THIS UPDATE ©2005 - NOT FOR PUBLICATION ELSEWHERE

Summit day, 04.06.05 at 7.00am, ~8840m. Photo taken by MINGMA NURU SHERPA

Well, you might have already heard, but if you didn't: WE ALL MADE IT!!!

At 6am on the 4th June 2005; Di, Jake, Mingma and Aneil reached the summit of Mt Everest 8850m, the highest mountain on earth. Jake completed his 7 summits and became the youngest Briton to summit, and the youngest male in the world to complete the 7. Di became the first British female guide to get a client to the summit. Mingma summited for the 3rd time and Aneil for his first. Wow, what a bunch of superstars! Now for the tedious narrative of the last few days (I don't want to ruin the ending; but it's a goodie!).

Day 61 (1st June)
An early start for launch of our summit attempt. A quick brekkie and weather round up (same as before) and then up the hill we went. We had the fantastic idea of walking up in our trainers and carrying our boots to the barrels. In case I haven't described this route march before, the barrels are where we leave a barrel (hence the name) of our crampons and ice axes at the start of the snow and ice. However to get there from ABC you have to clamber through this myriad of boulders and scree which 'lubricates' the ground between the south facing slope Changtse and the glacier which runs of the North Col. It's not as if it's steep, it might only rise 50 meters in it's 1km length, but there's just something evil about it. It is the Devils skid mark on the mountain. I think that it must be something about walking across that kind of terrain at this altitude (6400m). It is an unpleasant assault on your ankles, and seems to go on forever. Anyway, enough of my bitching, I think that you get the idea that it's not pleasant.

As we were leaving the camp, we came across Tim (British KE), who had summited the two days previously, and had just got down the evening before. It was great to see him, and many congratulations were in order for him, and he gave us a few precious gems of information about the route. It was 7.48 when we left him, and we got up to our tent almost exactly 4 hours later. We were the only climbers going up the fixed ropes as it was still early, and the going was easy. The first ladder could now be missed out as a snow bridge of sufficient strength had built up alongside it. We met two Russian climbers coming down, at least one of whom had summited. The second had lost one of his crampons, and as he was abseiling down one of the 90 degree sections, he slipped and fell. If it hadn't been for Di's quick thinking, as she dived across and grabbed the end of the rope and pulled it tight, he might have hit the floor with quite a thud! What a hero (again)!

So we arrived at the North Col (7100m) at about midday, and immediately started brewing up and eating as much as we could. Now that we were making our final summit bid, it was imperative that we ate as much as possible to maintain our strength and drank constantly to keep hydrated. The sky was a wonderful clear azure blue and the sun hovered above us like a hungry vulture. At about 2pm, Jamie (Project Himalaya) appeared coming down from the 7500m camp in his Down suit. We gave him several cups of hot juice whilst he told us what had happened. He had made a summit attempt that morning, but had turned round at the second step with his British 'client' Paul. Apparently the winds had been too strong, so they had binned the attempt. Paul had stayed up there with his Sherpa and had managed to get extra oxygen and was going to make another attempt in a couple of days when the weather would hopefully improve. Wearily Jamie pulled on his incredibly heavy pack and continued over to his tent.

So, like a couple of mountain couch potatoes, Di and I spent the afternoon eating wine gums, Asda's finest Carrot cake cookies (v. good!) and then our boil in the bags. As the sun continued in its overhead arc and turned the sky from cobalt to a fiery orange as it began to sink behind Pumori in the West, we did our best to savor every last joule of warmth before burrowing deep into our sleeping bags.

Day 62 (2nd June)
I was dreading this day. The endless snow slope up to the 7500m camp had defeated us once before, not only with its incessant boredom and ceaseless laboriousness, but its treacherous exposure. Not only were we going up this, we were going to continue on to our 7800m camp, stopping only briefly in 7500m to collect oxygen. As I stuck my head out of the tent early that morning, I could already see a few figures struggling up the icy incline. I made sure that I ate as much as I could to give my legs the as much energy as possible in preparation for this arduous task ahead. As we set off (dressed in our Down suits and high altitude gear) there we already about ten climbers on the ropes.

