Chapter 16 postscript

June 1987 Pakistan, Himalayas, Karakoram, Hunza Valley * I watched the two figures gradually shrink until they disappeared on the barren hillside.Andy and Jon are going to climb the unconquered Tupcxiam at an altitude of 6,096 meters.Once again I am alone in the mountains, but this time by my own choice. I turned to the small gas stove to make my second cup of coffee.This action made my knees ache.Cursing furiously, I leaned over to massage my knee, relieving the pain.arthritis.The twisted joint bears the visible scars of six surgeries.At least the wounds in my heart healed better than these scars.

Doctors say I'm going to get arthritis and I'm going to have to have surgery to take my whole knee out in ten years.They also said many things: You can never bend your knees again, Mr. Simpson.You will always have a limp.You can no longer climb mountains but that almost never happened. But arthritis was still what they said.I thought sadly, turning off the gas stove, and looking back at the hillside uneasily.I felt suddenly and strongly worried for them, and I trembled all over.Return safely.Be sure to return safely.I whispered to the silent mountains.If the weather conditions are good, they will descend in three days.I know it's going to be a long wait.

I feel sorry for myself for giving up on the summit.My leg was fine, but then it started hurting.It's only been ten weeks since my last surgery, and I know by this time the mountaineering is bound to cause new injuries.But I'm glad I tried it.And there will still be opportunities in the future. Six days ago we reached the col below the couloir and dug a snow cave.We sat outside the snow cave, silently gazing at the Himalayas stretching before our eyes.The sun was shining hot from the endless blue sky, and the snow-covered peaks were so sharply outlined against the clear and endless sky.That's why I'm here.Pure, unattainable.Straight to the sky, flawless.The sunlight casts a diamond-like gleam on the snowflakes.Karunn Koh, only eight kilometers away, overlooks me from above.I pictured myself standing on top of a mountain, seeing the twists and turns of the surface from an endless field of vision.I imagined being able to see Mount Everest, even though I knew she was 1,600 kilometers away.The place names were running in my head: the Hindu Kush, the Pamirs, Tibet, and the Karakorum.Our Lady of Snow, Nanda Devi, K2, Nanga Parbat, Kangchenjunga, these names all contain rich history.And all the people who have climbed these mountains.Suddenly, they become real and alive.They never would have been so real if I hadn't chosen to come back.Two of my friends lie buried among these rolling peaks, buried alone on separate hills, and that is the dark side of the landscape, which I can temporarily forget for a moment.

I packed my backpack, slung it over my shoulders, took one last look at where they had disappeared, turned and walked back to camp. ▲Written after ten years▲ Simon.Yeats, who wrote Against the eall, another of his expeditions into the Andes, was kind enough to point out that I have faithfully and faithfully written his perspective here.In addition, he pondered over the question of conscience, which may have been suspended for ten years.Knowing that he said he has a good conscience, I take great comfort in the fact that I would have made the same choice if I were in his position.He had valiantly rescued me, and in the end it was the only sensible option for him.Here's what he wrote:

□□□ Some people think that there is no such thing as a choice at all, and cutting the rope and the trust and friendship it represents should never have entered my mind.Others said it was just survival and I was forced to do it. When the accident happened, for a long time I was just pulling on the rope, hoping that Joe would take the weight off the rope and free me.When I remembered that there was a knife at the top of the backpack, I was exhausted and couldn't hold him.I know I've done everything in my power to free Joe.And when both of them were dying, I could only save myself.Even though I knew my actions might cost him his life, I made a split-second, intuitive decision.I felt it was the right thing to do, as were other key decisions on that climb.Without hesitation, I took the knife out of my backpack and cut the rope.

Such intuitive moments always seem to feel the same way: inhuman.It's as if those decisions just came up on their own.It wasn't until I reflected in hindsight that I realized how desperate we were.In the days leading up to the summit, we made a lot of bad judgments.We didn't drink enough water, eat enough food, and continued climbing long into the night, leaving ourselves to be cold, exhausted and dehydrated.One of the nights I was waiting outside the snow cave for Joe to finish digging it was so cold that I frostbitten a few of my fingers.All in all, we didn't take good care of ourselves

I didn't think we were wrong before, but now I know Simon was right. In climbing, postmortems are just as important as being physically fit or talented, so in the years after the event I naturally reflected on the climb, trying to figure out what went wrong with us, what big mistakes we made .At first, I was sure we hadn't made any mistakes.I would still climb down that ice cliff the same way, at best paying more attention to the texture of the ice.We still climb alpine style, dig snow caves instead of tents, and carry the same gear and food.In the end it was Simon who pointed out our fatal mistake, and it happened before we even left camp.

