road near Ranechap airport. We thought that if we got as far as we could by jeep then we could climb over landslides and wade through mud to reach our next jeep. I was just a kid of 70 with a crazy dream of freedom. There was a road running north from Ranechap back towards the mountains,which curved westwards and then south westwards into Kathmandu. Blocked for weeks they reckoned.

Our options were reducing so we set off southwards, aiming for Ranechap. Maybe we could get a helicopter there. The locals said we wouldn’t get very far down the road before we would come to a halt. Staying put was not an option.

We trundled down the road, and the forecast rain had gone and run away. The scariest parts for us were where newly sprung rivers flooded down narrow valleys. These valleys were usually bridged by cobbled roads with the stream channelling down through a pipe. These were now raging torrents that we prayed our jeep would pile through and not be dragged sideways down the valley. Sounds dramatic but it was.

Our first landslide test was half an hour into our journey. The mountainside had peeled away, taking the road with it. There was a muddy single track, just wide enough for a jeep. We waited for various vehicles slipping and sliding down the trail towards us. Then it was our turn. Idiot boy revved like Max Verstappen and gunned the jeep forward, determined not to spin the wheels in the mud and slide back down. He was good at this. We made it through the mud to where the road re-emerged.

The next two hours were spent dodging smaller landslides and moving further down towards Ranechap. In one village we came up against a police roadblock. They were waving cars through, until it got to ours. They waved us back. There was a mother of all landslides a way down the valley. One car that had tried to make it through had turned around and they showed us photos of the blockage. Massive. An American woman had been climbing over landslides, slipped and was now in hospital.

But the main reason we got turned around was because our jeep had a white number plate and it shouldn’t be driving on this road on a Sunday. That road is for green number plates. I kid you not.

Nir was straight into it. We must go back to Salieri, three hours drive back north, walk two days and get a bus to Jiri. The police were not letting us through.

I walked down to the policemen and asked the apparent boss man if we could walk down to the landslide. He agreed, so I went back up to the car and Dan and I started to offload our rucksacks. Nir meanwhile was conniving with a group of locals. He wouldn’t answer when we asked him questions so we told him that we were walking now.

After half an hour of ducking and wrangling he reluctantly got us decanted into another jeep, sporting green number plates, with another group of passengers.

Dodging landslides again.

It’s hot at lower altitudes in Nepal and the streams across the road were beginning to lessen. They were drying up.

It turned out to be good that we didn’t walk. It was an hour and a half before we hit the big landslide.

It didn’t cover a great distance, but the road was buggered. We could walk it, but we’re in the mountains and there were no available jeeps waiting for trade on the other side. A life saver was the arrival of a JCB! Just one lad in a mechanical digger in the full heat of the day. But he set about, slowly and surely, digging a new road through the boulders.

Dan wandered down to the landslide, sat on a rock and watched the digger. I spotted more boulders falling from above him and screamed for him to get out of the way. He disdainfully looked around then carried on with his digger watch.

Nearly three hours passsed. We weren’t going back.

Dan and me myself I crossed the valley and talked to drivers coming the other way, towards us. The situation sounded very bad. All roads to Kathmandu were blocked, and some would take weeks to clear. Ranechap airport was shut and there were no helicopters. We were driving into a dead end.

Ooh er missus!

Thanks Eric. The morning came, and it had rained again all night. There was an uneasiness in this small town. It was beginning to fill up with people. Folk seeking flights to escape to connecting flights to get home. And it wasn’t happening. We are all in this together lasts two minutes. Then every man for himself.

Bikram had returned to his home town of Namche last night. A truly wild and wayward spirit. Sad to say, I must be on my way, so buy me beer and whisky cos I’m going far away. Bye Shane. And then there were four.

Nir began to be extraordinarily keen on getting us back to his home town of Jiri, where Killer and I stayed two years ago. No planes today. And no planes forecast for the next four days.

