I guess that you've all now heard the news about our summit attempt - however I'll still write up all the days as they were, and I was, at the time:

1st August
Somehow our early start was delayed slightly, and we had a lie in till 5am. Breakfast was at 5.15, and I was very disappointed to find that there was no porridge - not a good start to the day! So instead I had to suffice with chapattis and marmite (kindly donated by one of the Broad Peak team - a much appreciated taste from home!), a rather meagre omelette and as many cups of hot chocolate as I could down in the time.

Having spent the last few days packing, then repacking our rucksacks, it was a 'grab'n'run' kind of morning, as we all started walking up the moraine towards the route. As most of our stuff was already up at C2 (and I had a stock of food at C3), our bags were relatively light. I had with me, the usual summit attempt kit - Oxygen mask and regulator (I guess rather important!), various sponsors flags and stuff that I would want to have on the summit for photos.

We picked up Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner - an Austrian Lady to whom we've become very close on this mountain - she is on her 13th of the 14 8000'ers) from her BC on the way. Well, I say picked up, she merely just walked to the base of the route with us, and then disappeared in a cloud of snow and ice up above up like the eponymous Road Runner! Having donned our crampons, harnesses and helmets we started on up the route towards the fixed lines.

I've become very bored of the lower section of the climb (to be honest anything up to C2). I've been up to C1 3 times, and then all the way through to C2 another 3 times, so this was my 7th time climbing the lower slopes of the Cessen, and I must admit that the novelty wore off the 2nd time I went up. The first part especially (to the base of the fixed ropes) is nothing more than a tedious slog. I could only be thankful that my rucksack was light, and my spirits (for what the next 4 days might hold) were high. Fabrice, Ron and I stuck relatively close behind Fabrizio as we struck on up the fixed lines, and when we reached the Col (approx 5720m) we stopped for a nice break. Gerlinde by this point has shot out of sight, and I wouldn't see her until C2. At the Col, I unwrapped a samosa that Didar (our cook) had prepared for us at breakfast for us to take up the hill). I must admit, that at 5.15am, it hadn't seemed very appetising and not many people had taken theirs, but now, in the heat of the morning, and my hunger getting the better of me - it was delicious. I was only annoyed that I'd only taken one...!

We continued up past C1, the single tent perched on the tiny platform looking very lonely by itself. Onwards and upwards still up the narrow gully for several hundred vertical metres that led to the start of the Traverse. I was now second in line behind Fabrizio, and followed a rope's length behind him (for safety reasons, we never have more than one person on each section of rope - even if it means that the person following has to stop and wait hanging at an anchor). Once on the Traverse I carefully tip-toed along the narrow pathway, often less than a foot-width wide, with a dizzying drop beneath you. Due to the massive amount of snow melt over the past few weeks, much of the traverse is now on rock, rather than snow as it once had been, and loose scree and shale would drop out of sight as I dislodged it with my clumsy footwork. I was certainly thankful for the safety and security of the taut fixed ropes here. After the Traverse, there was another few steep pitches (luckily the snow was of better quality this time) leading up to a narrow chimney, in which you have to use your hands for purchase on the rock on either side as you scramble up with careful crampon placements scratching on the granite on either side. With a lot of 'huffing and puffing I arrived exhausted and out of breath, at the anchor above, paused briefly to catch my breath and then continued on upwards.

Another 4 rope lengths would get me up a relatively steep snow slope to the base of C2 itself: a steep icy traverse leading across to the lower balcony (where we had one tent standing), and a 20ft vertical rock band leading to the upper balcony where we had 3 tents (well, 2 + a 2008 one which was miraculously still standing despite a year of the mountain's best attempts to destroy it). Gerlinde had already pitched her tiny tent on the upper balcony next to mine and Fabrizio's. I quickly (yet carefully) traversed across to the lower tent to grab the shovel and a packed tent which was inside the erected tent, to take up top. Having climbed up to the upper balcony, I filled up the snow bag with enough snow and ice to last us the night and then clambered into my tent.

Fabrizio and I spent the afternoon melting snow, drinking and snacking whilst the other team members trickled in. It had taken us less than 7 hours to get into camp, but as the last member got into camp past 6pm (therefore having taken over 12 hours from BC, we realised that that was much too slow. Even though it was a long climb (in terms of height gain) from BC to C2, the next day would be just as hard (if not harder, considering the increased difficulty of the climbing) and that it would destroy this slowest member. We were getting to the point where team members had to keep up with a bare minimum time, and so turn around times would be imposed. If you weren't going to get to camp by a certain time, you would either turn around and head back down, or if it was quicker to continue into the camp, do so, but not continue up the next day. Unfortunately, one of the members had already fallen foul to this on day 1.

