Myhill soloed up to help a roped but gripped climber reach Windy Ledge, only to find his own footholds disintegrating. He went the length of the crag and was found lying at its base, groaning. Someone ran to phone for an ambulance. Back in those days (Press Button B) things were a lot slower. Growing distinctly bored waiting for salvation, Myhill staggered to his feet and limped off to The Moon. Pint in one hand and arrows in the other, he was contemplating finishing on double-top when the ambulance screamed past, siren blaring. “I wonder who that’s for?” he murmured pensively.