We’re going a little stir crazy, and it’s only 10.30am on the first morning (second for Dan). Bugger it, we’re walking! Nir, get packed up, we’re walking. Tell Amit we’ll pay him extra to help carry our gear.

Nir said that we should wait until the next morning when it was confirmed that there would be no flights. He filibustered, dragged his heels, disappeared and farted about. After an hour we got him to the table, told him that we were going and that we needed his guidance. We knew that if he didn’t come with us we were knackered. We also knew that Nawaraj would instruct him to get us back safely to Kathmandu.

Our plan was to walk as far as we could today, hoping that we would make it to a rough track before nightfall where we could take a jeep down overnight to Salieri. In Salieri we would get another jeep to Kathmandu. Great plan. Nir would also recruit another porter today to help carry gear.

The difficulty is that these are the steepest valleys and mountains on earth and we can’t follow the valleys down. We have to climb up and over them, and repeat.

Nir disappeared. We ate an early lunch and got all our gear together in the common room. All the other parties expressed interest in someone planning to do something to break out. I told them we were buying a helicopter and that Daniel, as a qualified pilot, would not be subject to the commercial pilotage rules. He could therefore decide to fly blind through clouds.

We started another search for Nir. Once found he denied knowledge of our departure and said we would leave tomorrow if there were no flights. He didn’t have a porter and he hadn’t eaten and we were going to Jiri to see his wife, who had cried at the extent of my head injury.

Nir! We’re feckin going down this mountain today. Eat your feckin lunch, recruit a feckin porter and we’re going!!!!!!

In an hour he accepted our departure. Covered in plastic ponchos we set off, with Nir (like a scolded puppy), Amit and a new porter in tow. The rain was grim.

We didn’t take photographs, we just trudged miles downhill then up and over the valley passes. There was a rough track that had been bulldozed out of the mountains. It was covered in avalanches, mud and spontaneous rivers but it was better than slippery mountain footpaths.

We marched for seven hours, well into the hours of darkness, through the thickest mudslides in Christendom and up on tiny mountain tracks when the bulldozed route was too dangerous to navigate.

The drops were deadly and beckoning in the darkness. The avalanches were considerable, which meant we had to climb over the easiest passage, which was invariably next to the drop at the side of the old road. In pitch black, illuminated only by Amit’s phone. We didn’t have the strength to dismantle all our packaging to get to our torches. Our boots were full of wet mud. Our clothes were drenched, despite our ponchos, but our will was still strong.

Finally, we saw some buildings and, in the distance, the headlights of a jeep. After a quick rest in the nearest building in front of a fire, we upped and offed into the night again. Twenty minutes later, after five big avalanche clambers, we were in a jeep, full to the rafters of wet folk.

Now, it takes a lot to frighten me.

Mice, old ladies with sticks, roller coasters, strong winds, enclosed spaces, open spaces, flashing lights, Americans with guns, Americans without guns, kangaroos and people smiling for no apparent reason.

However people may have wrongly assumed that I was frightened on the drive down. I may be brave but, well…..no but really……this ride tested my whatsits. I think you’ll find that I came out of it with my bravado intact. Even though I shat myself.

After three hours the jeep came to a halt. Nir got out and spoke to the driver. It wasn’t good news. The road had collapsed under a substantial avalanche. The rain was threatening more avalanches and Nir thought we needed to go to Jiri.

There turned out to be no road left to Jiri due to further avalanches, but that didn’t stop Nir rabbiting on about it.

The road collapse had occurred near a river, and from this spot we could walk down to a footbridge that was still intact, and cross the river to a tiny village on the other side. Here we would find more jeeps to drive us to Salieri.

We set off in the even pitcher black, and dropped down off the rough track to the very muddy and slippy valley side. We were only around thirty feet above the river level, and the roar of it rushing through was truly terrifying, if you are frightened of that sort of thing.

Holding on to each other we made it without slipping to the swing bridge. There is something menacing about a deafening roar of water underneath you when you’re in the dark, swinging from side to side, clenching your buttocks. The river, in full flood, felt like it was very close to the level of the bridge.

