A harsh title, but true. The weather window was absolutely fabulous for the next five days, sunshine and the forecast of very little wind (although this turned out not to be correct), Perfect. I’d rested for two days and taken a short walk to acclimatise. Everything was perfect… except me it seems. The walk up to the Head Wall took nearly five hours, most people do it in three to four. I was slow and had to stop on a regular basis, which isn’t like me. I’m one that can normally keep a steady pace up or down, never fast but consistent. I have to admit climbing the Head Wall was great fun, even if I used a rope that’s put in at the beginning of each season, it’s still a challenge and one I always enjoy. I am ashamed to say, though that I accepted the offer from Tshering for him to carry up my rucksack as well as his own. The only thing that made me feel a little better was that once at the top he dumped his and my rucksack to go down to relieve the Porter of his load and brought it to the top.

I’m going to try to explain how I felt. Everyone’s body works differently. I believe that mine is reasonably fit for its age, even though I abused it with nicotine for 27 odd years. For me walking at sea level is just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, uphill causes my body to perspire and causes my breathing to heighten, fairly normal, I think. Whilst training for Barunste I tried to take that up a notch and take my breathing to its extreme. What I have found, though, as I’ve got older is that no matter how hard I push, if my heart says ‘No that’s enough’ then I struggle to push beyond that limit. So I’m not sure how much my fitness has improved over the last couple of years (and as you all know I am partial to a bit of cake on a regular basis). Anyway back up to the walk to Camp 1, my breathing was more laborious than It should have been, sucking for air more often and more violently than I’ve ever known. The lack of Oxygen caused my body to try to take double breaths a strange phenomena, the only way I can describe the sensation is when as a boy you’d climb up a rope until you got a funny sensation in your groin (men might relate, women won’t), the difference being is the double breath wasn’t a pleasant sensation, it was one that caused my body to involuntary gulp for more air and one I had no control over. Maybe it’s a form of hyperventilating, I don’t know, I’ve never hyperventilated before. Once I stopped it disappeared and my body went back to normal, immediately, strange! This reaction from my body didn’t have the desired effect of making the walking any easier!

On reaching Camp One and looking up at the 1,000m left to climb, my confidence in my ability to reach the summit just vanished. All confidence in myself vanished, was it a lack of acclimatisation or was I just kidding myself that I was capable of climbing this 7,129m Peak? I’ve never been one to worry about using the word failure, each failure teachers a lesson, sometimes I heed that lesson, sometimes I ignore it. This is the second time that the Himalaya have thrown this lesson at me and I’ve decided to heed it.

Do I feel gutted and disappointed, a little, but I can live with it. I’ve managed to get a couple of these high peaks under my belt, and been reasonably high on a couple of others and have seen views that have brought tears to my eyes, seen views where I know my Father was stood there next to me and admired them with me and would have been proud, as I hope one day my children will be. And as I’ve said many times in the past that I’d love to be able to share what I see and feel with Carolynn I know she knows, but am reasonably sure she’d rather look at the photographs! I have seen views that I have tried to share with my photography, but I don’t think that I have been ever able to show the joy I have in actually being there and watching that sunrise or sunset or that view that you know has only ever been seen by a few people.

I have seen from Camp One, the one mountain that inspired me all those years ago at a lecture given by Doug Scott… Makalu, the fifth highest mountain in the world. As I walked into Camp One it dominates the landscape. The mighty West & South West Faces loom almost vertical from the valley floor, just below us. For me it’s a unique opportunity to photograph it at all times of the day and one of the photographs just might end up on the wall at home.

I make no excuses, the weather is good, my acclimatisation has been good, my mentor and guide is one of the best… sometimes you just have to admit, even with all the training, I’m just not good enough. There’s no shame in that, I know now that It’s time to stick to lower altitude treks and admire the high Himalaya from a distance.

A quick update on the weather. At Camp One there was very little wind, however the only other climber on the mountain at the same time as me descended from Camp Two and didn’t make a summit attempt as the winds where blowing to a point where walking became extremely difficult… this also adds considerable to the windchill factor where temperatures are already at -20 degrees.