It's gas. We don't have enough gas to provide enough drinking water.A small jar shared between two people per day is definitely not enough.To lighten the load, we cut everything down to the minimum, so that when the situation deteriorated rapidly, there was no room for adjustment.When Simon let me descend near the Santa Rosa Col, and before we decided to climb the West Face during the storm and night, we considered digging a snow cave and waiting until the storm was over.If we do that, we can descend in clear weather.We'll see and avoid that ice cliff, and we'll be able to control the situation.

Instead, when the blizzard clouds were gathering over the col, we were sadly aware that we had run out of food and gas the night before.We are terribly dehydrated, unable to boil drinking water, and can no longer risk being caught in a snowstorm for extended periods of time.I was dehydrated and debilitated by the fracture and the resulting internal bleeding.We have no choice.Just because we had to keep going without a tank of gas to melt and heat the snow and ice, the situation got out of hand and I almost lost my life. Simon went on to analyze in the book: □□□ All the pain could not change the fact that I cut the rope, my decision was correct, and we both survived.Over the next few years, I heard people debate the morality of the decisions I made at the time, and a lot of what-ifs.I've met people who understand my decision, and I've met people who are openly hostile.Those people's hindsight meant nothing at all compared to what Joe said to me that night at camp.Now that I am more proficient and experienced in mountaineering, I believe that I will not be in the same situation again.But even if it happened again, I knew I would still make the same decision.There's only one thing I feel like I'm neglecting.That is, under the great pressure of the dangerous situation at that time, I came to the conclusion without careful inspection that it was impossible for me to enter the ice crevasse to rescue Joe.Although in hindsight I know that rescuing him probably won't help, but at the time it never occurred to me to go to the edge of the crevasse and probe the depths carefully.

Fundamentally, each of us has to take care of ourselves, whether it's climbing mountains or just going about our daily lives.I don't think that's an excuse for being selfish.Only by taking care of ourselves can we be able to help others.Mountaineering aside, the price of ignoring this responsibility in the hustle and bustle of everyday life can be a broken marriage, misguided children, frustrated career, or forfeited home.In mountaineering, neglecting this responsibility can often lead to death. After the accident, I didn't pay much attention to the hindsight that Simon said.We all know how our relationship is with each other, and we have no complaints.I wrote this book in the hope that by telling this story directly, I would put an end to all the ruthless and unfair criticism of Simon.Cutting the rope was obviously an outrage, a violation of some unwritten rule that people seemed to pay attention to only this small part of the story until I wrote it down as faithfully as possible.

