On morning of our third day on the wall, under a cloudless sky, the sun beamed across the valley, triggering a series of rock avalanches that came within inches of our bivy. We waited out the storm, slurping warm water because we were already running low on food. By 9:00 a.m., the rock had dried and we were on the move again, leading in blocks for efficiency.

One of the most important aspects of a partnership, especially in alpine climbing, is doing your part. Sometimes that means melting ice for drinking water, sometimes that means cooking dinner, and sometimes that means leading your pitches. Jonny had done an outstanding job on his block, leading both ice and rock, at one point even running it out 15 feet over an equalized beak and micronut on a 5.11 thin-face section. In fact, after a few straightforward pitches off the ground, the climbing had become increasingly complicated and delicate — the rock was chunky, and we had to take great care not to knock down any of the massive blocks. It was, as Jonny would say, “blue-collar climbing.” About halfway up the wall (1,700 feet off the deck), we hit the offwidth feature — what we’d later call the Shaft — an ominous, wide, and wet crack. It was my block. I looked up from the belay, hoping to find a way around. There wasn’t one.

For me, alpine climbing is a vision quest. It’s an artificial war of sorts. It requires my total attention and dedication, and provides opportunities to see who I really am. The offwidth that loomed above was one of those opportunities. The first few pieces were solid, but soon the crack widened. Instinctually, I pressed myself into it, my right foot heel-toeing on the outside while my left side pressed against the icy, crumbly inside wall, which grew wetter by the minute. Soon I was soaked from head to toe. My hands and feet were frozen, and hypothermia slowed my progess. After a miserable hour and a half, I’d probably only gained 100 feet, and except for the first few nut placements, the gear lay slotted between loose blocks in the back of the crack. My brain would tell me to go, but 30 seconds would pass until I moved. I tried to weasel in a few pieces, but they were no good and merely slowed progress. Eventually, I settled for a screw in an aerated ice amoeba.