Midnight came and Ershler rousted us from our rest and led the way up toward the Ingraham Glacier. Standing in the dark at 11,000 feet for the first rest break, Curtis began to see a glimmer of hope. It was transpiring that some of our climbers had indeed run out of steam and ambition and Curtis began to re-organize his rope for a descent with them.

Ershler's gravel and smoke voice came out of the dark to stop him. Phil said he wanted to get to know Curtis Fawley, the new-hire, a little better, and so the spin would have to go to Brent Okita or me. Even then, Brent was known for his tricks, so I fixed a wary eyeball on my rival as we stepped away from the group, out of client earshot and headlight beams, to do a little business.

Okita didn't want to turn around that morning either. I knew that. Brent and I were locked in what became an all-out struggle for dominance. We shared a room, we climbed together, we had started guiding and big-mountain climbing at virtually the same time, we were the same age and we were competing for damn near everything. My ski patrol was better than his… He thought he could get more Rainier summits than me… I knew I could carry a bigger pack than he… he was a better rock climber… it went on and on...