Even so, we won't be bothered by any misconceptions that come out of the paper critics.My primary concern was recovery and getting back into mountaineering, not what other people speculated about what we should and shouldn't be doing.Ninety percent of accidents are due to human error.We make mistakes and accidents happen.The trick, I think, is to anticipate all possible consequences before you do anything.That way, if something does happen, you'll be more in control of the situation. The only thing I would add is that no matter how traumatic the reader feels from the book about our experiences, to me the book still fails to capture enough of how horrible those days of solitude were.I can't find the exact words to convey the absolute loneliness. Joe.Simpson August 1997 ● Postscript.Painful memories ● In mid-July 2002, I was standing here again.It was here that Simon found me on that snowy night seventeen years ago.At that time, I was physically and mentally traumatized, and I was almost out of shape. I weighed only 40 kilograms, suffered from ketoacidosis, and almost fell into a coma.My body was almost parched, and I was only one step away from death.After talking to some doctors, I suspect that I might indeed be dying when Simon found me that night. So many years have passed.At this moment, the director, cameraman and sound engineer are looking at me expectantly from the sidelines.I felt uncomfortable with the camera lens and the creepy boom mic pointed at me.Simon stood next to me and spoke to the camera about finding me, how I was, how I lay on the rock. I seem to hear all this from afar.I feel my heart beating faster, alert to the mountains around me.They seemed to overwhelm me.I felt like I was going to be out of breath, a rush of heat poured through my body, and I started sweating profusely.I moved myself awkwardly, hoping the camera didn't pick up the signs. I felt inexplicably vulnerable, as if I was about to be attacked.In fact, the more I think about it, the more anxious I get.Someone asked me a question, and the voice seemed to reach me from very far away.I hear the throbbing of my temples.When I started to speak, I told myself desperately not to cry.I had made up my mind beforehand that I would never shed tears during the interview, but I was still crushed.I heard myself tell about the moment when Simon and Richard came running to me in the dark, how I saw their headlights, and the wonderful moment when I realized the nightmare was over and I had just taken my life back. I looked down at the ground, where I was found lying prone on these stones.Then I looked up at the river bed, which was strewn with boulders.How on earth did I get down there in the dark? Thinking of this, I was even more frightened.I'm not even sure I stopped talking.For a long time, when I looked at the ground, I felt like I was lying there, and felt Simon's hand grab my shoulders and roll me over to hug me.It's incredible.I almost turned around to see who was touching my shoulder. My brain seemed to be hallucinating, nerves intertwined, and colors, emotions, and perceptions suddenly burst with astonishing force from the deepest part of memory.It may have lasted a thousandth of a second, but it felt like minutes.Then the moment passed and I just felt drained. Simon and I walked towards the camp that the crew had reconstructed.It looked very familiar there.I figured Simon must have noticed something.He asked me if I was ok and I just said: no, not very well.I didn't say anything more.I want to escape.I sat down and tried to compose myself.Outwardly I looked quite normal, but inside I was hysterical. After a twenty-minute walk down the valley, back at the huge camp, I felt slightly better.I went back to my tent, poured a whiskey, lit a cigarette, and told myself: Joe, this is just a panic attack.Don't worry, it's normal. In fact, I don't know how it happened, but it happened repeatedly for the next three weeks.Maybe not so much, but that's probably just because I was on my guard.When I have a panic attack I tell myself it's just a psychological thing and it's going to go away.This method is still effective. It took us four days to walk slowly into the camp. The fourteen people we accompanied, including crew members, security guards and provocateurs, were all strong and strong.And seventy-six donkeys.I'm not at all worried about going back to the old place.It's all hilarious in fact.Wearing 80s-style gear, reenacting the approach to camp with four stubborn donkeys, and the team doctor as Richard, it's a mixture of slapstick and tedious repetition.We stomped past the camera, then ran around, and drove the dazed donkey back on the road before we could take another shot. Go to that big field of lupines and start walking towards the camera.The intercom gave mysterious instructions in high-pitched voices.We looked at the notch on the mountain ridge in the distance, where the camera with the huge 600mm lens was installed.We stood on the V-shaped valley, observing the steep face to be traversed.The slopes on both sides extend for thousands of meters along the rocky ridge, until a curved silver line in the far distance, which is a shining river.The hillsides are overgrown with lupines. As we circled the valley overlooking the village of Vairapa, we saw snow-covered peaks.I feel the surprise of being reunited with old friends.The snow-covered Lasak and Yarupaha peaks overlook the valley.I just feel high spirits, no sense of ominous.I had forgotten how beautiful these mountains are.It dawned on me that despite twenty years of climbing all over the world, the Waiwash is the most beautiful mountain range I have ever seen.I smiled heartily. Then I saw the west face of Seura Grande and trembled with fear.It was bigger, crueler, and more dangerous than I remembered.It made me wonder what kind of person I had been all these years.I must have been very reckless, ambitious, and even a little bit crazy to even think about doing something like this.I looked along the route up the mountain, watching the strong winds in the high altitude area blow up the snow, and the snow flakes fell like feathers down the north ridge.It scares me.Where did the motivation and enthusiasm go?How did the unrivaled poise, the innate self-confidence of youth, the excess testosterone, and the lack of imagination all disappear? I turned and trudged up through the tangled moraines of the glacier, reassuring myself that at least I was here.Compared with those years ago, although my sideburns are grayer and my wisdom has only increased a little, at least I am