The climb was long and to start with we moved quickly and efficiently, overtaking several climbers and even a couple of Sherpas. We would pause regularly to catch our breaths, but only for a few moments before setting off again. On our left we looked down on the birth of the East Rongbuk Glacier, emerging pristine and faultless from the base of the North Col and the East Ridge. To our right the splendor of the west Everest region lay unfurled into the distance. The jutting incisor-like Pumori (7147m) in the foreground, and towards the rear of this vista lay the colossal behemoth of Cho Oyu (8201m, which Di climbed in 2004), its tremendous summit plateau shimmering in the morning sun. After several hours of trudging up the slope, and just as the angle began to increase, I could feel my energy slowly being sapped. The wind, the slope angle, the monotony; it all seemed to contribute in an effort to wear me out. False summit after false summit wore me out mentally, and I was having to sit down after every twenty steps or so. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the welcome sight of the camp came into view. With this multicolored cacophony of tents as my target, I found renewed strength to reach this checkpoint. As I collapsed exhausted into the camp, I wished that this had been our end objective for the day, as I thought that at this altitude, my legs would go no further. However, help was at hand! Two bottles of O2, with Adventure Peaks scrawled in black marker upon them were lying in the centre of the camp. We hunkered down out of the wind behind a couple of J/G tents for protection. I attached my regulator to the oxygen bottle, and tied the bottle to the outside of my rucksack. I turned the regulator up to 2 litres per minute and we started back into the wind. If I had been faltering before the O2, suddenly I had a new lease of life with it. I was now breathing normally, rather than my previous constant hyperventilating. My legs no longer burned with fatigue. My body was suddenly and miraculously working and responding to my will. It was like a sudden boost of power being supplied at 2 liters a minute. Oxygen is the climbers' elixir, and it worked well! Di had decided to keep going from 7500m to the camp without the O's, so that she didn't have to carry the heavy (3.5kg) bottle.

The topography had now changed from the odious snow slope to a scramble now that we had reached the rock bands. We were still following the fixed ropes, which now led us through the rocky terrain. It picked a sneaky trail through the seemingly impenetrable maze of rock-strewn territory. Di was finding it hard going without the oxygen; unsurprising at this altitude with a heavy pack on her back. The going was made especially tough by the fact that we were constantly having to clamber over obstacles and scramble round obstructions, following the line exactly like some type of umbilical cord. With the oxygen however I was feeling fantastic. I can't stress what a difference it made at that point, especially considering how close I had been to total exhaustion only a few minutes earlier. The obstacles posed no problem; they were even an enjoyment after the tediousness of the snow. We slowly weaved our way up through the confusion of broken strata. Wearing the oxygen mask and goggles I felt like Darth Vader, and kept on saying things to myself like; 'Luke, I am your Father' and breathing extra deep! I certainly felt invincible with my life-giving O's.

The sight of the tents at the 7800m camp was a welcome one, and as we neared them we were caught up by Mingma, who seemed to scramble over the rocks with his heavy pack as though he was merely out for a Sunday afternoon walk! Finally, some 7 hours after we started, we arrived at the tent. Our heavy rucksacks hit the ground with a thud, and we sank to the ground. Anil arrived a couple of hours later (after Mingma had gone back down to help him with his load). So like a happy little family, the 4 of us settled down for the night, very cosy in a 3 man tent! To fit in we had to sleep across the tent, rather than along it. This is fine, I suppose if you are five and a half feet or less like Di and the Sherps, but not great if you are over 6 foot like me! Also, somehow I managed to draw the short straw and was wedged between Di and the back door of the tent (the short straw being the back of the tent rather than Di, I'm not being rude!). The wind was still gusting hard outside and the back of the tent (and therefore me inside) was being continually buffeted and pounded. We all slept on oxygen, and at least that afforded us a night of low altitude simulated sleep; relatively fitful and filled with vivid dreams. The only problem was that my designated 6 inches width of sleeping space wasn't quite wide enough (!) and meant that occasionally I did wake up with my legs locked with uncomfortable stiffness!