Supper was an interesting affair. We tried to make a dehydrated macaroni and cheese, but after 15 minutes of stewing (they should take less than 10), the meal was still not properly hydrated, and so 'over the ridge' it went! In the end we settled for a pasta primavera and sweet and sour chicken, which were a little more palatable, but most importantly, a source of much needed calories.

2nd August
I'd slept relatively well, and I must admit that by the time it was time to get up, I was certainly reluctant to leave the warmth and cosiness of my sleeping bag. Luckily all of the tents we needed for C3 and above were already up in C3, so I didn't have that much more to add to my rucksack other than my sleeping bag and down suit. I'd considered wearing my down suit for the climb from C2 to C3, but seeing as there wasn't a breath of wind in the air, and above us were perfect unblemished azure skies, I knew than if I wore the suit, I'd be drowned in my own sweat within about 10 yards.

Although I was ready quite early on, I let the others start off before me, so that I could have a good opportunity to answer the call of nature. A few days before down in BC I'd been suffering from a rather annoying case of the squits (the first all trip), and so I was on a course of Cipro to sort out my stomach. Unfortunately, the Cipro had worked a little too well, and by now I hadn't had a poo for nearly 3 days. Luckily, upon preparing to leave C2, I suddenly felt the urge that something else was preparing to leave... This being a perfectly opportune moment, I squatted behind my tent, 'poo bag' held underneath me like a balloon's gondola and did the business. Ahhhh! I can safely say that it was one of the most satisfying experiences of the whole trip, and as the poo bag sailed over the ridge (this time without anyone in the line of fire), I felt a kilo lighter! For those of you who are disgusted at reading this - you wanted a true account of what attempting K2 is like, and well, I guess that you have to take the rough with the smooth!

Having left C2 with a new lease of life, I started on up the snow slope leading out of the camp. I rapidly caught up with the person in front, and when the terrain allowed, he let me pass him at one of the anchors. The climbing out of C2 was different to anything lower down. It consisted of finding our way through the 'Pinnacles' - a series of rock towers. It was much more interesting and enjoyable than the previous day's climbing, and necessitated some careful footwork and balance as we negotiated narrow traverses and steep sections of rock and ice. Once through the Pinnacles, we then found ourselves on a long snow climb, which luckily, due to the firmness of the snow, was a boring but easy section. This led up to the ridgeline on which Dave, Chris and I had camped on our previous foray up here. Our tent platform made for a nice flat picnic spot to pause, drop our packs and grab a bite to eat and a drink. By this point, I'd overtaken another 3 members, and was feeling good and strong. Having devoured a Mars bar and taken a good swig of nice cold water (it was hot and sweaty work climbing on such a beautiful windless day), I re-shouldered my pack and continued on upwards.

We were now climbing along the sections that I had fixed a week before, and it was nice to be back on a familiar, yet interesting climb. Several steep-sided banana ridges interspersed by some steep sections of snow and rocks led up to lower C3, situated (not unlike C2) underneath a steep cliff face. Once we arrived, my and Fabrice's job was to cut out an old spool of rope which had been frozen into the slope. We thought that it was only about 100m of rope, but turned out to me closer to 200, which made the job of (carefully) hacking it out much harder than at first expected. In the end it took us the best part of an hour to remove, and then having attached this great spider's web of cord to my pack, we continued on upwards into C3 proper (7150m). It took us another 30-45 minutes to get up to the camp, which was little more than a few shell-scrape platforms scratched into the surface of an expansive 30 degree snow slope. The battered remains of a number of tents from previous expeditions were all that delineated this camp from being just another anonymous snow slope. Fabrice, Ron and I found a half cut platform about 19 metres above Fabrizio's tent and whilst they enlarged the platform and started to put up the tent, I struggled to untangle and coil the rope that I'd brought up. It took us all the best part of an hour to do our respective jobs (have you ever tried to untangle a 200m rope at over 7000m, with the wind beginning to pick up on a 30 degree snow slope?). By the time I'd cut my rope in two and coiled them both up, I was able to climb into the safety of the waiting tent. By this point I was freezing and borderline hypothermic as I struggled to take off my crampons with frozen fingers. The straps to the crampons themselves were frozen, which left me no alternative than to take off my gloves and attack them with my equally frozen bare hands. At this altitude, and in these conditions, everything is slowed down to a slow-motion freeze frame (no pun intended) rate of motion. Something that usually takes seconds ends up taking many minutes, and something that usually takes minutes can take hours (like erecting a tent). Even the most basic of thought processes end up becoming garbled messages as your body struggles to make sense of what the brain has commanded. It is like being drunk, senile and mal-coordinated all at the same time, yet knowing that your uselessness will get you severely injured or killed if you don't start sparking soon. We took turns in managing the stove, and melting as much water as we could. We were fortunate enough to have a hanging kit for our stove, which meant that it could hang in from the roof of our inner tent. Of course the flip-side to this is that we had to keep the doors slightly open so that there wasn't a build up of potentially fatal carbon dioxide or carbon monoxide. Therefore it was also cold inside the tent as well!