here. In the days that followed, I recreated the crawling on glaciers and moraine for the camera.Time passed in a trance and boredom.I knew there were actors recreating the action on the hill, and none of those shots would show my face.Then they would put those shots together with my edits.However, wearing the same climbing clothes, wrapping a yellow moisture pad around my right leg, pretending to crawl, fall and hop on one foot, just like I did seventeen years ago, is really exhausting and irritating. .Why didn't they just hire an actor to play me?I keep asking myself. I felt as if at any moment something would hit me from behind.This feeling is intensified when I am on a moraine or on a glacier, and the familiar scene of mountain ridges surrounding valleys dominates my field of vision.These memories have air-dried deep in my memory.Seeing this scene again after all these years was like flipping a switch, bringing back my most painful memories and associations.In this place, I once firmly believed that I would die here, and those ridges would be the last scenery before my death.I shouldn't be coming back here.This does not purify, it only deepens the fear. Oddly enough, Simon and I said very little about our personal feelings to each other.We've talked and written about that experience countless times, and there seems to be nothing more to say, so there's no need to.Nothing will change.In our hearts, we know better than anyone what happened here.That's history, and we've taken care of it. In my mind, those memories came flooding back, so clear and so amazingly vivid that sometimes I thought those seventeen years hadn't passed, that I had indeed returned to the horrible reality of 1985 , is desperately climbing down the mountain. One day I was sitting alone on the sand, the narrow valley between the moraine and the mountain face.I'm staring at miles of boulders, with moisture pads strapped to my legs, in that suit and backpack, waiting for a radio call from the crew.They were all on a high mountain ridge two kilometers away.I'm panicking again.I sat in this position in 1985, sure that Simon and Richard were right behind me.That was the hallucination. It was like a cozy cocoon, and it felt so good to hide in, that I completely believed my hallucination.At this moment, seventeen years later, I seem to be experiencing the same eerie hallucinations. I nervously turned my head back and forth, looking over my shoulder, trying to make out the person on the ridge.My heart started beating wildly, and I kept breathing deeply and nervously.I thought I was going to cry.Then I saw little figures huddling around the camera, trying to calm myself down.The horror intensified when I heard the sound of rocks rolling down the face and dust being scattered in the wind.They're so close to me, it's hard for me.I looked back at the ridge.Come on, come on, I want to get out of here.Another shower of rocks fell, slapping toward me.I instinctively dodge quickly.After a few seconds, an overwhelming sense of panic overwhelmed me.I have to get away from here, I have to get away.Just as I started to unfasten the leg pads, there was a bang on the radio. Joe, this is Kevin, do you hear me?I stare at the walkie-talkie antenna protruding from my breast pocket.Joe, Joe, hear that?Are you ready for your next take? Kevin, this is Joe.I heard.I let go of the call button and let out a long breath. All right, Joe, start your climb up the rocky ravine.Go at your own pace.I laughed out loud.There was a little mania in the laughter.I didn't find it interesting at all to return to Peru this time. Traumatic emotions, such as guilt, regret, sadness, and terror, are transmitted in neural circuits in the same way as deep or primal fear.Our approach to exploring memory shadows and deep-seated fears has come a long way.Today, scientists are studying how to help the brain free itself from fear and depression.Experiments in mice have shown that by suppressing the brain's hormonal responses to such memories, we can attenuate the emotions that these responses evoke.In simple terms, scientists already know how to short-circuit the neural pathways in the brain that trigger primordial fear.Whether it's a real event or a nightmare created by your imagination, it all starts with neurons in the amygdala.When a new trauma arises, or an old trauma strikes, this fear center stimulates hormones that burn the image of fear into the brain, making the unbearable difficult to forget.Such research aims to help patients avoid PTSD.Beta adrenal blocker propranolol has been used in clinical trials in the United States.The patient must take the medication as soon as possible after the event for it to be effective. I've always been a little skeptical about so-called post-traumatic stress disorder.Everyone seems to be suffering from it these days, and I suspect the disease has become a catch-all term for people to justify their past and sue for damages.In the two world wars, soldiers and civilians witnessed unprecedented and unimaginable horrors. Why didn't there be millions of post-traumatic stress syndrome patients after the wars?Of course, by the time of World War II, it was recognized that shell shock was different from low moral character.Perhaps the difference between then and now is that the society at that time was not as prevalent as condemnation and compensation as it is today. So when I returned from Peru to learn that I had PTSD, I was a little surprised.It is likely that the horrors I experienced in 1985 came back to me because of the strong and deep memories of the mountains surrounding the moraine and glaciers.The fear was startlingly clear, as if it had happened only a few days ago. The doctor told me that the effects would soon wear off, as I seemed to have successfully healed the trauma of the Seura Grande for the past seventeen years.The thing about being scheduled to see a therapist made me very uncomfortable.I have always looked with contempt, even a little contempt, at the over-reliance of certain Americans on psychotherapy and counseling.The British forbearance in such matters seems to be more effective and more dignified.I have to admit, though, that I was really out of my mind when I got back from Peru, so I reluctantly agreed to make an appointment. In between, I had eight weeks of mild panic attacks, always crying without warning, always feeling like I was going to be attacked.Later, I provided a motivational speech for a company, telling the story of "The Ice Rift" in detail, and the symptoms disappeared within a few days.It took six months