Up to now I hadn't said anything, but suddenly I found myself in a quandary. I agreed with Bonington in that when you're on a climb, and you want more than anything to succeed, you have to take advantage of every opportunity. There was certainly no guarantee if we were to go down now the weather would improve in time to allow us another try. On the other hand, I felt an allegiance to Frank and d.i.c.k, who had put their pocketbook, their time, and their dreams into this climb. To increase their chances, I should stay with them.

"I'll go down too," I said.

"Don't be silly," Frank yelled. "You're going with Bonington, and that's it. The rest of us will head back, although I still think d.i.c.k's crazy."

No one said anything. Frank spoke with such final authority things seemed settled. So Frank, d.i.c.k, and the others turned downwind while Bonington and I lowered our heads and continued toward the summit.

An hour later Bonington and I reached the col and felt the full blast of the wind. Now my goggles were iced so badly that to navigate I was forced to stay on Bonington's heels, following the fuzzy form of his boots making one step, then another as we angled up a steepening slope. To save time we had agreed to unrope; there was an unspoken understanding each man was on his own.

Bonington braced as another gust blasted us. Temperatures were probably thirty below, and the gusts now approached sixty. That made the wind chill, what? One hundred below zero? Whatever it was, it was brutal.

Bonington stopped and turned back to me, "These have to be the worst conditions I've ever climbed in."

I reminded him later that this judgment followed his earlier one-that it was the most fantastic day he had ever climbed in-by about four hours.

Bonington kept a strong pace, though, and soon I found I was having trouble not only with my goggles, but with my strength. What was it? Perhaps residual effects from the typhoid fever I had contracted in Borneo three months earlier? The body shock of going from equator to South Pole?

Bonington pulled ahead. I couldn't keep up. Then he disappeared, but I couldn't see enough through my iced goggles to know where. I took the goggles off, and squinting against the spindrift I saw he was traversing what looked like a picket fence of rocky towers. It was steep on both sides. I decided to go without goggles. I pulled the case for the goggles from my pocket, but it slipped from my mittens and fell on the slope. I reached for it and was about to grab it when a gust plucked it off the slope and hurled it straight up and out of sight.

I grabbed my ice axe and climbed to the first rock tower. I moved slowly but deliberately, placing my boots carefully on the footholds, testing each handhold. It was no good. My head was swimming; I was off-balance. I looked down. It was a several-hundred-foot drop on both sides. I hunkered in the lee of a rock, and tried to think.

I realized in my condition there was a good chance I might make a fatal slip. That settled it. I tried to signal Bonington, but he was once again out of sight. I turned and started back, glancing around after a few dozen yards. Now I could see him, past the rocky traverse, approaching the final slope to the summit. I waved, but he wasn't looking my way. I continued down, and past the col I stopped once more to study the summit block. Where was he? Then I saw him, a lone red dot. He was on the summit, perched on top the highest mountain in Antarctica. I smiled. At least the expedition was now a success.

The others were in the tents asleep when I arrived back at camp 2. Feeling completely exhausted, I dropped my pack next to my tent, and sat on it to take my crampons off.

"Who's there?" It was d.i.c.k's voice from inside his tent.

"Me. Rick."

"Well, tell us." He poked his head out the tent door.

"I didn't make it. Too weak and dizzy, and my goggles were iced badly. But Chris pulled it off. I saw him on top. He should be down soon."

I crawled in my sleeping bag, and in an hour heard the telltale squeak of crampons biting hard snow; it's amazing how that sound carries through the snow, especially when you're lying with your ear close to the surface. As Bonington walked into camp we all cheered.

"Fantastic!" d.i.c.k said.

"Job well done!" Frank added.

Bonington looked exhausted. We fixed him tea, but there was so much ice in his beard he couldn't get the cup to his mouth, so we had to cut out the chunks with a Swiss Army knife. With the brew in him, he perked up.

"Fabulous view up there, but I was also able to see off toward the Weddell Sea. There are some very sinister-looking clouds moving our way. I think we have no choice but to pack up and get out of here immediately. Down to our bolt hole."

"What about our next attempt?" Frank asked. "We would have to come all the way back."

"I'd rather have you do that than risk getting caught here in a big blow. This camp is exposed, man, and if a fierce wind blew these tents apart, you might not be able to find your way down."

There was silence; then Bonington, a bit reflectively but in dead earnest, added, "This mountaineering is a serious game. Believe me, Frank, I know."