We crossed and walked up to the village. After an hour of negotiation, the local driver refused to drive onwards in the rain based on safety grounds. If it’s unsafe for these guys it’s unsafe.

At this stage we didn’t realise how bad the conditions were, and the extent of the massive damage due to flooding.

It was nearly midnight. We had three hours to get some sleep before we would set off again at 3am. We didn’t need a second invitation. Snore city Arizona.

Night night.

We set off late, but still on time for our target of Lukla before nightfall. Last night had been fun but today was the business end. Our tickets were flexible and maybe we could get a flight back to Kathmandu tomorrow morning. Bye bye Namche.

We might eat meat soon. You don’t eat it up here as it comes up on blokes’ backs and you can smell the rotting flesh as they walk past. Goodbye dodgy plug sockets and dangerous electrical connections.

Goodbye prayer wheels.

And away…….. Down to and over the high swinging bridge.

This is easier than the uphill struggle when we began our trek. We’re acclimatised to the level of oxygen, to be honest it feels normal. And being back in the forest again offers cover from the sun. Cold waterfalls, made of melted ice, bring cool air down which stays under the tree canopy.

However this is a long trek today and I began to feel the effects of the last fortnight of slog catching up with me.

I made it down to Phakding and that was me done. Late afternoon and time for some rest.

Dan wanted to push on to Lukla and reach Kathmandu tomorrow morning. He wants to visit Tibet whilst he’s here. I want to follow him down and then go to Pokhara. A lakeside resort for aching trekkers.

We parted, and it was such sweet sorrow. Dan took Amit and I would stay overnight with Nir and Shane. Oh look! An Irish bar in Phakding with a pool table. Be rude not to.

Chicken Dal Bhat for tea and a very tasty one too. Followed by an early night.

In the morning we set off for Lukla, thinking about Dan and whether he had taken off yet. There was rain on its way and the chances of us getting a flight tomorrow in poor visibility were diminishing.

A late morning cup of tea at this pleasant little cafe was eventful.

A troop of two hundred soldiers marched down the mountain, rain soaked but ready for action. Are you invading China?

The cafe had a field of wheat and veg, and a side patch of marijuana.

That’s self-sufficiency for you.

Mid-afternoon we made it up to Lukla, to meet Dan on the way in. He was chomping at the bit to get down off the hills but only the first three flights took off and then they were grounded by the rain. To make things more miserable I tripped over a raised paving stone and fell head first onto a rock.

It hurt like hell and I was bleeding a lot. Now is not the time or place to get subdural haematoma. No flights in or out and no hospital. The lads got me to the hotel and a New Zealander nurse, on a trekking trip with her husband, helped staunch the bleeding, patch me up and get an ice pack on my bonce.

I didn’t feel much like eating, so I went to bed. To lie in cold obstruction and to rot? Or to allow sleep to knit up the raveled sleave of care, balm of hurt minds? The latter.

Night night.

Thanks Nancy.

The agricultural land around here is fertile and gathering food for the heavy influx of tourists was well underway.

Looking down the valley from Pengboche the clouds were forming over Namche.

Our walk would take 6 hours or so and it consisted of downhill, uphill, downhill and uphill. Approximately. And back in the frame we are delighted to announce the return of the king, Shane MacGowan!!!!

As penance for failing to appear Bikram was to carry two rucksacks together on the first downhill and uphill section. He was very relaxed with that. Work hard play hard that lad.

We dropped down the valley quite quickly and crossed the footbridge over to the left bank. A touch of the old Quartier Latin there. Great value Vietnamese restaurants but that’s over four thousand miles away.

Bye hills. It’s been a gas.

Our first uphill section involved climbing up the left side of the valley to a pass at the top, next to the biggest Buddhist monastery in Nepal at Tengboche. Here Bikram could halve his load. I thought Dan might be seeking entry to the order. Would he really forgo earthly desires? He can’t even pass a pub. Then blames me.

