Everest: The West Ridge, Anniversary Edition

It would not be a matter of living with our fellow man, but simply living with ourselves, with the knowledge that we had had more to give.

Those who will attack it, must stand ready for that meeting to strip themselves of all the ordinary things that men desire, all the normal; and easy gracious things of life—ready even, if need be, to give up life itself.

Nothing so difficult existed on Everest, on terrain already so well known. This was fortunate, for cold and altitude would make such rock unclimbable. The measure was more of the man than of his climbing ability.

Intense cold penetrated, carrying with it the realization that each of us was completely alone. Nothing Willi could do for me or I for him. No team now, just each of us, imprisoned with his own discomfort, his own thoughts, his own will to survive.

In the bitter, pre-sun cold, Al and Barry departed. They carried fixed rope, pitons, ice screws, and one oxygen cylinder each. They also carried all our hopes for the following day.

We need to learn again those essential qualities in our own selves which make us what we are: the energy of our bodies, the alertness of our minds, curiosity and the desire to satisfy it, fear and the will to conquer it.

Too much labor, too many sleepless nights, and too many dreams had been invested to bring us this far. We couldn’t come back for another try next weekend. To go down now, even if we could have, would be descending to a future marked by one huge question: what might have been?

As we sat there, the realization came that we were finished, demolished, literally blasted off the mountain. We hadn’t even sunk our teeth solidly into the climb. I felt no gratitude that we had escaped with our lives, only awe at the power unleashed on us, and a dissatisfied feeling of finality to all our dreams.

I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets: Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.