Once more, I recalled that wind storm I had experienced on the Antarctic Peninsula a few years before, and how our heavy-duty tent had started to rip, and how we were able to collapse it and pile ice blocks on top, then escape to the safety of a hut down on the coast and wait for it to blow over. Here, though, we might not be so lucky.

"I think Chris is right," I said. "We shouldn't risk it."

"I don't agree," Frank said, "but I suppose I'll have to defer."

"Well, I'll just go along with our leaders," d.i.c.k said. "I'm sure we'll still get our chance."

Frank wasn't so confident. Despite the belief he had come to on Everest that if a climber sticks with it he usually gets more than one shot at a summit, he now sank in a funk believing that after all the months and months of work, after the cost, neither he nor d.i.c.k might reach the summit of Vinson, the one achievement that would had added a unique feather to their Seven Summits cap.

Maybe it was a sign of his exhaustion and fatigue that he was unable to lift himself out of his depression. But as we packed up and started downhill Frank was, other than the day Marty died, now at his lowest moment at any time during the Seven Summits expeditions.

By the time we got down to camp 1 it was midnight, and after a quick meal we turned in and didn't wake up until noon the next day. The hurricane winds that Bonington had feared never materialized, but it was still a good feeling to be near the snowcave. The sky was clouded, and it was windy enough up high that it would have been uncomfortable at camp 2. Until things improved, we had to stay put.

After breakfast Frank called a meeting, and right away it was evident that after a good night's sleep he was back to his old positive self: "I'm sure everyone here would agree," he said, "that for as long as we have food and fuel we keep trying for the summit. Now, Chris, I know after having already summitted you might not be up for another try, but I would like to make it clear that as soon as this weather clears we would more than welcome you coming back up with us."

"To be honest," Bonington replied, "I'm not sure I would have the energy. But I tell you what. We only have about three days' food left here, and if this storm lasts longer than that you'll need more supplies. What if I were to go down, rest a day, and come back up with more food?"

Everyone heartily agreed to the plan, and a few hours later Bonington descended.

"That clears up whatever black thought I might have had about Bonington," Frank said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm embarra.s.sed to admit it, but yesterday up at camp two when he ordered us to go down, I actually wondered if he was doing it so none of the rest of us got to the summit, so he could have all the glory. Obviously, I couldn't have been more off-base."

Frank realized just how much fatigue and high alt.i.tude combined could hamper his ability to judge people and situations, and he remained chagrined he could have held such a dark thought about Bonington.

We spent the rest of the day sitting in the tent, tearing apart our only paperback novel and pa.s.sing it around in installments. d.i.c.k kept himself busy with his poetry and s...o...b..rd blueprints.

Though we had now been on Vinson a week we were still not used to the perpetual daylight, and it remained an odd feeling to go to sleep with light and wake up with light. It was about 10:00 P.M P.M. when we dozed off on the twenty-fourth, and noon on the twenty-fifth when we finally awoke. The weather looked about the same, and we pa.s.sed the next twelve hours sitting in the tent swapping stories until finally, around midnight, we got drowsy enough once more to go to sleep.

It was nearly noon again the next day when we awoke, and now the clouds were thinning, and up higher it looked like the wind was dying.

"Let's wait awhile and make sure it's a solid spell," Frank said.

"We might as well wait until about three A.M A.M. or so," d.i.c.k added. "That way we would be making most of the climb during the highest sun.

Even with the twenty-four-hour daylight we had noticed that during the early morning hours the sun made a detectable dip closer to the horizon, and at the same time it pa.s.sed behind Vinson so that most of our climbing route fell in shadow. It was noticeably warmer, then, during the "daytime" part of the twenty-four-hour cycle, and consequently we decided to wait for these warmer hours and then try to climb directly from camp 1 to the summit, bypa.s.sing camp 2. We felt that if the good weather were short-lived this strategy would be our best hope for success.

We crawled into our sleeping bags, and before falling asleep someone noticed a lone figure down in the basin. That would be Bonington, up with our additional food. We lay back in our bags and soon heard the crunch-crunch of crampons outside the tent.

"h.e.l.lo Chris," Frank said through the tent wall. "How was the climb up?"

There was no answer but the tent door started to open just as a voice said, "Not bad as long as I didn't look down."

It wasn't Chris' voice! Frank and d.i.c.k bolted upright in their bags as Kershaw stuck his ice-encrusted face through the tent door.

"What ... where's Bonington?" Frank asked incredulously.

"He was too f.a.gged to make it up the gully, so he's waiting in base camp while I'm delivering your groceries."