Over the top of the pass and our second downhill section. A long and steep one. This hole in a tree provided endless amusement. Well, it ended after ten minutes actually. You have to throw in a rock that doesn’t fall straight back out. Better than Lara Croft and all the other artificial crap. Except Spider Solitaire.

Back down to the river, had lunch and set off on a long, steady climb up to the top end of Namche. The river drifted below and away from us.

Then finally Namche arrived on our doorstep!

A trip to the bank, got loaded and swept aside the saloon doors as we strode like conquering heroes into the Irish Bar. And emerged much later after singing and carousing and pool playing. I don’t know where Nir got that gesture from!

Oh dear. We all got a little messy .

Night night.

Thanks Jim. Nangkartshang, like a glittering prize, I saw you up on a clear day.

And all around, when we awoke, the spirits of these Himalayan mountains sparkled and breathed deeply in the morning sun. So did Nir and myself. We had got up early, whilst Dan was still snoring in Lobuche after his fantastic efforts the day before.

It was one of those mornings when you want to kiss God’s arse and thank him that you were born to be here, today. Right here, right now. Thanks Fat Boy. And best wishes to another Fat Boy friend, who can’t be here. Not that he would have if he could. He’s not well, but for old time’s sake he’s welcome.

Right, this is where we are heading. Almost directly above us, at the top of a two and a half thousand foot climb. This is the shot from part way up.

A rest day yesterday and we boys (me and Nir) are on fire. Not able to emulate the heroics of Dan, we want to exonerate ourselves in advance of any accusations that we may be Soft South…… Ok I’ll stop it. Ern BWs. Ha!

We want to prove we can climb big altitude differences, and this would do it, again. This is our view across the other side of the valley. Silence, there is always silence at this altitude unless people are involved. It adds to the sense of spirituality. I’m not sure what that means exactly but it’s something palpable and majestic.

So breakfast and we’re off. We’re a bit lower than Lobuche and the air is slightly richer. I’m not gasping in the first section of the walk.

We did this climb two years ago, me and my friend Killer, but it got very icy and snowy halfway up. Amazingly we displayed safety consciousness and decided to head downhill when we were in danger. Today is clear of ice and snow on our route and I’m not going to stop.

The views became more stunning the higher we climbed.

Me and Nir. I enjoy our time together very much. He looks after me like a carer. Making sure I’m hydrated and trying to carry everything for me. He calls Daniel ‘Donald’. He’s obviously come across Duck and Trump but Defoe and Deronda seem to have escaped him. When I stumble he says ‘Slowly, David, Slowly’. I don’t intend to go quickly.

The sun is very cruel at this altitude, with not much filter, and we sweat our way upwards.

We are on good walking form. Early sleep and early rise. Rested and refreshed. Enjoying the presence of these magnificent peaks. In silence. We passed a couple who took our photo.

The track winds backwards and forwards in hairpins to ease the legs of aged trekkers. There are significant points on the ascent, where the climber can rest and enjoy the view without huffing and puffing.

The slope got steeper. However, I knew I was going to make the top. No doubt. My last Himalayan climb. I was going to enjoy and remember this.

Nir tipped me off that we were, after nearly four hours, getting near the top. I was slightly disappointed. Short of breath and remaining years I still wanted this to never end. To rise up to share eye level with these mountain peaks was amazing.

And then we were there and another group took our photographs.

I didn’t feel sad that this is the end, my friend. Thanks Jim. I felt happy. This is somewhere that I have loved and enjoyed over a period of six years. With Jet, my darling youngest daughter, then on my Tod, then with David Kilby and now with Donald. I will cherish its memory.

We started back down and made Dingboche in time for a late lunch. Donald and Amit had arrived, over the Kongma La pass, to meet us. We ate and decided to press on down today. Dropping quickly down, with all our gear, to the meeting of two rivers. The one coming in from the right is from the glacier we crossed coming down from the Cho La pass, mixing with the water from the Khumbu glacier on Everest. The one coming down from behind us to the left is from the mountains above Dingboche that we saw earlier today.

