It wasn't the first time Frank and d.i.c.k had kicked around the idea of doing all seven climbs in one calendar year. It was an attractive idea for several reasons. First, as Frank just said, it would be a lot easier to maintain conditioning by climbing them back to back. Second, they would have all their gear and equipment organized, and third, neither of them was getting any younger.

"Kind of makes a nice packaged chapter in our lives," d.i.c.k said.

Frank asked Jack Wheeler to research the logistics of the idea, to make sure the climbing seasons on the various mountains fit together; Wheeler reported it was feasible.

"Nineteen eighty-three should be the year to shoot for," Frank now said to d.i.c.k. "That would give us next year to make all the plans, plus give me a chance to go on more practice climbs. And speaking of that, got any ideas where we might go next? How about that friend of yours, Marty Hoey? Maybe she could take us up Rainier."

Finding Marty wasn't easy. Her movements were unpredictable, as though she purposefully threw red herrings across her path. A friend told d.i.c.k she was climbing somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, another said he had seen her recently in Alaska, high on McKinley. d.i.c.k left messages, but before any of them found her Marty happened on her own to call d.i.c.k.

"I've got something you might be interested in," she said, "a way you can get to Everest."

"Are you serious?"

"With the Rainier Mountaineering Guides. Lou Whittaker (who co-owned the guide service) has a permit from the Chinese to try Everest from the Tibet side, next spring. We're looking at the Great Couloir on the North Wall-n.o.body's ever climbed it. Now Lou's having trouble raising funds, and I just had this thought. What if you were to partially underwrite the expedition in exchange for coming on the climb?"

"Marty, that sounds fantastic."

d.i.c.k then told Marty about his chance acquaintance with Frank Wells, and how they had agreed to do the Seven Summits together and that they had just gone to Elbrus.

"Maybe he could join the team, too," d.i.c.k said.

"Possibly," Marty replied. "I'll ask about both of you."

"That would be great, Marty. But listen, when you're talking to Whittaker and those guys, don't mention the Seven Summits. It might sound presumptuous, and I don't want them thinking we're a couple of blowhards. Also, we want you to take us up Rainier sometime soon."

After hanging up, d.i.c.k broke into his uncontained smile. He couldn't believe his good fortune. First he meets Frank, and now this.

Must be G.o.d's will, d.i.c.k thought.

But things like this were typical in d.i.c.k's life. He could make a full-page checklist just to wad it an hour later because an unexpected phone call-a new opportunity-was suddenly sending him in a different direction. Over the years he had learned to keep his nose to the wind for such things because many of the major breaks in his life, such as s...o...b..rd and the Seven Summits, had been the result of unexpected encounters. But d.i.c.k knew things didn't happen just because you had chance encounters: the trick was to recognize their potential and then do something about them.

d.i.c.k knew immediately this had enormous potential. One of the biggest hurdles planning the Seven Summits was getting to Everest, since the mountain was booked until 1990. An attempt to get on board with the Spanish team who had a spring 1982 permit for the Nepal side had come to naught, as the Spaniards weren't interested in having two Americans on their climb, no matter what they chipped in toward expenses.

And now this manna from heaven.

d.i.c.k called Frank, who was immediately enthusiastic. The only drawback was the route. It would be a major challenge for d.i.c.k and Frank to attempt the so-called normal South Col route on the Nepalese side-the one Hillary had pioneered on the first successful ascent in 1953-but the Whittaker group was proposing an unclimbed line right up the enormous North Wall.

"But even if we don't make it, it'll be a fantastic learning experience for when we do all our seven summits in eighty-three," Frank said.

"Well partner," d.i.c.k said, "You wanted me to find you a practice climb!"

A few days later Frank and d.i.c.k were at a restaurant near the base of Rainier to meet Whittaker and a few members of the Everest team. Lou Whittaker was fifty-two, stood six foot five, and with a lumberjack's build looked as fit as the younger guides who worked for him. Lou had climbed Rainier over 200 times. Most of the other team members were professionals with the Rainier Mountaineering Guide Service who climbed nearly every day of the season. They were deeply tanned by the strong sun off Rainier's glaciers and obviously very fit. One member, though, who was notably not a guide, was Jim Wickwire, a Seattle attorney. Wickwire was best known as one of the summit climbers on the first American ascent of K2, the world's second highest peak, and also noted as the one who made an emergency bivouac near the summit, without sleeping bag or tent. It was a severe ordeal that cost him part of a big toe to frostbite, and also part of his left lung, later removed in surgery.

