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I was probably nearing a height of about 1900 metres, and the effort of climbing in the thinned air (I had done no training beforehand) meant I had to keep stopping, ditching my pack to take a drink, and then forcing myself on upwards.

My first brush with death came as I reached a small overhanging cliff, no higher than my shoulder, with spindly pine trees curling over the edge. I hadn't the strength left to pull myself straight up it, so I attempted to scramble around the side to where the cliff wasn't as high. There was a small trickle of water the made the rock on this side smooth and incredibly slippery, and beyond the rock was a steep drop into (as far as I could see) nothingness.

Breathing heavily I kept myself close in to the cliff edge, using the narrow trunks of the miniature pines to haul myself around, staying well away from the rock of doom. At that moment however my right foot broke loose from the crumbly rock, and my left's flimsy toehold also slipped. I grabbed wildly at my single pine tree grip, legs flailing and strength failing fast, trying to focus and fight the sure knowledge that letting go meant death. A few more seconds though and I would have no choice. With nothing left in my arms I somehow managed to get a hold with one of my boots, and clung on. Then, very carefully, I worked my way back to where I had started to breathlessly nurse some strength back into my arms.

It was here, after another failed attempt to climb round, that I realised my first lesson of mountaineering: if one route seems impossible, there tends to be another that is slightly less impossible. I'm sure this doesn't always apply, but over the next two days it seemed to hold a lot of truth.

After careful consideration, I decided that I probably had just enough strength, and was just small enough, to heave myself up over the cliff and through a dense nest of pine trees without getting stuck. And I was right, although getting past this obstacle was not really a good thing: even at that point it would have been easier to turn back.

Morning changed to afternoon, and my water supplies dwindled to about a litre and a half. After climbing over a seriously steep, rocky slope where I nearly took a fall again, I sat down to survey the scene and rally my thoughts. Although I wasn't hungry I hadn't eaten much all day, and figured that there might be some water in one of my ready meals as well as energy that I needed even if my stomach disagreed. I pulled out my stove, balanced it on

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