The crossing party climbs in a whiteout past the wreckage of a British military helicopter on the Crean Glacer near where it breaks over to the Fortuna Glacier. Photo: Peter Potterfield

"A good enough excuse for a restbreak," is what I thought, so I stopped my rope and the others joined us at the break. With rain dripping from my nose, I thanked Anne Kershaw, my boss back at Adventure Network, once again for stacking the deck in my favor. I realized as each of the four other ropes came in out of the rain and fog to sit around the wreck that such screams as I feared were not likely to originate from ropes guided by the team we had. Al Read, a legend of American guiding, head of Exum Mountain Guides and one of the people who literally pioneered commercial adventure travel, calmly pulled in. Jim Sano, another icon of the trade, head of Geographic Expeditions and lots of other good stuff came in sure and steady alongside Al. Jim Williams, the well-known workhorse and star of modern guiding and climbing marched in and finally there was Mark Tucker, one of my many rivals at Rainier Mountaineering Inc. for the last 15 years. I'd asked Tuck along, not simply because of his distinguished and ridiculously busy resumé of guiding and surfing, but so that I could keep an eye on the rascal... you know, to make certain I could stay six or eight jumps ahead of him in this odd business. But, of course, on that rainy day on the Shackleton Crossing, I was ever so grateful to have Tuck haul in with everything well under control.

We only rested for the few minutes it took to cram down some chocolate and a swig of water. Then I yelled "Saddle Up!" and we left the helicopter fading in its own little whiteout. A few hours farther along and we had reached the Fortuna Glacier and worse weather still. The wind was now screaming along steadily, luckily from behind us, but it was blowing something not quite rain and not quite snow. Every time I turned my head to check on the teams behind, the weather tried to sandblast the eyebrows off my face. So I stopped checking. I reasoned that an all-star cast of guides no longer needed me checking on them; they needed me to stay the course and pick the correct pace. Too fast and I worried about hearing that dreaded scream. Too slow and, as the guides had already cautioned me, we'd be unable to generate the necessary heat.