"One thing to clear at the outset," Whittaker said, "is even though you two guys will be paying part of the expenses, you'll be coming on this climb like any other member of the team. We know you won't be doing any of the lead climbing, but once the ropes are fixed you will be expected to do your share of load carrying. We want this to feel like one team, not one team plus two guys who are paying for part of it."

Frank and d.i.c.k were pleased; the last thing they wanted was to be pampered. Both were sensitive to buying a slot on the expedition when everyone else had gained it from years of hard work. "Just treat us like the others and we'll be happy," Frank said. There was one other item: would it be possible to bring Jack Wheeler? Here the Everest team demurred; the addition of each new person upped the logistic requirements, and everyone felt they were already at their limits.

The rest of the meeting was spent discussing those logistics: buying and packing for seventeen people for three months, ordering oxygen bottles, clothing, tents, ropes, and special oxygen regulators, and shipping everything to Peking in advance of their departure. Most of the team had experience with these types of things and there would be little for Frank or d.i.c.k to do other than get in shape and hopefully work in some practice climbs.

"Understand you've made a deal with Marty to take you up Rainier in the morning," Whittaker said. "This is a good place to start your practice."

It was a two-day climb, but as they left the hut on the summit day, Frank again fell behind.

"Try to get into a rhythm," Marty suggested. "Make a step, then take a deep breath and force it out through pursed lips. Move your ice axe, then make the next step."

Frank practiced this "pressure breathing," inhaling and exhaling loudly, but he was still too slow to keep up. Finally Marty ordered him to turn around and go back down with one of the other guides while she took d.i.c.k to the summit.

Rainier was strike three for Frank, but again he felt far from being called out. He was convinced all he needed was yet more practice climbs. It was Wickwire who came up with the idea of going to Aconcagua. It was perfect. The mountain was in the southern hemisphere, so they could go there in December or January, two months before Everest. It was also the highest peak in South America, and even though Frank and d.i.c.k didn't make a point of it, they were attracted to the idea of getting practice on another of their Seven Summits. In addition to Wickwire, a couple of the others on the Everest team, including Marty, said they would like to go.

At 22,835 feet Aconcagua is not only the highest peak in South America but the highest in the western hemisphere. Lying in Argentina but close to the border with Chile and only a little north of the lat.i.tude of Santiago, Aconcagua is a ma.s.sive volcanic peak with a complex of faces, ridges, and glaciers. They knew the "ruta normal" was easy, maybe too easy since they were looking for pre-Everest training. On the other side of the mountain the Polish Glacier route would have climbing challenges similar to Everest but on a smaller scale. It sounded like the best objective. They decided to make the climb in January 1982, two months before leaving for Everest.

There was little for Frank and d.i.c.k to do but arrange their business lives in order to take the time off. For d.i.c.k that meant trying to get as much advance work done as possible on the next development stage of s...o...b..rd: a time-share, condominium then only in blueprints. For Frank, though, it was a different problem. There was no way to get his work done in advance, since it was a continuing process that each day needed full attention. Just to get time off for the Elbrus climb had been difficult. Now he was looking at three weeks for Aconcagua followed by three months for Everest followed by much of the following year for all seven summits in 1983. It would be unfair to ask either his colleagues at the studio or the chairman of parent Warner Communications, Steven Ross, for that kind of sabbatical. He realized he was looking at a choice: Seven Summits, or the presidency of Warner Bros. But not both.

Frank's working career spanned twenty-five years from Stanford Law School to a job in a firm specializing in entertainment law, to the other side of the negotiating table working for Warner Bros. He worked very hard, a habit begun as a student when he was at the top of his cla.s.s at Pomona College as a Phi Beta Kappa summa c.u.m laude summa c.u.m laude political science major, at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar where he received a coveted "first," and at Stanford Law School where he was a note editor of the law review and in the Order of the Coif. In the entertainment law firm and later at Warner Bros., Frank most days worked twelve to fifteen hours, six or seven days a week with two weeks vacation a year-unless work cancelled the ski jaunt to Vail or the beach break on Hawaii. political science major, at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar where he received a coveted "first," and at Stanford Law School where he was a note editor of the law review and in the Order of the Coif. In the entertainment law firm and later at Warner Bros., Frank most days worked twelve to fifteen hours, six or seven days a week with two weeks vacation a year-unless work cancelled the ski jaunt to Vail or the beach break on Hawaii.

