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?

FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DALLY, our daily treks ended early in the afternoon, but rarely before the heat and aching feet forced us to ask each passing Sherpa, “How much farther to camp?” The reply, we soon were to discover, was invariable: “Only two mile more, Sah’b.” Still, we never ceased asking and only rarely were we disappointed with the reply.

To those who have struggled with them the mountains reveal beauties they will not disclose to those who make no effort.

We never grow tired of each other, the mountain and I.

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.

I found that risk is an essential ingredient to life. The ability to accept uncertainty enables one to stay cool during crisis. The willingness to risk also underpins discovery: creativity in science or art or other ventures into the unknown. Finally, accepting that outcomes are commonly uncertain and failure often possible (for that is inherent in

Dehydration is an important cause of deterioration above 21,000 feet.

This knot tied me to the past, to experiences known, to difficulties faced and overcome. To tie it here in this lonely morning on Everest brought my venture into context with the known, with that which man might do. To weave the knot so smoothly with clumsily mittened hands was to assert my confidence, to assert some competence in the face of the w

As Willi and I stood on top of Everest at sunset on May 22, 1963,