We gunned it to make Pengboche in time for food and a beer, now that we were getting below the altitude sickness zone. And there, down below, was Pengboche.

The only thing we had left behind was Shane MacGowan.

He thought we were staying in Dingboche overnight so he pushed off to a place where we couldn’t find him. As a result Amit was overloaded. We all weighed in to help but he took the brunt!

We got to Pengboche, rested and refuelled. Tomorrow Namche, the highest Irish Bar in the world and party time!

Night night.

Dan and Bikram left with the Sherpa, when we split two days ago. The three were on their way up to Lobuche High Camp, for a short night under canvas. From here at a ridiculously early time the next morning Dan and Sherpa Kunga would depart for the snow peaked summit of Lobuche East at 20,080 feet.

They made their way up a very narrow ridge, which offered ample opportunity to slip, fall hundreds of feet and die a miserable death on impact. Best not do that Dan. I don’t want to have to come back up and drag you down to the nearest mortuary. He didn’t take any photos as he says he was ‘shit scared’.

They arrived at High Camp around 1pm.

There was a young chef there and his assistant, who prepared lunch.

Kunga gathered juniper shrubs, for an incense burning ritual, on the way up to bring them good luck.

Then he asked Dan for a battery pack to charge his phone. He seemed a bit odd. Then he asked for pain killers. Then, half way through the afternoon he announced that he had terrible toothache and couldn’t continue. Then he said that the kiddie chef could take Dan up a difficult snow and ice bound summit, no problem, and buggered off. At this point it started snowing.

The lad cooked dinner for Dan and then they turned in at 6.30 pm with a howler going on outside. Dan’s sleeping bag touched the outside tent wall and he woke up absolutely soaked, in a blizzard.

At midnight the lad indicated it was time to breakfast and go, and burnt the shrubs. Surely their luck will now change, dear readers?

They set off in the dark at 1am, with the snow still falling fast and with mini-crampons fixed to the soles of their boots for grip. They encountered a major obstacle when they reached fixed ropes to aid their first steep climb. They had jumar fixed to the rope, which enabled them to pull themselves up on a tight bite, push the jumar higher and then pull themselves up again. The quality of the rope provided by the corrupt Nepali authorities was so crap that Dan’s jumar kept slipping so that he was falling off the slope in the dark. Buy crap, pocket the difference and let people struggle, or worse. Bent gets.

Eventually Dan pulled himself up on the rope and scaled that steep section.

After an hour or so the lads needed to switch to full climbing crampons so they sheltered under a rock overhang, changed gear and stashed the spare kit under the ledge to pick up on the way back. Dan gets vertigo. What saved him from absolute panic was that it was snowing and still dark so he couldn’t see the drop.

They pressed on and the next climb was almost vertical. The rope for this section was crap. Dan’s jumar slipped continuously, to the extent that he had to pull himself up on the rocks and then grab his jumar to pull that up. Oooer missus!

At the top of that rope was another rope section. The juvenile guide disappeared whilst Dan was waiting to climb. Dan could just make him out over the brow of a ridge, by the light of his static headlamp. What was he doing?

Twenty minutes he was gone, and Dan realised he was having an extended shit. At over 19,000 feet in a blizzard!

When he returned they cracked on up that rope and up further sections of rope going through deep snow.

Then they reached a crucial section, where there was no rope! And the boy wonder had to climb up and fix one.

Eventually, and at the end of Dan’s physical limits, it was becoming light and Dan could see the summit.

The last section was ploughing through deep snow on the last rope. And then they were there!

Then the rapid, but careful, descent, during which Dan’s jumar holding him safe nearly came off the end of a rope, which would have resulted in his death. Luckily he held it tight just before the end and clung on until they made themselves safe. And back in High Camp. If this Sherpa is more than 12 years old then I’m Chinese.

Zse zse!

Then directly on to the route down to Lobuche.

And for exhausted Dan, a tired but happy man, sleep.

Night night.