Day 63 (3rd June)
Somehow, despite the abnormal circumstances of our sleeping arrangements, I awoke refreshed and raring to go. Maybe it was the benefits of sleeping on oxygen, or the fact that I knew that in only a few hours we would be leaving the high camp to make our summit bid. We had a quick breakfast, packed up our sleeping bags, strapped on the O's and set off early. We wanted to make good time up to the high camp in order to have the maximum amount of time to recharge, rehydrate and relax before the final push. We were all on O2 now. Even Mingma, who had already been up to 8300m without oxygen, was using it to ensure that he remained as strong as possible for the summit. We set off at a slow but steady pace, and before long arrived at the 7900m camp site, where the J/G and HimEx 'B' teams were staying. We stopped briefly to say good morning to Ian and Neil and that lot, before continuing on up the mountain. It was reassuring to have the fixed ropes, even on the easier terrain, as it gave an obvious line to follow. Once clipped on with our jumars, you would get into a familiar and methodical routine of taking a step, moving the jumar up, taking a breath, moving the other foot up, ad infinitum. Rather than a tiresome and repetitive action, it became a straightforward and systematic means of making your way slowing up. The most important thing was getting a rhythm going, and trying to keep going for as many steps as possible before stopping to rest. A slow and gentle trudge was all that was needed on the easy terrain. We worked our way up the lines away from the 7900m camp. The rope was soon heavy with climbers and sherpas; all gradually making their way along the trail. By about 11am we started seeing climbers coming down the ropes as well. They were all those who had attempted the summit the previous day, and a few of the faster, stronger ones from this mornings attempt as well. Throughout the morning I saw the J/G 'A' team coming down, all successful in their attempt. Dave, Alex, Tores and, as I got into camp, Sibu. Fred had binned his attempt the previous day, and we had seen him descending as we were making our way up to 7500m. They all looked knackered yet elated at having done it. It was fantastic seeing our new friends, especially having been successful. Their trip was full of stories of past triumph and failure. Alex finally had done it after 2 previous unsuccessful trips. Tores had attempted the mountain before and not made it, and hadn't been that well on the way up. Sibu, who had summitted on the south in 2003 (being the first black on to summit) had now succeeded on both sides. And Dave had done a fantastic job as leader, managing to hold his team whilst waiting for the weather. They had had several pretty horrendous nights up high by all accounts, yet they had done it. Eventually we pulled ourselves into the camp; a desolate series of platforms on a 20 degree talus slope. Our tent wasn't erected as yet, for fear of it being destroyed by the winds, so we struggled in the still quite blustery conditions to put it up and secure it, tying it to what rocks we could. The camp was a like a camping shop mass grave, with the tattered remains of tents flapping in the wind.

Even the worlds best designed and strongest tents cannot survive for long up here. The exceptionally high UV degradation eats away at the fabric, and the winds constant buffeting snaps the poles likes they are twigs. Anil arrived soon after we got the tent up, and he, Di and I climbed inside the shelter and started boiling water (from our water bottles) whilst Mingma went off to collect our summit oxygen he had previously cached and snow to melt. When he returned we once again all crammed into the tent, a tangle and muddle of limbs, half buried under a mountain of Down clothing.

We spent several hours eating and drinking as much as we could with the stove gently roaring away in the porch melting snow. The plan was to leave at around 10pm, so at about 5pm we all huddled down in our sleeping bags for a few hours rest before the big event. With the oxygen on at a flow of 1 litre per minute, we nervously tossed and turned in our bags, our excitement and apprehension devoiding us of the instant and exhausted passing out that would usually pursue the morning's strenuous work out. I went over our summit attempt over and over in my head, my mind imagining every conceivable situation. What if we didn't make it? What if we did? What if something went wrong? What would happen after the summit? How hard was the 2nd Step? What if the oxygen stopped working? What if the weather changed? I tried to consider multiple circumstances, especially the worst-case scenarios to ensure that I might be prepared for them in the event that they happened. As I lost myself in an over imaginative maelstrom of potential situations, thoughts turned to dreams, and amidst the gentle hiss of the oxygen, I feel asleep.

