I woke before dawn, with thoughts of three Sherpas and three Koreans racing through my mind. They reached Camp 4 late yesterday, after wading through waist deep snow in a nine-hour struggle from Camp.

They should be headed for the summit.

But our weather forecasts indicated a massive storm system approaching. Within hours of a prospective summit, the winds should reach 50 mph and the snow should limit visibility to inches. We shared this with the Korean team and they balanced that with their forecasts. The chances of success were small. The risks fluctuated based on imagination. 

It is this game of cat and mouse with the summit of K2 that is so powerful. As Bruce says "K2 always wins; our best hope is to not to lose." Once you are close, it is tough to turn back without trying.

In 2002, a team of Tibetan climbers left K2's Camp 4, and a storm engulfed them hundreds of feet above their tent. Their footsteps filled. Visibility slipped to inches. They were lost in minutes. During tear filled radio calls to Base Camp, they feared for their lives. They couldn't move--the risk of falling off the mountain too great. They marched in place for seven hours. Finally the snows parted, and they were 50 yards from their tents. A day later they stumbled from the tent. On the descent one man, sent to help the team, fell to his death. He landed 500 feet away from me. Two of us wrapped him in plastic before anyone had to see what 5000 feet of bouncing and slamming had done to his body. 

The history of K2 is measured by its tragedies, with only occasional references to the summits. We keep this in the forefront of our minds, balancing our adventurous urges with hard earned prudence. Bad experiences inform good judgment. When climbing K2 you can never forget the tragedies, for fear of repeating them.

We made our decision about abandoning the summit attempt two days ago. We judged the risks as too great: the weather window was shorter than originally anticipated, an unexpected storm had buried the upper mountain in knee to waist deep snow, the avalanche danger was bouncing off the roof, our food was cut short by being stuck at Camp 2 for an extra night, and the blowing snow had buried the ropes. 

The Koreans and Sherpas, a camp above us, saw opportunity.

Yesterday we conferred with their team at least three times. They are gracious hosts and wise mountaineers. We ate their cookies, analyzed weather forecasts and swapped silly stories from past expeditions. Their three prospective summiteers, all named Mr. Kim, are impressive mountaineers (Everest, Lhotse, Gasherbrum IV, etc.). Their team of Sherpas can count Everest summits on multiple hands, including topping out in May.

I had been thinking a lot about these six men as I awoke. I wanted them to be safe, and I wanted them to summit. I knew that their success would have great meaning for them (as it does for me) and that so many people at home would also gather value from their against-all-odds summit.

I poked my head out of the tent. The summit was wrapped in an ominous lens shaped cloud. These clouds only form when high winds are racing past the mountains. To a mountaineer, they are a telltale sign of danger. 

I walked to the Korean base camp. The expedition leader and various team members were laying in sleeping bags, in their comms tent, looking relieved. The summit team had called off the attempt and were already descending. We all smiled.

As predicted, the storm has surged upon us. First dark clouds, now rain. The summit has not been visible all day, and shouldn't return for days. But thanks to our weather forecast, we see a glimpse of hope on the horizon.

We'll spend our days in base camp visiting friends, trading war stories and just maybe (ok I already did this--twice) getting slipped delicacies from the Italian team. And from our bad experiences, we judge the following: our solar power charged base camp will run low on batteries, making video editing frustratingly difficult (just when we have mountains of film to share), and Don will further delay taking a shower, claiming it is too cold. I also predict that with three feet of snow forecast to fall on base camp, both our comms and dining tents, made of the finest Pakistani materials, will collapse under the extreme snow loading. Nothing we can't handle, unless you have to sit next to Don.