At some point he would run out of rope. What then? He had been abseiling for five minutes when his right heel hit a small rocky outcrop. He looked over his shoulder. It was about a metre wide and bulged a little way out from the slope. Max stopped for a moment. This was a precarious spot, especially in this wind. Should he continue descending? Or should he stop here and reset his ropes?

He made the decision to stop. Breathlessly, he unwound the rope from his body. When it was loose, he tugged the right-hand strand. The left strand slid upward. Max kept pulling until finally the entire rope slithered down the mountainside into a heap at his feet.

The rope was sodden. It took a minute for Max to unravel it. Once more he found the midpoint. He hooked the centre loop over the outcrop and rewrapped it round himself in the Dülfersitz formation. He jumped backwards, praying that the rope would take his weight again.

It did. Max continued his descent.

The mist started to clear so gradually that he didn’t notice it at first. But after a couple of minutes, his visibility increased to ten metres, then twenty. The rain was still heavy, but at least he could see around him. He looked over his shoulder, left and right, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the area beneath him.

It was a shock to see how close he was to Jordan. He lay directly beneath Max, on his back on a fairly level part of the slope. He wasn’t moving. Max felt momentarily sick.

He kept going. A minute later he was alongside Jordan and unravelling the rope from around his body. The tarn he’d seen from the top of the ridge was about twenty-five metres away, hazy through the elements. He quickly knelt down beside Jordan. Jordan’s face was bruised and bloodied. His eyes were closed.

‘Be alive,’ Max whispered. ‘Be alive!’ He felt Jordan’s wrist for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He put his wet hand up close to Jordan’s mouth and nose. He could feel breath. There appeared to be no head wounds or bleeding. Jordan was unconscious, but miraculously alive.

He was also still wearing his rucksack. Max gently rolled him on to one side into the recovery position. It gave him access to the rucksack. He felt inside for the solid brick of the sat phone, praying it wouldn’t be damaged. It seemed okay. He powered it on and dialled 999.

‘Emergency services.’

Max’s voice was raw and hoarse as he shouted, ‘Mountain rescue! My name’s Max Johnson. I’m on Helvellyn. Striding Edge. It’s an emergency! I need mountain rescue! Now!’

The waiting was the worst bit.