The first thing that I remember thinking when I awoke is that it wasn't very cold. I had taken off my Down suit and was sleeping only in a few thin fleeces with my sleeping bag fully unzipped (and once again next to the drafty and flapping rear door on the windward side). I suppose the fact that there were 4 of us cozily crammed in, and that the extra oxygen kept our extremities warm. It was about 9pm, and the stove went back on so that we could have another hot drink before we left. As we struggled back into our Down suits in the dark and cramped confines the adrenaline started to flow. This was it!

After two months of patient waiting here we were, poised at the high camp, preparing to enter the unknown in our attempt on the summit. We quickly and quietly went through our pre-summit preparation, like soldiers preparing for a final attack. Tensions and nerves were high, but as we went through the well practiced routine of getting our boots, harnesses and finally crampons on, there was an air of excitement present. Sitting in the porch I finished tightening my crampon straps, making sure that they were fitted tight and correctly, and crawled out into the night. Our headlights cut a swath of light through the inky darkness, yet the supposedly familiar ground even around the tent seemed alien and inhospitable.

Mingma did a sterling job preparing all our oxygen for us. For the summit attempt we would be using the 3 litre bottles rather than the 4 litre ones. Although they were of smaller capacity, they were lighter, an attribute that would be important to Di and I, as the lighter our packs, the stronger we would be. Mingma however, like the ox that he was, would be carrying four spare bottles for us. Once we were all ready we set off, following Mingma into the unknown. There seemed to be remarkably little activity in the camp. We were the first team to set off, which meant that hopefully we could travel at a comfortable speed, and not have to queue for the difficult sections. From the camp we rose rapidly up towards the ridge, following the ropes as they traced the safest route up. Before long the trail turned from a straightforward track into a scramble up complicated off-sized rock formations. This problematic terrain often threw up arrangements that required intricate and careful moves. All was silent bar the sound of crampons scraping painfully over the rocks underfoot and your own labored breathing in the masks. At that moment the ridgeline and summit pyramid protected us from the ferocity of the midnight wind, and we were glad to be out of its impeding cruelty.

Day 64 (4th June)
As we gained height we looked back down in the direction of the camp. Even though we couldn’t see the camp itself, a small snake of torch-lights wiggled its way slowly up below us. Although the sky seemed clear, there was little moonlight to add ambient light to aid our navigating of the ropes. Our vision was confined to the strength of our headlamps struggling to pierce the gloom. It was hard to focus on the stars, with the light pollution from our own illuminations reducing our eyes appreciation of their radiance. Above our heads, silhouetted against the gloom, we could make out the towering bulk of the ridgeline, which was slowly getting closer. We started to notice that the fixed ropes were becoming more of a jumble. Rather than one or two clean and new ropes, there were many lines, some not more than a few strands thick in places, worn thin by the ravages of the mountain. Mingma would climb up ahead of us to check the quality of the lines as it wasn't always clear at one end which ropes would maintain their worth to the next anchor. Our familiar blue 7mm Bluewater cords were now not the sole identifiable safeties. It might be follow the black and yellow rope for one section, then a red one from last year for the next. It was lucky that Mingma was being thorough. A number of times I might have considered clipping one line as my safety; only to find that after twenty metres or so it was reduced to a few mangy strands of its core as it rubbed against a jagged rocky corner. We came to one tricky section of the climb, where we were reduced to scrabbling up a sheer rock face, in a style that would have made our rock climbing mentors cringe; grabbing handfuls of ropes, crampons scraping ineffectually all over the rock, our bodies flailing incompetently as we struggled up this wall.