And Frank loved it. He thrived on the thrill of an industry that was at heart a gambler's Eden, where you risked $15 million on a picture that belly-flopped with a whack that left your ears ringing until the next quarter showed your $6 million dollar picture had grossed $45 million in its first six weeks. He enjoyed, too, the residuals that were part of the chiefdomship in an industry synonymous with glamour. It was not so much the tangible perks (he was too aligned with social welfare concerns and liberal politics to feel comfortable with too much ostentatious show of success), but the intangible enjoyments of corporate life: the authority, the pleasure of having bright a.s.sociates to execute plans, the ability to make important decisions quickly and then move on to the next problem.

So in the fall of 1981 Frank Wells had a great job, a wonderful wife, two bright, athletic, and polite kids, a Beverly Hills home, a weekend beach house, condos in Vail and Sun Valley, interesting and often famous friends, a loving mother still alive, and financial security. Looking back there was nothing he would have done differently. He had no regrets. He was successful, and proud of it. In short, there was nothing in his profile that suggested midlife crisis. Yet he sensed he was about to make a decision that would be a radical life pa.s.sage, a buoy around which the course bearing of his life could very well sail in a different direction. And if anyone would have asked why he was considering such a change at the height of his corporate career, all he would have been able to answer was that it just plain felt right. Furthermore, at age forty-nine, he knew it was now or never.

If Frank Wells and d.i.c.k Ba.s.s had anything important in common it was their belief in following their hunches when a choice presented itself. When it came to decisions both men shunned a brooding a.n.a.lysis and preferred a quick, instinctual action. They took risks on visceral hunches. It was a modus operandi that had made their careers not only successful but also fun.

When the chance came to join the Everest expedition, forcing him either to go with or give up the Seven Summits dream, he thought about it for two days. Not full-time for two days-his schedule was much too busy for that. There were no long walks on the beach. He considered the tradeoffs, when he had a free moment to think about them, and found the balance weighed in favor of climbing. He would never have a similar chance. Besides, he told himself, how tragic it would be if someday he looked back and regretted not going with the opportunity. That thought did it: He met with Steven Ross.

"The other mountains, aside maybe from Antarctica with its logistics, I can get on my own," Frank told Ross. "But Everest, with all the problems getting permits, is a chance I can't pa.s.s. It's an American group too, and through China and Tibet, which will be very interesting and is another reason I'm doing this. And I would never think of doing it if I didn't know we had great management in place who can replace me and do it even better."

"I don't know anything about mountain climbing," Ross said, "but I can understand your feelings. When do you want to do it?"

"I don't want it to leak out. So we should announce it very soon, effective January one."

The next day Ross and Frank called a meeting of the top thirty executives in the company, and Frank announced his decision. The following morning Frank came downstairs to his breakfast table to find the industry paper Variety Variety with the headline, with the headline, "Wells Quits Warners to Scale Mountain." "Wells Quits Warners to Scale Mountain." With that, he crossed his Rubicon. With that, he crossed his Rubicon.

The Aconcagua team was set. In addition to Frank and d.i.c.k, there would be Marty Hoey, George "Geo" Dunn (another Rainier guide), Jim Wickwire (the Seattle attorney), and Chuck Goldmark (a partner in Wickwire's law firm).

For Frank, the climb would be his first exposure to really high-alt.i.tude, expedition-style mountaineering. Elbrus had been more like the European Alps where climbs are one-to-three-day affairs, often with guides and usually taking advantage of huts. But Aconcagua via the Polish Glacier had all the elements of an expedition climb: an approach march of several days through wilderness to the foot of the glacier where base camp would be established, another week or more establishing camps each a day's climb apart, ferrying loads between these camps to stock them. They planned to set two or three camps above their base camp. The first camp would be stocked with enough provisions so the climbers could move into it and from there work up to the site of the next camp. Then they would ferry up more supplies. When this next camp was ready, they would occupy it and again scout the way to the next higher camp, from which they hoped to be in position to attempt the summit. In this way the establishment and provisioning of camps on a big mountain reflects in a sense the pyramidal shape of the mountain itself, where the lower camps are stocked with a far broader and larger quant.i.ty of supplies, and the upper camps contain just the narrow minimum necessary to support a summit team. In part because of the need to make several ferries of food and supplies from one camp to the other, and in part because of the need to move slowly to give time to adjust physically to the increasing alt.i.tude, the climb would take between two to three weeks if the weather was favorable.

