The Fear Bubble: Harness Fear and Live Without Limits

‘Yes, mate,’ he said. He fixed me with a slightly quizzical look. ‘Do you realise what you’ve got yourself into?’

That got my guard up. In his own subtle way it seemed that Ed was instantly questioning my ability. The skill set involved in being a member of the Special Forces is a lot different to what’s needed by an elite mountaineer, and he knew it. Not only that, but since our chat on the phone the other day he knew I’d only ever been as high as 6,100 metres above sea level. That’s pretty high, but it’s not Everest. The whole situation threatened to put me on the back foot immediately. I could tell that Ed was extremely sure of himself and didn’t take any shit. He’d be an easy guy to get on with if he respected you, but he didn’t suffer fools. Quiet worries crowded in on me: ‘Am I going to have to live up to his standards? Am I going to have to follow him up to the summit?’

Although he was probably acting subconsciously, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was trying to assert himself as the leader from the start. While I knew it wasn’t a personal thing – it’s just what alphas do – I also knew I had to turn it around. And quickly. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have stepped back and let him take the reins. It would even have made logical sense, given that he was by far the more experienced mountaineer. But I wasn’t going to allow Ed to make the decisions. I couldn’t ever have a situation in which he was telling me, ‘Well, Ant, there’s a bit of wind today so we best go tomorrow.’ A bit of wind? Good. All the more reason to go now. This trip was mine and I was doing it for my own reasons. They’d jumped on my bandwagon, not the other way round.

And then, out from behind Ed, as if by magic, appeared the man who would be my Sherpa. Dawa Lama had been picked especially for me by Madison and I was a bit shocked when I saw him. I’m only small myself, but Dawa was positively tiny. Not only was he five foot nothing in height, he had a bit of weight on him. I’d imagined someone a bit more trim and a lot taller. Was this really the man who’d be leading me up the world’s most deadly mountain? But he had to be capable, I told myself. He wouldn’t have been selected if he wasn’t. The only way we were going to find out what he was made of was by getting him up on that hill.

Dawa was holding a garland of marigold flowers and I bent down so he could put it around my neck. I could instantly tell that getting on with him wasn’t going to be a problem. He radiated a kind of natural, easy-going warmth.

‘Welcome to Nepal,’ he said, shaking my hand.

I pulled him up into a bear hug. As I did, the sky above us blasted into a fantastic rip of thunder.

‘That’s what I love to hear, mate. That gets me excited,’ I said. ‘Are you ready, Dawa?’

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘Are you sure, brother?’

‘Yeah.’

This was my opportunity to signal to Ed that it was me who’d be calling the shots.

‘Are you ready, Ed?’

‘I’m ready.’

‘Are you sure?’

He didn’t reply. He just laughed. That, I figured, was him signalling back.

As we walked towards our transport, I said to him, half-joking, ‘I hope you’re going to keep up with me. Anywhere I go, just make sure you capture it.’

‘Oh, I will,’ he said. ‘You know it can be pretty hard going up there. Are you sure you’ve done enough preparation?’

There it was again.

‘Don’t worry about me, mate,’ I said. But in the depths of my mind I had a sudden, panicked flash of a bowl of chicken wings glistening with Buffalo sauce.

The transport to the hotel turned out to be a tiny white banger with holes in the floor and just enough room for the three of us. We rattled off into the thick of the city, a grinding metropolis of traffic, noise, brightly painted concrete apartments, temple roofs glimpsed down tangled alleyways, fluttering prayer flags and potholed roads, all set in a haze of filthy, smoggy air. Despite my background concerns about Ed, I found myself high on the spirit of adventure, which is the greatest buzz I know. The giddy mood had become infectious and we were all grinning widely. I decided to use it to help us bond as a team as quickly as we could. Right now that meant indicating to Dawa that he wasn’t going to be treated as an employee but as one of us. Even though I was determined that I would make all the key decisions, it was Dawa who’d be in charge of the route we’d be taking. His role in my expedition couldn’t be more crucial.

‘How many times have you summited?’ I asked him.

‘I’ve summited six times on the top, and eleven times expeditions,’ he said. ‘First time was when I was nineteen. With my father.’

‘Was he a Sherpa too?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And he is still working on the mountain today.’

I looked down at the flowers he’d strung around my neck.

‘What are these for?’

‘For good luck.’

‘Good luck? Listen,’ I said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘That’s for the unprepared.’ I thought for a moment. Those chicken wings again. ‘But hey. We’ll see. We might need it.’

‘Tonight you and Ed are coming to eat at my house,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s all arranged. I have booked a car for 7 p.m. It will pick you up at the Yak and Yeti Hotel where you’re staying. My wife is cooking a welcome meal that is special.’

‘That would be an honour,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Dawa.’

Not only would it be an honour; it would also provide the perfect opportunity to strengthen our relationship. He didn’t yet know it, but it wasn’t only the route up to the summit that Dawa would be finding. He’d also be essential in getting me to that edge of fear I was going to be secretly hunting. One of the reasons I didn’t want a Western guide was because, as you’d expect, they tend to be ultra-cautious. They wouldn’t want the negative publicity of having any of their clients lose a nose, a couple of toes – or their life. But a Sherpa, I expected, would be willing to push that little bit harder. If I said to a Western guide, ‘Let’s go up through that storm,’ they’d most likely refuse and maybe even turn us around. You’d hope a Sherpa would be more game. After all, they live close by the mountain. It wasn’t ‘Mount Everest’ to them, it was ‘Chomolungma’, a living god. They’d known that mysterious lump of ice and rock, and its shifting, deadly moods, for thousands of years. It was in their blood.