Nevertheless we melted enough water to eat and drink a little, and prepare some water for the morning. As I climbed into my sleeping bag (wearing my downsuit), and just beginning to warm up, I felt excited, but also a twinge of anticipation about what the next day would hold. It was higher than we'd ever been on the mountain before, and as we all knew, the climb from C3 to the Shoulder was the main effort and the crux of the whole climb. Once we were on the Shoulder, our summit attempt would basically be left up to snow and climbing conditions and the weather. Getting to the Shoulder however, would be up to us.

3rd August.
We awoke at 4am to start melting water and getting ourselves sorted. I hadn't slept well at all. Although I was nice and warm, it was a mixture of altitude, anticipation and a not quite so level sleeping space that led to my insomnia. All three of us had been tossing and turning all night, and the coughing fits probably didn't help either.

The plan was to leave at 5.30am. Unfortunately, due to the cold and our exhaustion and altitude induced lethargy, it was closer to 6.30am by the time we were ready. The packing of our rucksacks and collapsing and packing of the tents seemed to take much longer than anyone was expecting, but eventually we were all sorted. In my rucksack, as well as my personal sleeping stuff, food, gas etc, I also had 3 bottles of oxygen (and mask and reg - 11kg), part of a tent (2kg) and 100m of rope (4.5kg), bringing the total weight of my bag to something in the order of 25kg. As I struggled to hoist it onto my back, all I could do is dream about off-loading the rope as soon as possible and strapping on the O's. Due to having one of the heaviest packs, I was first in line behind Fabrizio and Gerlinde, who fortunately for us were breaking trail. This would mean that I would also be the first to shed my section of rope...

The climbing out of camp (and for the whole day) was, frankly, shite. It consisted almost completely of sugary snow on 60 degree rock slab. Even without the heavy packs, it would have been a case of one step up, half a step (sliding) down. With the packs on, we were positively swimming in the melee, our crampons scraping desperately in the snow struggling to find any purchase on rock or ice with which to propel ourselves even a few inches higher up. It felt like the climbing equivalent of the Somme, a massive amount of effort and manpower expended for academic amounts of forward progress.

I was struggling to keep up with the two super-star climbers at the front (they did have much lighter loads in comparison), and when I did eventually catch them after an hour and a half or so, they were taking a break, and Fabrizio had taken his boots off to try and warm his frozen toes. At this point they took the rope off me, leaving me with strict instructions to relieve the next person of their rope and fix the next 100m. Whilst they climbed off, and I waited for Fabrice and his rope, I decided that it was now time to strap on the oxygen - hopefully that should make the climbing a little easier, and give me a new lease of life.

I pulled one of the cylinders up out of the body of my pack so that I could access the valve at the top and screwed on the regulator. There was a loud hiss as the two connected and so O's escaped, and I clipped on the mask tube and turned the dial on the regulator to 0.5 litres per minute. I put the mask to my face and started to inhale deeply. I couldn't taste anything, smell anything or hear anything, but somehow it made me feel better and stronger - yeah, perhaps this climb to C4 wasn't going to be so bad. As a treat, I decided to turn the dial up to 1 litre per minute whilst I fixed the next section, but no sooner had I clicked the dial round, I realised that something wasn't right. As I turned it up, there was a loud 'phut, phut phut' sound or gas escaping from somewhere.