One of the joys of expedition mountaineering is traveling to exotic places through offtrack regions, often accompanied by local porters or animal drivers. On Aconcagua the approach began at a trailhead off the trans-Andean highway connecting Merida and Santiago, where they hired mule drivers to pack their food and equipment to base camp. These mule drivers were dressed like the gauchos who ride the open ranges of Argentine Patagonia: legs sheathed in heavy leather chaps, boots armed with sharp spurs, heads protected with wide-rimmed hats, shoulders draped with ponchos woven of alpaca. Each carried on his saddle a three-ball bola, the South American la.s.so that can bring down with a quick flick any errant mules. The approach would take three days, and as they started out the two mule drivers herding the pack animals brought up the rear. It was January, the height of the austral summer, and the country was bare-rocked and dry save for the muddy Vacas River flowing in full flood.

Although d.i.c.k had been on one expedition climb (his ascent the previous spring of McKinley), this approach on foot through exotic countryside was also for him a new experience. They set a comfortable pace, sharing stories as they went, d.i.c.k doing most of the talking, including reciting poems and singing a wide range of songs. Here and there the trail steepened or pa.s.sed around boulders that demanded coordinated, concentrated footwork, and d.i.c.k had no trouble balancing across any difficulties without missing a sentence. But if d.i.c.k showed a natural sense of balance, Frank was awkward and depended on the two ski poles he carried as walking sticks. That Frank seemed a bit klutzy wasn't lost on the other climbers either, and in whispered speculation there was concern about the climb ahead, for if he did something wrong it wouldn't be just Frank's neck, since at least one of the others would be tied on the same rope.

They reached base camp without incident. Even with the few days' experience on the approach setting up camp each night, it still took Frank and d.i.c.k over two hours to level a platform and pitch their tent, mainly because Frank was tired and a.s.sumed a supervisory role. The team took the next day off to give themselves time to acclimatize to the 13,500-foot elevation, and also time to organize equipment and divide it into loads. The next day they each took one of the loads, between twenty and forty pounds, and followed the morainal scree toward the location of camp 1. It was a six-hour trip, and Frank was again by far the slowest.

"Let me take some of your weight," Marty told Frank.

He didn't protest, but even with a lighter pack he couldn't keep up. They cached their loads and returned to base camp, and that evening Wickwire observed that Frank hardly touched his dinner. That was a bad sign, and in his journal that night Wickwire wrote, "Frank is going to have to improve if he is to have a chance at the summit. He seems almost incapable of taking care of himself, and Ba.s.s has to look after him when we don't. Nonetheless, his gumption is there, and that's to be admired."

During the next three days they moved up to camp 1, then carried loads to the site of camp 2. They told Frank he could take a day off if he liked, but Frank insisted on trying to keep up.

d.i.c.k was doing very well, though, maintaining the pace, carrying as much weight as anyone. He was excited to be climbing with such hotshots as Wickwire, and as always he had great admiration for Marty. He marveled each time he saw this sprightly 125-pound gal strap onto her back a pack loaded as heavy as any of those the guys carried, and then not just keep the pace but often as not get out in the lead and set it. Since his climb with her up McKinley d.i.c.k held for Marty a tremendous admiration, and more than ever she was to him a source of great inspiration.

If that gal can do it, he kept telling himself, I sure think I can!

One afternoon it fell to d.i.c.k and Marty to melt snow for the evening's brew. At alt.i.tude, where the dry air dehydrates you and the lack of oxygen creates chemical imbalances in your blood that have to be flushed out by a high liquid intake, it is necessary to drink four or more quarts of water a day, and the job of melting that much snow is time consuming. d.i.c.k and Marty had their work cut out for them, and they pa.s.sed the time chatting.

"I haven't told anyone about your Seven Summits dream," Marty said. "You're still hot on it, aren't you?"

"You bet we are. Between you and me, Frank and I recognize there isn't a great chance we'll get up Everest this try, especially on a new route, so now we're talking about setting aside eighty-three and doing all seven peaks in one calendar year."

"I'd still love to be a part," Marty said. "You want me along?"

