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With each movement, Chris longed to be lower. The lessons of the past few weeks played in a loop, her mind reciting each one. Patience. Deference to the weather. Listening to those with more experience but finding space to follow one’s inner voice.

As daylight began to fade, her anxiety increased. The path to Camp 3 had been obliterated by wind and snowdrifts. Then a break in the clouds yielded a few seconds of sunlight. Chris scanned her surroundings, terrified to realize she was heading right off an ice cliff. Black spots marked an area far ahead, which she recognized as Camp 3. Chris stumbled forward, darkness and crippling cold engulfing her. Two hours passed until the black spots became the intoxicating sight of tents. Crawling into her tent at Camp 3, she heard the winds screaming. She had made it to safety, as had Scott’s group. Broad Peak’s position had sheltered it from the worst of the storm.

Nearby, the team on K2 wasn’t as lucky, however. Peter Hillary had sensed the danger and retreated, leaving a band of climbers to proceed upward to the summit earlier in the day. At higher altitudes, the unsteady air and winds had initially seemed tame. Lower, the intensity of the storm trapped climbers in their tents. The catastrophic winds raced up the slopes of K2, hitting those still on the mountain’s highest points late in the day.

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