A Day to Die For: 1996: Everest's Worst Disaster - One Survivor's Personal Journey to Uncover the Truth by Graham Ratcliffe

following morning, which in the end is what we wanted.
    By the time we’d had breakfast, the Sherpas from the American expedition had already completed the arduous task of manhandling several tons of equipment. They had loaded it into Nepalese trucks for its onward journey to Kathmandu. Having spent two months away from home, they too were keen to get back to their families.
    Chinese military personnel dressed in immaculate mid-green uniforms with bright-red epaulettes browsed over official paperwork. The matching green flat-topped officer hats they wore curved up at both the front and rear. Pulled tightly onto the head, they were decorated with a gold braid that ran around the circumference. The black shiny peak covered the upper part of the soldiers’ faces. No eye contact was made. The display indicated that they would see to us when they were ready, and not before. Compliance with this unspoken but transparent requirement was the only way to make a quicker than average departure from the Autonomous Region of Tibet. Any objection to this wait would bring either long delays or a comprehensive baggage search. The reason: they could if they chose to.
    The border itself is defined by a structure called the ‘Friendship Bridge’ that spans a deep gorge and fast-flowing river below. It was a relief to be leaving such a strictly controlled area.
    At the opposite end of the 85 yards of roadway that sits atop of the single reinforced concrete arch lies the town of Kodari: a ramshackle group of buildings that clings precariously to the narrowest strip of land between the road and the abrupt slope of eroded shale that plummets to the river below. Facing this human habitation on the other side of the road is an alarmingly steep mountainside, scarred with the signs of previous landslides and gushing streams. Here, Nepalese passport control and our awaiting vehicles welcomed us.
    With our overnight bags stowed onboard, we drove off down the ‘Friendship Highway’, the name given to this road’s entire length from the border to Kathmandu, where we were to arrive some six hours later.
    When dropping me off, my American companions generously invited me to be their guest at the ‘end of expedition’ evening meal in the restaurant of the Yak and Yeti Hotel. Set in large, resplendent gardens, complete with swimming pool and a quartet that played during afternoon tea, this establishment was at the upper end of the accommodation available in Kathmandu. It was a place steeped in history; the older parts of the building had been converted from what had once been a Rana palace.
    I checked into the more modest Gauri Shankar Hotel, from which my team had departed less than two months earlier. At that time I had been preoccupied with high hopes and dogged determination. Now, a hot shower, a shave and clean clothes were top of my list. These simple luxuries were a stark contrast to the more basic amenities I’d endured for the intervening period.
    It was when I was about to leave the Gauri Shankar to join the American team for the evening meal that I met Alison Hargreaves. Little more than a week earlier, at the age of 33, she’d completed an outstanding and largely independent ascent of the North Ridge of Everest. This she had done without the use of supplementary oxygen.
    Standing about 5 ft 6 in., with shoulder-length wavy brown hair and a soft complexion, there was a quiet confidence about her: one that can only be found in those who have achieved a long-held goal. She had arrived in Tibet nearly two months earlier deliberately carrying extra body weight: fuel that would aid her with the ambitious undertaking. Now she had the appearance of a well-honed athlete in peak physical condition.
    I’d seen Alison several times on the route. We had exchanged greetings as we passed each other. Although I recognised her in the hotel, I doubted the reverse was true. I had, in the last half-hour, shaved off the beard I had grown during the course of