"Absolutely! How'd I ever expect to climb them without you?"

"Well, I'd love to do it. First, though, I guess we'd better concentrate on this initial Everest trip."

"Yeah, and I'm just not sure about it," d.i.c.k admitted candidly. "I know a person's abilities are only limited by their self-doubts, but when it comes to Everest I can't help having a few."

"To be truthful, I don't know how I'll do, either," Marty said.

"As long as we're confessing," d.i.c.k said, "there's something else I haven't told anyone. I don't want you to think I'm involved in some kind of mumbo-jumbo, but for some years my wife has been seeing this psychic, a well-known one around Dallas. Now again, I don't want you to think I'm dealing in the occult, but in the past I've had a few experiences with psychics telling me about what my business life is going to be like, and the accuracy of those predictions just makes my hair stand on end.

"Well, my wife insisted I go see this psychic before leaving on these climbs," d.i.c.k continued, "and this one predicted that on Everest we are going to have a tragedy, and somebody is going to get killed. So now my wife is up in arms, telling me not to go. The logic side of my brain tells me not to pay attention, but nevertheless I can't get away from it, and I guess it makes me feel better to share it with someone."

"I don't believe you can just dismiss those things, either," Marty said. "You never know. And this climbing business is even more dangerous than you presently realize. I think something like two out of three expeditions that tries Everest loses at least one person."

There was a silence, then Marty said, "You know, Ba.s.s, I might not come back from Everest."

"Don't be silly, Marty. I didn't mean to put ideas in your head."

"You never know. But if I should make the big mistake, make sure they leave me on the mountain. And another thing, I wouldn't want any mourning. In fact, I would want all my friends to have a wake, but to have it as a big party and not to be sad. Because if I should happen to make the big mistake, I would be going out doing what I love the most, and that's really not that sad."

If it were in the cards for someone to make a fatal mistake even on this Aconcagua climb, lack of experience and climbing ability would seem to have placed Frank Wells in favored position. If he had been awkward on the approach march to the Polish Glacier route, then he was clumsy and unbalanced on the hard snow, where they had to strap crampons on their boots. The only other time Frank had worn crampons was on Mont Blanc (on Elbrus he had turned back before needing them). It takes some experience to learn to step comfortably with ten steel spikes protruding from the bottom of your boot, and Frank was finding himself not only mistakenly edging his crampons (causing them to slip out from underneath him) but also sometimes hooking the points on the inside of his opposite calf. On the lower glacier, where the slope was low-angled, tripping yourself like that was only an inconvenience; up near the summit, however, it could be fatal.

This climbing business was not child's play, as was all too clearly brought home to them by a frozen, weathered body they pa.s.sed near the bottom of the glacier above camp 2. Ten days after beginning the climb they had established camp 3, their high camp, at 20,500 feet, and were ready in the morning for a summit attempt. That was, weather permitting. Until then every day had been brilliantly clear, but now clouds brought afternoon hail and there was concern a major storm would develop. Still, Wickwire made plans in case the dawn brought clear skies.

"We'll go in two ropes of three," he told everyone. "Marty with d.i.c.k and Chuck, me with Frank and Geo."

In this way Wickwire would keep each rope team at maximum strength. He knew he had the big challenge, getting Frank to the top of the mountain, but Marty, who had been tied to Frank all day, said he was doing better. Everyone felt good, too, and that evening they ate a hearty meal, had an extra cup of cocoa, and were to sleep early.

At 4:00 A.M. Wickwire poked his head out of the tent and saw a clear night sky. The morning star was so bright it cast a thin line of light on the glacial ice. It was absolutely still and quiet.

"Okay, everybody, we got our break. Let's get ready."

After a breakfast of instant oatmeal followed by several cups of tea and cocoa (knowing even with that they would be dehydrated before day's end) the climbers dressed and left camp. First light exposed the clear sky. There was no talk; each person kept his or her own thoughts; the only sound was of the cold steel spikes of their crampons squeaking as they bit into the icy dawn glacier. For a hundred feet their movements were mechanical, until they could walk out the night's stiffness and dispel that slight nauseous feeling that comes from predawn departures at high alt.i.tude. The brilliant light of the morning star held long after other stars had disappeared, but finally it too was absorbed into day and soon direct sun was on them. They made their first stop to shed parkas.