There is a spring loaded valve halfway down the tube from the mask to the regulator which will give the user visual indication of the flow of O's, and it was going mad, jumping up and down (it should just stay open). I turned the dial to the 'off' position. The 'phut' sound stopped. I waited for a few seconds and then turned the O's back on. Again, 'phut phut phut'. Not good. I checked that the regulator was connected properly to the bottle. I checked that the mask and tube were connected properly as well. Nothing I could do would make the system stop making such a noise. When Fabrice arrived, I tried his mask and tube with my regulator. The same thing happened. So it was definitely a problem with my regulator. Now was not the time to be mucking around with my system. I had to start fixing the rope, otherwise it would hold up everyone else. Perhaps later on I could attack the regulator with duct tape, and seal the offending leak, if I could find it.

Taking the rope from Fabrice and unspooling it, I tied one end to me and started off through the deep snow. I was fixing a long traverse section, and could follow carefully in the footsteps of Fabrizio and Gerlinde. Although there was no old safety rope, and a slip or slide would lead to a long fall down the slope (and probably a broken back due to the static line), all I could think of was my oxygen system. I had led off with the mask on, and the rate at 0.5 litres per minute, and the 'phut phut' noise wasn't so bad, but the claustrophobia of the mask, the loss of O's through the reg, and the steaming up of my sunglasses made it more hindrance than benefit. I would find myself tearing off the mask to get a few lungfuls of natural (oxygen depleted) air. This was not how an oxygen system was supposed to work. In the end, I just hung the mask around my neck and climbed normally, gracious for the cool air outside the mask.

Having fixed my section, which was nearly 100m, I carried on upwards, struggling in the sugary snow after Fabrizio. Every pitch seemed the same - shit snow on slabby rock, feet scraping desperately to find purchase. It never seemed to let up. Although I would see the two above me every so often, communication was now down to hand-held radio, and I could tell that Fabrizio was getting more and more concerned about the speed of the main body of climbers and the time. After another few pitches, I got another call asking me to fix a few sections. By this point, Ron, who had the other 100m rope was now behind me, and I took the rope from him to lead out. The fixing was exhausting work. It wasn't the climbing so much, it was the fact that at the end of each pitch, I would have to pull the whole remaining length of the rope up to me, and then tie it off. My arms felt like lead and every drag of rope (perhaps only 2 foot or so) felt like I was trying to single handedly pull a car up towards me. As I then tied the rope off to the anchor, Ron could then climb up to meet me, but his job was basically just making sure none of the rope snagged near the anchor as I climbed up the next pitch. Every step upwards that I took I could feel the weight of the pack biting into my shoulders, dragging me back down. The unconsolidated snow worked in tandem with gravity to limit my upwards progression and at times I would remain in one place for many minutes whilst I slapped desperately at the rock and scrabbled to try and get even just one of my crampon's front points on a positive bit of rock to help me push on upwards.

At a convenient point (about the only section of relatively flat ground since we'd left camp) I decided to bite the bullet and dump my O's. I'd been considering it for quite some time, realising that ultimately if they weren't working, and I couldn't guarantee that I could fix them, that they were just dead weight. I tied them all together, and then clipped them to the anchor. Fabrice, who wasn't far behind me, also decided to do the same and attached his 2 bottles to the anchor as well.

Although the pack was considerably lighter, it didn't feel it, and in my heart of hearts I knew that I was finished. I climbed another 50 or 60 metres higher to test the hypothesis, and realised that my thoughts were well and truly vindicated. 2 of the team had already turned around over a hundred metres lower and were heading back to the safety of C3.

I was completely shattered, almost unable to put one foot in front of the other. I was now beginning to realise that it wasn't so much a case of reaching C4 safely, but getting back down to C3 safely. The thought of going back down, even with gravity now on my side for the first time, exhausted me. I've always known that you can only use a maximum of half of your energy reaching a point; you have to keep the other half in reserve to get you back down. I was rapidly eating into my reserve, and the thought was now dawning on me that I might not have enough to get back down safely. The ground, the climbing and the terrain was not the sort of place that you wanted to have anything less than 100% concentration for a safe descent. Even the simplest of mistakes wouldn't be forgiven.

I stumbled up another couple of steps, as if to confirm the decision that I’d already made. Finally I stopped, slumped in the snow and raised the radio to my mouth, realising that once I actually said the words outloud, everything here was finished. All my hopes, all my dreams, all my aspiration would come crashing down around me as I spoke those few individually meaningless, but together soul-destroying words. All finished.

It took me several attempts before I could actually summon up both the courage and the strength to press the pressle.

