Peggy Foster on the summit ridge Photo: Robert M. Anderson

So down we go, decision made. Mountains require the right decision made immediately some times. This is one of those times. Drama and discussion later, action now. Staying ahead of the curve in Antarctica is essential, we are right on the curve, so 15 hours after we left camp, we turn and head down. We are sad, but not mad, that is the mountains.

Down, down, down we go. Seven thousand feet of vertical up means 7,000 feet of vertical down. Down front facing, point scraping to start, around the rock cliff, peering between the toes for the next step. An hour down and then another, all so precise, no mistakes allowed. Looking down - have we moved? Then more and more down, with a frown. Chris works out in his head what he thinks his wonderful ice gear will fetch on E-Bay on his return. But this too shall pass and it does. Back to beautiful ridge camp, oh beautiful sleep, 12 hours at least. If we can climb as long as it is light, we can sleep as long as it is light too.

So it was too far, too high, too thirsty, too tired. Oops. I want to go back up, finish the route. But I know the others must want to. The climb is so long that eventually it will become more than physical, and if I push them to go they will be able to use that as an excuse in the end to give up. They must want it themselves.

Peggy suggests sleeping on the Snowy Mountain, giving us a 3,000-foot head start on the climb and the others agree. I almost always agree with up, rarely with down. And Bob is feeling much better; I'll put him on my rope and keep him close for our second attempt. But we have virtually climbed Vinson the first time, going from 8,000 to 15,000 feet and back again in 22 hours. Now we have to do it again. Just thinking about it makes us very tired and we go back to sleep for another 12 hours. We are rushing to get this thing climbed. We were a week late out of Punta Arenas Chile to Antarctica on the Ilyushin flight due to bad weather, some of us have day jobs and getting back in something like a respectable time frame retains its importance even as we contemplate Vinson round II.

The ice fog has come in again, it is snowing lightly, it is not at all warm. Oh well, up we go. A less fortuitous start could not be imagined but we have hopes, high hopes for a clearing. The fog is so thick we cut it with our ice axes. Chop, chop. At 9,000 feet we are waddling through the fog up the steps of our defeat. At 10,000 feet, more of the same, but done with less enthusiasm. At 10,500 feet light breaks through and at 10,600 feet I out on top of an abrupt sea of clouds. Looking down, Bob is in bright sunlight right behind me. One hundred and fifty feet away at the back of the rope Chris is just coming into sight from the depths of the cloud. We walk out into heaven and continue our climb. We reach the small rounded hillock of the Snowy Mountain and I stab it senseless looking for holes. It is either very solid or it is very good at fooling me. We do the

Camp Chorus:

only with a lot less things and taking a step outside is only done with one hand on an ice axe. One sleeping bag, one tent, one cozy night of daylight. We want to be moving soon, so lots of water and we pretend to sleep. We will get going at 7 (unsure if this is or PM). At 6:59 I doze off. At 7 Peggy wakes me "Lets go climbing!"

Bloatmeal fortifies us and we are off again after the four-hour layover. Will it carry us to the top?

To 12,000 feet, OK.

To 13,000 feet, OK.

To 14,000 feet, now we are working and back into the rocks. The steeper climbing makes us think more, tire less, could we be having fun?

To 15,000 feet, the headwall even steeper than before it seems, but we reach the blocky ledge in less than half the time it had taken to get here before. And this time we are stronger, route knowledge educating our muscles to climb smarter. Bob has rallied and is hot on my heels all the way. We roll out right from the blocky ledge over boilerplate ice so hard our crampons skitter for purchase, sharpened points or not. The wind is dying, the sun is blazing and stepping out onto the white acres of the summit plateau it feels Antarctica balmy. This only lasts 15 minutes and then we are in down jackets and face masks.

Away the plateau rolls, attributing Massif status to what could otherwise be referred to as just a mountain. Surrounded by seven minor summits the host of subsidiary peaks starting at 15,000 feet and extending up to almost 16,000 feet makes finding the top a real challenge. Luckily I had sorted this out on my ascents 10 years previous after wandering around for ten hours, so I knew it was just over the hill and around the corner.

We headed up the ice valley, over a rise and finally the summit came into view, seemingly a day or two away. Intesar took off his pack. "It's too far, I'm too tired." But on he goes. At one point he turns around, then has second thoughts and comes back to join us. We go up, up, up, then down, down, down through a valley then up, up, up to a pass leading to the summit ridge. It is a very long ways away. Chris encourages Intesar with physical rewards (all the beer and burgers he can eat back in Manhattan) and mental rewards (all you have to do is climb until you know you can make it and then the rest is easy) a point Intesar reaches as we start up the final airy summit ridge.

The final ridge rises in a series of rock and ice steps. We are reminded we are climbers again as we head for the top of Antarctica. A traverse across a snowy ledge a few inches wide with a big drop below leads to a thin ridge with one foot on each side, leads to an ice covered rocky ramp, leads to a final crampon scraping step that ends in triangular sloping ice platform anchored at its top edge above a cliff by a ski pole upended in the snow at the summit.

Five on top. A few quick tears of relief, quickly frozen. Then smiles for the photos, teeth reflecting the ice. The whole continent floats below. I've found the top of all the continents to be filled with quiet magic, Seven Summits hype or not.

It is 1:30 AM, the morning of January 6th, 2003. Over two vertical miles below and a long way out on the ice, mountains shed long dark shadows as they march through the ice. Our world is white and blue, gray and black and every shade in between. The late sun warms the horizon with subtle stripes of orange. It is 12 below zero F. Breezy. We last an hour.

Tired and worried voices ask about the descent. We have been climbing 15 hours from the Snowy Mountain and been awake nearly twice that. And we have to go down now. A top and a descent to lower altitudes will help us, we will be happy, we will get down, we had better get started. Chris rushes off ahead so he can sit down and sneak a quick sleep now and then on the plateau. The up and down to get across the plateau is the up and down ad nausea on the way back. In the midst of it all my body is still happy, it likes the heights and I am grateful for it.

We click, click, click down the headwall, crampon points in and brains on. After the summit and with a bit more air in the atmosphere our minds warm up, if not our bodies. Down the steep, around the cliff, through the rock band and finally able to face out and look down the long slope to the dot of the tent on the Snowy Mountain which stays the same size forever until we land on top of it, take it down and carry on down the hill. Intesar and I lag behind, sitting in the snow to take in the view as Peggy, Chris and Bob scamper down the hill like ants into Camp on the ridge, the sun so warm in the night or day, the stoves roaring and tea being made and deep into sleep. First Woman to complete a new route on Vinson, first person from Bangladash to summit, youngest person to do a new route (we think, and if Chris isn't the youngest, he is certainly the first to go snow camping for the first time one week, and summit the next). It's my third new route on the peak and more satisfying, we all reached the top. I think we have been awake for 43 hours, but I'm not quite sure that is right and right now I can't be sure I can still count.

Robert Anderson, MountainZone.com Correspondent