Not for the first time on this trip, we were all caught between a rock and a hard place! We needed to get fluid, lots of it, into us before our next phase of ascent up to the Col(camp four, 7960m)...yet we needed to get up there ASAP, so that we had as much rest as possible and also time for more hydration before setting off again for the summit! The more we delayed, the hotter it might get on the face etc etc.

In the event after taking a cup or two of water, the sherpa's politely pushed us to get going up again, and by 9 o'clockish we were off, lighter sacs than the day before thankfully, but still unforgiving ascent again ahead for hours. There were a few climbers around pushing up slowly. The weather became cold and windy for a few hours, swirling about into all cracks in our clothing, but at least easing the dreaded heat for a while. It was hellish really, pressing on with the watch in mind, knowing there was little prospect of rest before trying the summit itself...AND THEN WE WOULD HAVE TO GET DOWN

Several times Ray appeared to falter, sitting down in  a manner more often done by me. The very fact that we were so close together for a change showed that something wasn't going well with those stronger lads. Henry tried to persuade Ray to press onto the Col before deciding to turn down, and he did try for a bit longer, but eventually he'd had enough of the struggle and turned down between the Geneva Spur and the Yellow Band, perhaps at 7800m. A quick handshake, and he was suddenly gone, leaving Greg and me shocked, but pursuing our own upward battles still. Nadir was some way behind, we thought.

By the time we reached the rocky Spur itself, Greg was flagging, spitting feathers, and asking for some of my remaining water in his desperation. I obviously felt pretty lousy too, the route seeming harder than I remembered in 2006, but I was NOT for yielding at that point. It was "walking through hell", but " I was just keeping walking".....

Greg and I slowly picked our way diagonally up through mostly rock to the crest of the Spur, after which an undulating similar traverse would at least get us to the Col, and one more stage nearer the ultimate point. It began to feel we were getting somewhere at last.

The Col cannot fail to be a bleak spot, and when we did finally wander into the tented area, it reminded me of some sort of refugee camp, with  people coming and going, sitting and standing, some having summitted and looking shattered, some hoping to go up like us, some with dreams fulfilled, some with dreams in tatters, some with dreams still intact....just. We were shooed into two different tents...it was about five o'clock...our Sherpa said we should try to set off by NINE. So much for the extra days rest at the Col we'd planned then!!!!

The next four hours were grim. Tanner and Paul (Trumpy) were in the tent with me, having summitted themselves that morning, and they were pretty stuffed. Tanner had a nasty frostbite of one ear, and was sleeping a lot, though happy. Paul roused up for a few hours to pour a lot of tea down my throat over the next couple of hours, before himself succumbing to sleep from exhaustion. I am really grateful to him for this act, as without it I may well have lain apathetically for most of that crucial time, drinking too little. I heard Nadir arrive. I was surprised.

As nine approached, I started the long process of getting my big boots back on, dry socks replacing the old wet ones, blisters and sores screaming pain at me again from both feet. It was dark and cold, but not windy. To my horror, I couldn't find one of my inner gloves, nor either of my preferred outer mitts. They had been there somewhere, surely? Or had they? Desperate times...no gloves, no climb. Plonker!!!!! I checked the messy tent again and again, tried to roll the sleeping summitteers over, in case they were laying on gloves etc etc...all to no avail.

As my Sherpa called me out, I admitted my loss, and without fuss he conjured up some cheap, but effective mitts from my Sherpa from last time, Namgyal, for which I was overwhelmingly grateful, and will never forget. I suspect he descended with a pair of thinnies only. What a man.

So out I got into the night..flashlights arcing over the terrain around and above us, crampons on, feet warmish, fingers intact. Exhausted, not very confident about success, trying to race the approaching jetstream winds....but bloody determined to try for the top one more time.

This truly was THE MOMENT. My moment.

to be continued...