'Jake to Fabrizio. Message. Over'
'Go ahead'
'Dude, I think I'm going to call it. I'm finished. I'm going back down. Over'
(Slight pause, then the breathless and exhausted reply)
'Okay, good decision. Take it easy and safe descent. Over'
'Roger, will do. Jake out'

And that was that. Bang - like a shot in the dark, all over.

Fabrice and Ron were continuing up. Paul decided to turn back a couple of minutes later.

The descent itself is all a bit of a blur. I picked up the oxygen cylinders that I'd cached below. I couldn't pack them properly, so I just had them poking out of the top of my pack, leaving me top heavy and unsteady. Every step down, even if I was abseiling was tottery and wobbly. My legs threatened to collapse out from under me. Every few steps I would try and sit down to take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and legs, but finding a steady spot was almost impossible, and frequently I would start to slide down the slope. Every pitch, every section seemed longer and steeper on the descent than they had on the way up. The cloud had closed in around us, so visibility was restricted, and C3 remained hidden from view until I was close. The last few hundred metres was the hardest. The one remaining tent was like a mirage in the desert. Never seeming to get closer however much effort I put into stumbling towards it. A number of times my legs collapsed from under me, and I slid uncontrollably in the snow, bashing into the rocks underneath. At one point, I'm not sure when, one of my oxygen bottles broke free and disappeared off down the steep slope like a torpedo fired from a submarine. To be honest the reduced weight was almost worth the $500 careening off into the abyss.

Eventually, and like some delirious man emerging from months alone in the desert, I stumbled into C3. I was physically and mentally wrecked, and all I could do for 10 minutes was lie panting in the snow. Above me, Paul was still descending, a shower of rocks marking his progress. Wim, who arrived in C3 an hour or two earlier came out of the tent he was sheltering in, and helped me put up our 3 man tent. By the time Paul arrived, it was up, and we all crawled into the safety of the tent Just before I did however, I managed to summon up the strength to do one last thing, which I had been saving for the summit, but realised that it was now or never.

I made myself a Gin and Tonic. Or more precisely a Tanqueray and Fever-Tree, with a large lump of ice (not too difficult to find!). I now believe that this is the highest G&T ever mixed and drunk. The three of us shared it, and all thoroughly enjoyed it - there really is no alternative to Fever-Tree mixers!

Once inside the tent, and feeling probably a little bit tipsy from our high-altitude tipple, we melted enough water for a quick (non-alcoholic) drink each and then passed out.

4th August
Potential summit day. Fabrice and Ron had made it safely to C4 on the Shoulder the previous evening, but were too shattered to even leave the tent that morning. Fabrizio had left his tent, but turned back soon after when he saw the snow condition, and how slowly everyone was going. Above the Traverse, the snow was up to people's chests. In the end nobody summited. Some of the best climbers in the world were attempting to conquer K2 today, but in every case they were beaten back by the mountain and the climbing conditions. Like me, their dreams and aspirations were quashed. However, as far as we know so far, everyone is safe, and on their way down. In that sense, it is complete success. On a mountain such as K2, surviving intact is the goal - the summit is merely a bonus.

We awoke as the sun hit the side of the tent and beckoned by the warmth we emerged like moths from their chrysalis, from the warmth of our sleeping bags. It took us a long time to sort ourselves out and get going. By the time we'd melted snow for water, packed our gear and collapsed the tent it was close to 10.30am. Although strengthened from our nights sleep and a few morsels of food that we'd had for breakfast, the descent was still steep and long, and our packs were still very heavy. We all took it slowly, conscious of our foot placements and our speed of descent. Gone was the carefree, running descents of previous times down. Now every footstep was slow and methodical, with sitting rests at each anchor and often several times in between. It seemed like painfully slow progress, but every footstep took us slightly closer to BC. At C2 we stopped to melt water to replenish our empty water bottles. We were all incredibly dehydrated, yet resisted the urge to put snow into our mouths on the descent. Like Coleridge's seminal poem 'Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink'. Unlike the Ancient Mariner, once we'd melted the snow we had lots to drink, and although it slowed our descent, we were grateful for even hot water to quench our thirst. I was climbing down in my down suit, and it might as well have been a suit of plate armour - whenever I moved, I sweated buckets.

