Misty morning... the ice ledge squeaks under me, the odd lumbering avalanche rumbles down nearby slopes, the radio crackles. I can see the amphitheatre well from my ledge. I chip myself out of my comfy, ice-furred sleeping place. I ease myself out sideways - I cannot slip down. I build a nest out of my thick thermals and sleeping bag, the birds chirrupping in appreciation, and I notice the sunrise. A little over six thousand meters, well over twenty thousand feet - the Traverse Section. The crackling of the radio informs me: bad weather is coming. I slide down in a good hour to the Depo. Andras and Zoli's guys are waiting here. Together we potter off to ABC, then Miki, Zoli, Andras and I down to base camp. Everything is thickly wrapped in cloud. So OK, the jealous lover of the Mountain, the WEATHER, does not look kindly on our experiments. Only one possibility remains for us: tomorrow up to ABC, and afterwards sleeping up at the nest-camp, then camp 1, and then a desperate attempt, in a single dash, up to the saddle. Basically a
six-day plan. Our last chance for the peak. Bad weather, deep snow, wind - whatever can upset it - fragile like an eggshell - and lo!... Birbal has just arrived with dinner, putting a stop to these bittersweet thoughts of mine. (David)