What goes round...

I regarded it in an abstract way, my mind wandering. I heard myself saying: ‘well this is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into, Stanley.’ And I was back beside an old man, in a hospital bed he would never leave. His face, beaming with joy, as we played Stan and Olly, laughing uproariously to looks of stern rebuke. I whispered, ‘What would you say if you could see me now, Dad?’

Coming back to the present, I tried to make sense of what was happening, working out what to do next. My mind still wandering, it was hard to concentrate. How could I make myself as comfortable as maybe, while I waited for someone to find me?

I came to again and took stock. My first aid kit, food and worst of all, my emergency beacon and communicator, were all in my pack. Which was probably buried somewhere at the bottom of the slide.

But, first priority, what about my leg?

I had lost quite a bit of blood, but the flow had nearly stopped, so I cut up my shirt to make some rough bandages and bound it up as best I could. That would have to do for now.

I looked around to form a better idea of where I was and what possibility there was of finding some shelter. Any shelter.

I was lying at the edge of the scree, up against a large buttress of the rough red sandstone that formed the backbone of the surrounding uplands. At the bottom of the buttress a small overhang promised shelter in the event of rain. I could not see under the overhang owing to a large bush or small tree that grew there. ‘Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers’ I thought, relapsing into time worn clichés; ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’, and I slowly and painfully worked my way over 10 metres or so, to the promise of shelter.