It's not as though it was a blank and sheer face; but with the crampons, big boots, bulky clothing, depredation by the altitude and the horrendous tunnel vision created by the mask and goggles meant that we were reduced to mere shadows of our former low altitude rock climbing prowess. Oh well; at least it was dark and nobody was watching! When we collapsed exhausted over the top having surmounted this apparent White Spider of problems, Mingma proudly announced that that had been the 1st Step. Hold on; if that was the 1st Step, then we've still got to negotiate the harder second step. Uh oh, that'll be something to look forward to. We had now reached the ridgeline, and so we traveling in more of a horizontal direction along it rather than vertical one up it. This certainly gave a little much need respite for the legs, but now meant that we were following some pretty narrow ledges. The crampons worked well and gave confidence underfoot on the snow and unconsolidated scree where they could bite, but on the solid smooth rock sections they would scratch and scrape insecurely. Even Di, who as an experienced Scottish winter climber, would make tentative steps out onto these 'slippery' sections, and I would follow even more hesitantly, anxious that my feet might slide out from underneath me at any moment. Several times my foot placements were either mistaken, or in my caution I didn't put enough pressure on them, and they would shift ever so slightly. These movements, of mere millimeters, would make my heart jump, and after overcoming these sections I would realise that I had been holding my breath throughout; not an action that is recommended at 8600m!

At one point we were edging around an exposed section when I saw a pair of plastic boots lying on a buildup of snow next to me. At first I wondered why there would be a pair of abandoned boots up here, and then I noticed that they weren't abandoned; there were a pair of legs sticking out of them and leading into the snow. My first thought was one of pure horror and revulsion, but as I carried on walking away from the grizzly scene I realized that actually I had been expecting so see bodies. The higher slopes of the mountain are littered with them, and it is part and parcel of the summit experience; a constant reminder of the inherent risks involved with climbing Everest. At least someone had had the decency to bury this particular body. With a little imagination and a lot of denial, you could tell yourself that it was just a pair of boots and nothing more. Di hadn't even noticed it, and as we carried on climbing the morbid scene soon left the forefront of my mind.

By this time several of the torch lights following us had caught up and were trailing close behind. I was rather concerned because maybe this meant that we were traveling too slowly, but whether this was due to our overly cautious nature in checking and selecting the ropes, our incompetence in getting over the harder sections quickly or just fatigue, I could only guess. We later discovered that the people who had caught up with us had been on a flow rate of 4 litres a minute, twice our oxygen feed, so it was unsurprising that they were traveling slightly faster and had managed to catch up. I was so wrapped up in my concern about our speed that when Mingma and Di stopped I nearly walked slap bang into the back of her. When I looked ahead of her to see why they had stopped my torch beam met a wall of rock. I looked up and saw it just continue up. It was the 2nd Step; a series of platforms and ledges separated by bulbous blank sections and rounded off-width cracks. Lying snaked over this bastion wall of rock was a tangled snare of ropes; like unkempt creepers obscuring a damaged fortification. Even from the bottom, with out the benefit of testing any of the sections, it looked like it was full of exasperating and complicated moves; and that would have been at sea level in normal conditions! My fears were confirmed as I watched Mingma struggle clumsily up the first section. For a moment I actually thought that he had got stuck and he tried several times, seemingly without success to scramble up the first chimney like crack. Eventually, and not without considerable effort he managed to find a minute crucial lip with the tips of the front points of his crampons and with great exertion manage to lever himself onto the first platform. Once he set off on the second section Di started on the awkward first section. As Mingma disappeared off over the top, this time a little more smoothly, Di was scraping her way up the rock. No style was possible for this kind of climbing in these conditions, just brute strength and determination. As she gradually made her way up onto the first platform I carefully made my way up the slippery slab into a position from which I could attempt the problem. Part of the conundrum was which rope to clip the jumar onto. The supposed safety rope wasn't actually in a very good position, but no matter which line you clipped you invariably ended up tying yourself in knots. As I struggled up the rock, crampons scraping in a most ungainly fashion as I timidly tested various combinations of locks and braces, I had to be careful not to get caught up in the ropes. This was made nearly impossible as I had my walking pole hanging from a leash on my wrist, and like a novice's fishing line it had this unerring ability to try its best to get tangled in everything. I felt like a fly in a spider's web as I struggled upwards in my quest to get free of this vertical dilemma. Somehow, and I think that it involved a great deal of usually unethical pulling on the ropes; I managed to haul myself onto the platform.

