A ray of light pierced through a slit in the curtains. The team of three, waiting for the storm to pass, may see the weather window they’ve been waiting for after all. Having been stuck inside for almost two weeks, they knew this was an opportunity they could not miss. In this era of climbing, the early 1960’s, weather forecasting was in its infancy; they had to rely on pure intuition. It was summer in Patagonia, but summers in low latitudes are likely different from the summers you know and love; one week will be 60 degrees and sunny, and the following week just might bring torrential rains, or even snow. Breaks in storms are therefore taken graciously with a sense of urgency. Their target was the infamous Cerro Torre peak and to achieve the first ascent of the 10,000 foot face.

James was the most experienced and unspoken leader of the trio. He spent years of his life traveling the world and climbing the hardest routes. He was tall, blonde and built like a viking. His partners were no scrubs themselves: Badal was Nepalease – from a community forged in the crucibles of the Himalaya mountains – and Nadal was Swiss – his master the Alps, with its unforgiving peaks. The team set out upon first light to begin their ascent. As James’s watch ticked to 8, the weather was perfect and sunny. Having hiked for just over two hours, they geared up at the base of the steep cliff. They had thousands of feet ahead of them, and only a few days to reach the top. Inch by inch they would battle their way up, stopping only for brief moments to eat, sleep, and rest. All three men were war scarred climbers, and no one dared show anything other than mental fortitude. But inside, they were scared – inside they had their doubts.

5000 feet up, and three days in, the peak still seemed hauntingly far away. Their skin was cracking at every exposed point, their hands and feet numb from the sheer cold and wind. For the temperature had plummeted in the last 24 hours, and the team laid awake in their portaledge trying to rake in the remaining wits they had. Climbing is a mental battle as much as a physical one; fear staves off the strongest individuals from moving at all. To climb peaks, physical strength gives you the opportunity, but the mind gives you the ability, and cold mountains slowly chip away at the psyche of all. Climbers fear bringing anything or anyone loved and dear, because like the gods of olympus, the mountains care not for mortals.

Most climb for glory, some for internal retribution. And Nadal concealed a secret he dared not share. His life back home was in shambles: homeless and all. He cared not for life or any of its wonder. Depression consumed his soul and death was a hopeful conviction.

There was no way they could reach the summit, they knew this. And on that day, the coldest of them all, with clouds looming in the background, the defeated team decided to turn around. Descents are deceptively difficult: the most climbing deaths happen on the descent, not the climb itself. James, with all his experience, implored the group to stay attentive.

“Remember, this is the halfway point, we have to stay calm and focused!” He shouted above the roaring winds – Badal and Nadal nodding in agreement.

They threw slings around boulders, trees, and knobs to fix their ropes to rappel. The clouds now overhead, bellowed and roared. It would take them at least 24 hours to descend, one hundred feet of rope at a time. And after the second rappel, just 200 feet down, the rope got stuck, lodged in a rock. With snow falling and a feeling of indignation stronger than they had ever felt, one man had to volunteer to climb up the precarious rope and bring it back down to safety. One slip of the knot, or tear of the nylon, and there they would be stuck, at the mercy of Zeus.

Nadal volunteered, and started climbing unassembled. He reached the top and found the stuck portion: the rope in the slit of a crack. He yanked, he pulled, and with gratuitous intent, he yanked himself right off the wall. He fell like a boulder breaking off the mountain, but the rope was free and his friends would survive, and Nadal was the dearly beloved left behind.