Postcards from the Ledge: Collected Mountaineering Writings by Joe Simpson, Greg Child

By Joe Simpson, Greg Child

Author note; Joe Simpson (Foreword by way of)
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• Reflections and funny items, plus insights into a few of mountaineering's extra debatable events
• Revealing photos of different Himalayan climbers
Peeling again the layers to bare the gritty fact concerning the elite hiking global is Greg Child's distinctiveness. With shrewdpermanent wit, sharp observations, and insightful reflections, Child's writing covers the whole spectrum of the hiking experience.

Entertaining even to those that have by no means been above sea point, Child's tales exhibit climbing's different face. His description of the day-by-day conduct of mountaineers on day trip (who don't shower for months) is either disgusting and horrifyingly humorous. A post-climb fiasco within the workplaces of petty Pakistani bureaucrats proves that no longer all epics ensue on excessive mountain faces. Falling of a rock climb in entrance of his mom is an workout in humility.

Child takes up mountain climbing controversy with an analogous prepared perception. His research of Tomo Cesen's claimed first ascent of Lhotse's south wall is taken into account the definitive document in this arguable occasion. a troublesome examine the media frenzy round the dying of Alison Hargreaves on K2 evolves right into a wonderful, impassioned safeguard of a chum. He additionally speaks out at the funds- and media-driven expeditions that now crowd Everest.

But baby by no means preaches. even if contrasting his clumsy functionality with Lynn Hill's based strikes on a climb within the distant mountains of Kyrgyzstan or reflecting upon artifacts (from crucifixes to crimson flamingos) that beautify the world's maximum peaks, he writes it as he sees it, with a dose of wit. a real insider, Greg baby attracts us deep into the realm of hiking yet by no means denies its darkish side.

Literary Awards
Boardman Tasker Prize Nominee for Mountain Literature (1998)

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The thought made him laugh. It was not, Sharpe sus­pect­ed, the an­tic­ipa­tion of ex­cite­ment that had brought Sergeant Oba­di­ah Hakeswill to this state of near jovi­al­ity, but rather the thought that a bat­tle would cause ca­su­al­ties and mis­ery, and mis­ery was the Sergeant's de­light. He liked to see men cowed and fright­ened, for that made them bid­dable, and Sergeant Hakeswill was al­ways at his hap­pi­est when he was in con­trol of un­hap­py men. The three of­fi­cers had stopped their hors­es at the head of the col­umn and now used tele­scopes to in­spect the dis­tant ridge which was cloud­ed by a ragged fringe of smoke left from the last dis­charge of the en­emy can­non.

See it? ' His face twitched again as he re­leased the stock. ' 'Mad as a hare, ' Tom Gar­rard mut­tered. ' Hakeswill whipped around to stare at Sharpe, but Sharpe was so pal­pa­bly still and star­ing mute­ly ahead that his in­no­cence was in­dis­putable. Hakeswill paced back down the Light Com­pa­ny. 'I have watched men die, bet­ter men than any of you pieces of scum, prop­er men, but God has spared me! So you do what I says, boys, or else you'll be car­rion. ' He abrupt­ly thrust the mus­ket back in­to Sharpe's hands.

In­stead he leaned for­ward in his sad­dle with one hand clasped over the tiger hilt of his curved sabre as he watched his in­fantry march on the in­fi­del British. The sword was slung on a silken sash that crossed the pale yel­low silk jack­et that the Tip­poo wore above chintz trousers. His tur­ban was of red silk and pinned with a gold badge show­ing a tiger's mask. ' Above it, pinned to the tur­ban's brief white plume and bril­liant in the day's sun­light, there glit­tered a ru­by the size of a pi­geon's egg.

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