Again, another day resting in BC, however today I finally decided to get up off my lazy arse and go and do something I 've been meaning to do for weeks and weeks.

The Gilkey Memorial is located on a rock outcrop a mile or two downhill from our camp. It's not actually on the strip itself (as the constantly moving morraine would tear it apart), but across to the west on a static rock cliff face. Art Gilkey died in 1953 on an American expedition that unfortunately didn't make the summit (An Italian team were the first a year later in 1954). The team were stopped by the shoulder (around 8000m) by ten days of violent storms. Having decided to abandon their attempt, the team made a valiant effort to drag Gilkey, who had been severely weakened by pulmonary oedema, back down the mountain. Sadly he died during the descent. Some believe that realising the futility of the rescue, and that the rest of the team would probably perish with him, Gilkey ended up sacrificing himself to save the others. Just like Captain Oates on Scott's ill-fated South Pole Expedition.

The Gilkey Memorial has since become the place for subsequent memorials to other climbers lost on K2 (and some from Broad Peak). Although Gilkey's body was never found, a number of bodies have been buried at and around the memorial. Nowadays it is festooned with plaques, reliefs and engraved aluminium plates and trays celebrating the lives and commemorating the deaths of those climbers who have not returned.

As you can imagine, it was an incredibly sobering experience to visit the site and became all the more so as I recognised so many of the names on the plaques. Some 79 people have lost their lives on K2 and most are remembered and commemorated at the Gilkey. Despite the fact that our BC on Everest was located next to an area of memorials, never have I felt such an obvious sense of human fragility. The air was thick with a sad nostalgia as I realised that every person recognised at this memorial was essentially seeking the same as me. By chasing their dreams and seeking their goals, they let their ambitions get the better of them and thus paid the ultimate price. Anyone who comes to this mountain with a blasé attitude towards it needs to spend a few minutes at the Gilkey to reassess their approach to K2. The 'Savage Mountain' has that name for a reason, and to underestimate it's power is to set yourself up for a very big fall.

One thing that I did appreciate about the Gilkey is that in amongst the plaques, cairns and old clothing and equipment (one boot I saw still had the remnants of a foot in it) were small alpine flowers and grasses struggling to survive in this hostile environment. It is the only greenery that I've seen up here for the last 6 weeks. It was almost as though despite all these reminders of death and mortality there is life rising from the ashes.

I went down to the Gilkey alone, and savoured the tranquillity of the site and appreciated the loaded atmosphere. For the hour or so that I remained and paid quiet tribute to those who had gone before me, yet who remained in this beautiful and harsh environment forever, I could have been the only human in the Karakoram. I came away at peace with myself and the mountain, thankful for everything I have had, and for everything that will be. I now realise that every step I take on this mountain is an honour and a privilege. This mountain doesn't owe me anything, I don't deserve anything: what will be, will be.

Having said all of that, I believe that we are all masters of our own fate. I have chosen to come here, and I have never regretted that decision. In the pursuit of our dreams, all I can hope is that we all are safe: summit or no summit.

I finish with the quote which is engraved upon Alison Hargreaves's plaque:

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the first of thine eyes?
On what wings dare (s)he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
William Blake

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