I stopped briefly to catch my breath, and then continued up through the next section, where the quantity of ropes seemed to intensify and compound the problem, and again after a lot of huffing and puffing I managed to heave myself onto the top platform. Phew! My lungs were screaming, and I couldn't seem to draw enough oxygen from the mask to satisfy them (most people turn the flow rate up to 4 litres a minute for the 2nd Step, but for whatever reason we didn't). Just as I started to get my breath back and when I thought the horrific exertion was over I heard the sound of metal banging against rock, and I looked up to see Di half way up a twenty-five foot aluminum ladder. Oh God, I'd completely forgotten about that. Confident that Anil was happy enough scraping his way up the rock face below me I changed rope and started plodding up a short snow ramp to the base of the ladder. The existing Chinese ladder that was bolted onto the rockface was hidden under an even greater chaos of ropes, but a newer ladder had been brought up the previous year and stood relatively clear out on the exterior of the nylon wall. As Di left the top of the ladder I started to climb it. Even though I was literally climbing a ladder, it was no easy task; the fatigue in my legs causing my crampons to keep catching on the rungs. The most difficult thing however was moving off the top of the ladder to safety. The rope anchor points (where I had to unclip one line and clip the next) seemed to be in just the wrong places and the changeovers made for anxious times, as for a few seconds I fumbled around, with no safety as I changed ropes. Had I fallen at any of these points, I probably would have bounced and rolled off into the abyss as I plummeted 12,000 feet down the North Face. After even more ungainly slithering up over the last rock section I eventually made it safely onto the top, where Mingma and Di were waiting patiently (probably glad for the chance to rest). When I got there the three of us moved along a little further to a safer place where we could sit down and wait for Anil. A few other climbers appeared, including Mark (J/G), but still no Anil. Mark and I chatted as best we could through the masks, and I stamped my feet on the ground in an effort to keep them warm. Eventually Anil turned up and we could see the problem that had kept him, his head torch batteries had run out and it had died. It turned out that he had had to climb the whole of the second step without his own light, trying to rely on the ambient light created by the other climbers. Not an easy task as you can imagine, and so by the time he arrived with us as the top he was mentally as well as physically drained. He was so despondent that I had to change the batteries for him.

We paused for a few moments to give Anil a bit of time to recover, but the cold quickly started to seep through our clothing, and we soon started walking again. The trail had now started to flatten out along the top of the ridge, and in the first light of the morning I looked over the ridge to the south for the first time. It dropped very steeply off down the precipitous Kanshung Face. Being this close to such a sheer drop gave me an eerie thrill, and I was glad that we were protected from the wind; I probably wouldn't have been so blasé about the abrupt drop-off had I been struggling against a gale that threatened to put me over it! The sky was rapidly lighting up with the approaching sun. The cold and impersonal gloom around us was hastily being replaced by an early morning warmth of colour, as greys became blues. Below us a sea of cloud floated thick at over 7500m, with only the highest peaks emerging triumphant above it. Once we were clear of the 2nd Step we were back to simple terrain again. In fact we didn't even bother to clip to the rope now that we could see the surroundings clearly, and we covered the ground quickly. Ahead of us the snowy summit pyramid loomed massive; the supposedly elusive goal within ones grasp.