Above they could see the angle steepened to 30 degrees, and sometimes even 40 degrees. There were several large sections that showed the telltale gleam of hard ice. Normally this would have been no cause for concern, but as climbing ice (as opposed to snow) requires more expert technique, there was the question of how Frank could get past these sections. George Dunn led across the first; the others followed. As expected, Frank had problems.

d.i.c.k could see Frank was incorrectly keeping his ankles rigid instead of bending them so all ten points of his crampons bit evenly. When it got steeper Frank tended to weight the uphill edge of his boot even more. This was probably habit from downhill skiing, but in climbing such technique is disastrous. d.i.c.k mentioned this, but his advice didn't seem to make any difference. It was similar to the incident on Elbrus with the heavyweight underwear, and as he had then d.i.c.k began to wonder about his Seven Summits partner.

The others were also wondering. Frank was tied on a rope with Wickwire and Geo, and if Frank were to slip on the slick ice it was questionable whether they could hold him. Wickwire looked down the slope and imagined the long ride, certain to end in injury at best. But if they stopped to anchor the rope and give Frank a safety belay up each section, the time required would eliminate any chance of reaching the top in time to descend before nightfall.

Wickwire realized it had been a mistake to choose the Polish Glacier route. He wondered if perhaps they could traverse west and connect with the easier ruta normal. They decided to try, and with Wickwire leading they crossed a fan of scree that was like trying to traverse a sand dune. It was hard going, but at least safe. Spotting a gully that looked like it might connect to the summit ridge on the regular route, Wickwire went to scout it while the. others waited.

"Bad news," he said when he got back. "It's a cul-de-sac."

"I'd like to keep traversing anyway," Marty said. "See if we could connect at a lower alt.i.tude."

"It'd be a long way," Wickwire pointed out. "And it's eleven-thirty already."

"It would be a good reconnaissance if nothing else," Marty countered.

"I'll go with you," Geo offered.

"Why don't we all go?" Frank said.

"Are you serious?" Wickwire stated incredulously. "It'll be extremely close if Marty and Geo don't get stuck bivouacking."

But Frank was serious. It was as though in his limited experience he could not realize just how slow and awkward he really was. Frank knew he was the weak link but what he didn't know was how easy it would be for him to push himself into a position he couldn't get out of.

"I'll take the others here back to camp," Wickwire told Marty.

"You're giving up on a summit try, then?" she asked.

"No. I might solo the Polish Glacier route in the morning."

Now it was the others' turn to be incredulous, but they knew Wickwire was experienced enough to judge such matters. Without further discussion the team split, Marty and Geo continuing on the traverse, the others descending to high camp.

They were quiet as they worked their way down a broad slope. Back at camp the mood was glum. Even d.i.c.k was too disappointed to strike up conversation. Frank collapsed outside his tent in the sun and was soon asleep. Wickwire got the binoculars and starting scanning the upper slopes to see if he could locate an alternate route on the Polish Glacier free of creva.s.ses so he could make a solo attempt the next day. One way looked possible but still would involve crossing the bergshrund, the wide creva.s.se where the head of the glacier separated from the mountain.

To keep his mind off his disappointment, d.i.c.k concentrated on reading an account of a previous climb up the Polish Glacier, figuring such background might prove helpful. But he knew his chances were slim. If Marty and Geo came back too tired, and if Wickwire was going to solo in the morning, there was no hope that he could climb the mountain by himself. Obviously, Frank and Goldmark, both having trouble with the alt.i.tude, were out of it.

Maybe I ought to tell Wickwire how much I'd love to go with him, d.i.c.k thought.

But he hesitated.

No, he thought, I'm the neophyte and I'd better stay in my place. d.i.c.k read the article for the third time, then noticed Frank was getting sunburned.

"Frank, wake up," d.i.c.k yelled.

"Huh?"

"You've got to learn to watch after yourself. You're getting sunburned."

Frank wouldn't move, so d.i.c.k got Wickwire to help drag him inside their tent, where he lay motionless the rest of the afternoon. d.i.c.k went back to the article. About 5:30 Marty and Geo returned, looking exhausted, and sat down on their packs without saying anything. d.i.c.k wasn't sure how far up they had made it, but he figured they looked so wiped out there was no chance they'd want to try it again tomorrow. Wickwire started the stove to make the pair a hot drink.

Marty looked over to d.i.c.k and said, "Whoever said this mountain is an easy walk up is full of it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's a long way up there."