Slowly...slowly... we continued on downwards, battling our own lethargy (inviting us to collapse in the snow) every step if the way. Down the snow slope from C2; across the Traverse; down the gulley to C1; down to the Col below C1; down the lines to the end of the fixed ropes. Then the slowest and most painful section of all: down from the fixed lines to the base of the route, much of it through avalanche debris. No hands or other body parts this time, but a number of times I lost my balance and started to slide uncontrollably down the steep slope. Although I hardly had the strength to arrest my fall, I would eventually stop myself and lie in a gasping, panting, sweating heap for many minutes, before I struggled to regain the strength to haul myself up again, and then start heading back down.

As I reached the bottom of the route and collapsed in a heap I saw a 'beautiful' site emerging through the glacier. It was Chris, coming to meet us, and in his hand was a water bottle. Mine, which was long since empty - hung uselessly from my hipbelt. His however was full of luke-warm lemon squash - which was the most beautiful nectar I had ever tasted! 15 minutes after him came three of the HAPs, to help us with our bags, also armed with old coke bottles full of orange tang. The other 3 climbers arrived down around an hour later and once everyone had drunk up, and had a chance to rest their aching legs (and shoulders), the porters shouldered our bags and we all walked back to BC.

Fabrizio, having come all the way down from C4 arrived back in BC a couple of hours later. The camp staff had slaughtered a goat for us, but we were all so exhausted that we barely acknowledged it at supper. Bed was a very welcome retreat that evening.

5th August
So now that we're all safely back down in BC (Ron and Fabrice arrived back down from C2 just before lunch), how do I feel about everything that has happened over the last few days. We've spent 46 days here on the Godwin Austin Glacier with all of our energy and intent focused on one thing - the summit of K2. We knew that it would not be easy and would put up a serious challenge, but even so, perhaps we underestimated just what a challenge it would be. We were a group of mixed experience and ability, and at BC we were surrounded by some of the strongest climbers in the world, yet K2 has beaten us all. 4 of our members left, for various reasons, before we even started making any serious forays up the mountain. Fabrizio on two separate attempts only a week apart slept on or near the Shoulder: an incredible achievement. 2 members reached the Shoulder and spent a night at 8000m, again a very impressive achievement. Most importantly all of our team got down the mountain safely, with no lasting effects from the altitude or the cold. It's not so much 'Veni, Vidi, Vici', but I came, I saw, I survived.

For 4 years now, ever since I summited Everest I have been dreaming about climbing K2. When I spoke to my parents yesterday, they both said how sorry they were that I didn't make the summit. As disappointed as I am for not making it, I am content with what I achieved. No. Scratch that. I'm immensely proud of what I, and we as a team, have achieved. I was fixing rope at over 7500m on K2, with a 25kg pack on my back. Yes, perhaps if my pack had been lighter for all of the 3rd, or if the oxygen had been working, then I might have reached C4, but I now know that even reaching the top camp would have been futile in terms of trying to reach the summit, as a number of much stronger and much more experienced climbers will attest to. I reached over 7600m, around 1000m shy of the summit. I am very proud of that.

It has been a hard season out in the Karakoram, with no one summiting either K2 or Broad Peak. I have enjoyed my time out here hugely, and have made some good friends on my team. Most importantly, I think that I have not only grown as a climber, but as a person. Often, it is only in defeat that we grow, and I feel that this trip will make me a much stronger person. You have to be able to take the bad with the good, and all in good grace. Will I come back to K2? I don't know. Will I come back to the Karakoram? I certainly hope so. It is an incredibly beautiful place with what I consider the finest collection of the world's most beautiful mountains, and wonderful generous people.

I would like to thank everyone who has been supporting me back home, and all around the world by reading this Blog. To Saskia, Mum, Dad, family and friends alike, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your love and support over the last 2 months whilst I've been away, and for the years that I’ve been obsessing with this hill. To all the countless people who have been reading this Blog on my website, or on the net, thank you too for your support. I hope that you have enjoyed the journey out to the Karakoram, the endless days of 'another quiet day in BC...' and our attempt on the mountain. We tried our hardest, and the K2 beat us. Yet we survive to fight another day, and I hope that you will join me in spirit once again when I embark on my next adventure. This trip was never about a one chance, suicidal, do or die attempt on the world's second highest mountain. It was about a chance to pit myself against one of the most infamous peaks in the world to test myself. Like finally getting the results for an exam that you dreaded taking, I've found that I didn't make the grade. However this was a game where the goal posts were constantly moving and we did well to walk away from it.

I am reminded of a poster that my flatmate at university had on her wall:
'Life is a journey and not a destination'

Well, in that same vein -
'Climbing is about the experience and not about the summit'