"You mean you climbed the gully solo?"

"It's really not that bad, you know. Just one foot in front of the other kind of thing."

Frank couldn't believe it. Here was this 130-pound absolute neophyte climber carrying what was easily a fifty-pound load unroped up an icy gully a good 1,500 feet high. It was testimony to Kershaw's natural athletic ability that Bonington had judged him able to do it at all.

"Just the same, I don't think you should go back alone," Frank said.

"What, stay here?"

"Sure. Look, the weather is getting better so why not catch a few hours sleep, then go with us to the summit."

Kershaw beamed. Here was a chance to see his dream through.

d.i.c.k and Marts zippered their bags together, and the three jammed in for a cozy nap, with d.i.c.k in the middle. We knew Bonington would be waiting for Kershaw at base camp, but we guessed that after a while he would climb up to see what had happened.

We were asleep when Bonington arrived. He agreed it was sensible keeping Kershaw from returning alone down the gully, but he still insisted it was not the best idea for him to go to the summit.

"His first duty is with the safety of the aircraft," Bonington said, making the type of dispa.s.sionate a.n.a.lysis that had made him the world's preeminent expedition leader.

"You're probably right," d.i.c.k agreed, "but I sure hate to lose half of my sleeping bag warming team."

Then, quoting the "Cremation of Sam McGee," d.i.c.k recited, "'Since I left PlumTree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm.'"

As he had before, Kershaw was quick to agree with Bonington's a.s.sessment, and following a cup of tea the two returned to the plane.

We used the few hours remaining before our planned departure to catch a little more sleep. We awoke at 3:00 A.M A.M., but now the clouds were scudding over the ridge above camp, indicating wind above. By 6:00 it had eased, and although it was still cloudy we decided to chance it.

We made good time now that we knew the best way to weave around the seracs, the best route to skirt the creva.s.ses. We all felt strong, and climbed at a good pace. But with each step forward, the clouds seemed to close an increment inward, and by the time we reached the site where before we had set up camp 2 we knew our luck was out. I was worried we might get into white-out conditions that would make it difficult to find our way back to our tents. And if that happened, and if the wind were to come up even more ... again, there was that omnipresent potential for danger that this frozen, inorganic, austere place had, like a feeling that some sort of shadowy, undefined concern was always following at our heels.

"We better throw in the towel," I said.

So we returned once again to camp 1, silently retracing our steps.

The next "morning" Steve Marts opened the tent door. "Well, Frank," he said, holding the door open so the others could see outside, "what do you think?"

"I can't tell," Frank said, staying in his sleeping bag while he propped up on one arm, "whether that's steam from our stove I'm looking at, or reality."

"I'm afraid it's reality," Marts said, zipping the tent door back up as he placed another snow chunk in the pot of boiling water positioned next to the door. Indeed, conditions outside appeared about as soupy as the steam rising from the pot, and our thermometer indicated 35 below.

"But I'm confident we'll get our break," Frank said. "Remember, it's springtime down here, with the good weather still to come. We just have to wait for it."

"I'm glad to see you're thinking positive again, Pancho," d.i.c.k said. "I'm telling you, we'll get it this next time. I've got this thing where the third time always works the charm. Just like when I got to the top of the Matterhorn with my kids on the third try. You watch, it'll be the same here."

As the storm continued for another day and a half we spent the time sleeping, eating, or sitting in Frank and d.i.c.k's tent telling stories, listening to d.i.c.k recite poetry, or singing songs.

We still planned on our next attempt to try to climb directly from this camp to the summit-over 5,000 feet of vertical-again reasoning that if we only had a short window of good weather, this strategy would be more likely to succeed. But now Miura and Maeda had a different thought.

"Frank is maybe not strong enough to go all the way at once. Maybe it would be better if we carry up and make camp two again, rest there, then go to top."

"But it will take longer," I countered.

"I have an idea," Frank said. "What if Steve and I stay at camp two, and the rest of you go in one push?"

There was wisdom in the proposal. It would maximize our chances if the good weather were only brief, and yet, if the good weather lasted, Frank would have a better shot at the top. I only had one concern.

"The thing is safety," I said. "If the weather comes in, it would be just the two of you up there. You'd have to make certain your decisions were conservative, and not take any unnecessary risk."

"If I take any risk, it'll be calculated," Frank said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Bonington said the risk of staying at camp two was the one-in-thirty storm. I've been thinking about that, and Vinson is important enough to me that those numbers seem okay."