At that moment the whole situation seemed all rather bizarre, be we were ambling (and that’s almost how it was) along at 8700m, with the top of the world no longer enshrined in clouds miles above our heads, but on a relative level with us... equal if you will. Then we saw him. The sight got worse the closer we got, and somehow as we passed the body of Marco, the Slovenian who had perished only a week or so earlier, I was inexplicably drawn to study the gruesome and sinister spectacle in my morbid curiosity. If the first body I had scene earlier left the disturbing sight for you imagination to dismiss, with this one there was no such luxury. Lying on his back with his legs in the air, his arms outstretched with his now gnarled bare hands clutching at some imaginary surface. His face was waxy and sun bleached and twisted in a grotesque scream of agony. He reminded me of Lenin's Body in the Mausoleum in Moscow; but where Lenin lies peacefully, this repulsive sight lay locked in an eternal last brace of torture and suffering. The ravages of the wind and the sun had already started giving his skin a marble like look, and if it wasn't for his modern clothing, you would assume that he had been there for years; however in a matter of days he was becoming mummified, destined to remain in such a state for years. It was his position that made the sight the most disturbing, he had obviously been clutching at the snow as he had died, but somehow (or more likely someone) he had been turned over onto his back, and now he eyeballed all who passed him with am accusing glare, as he was condemned to spend eternity only a few metres from the summit. Granted, it might be one of the most beautiful final resting places in the world, but unimaginably harsh as well; constant retribution by the wind and the sun would probably strip the clothes from his body over the winter and leave him exposed and without discretion. I don't know why I was so fascinated, maybe it was the morose thrill of seeing a body that close up (he was literally on the path), the grim fascination to see what the mountain was capable of should you let your guard down for even one second. It was certainly an effective warning and reminder of the dangers of not having enough energy or oxygen for the return journey.

With this admonition behind us we continued onto the steep snowy slope of the pyramid. With Mingma hurrying to catch up from behind after helping Anil back at the Step, we began forging our way up this final hurdle. Suddenly, and almost exactly simultaneously we both began to falter. Our legs turned to lead and lactic acid instantly made them burn with a conflagration that had been unfelt thus far. Our lungs screamed in response and our hyperventilating came in hurried yet labored gasps. We had run out of oxygen. The effect was instantaneous and intimidating, and was not helped by the fact that we were on such a precarious slope. We both shouted for Mingma at the same time, but as he was next to me he quickly changed mine first before heading back down to Di. I asked him to turn the flow rate up to 3 litres for this last section, and as the life-giving gas started to course through my system and revitalize my body I could once again carry on going. Di in the mean time was waiting for Anil to come up, as he was carrying the other spare bottle (Mingma had cached the final two earlier for the return journey). The ropes on the slope traced their path over to the Northern edge, when I had to begin a tentative traverse along an exposed face. When I had looked through the telescope in ABC at the summit pyramid I had assumed that the route ran straight up the snow slope to the summit, and hadn't realized that it skirted (albeit high) around it to ascend the North face. Here the ropes lay slack and tatty, and it was the most I could do to concentrate on finding the secure foot placements on the minute ledges, and not to worry to much about the 12,000 drop to my right. After 50 metres or so the line stopped traversing and started ascending once again. It opened out into this wide open gully filled scattered with unconsolidated rock underneath, and the occasional patches of snow and ice. There were several climbers who had overtaken us at the 3rd step and whilst we had changed the oxygen. I waited patiently and watched carefully as one of the Kiwi guides from HimEx gradually made his way up this final rock pitch. Although it wasn't terrifyingly steep (by sea level rock climbing standards at least), it was exposed, and one slip, one careless crampon placement could cause you a nasty crash. This was not the place to twist an ankle or break a leg. When it was my turn I slowly and cautiously made followed my way up, methodically testing every foot placement and grateful for the security afforded by the jumar on the rope which I kept at a reassuring tension. I final pulled myself over the top onto a snow platform littered with several oxygen bottles, glad to be back on the flat. Just a couple of metres above me lay a snowy crown; my ultimate goal? I considered continuing on up to it, but then neglected that idea; the others weren't that far behind and as we had climbed as a team, we would summit as a team; all together. I asked the New Zealander who was also resting on this convenient plateau if that truly was the top, and to my horror he replied that it wasn't, and that the top was in fact another 10 minutes walk along a ridge. This surprised me, as in ABC I had asked someone it Everest had one of those unending final top ridges full of false summits just to really finish you off, and the answer had been no. Well never mind; here I was sitting nearly on the roof of the world, the final rafter if you will, only minutes from my lifelong goal.