before someone called to tell me that I had an opportunity to see a doctor.I complained about poor medical care in careful terms and turned down offers, all the while taking comfort in the fact that I didn't suffer from serious mental illness. Telling the story of The Ice Rift over and over again has unwittingly been my recipe.Getting patients to describe their horrific experiences as vividly as possible is apparently a common practice of psychotherapists.With the retelling, the real experience will gradually become like a fictional story, as if it has become someone else's experience, so the patient can withdraw from the trauma.In short, the complex neural pathways to the fear center, the amygdala, are blocked, or at least bypassed. When I headed to the theater in Soho for the documentary's premiere, I had mixed feelings.I have been negotiating the rights to remake the film for this book for more than ten years, and now that there is finally a result and everything has come to an end, I am extremely gratified.The copyright once changed hands to a certain company and Sally.Field and Tom.Cruise-related co-production company.This is to take advantage of Cruise's star effect, which actually aroused enthusiastic responses in the mountaineering world, and many people even joked that they want Nicole.Kidman came to play Simon.I knew right then that, even if this movie was made, it would be just one of the many bad movies that come out of Hollywood studios every year.But they've been spending a lot of money making crap.Later, when the deal fell through and the rights came back to me, I heard about a reputable documentary production company, Dallow.Smithson (Darlow Smithson) is interested in reshoots, and the production team has Kevin.Macdonald, the Oscar-winning director for Best Documentary Film, was quite happy.I raised hopes that maybe he could make a high-quality film based on this book. When I stepped into the theater, I didn't know what the movie was going to be like.Aside from my personal difficulties in Peru, the entire filmmaking process was incredibly tedious and mind-numbing.I learned, painfully, that it's hard to make a book without messing things up. A hundred minutes later, the end credits scrolled across the screen, and I was both happy and worried.The film is very faithful to the original work. Although I am the person who has the least right to judge, I still think this film is extremely tense and touching.When I saw myself and Simon telling the whole story to the camera, I realized that we were so completely exposed to the audience, and it worried me.Neither of us ever wanted to be exposed in public, and the stares that we did were very uncomfortable.If hearing your own voice on a tape recorder can make you feel awkward, seeing yourself on the big screen can make you completely uneasy!Bestsellers are often hard-pressed to turn into satisfying movies, and this time they seem to have succeeded.Ultimately, though, it's up to readers and viewers to judge.For Simon and me, the real experience deep in the memory is always far more vivid than any reproduction of words or images. Oddly enough, the physical and psychological trauma I experienced in Peru in 1985 did not change my life.It was the success of this book and later works, as well as my speaking career, that changed me strongly.And filming will undoubtedly continue to bring changes and challenges to me. I always think, what would my life have been like if we hadn't had an accident on the Seura Grande?A part of me thought I'd be climbing harder and harder routes, taking bigger and bigger risks.Looking at the price my friends have paid over the years, I think that if I go down that road, I may not be able to live to this day.In those days I was a penniless, narrow-minded, lawless, brutish and ambitious climber.That accident opened up a new world for me.Without that accident, I would never have discovered my latent talent for writing and speaking.As hard as it has been, I do sometimes wonder if I've been lucky. In Peru, we do our best to take the biggest risks we can.Yet, despite the great pain and trauma, it now appears that those things were nothing compared to such an exciting adventure.Is not human memory a brilliant liar?I almost lost everything in Peru, but my life improved because of it, and it felt like winning a battle.Since then, I've seemed to be going nowhere, worryingly well.When does good luck end? It's hot and sunny in Sheffield today.I'm working on my seventh book which is a novel.A fly fishing holiday in Ireland is just around the corner and before that I will be doing my fourth ascent of the North Face of Mount Eiger.I'm trying to keep myself from thinking about these things.The busy fall season is calling, with many speaking appointments and film promotions already on hand.The life-and-death struggle on the Seura Grande seventeen years ago has made me a successful businessman, and there are no wonders in the world Life may give you a good hand at any time.Should you play it safe, bluff, or take it all in?I never know. Joe.simpson July 2003 thank you Writing this book was like gambling with your own adversity.Without the support and encouragement of my friends and family, I would never have started, let alone finished. Although I have received too many favors from Simon, I would like to thank him for two more things. One is to tell me frankly about his psychological journey, and the other is to give me trust and allow me to record in my own words. these sensitive emotions. Then, I would like to especially thank Jim.Perrin's advice in the early days of my writing, and Jeff.Porto published my article in "High" magazine and encouraged me.Cape Press editor Tony.Colleville gave me invaluable advice, and none of this would exist were it not for his conviction that this story is worth writing.I also want to thank Jon.Stevenson urged me to put the plan into action. In addition, I would like to thank Tom.Richardson (Note: The Chinese version is not used), Ian who helped me process the photos.Smith and Bernard of Mountain magazine.Newman restored most of my slides which were damaged when lent to other media.And without Porchester Group Insurance, especially Gary.With the financial support so generously provided by Davis, Simon and I would never have been able to make the trip to Peru. Finally, and most importantly, I am sincerely grateful to my parents for encouraging me to write this book, for helping me recover physically and mentally, and for graciously accepting my decision to continue mountaineering. (End of the book)