I remembered that conversation earlier in the year, with the Everest team at Camp 2 just after the first summit team had returned, when we all had agreed that the heart of mountaineering was the freedom for every man to choose his own odds. That still seemed fair enough, but my concern was the same as it had been then: that Frank be careful enough to make sure he stacked those numbers as much as possible in his favor. It wasn't enough to rely only on luck, though admittedly that played a part. I had noticed Frank still had around his neck the sacred red string from the lama at Tengboche that the Sherpas had given him during the blessing ceremony at Everest base camp before going into the Icefall.

We agreed to the plan, then a short time later Miura and Maeda were back in the big tent saying they had decided they would go with Frank and Steve, and also stay over in camp 2. Just as they had opted to turn back with Frank on the first summit attempt, we suspected their motivations this time were based on their wish to help Frank get to the top.

So it would be just d.i.c.k and me on the first attempt. We left the tent, Miura and Maeda returning to their shelter, me to the small tent I had been sharing with Bonington. I fell asleep to the sound of spindrift spattering the tent. When I awoke I checked my watch: a ten-hour sleep. I recalled my dream, and thought how for me the expedition had just turned a corner, as my dreams had changed from s.e.x to food. One thing about mountaineering, it does order your priorities.

I also noticed my tent had nearly collapsed. I zipped open the entrance, and instead of sky and mountain all I saw was an amorphous gray wall. I was buried in snow, with no shovel to dig out.

"Anybody awake? Can you hear me?"

In a moment Frank was over digging me out. When finally I could peer out I saw the weather wasn't nearly as bad as my burial suggested; in fact the clouds were thinning and the wind had died. After "breakfast" (it was 1:00 in the afternoon) we made the decision. d.i.c.k and I would leave in a couple of hours, carrying some of Frank's gear to camp 2 en route on our summit effort. The others would wait a few more hours after we left in the hopes that Bonington would arrive with another load of food. We were now so short there was only enough for two meals, and we knew that even with more provisions up here our food supply back at the plane was so low that this was most likely our final chance.

It was 4:00 in the afternoon when d.i.c.k and I got away. We realized that for the last half of our climb we would be in the coldest part of the twenty-four-hour cycle, but since this calm weather could be brief, we had to take advantage of it while it lasted.

For the first several hours we were in sun and quite comfortable. We made good time back to the site of camp 2, and stopped to unload Frank's gear. Then the sun moved in its sidewise crawl behind Vinson and we entered shadow. There was no wind, but for some reason it was far colder than anything we had yet experienced. We didn't have a thermometer with us, but certainly it was 40 below and probably colder. We climbed slowly but very steadily. At one point, after we had been moving for six hours without stop, d.i.c.k motioned he wanted to rest. He pulled his water bottle from his pack, and even though he had it encased in an insulated cover it was frozen solid. My candy bar was frozen too, and biting on it was like chomping down on a bar of steel.

We had stopped for perhaps a minute when I realized we were quickly losing body heat.

"My toes are starting to go on me," d.i.c.k said, "and my fingers, too. Lord, but it's a cold mother."

We were doing a little war dance, walking in circles stamping our feet and swinging our arms.

Then d.i.c.k got poetic: "'Talk of your cold/through the parka's fold/it stabbed like a driven nail.'"

"Dan McGrew?"

"No, Sam McGee. You know, I always enjoyed reading reading it, but it, but living living it is something else." it is something else."

"I think I'm getting more worn out from this rest than from climbing," I said. "Let's get moving."

As we continued upward, we stomped our feet with each step to force blood to our toes. We had constantly to switch our ice axes from hand to hand as the steel conducted cold through our double-layer mittens. My goggles were beginning to ice again, and I made the mistake of pushing them up on my forehead. When I brought them down again they had cooled so quickly away from the heat of my face that the plastic lens had buckled and they were now useless. As we were still in shadow, and there was no wind, I decided to go without them, although that meant with no covering I had to be careful to keep my face mask hitched over my nose. Without protection, it would have frozen in minutes.

I had an idea that we could avoid the technical rock "picket fence" section where I had turned around on my attempt with Bonington by traversing further around the backside of the summit pyramid, then climbing up. Doing this, we also climbed into a very welcome stretch of sunlight. It was still brutally cold, but our progress was steady and soon we were climbing a steepening slope that led to the ridge just below the final summit rise. d.i.c.k was behind me, following my footsteps. We were unroped, as there was no way in this cold to stop and make the belays that would have justified using a rope.