As I thought that the others might be a few minutes I decided to ring my parents in the UK. I reasoned that I had the time now, and that it might be too windy on the actual summit to attempt such a procedure. I had warned my Father the previous afternoon from the high camp that today was the day, and to have his phone on his bedside table (it was 1am in Britain). With cold and hesitant fingers I dialed the number on the Sat phone. It rang twice before he picked it up, obviously this was a call he had been waiting for! 'Hey Dad, I'm here, I'm on the summit' I lied; well it was in the bag really, and hopefully no point denying it now. He was thrilled, over the moon, completely ecstatic for me, and I think probably the proudest father in the world at that point. We chatted for several minute, well, I say chatted; I had emotional verbal diarrhea whilst he just listened excitedly. He told me to be careful and to call him as soon as I was safely back in high camp. I then rang my Mother. Mikey, my stepfather picked up the phone, and for a spilt second I couldn't work out whether he had been expecting to be woken up, or was momentarily angry at whoever this was ringing at such a time. I told him the news and he passed me over to Mum. 'I'm so proud I think I'm going to cry!' she said. At this I just burst out into tears. Tears of joy, tears of excitement, tears of homesickness.

Suddenly all my emotions that I had kept pent up for the last two months just camp flooding out. Even after I had put the phone down I just sat their blubbing away like a baby. My face was screwed up in a half embarrassed smile and half emotional grimace. Tears were streaming down my checks and welling up in the seal of my mask. As more climbers started to appear I put my goggles on to hide my embarrassment. After pausing briefly for a few minutes they carried on over the false mount onto the final ridge. As Di and Mingma appeared over the top I was still shaking almost uncontrollably as wept. Di was funny; she said 'Those will freeze if you're not careful, and then you be in trouble' I had to laugh at that. Somehow I managed to pull myself together, the three of us (Anil was just behind) started up to the summit. Just over the first false mount we could see the summit, some hundred metres or so along a relatively flat ridge. Well, at least this was no long and exposed Denali ridge, or endless Cho Oyu summit plateau. We started walking carefully along it, with our iceaxes in our hands for the first time on the trip. This was it, the final victory parade.

10 minutes later we stood on the top of the world. 8850m/29035ft above sea level. The gateway between the earth and the heavens. It was incredible! There were probably about 15 people on the summit, including Mark and Jens from Jagged Globe. The actual top is probably about the size of a full size billiard table and festooned with prayer flags and various paraphernalia, and with all those people up there it was quite crowded, and you had to fight to find a place. Below us the sun had just risen from the horizon, and was basking Nepal and Tibet in a warming orange glow. Only the most majestic and prominent of the world's mountains emerged from the cloud cover, in meek honor to their sovereign Everest and her conquerors. Cho, Shish, Makalu and Kanchenjunga all lay in humble admiration at disreet distance, and Lhotse and Nuptse sat bowing at her feet to the south. It was a beautiful and poignant moment; to be the highest humans on the earth.

June 13, 2005 (Grantown on Spey): It is very hard at this stage to convey our emotions about our success on Everest. We have just spent the past 2 and a half months living as a small family in an inhospitable environment. We have made friends and formed relationships with individuals that we would normally not meet. There is only one thing that needs to be said now, but sometimes words just don’t seem enough. We, the successful Adventure Peaks 2005 Everest North Ridge Expedition, wish to say THANK YOU, to you, for absolutely everything. All the kind words that individuals have sent us has been absolutely amazing and it would be unfair to single out anyone in particular but you know who you are and that’s what important. Simply put, “thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou”. However, (there’s always one isn’t there?)…… I will say thank you personally and publicly to one person. Jake Meyer. Jake, thank you from the deepest part of my heart. You have been an absolute gem to work for and I cannot think of anyone better to share such an experience with. I will think back to all the good times (there were no bad times – as long as you don’t count the murray mint episode!) we have had with fondest memories. Jake, big hugs **hug**, and I raise a glass to you **clink**. Good luck with all your future plans and don’t be a stranger.

The Adventure Peaks 2005 Everest North Ridge Expedition were:

Jake Meyer, the youngest Brit to summit Mount Everest and the youngest male to complete the seven summits

Di Gilbert

Mingma Nuru Sherpa

Anil Bhattarai, the first Bhattarai to summit Mount Everest

Surendra Kumar Gurung

Tundo & Kasang