Around 2:00 AM, I woke up feeling oddly constricted in my sleeping bag. Disoriented, I looked around and realized I had made a critical mistake—I’d forgotten to zip up the tent before falling asleep. At some point during the night, I had slid downhill into the vestibule—the coldest, most exposed part of the tent that opens to the outside. I quickly shimmied back into the main section, zipped the door shut, and tried to regain some warmth and rest.
Sleep, however, was elusive. All night, I coughed up thick green sputum—remnants of a bronchial infection that had worsened during the climb. My throat was raw, and every breath through my oxygen mask felt labored. I was on two liters per minute at 26,000 feet, trying to recover enough strength for the long descent ahead—first to Camp 3, then down to Camp 2.
At 7:30 AM, one of our Sherpa guides brought hot water and oatmeal to my tent. I tucked my frozen yellow summit suit into my sleeping bag, using my body heat to thaw the wet, stiff fabric. By 9:00 AM, my gear was packed into stuff sacks for the Sherpa team to carry down to Camp 2. My own pack was light—just a spare pair of gloves, a liter of water, and my oxygen cylinder.
We set out into a clear morning with mild wind, heading down toward Camp 3. As we descended, we had to carefully pass more than 100 climbers making their way up the Geneva Spur—a steep and technical section leading to Camp 4. The narrow 18-inch-wide traverse forced us to alternate clip-ins on the fixed lines, passing one climber at a time in a delicate dance of coordination.
We paused briefly at a small camp used by those attempting Lhotse before continuing down the rope line to the top of the Lhotse Face—a massive wall of snow and ice that stretches three-quarters of a mile and drops 6,000 feet at a 40- to 50-degree angle. We would descend the entire face today, stopping briefly at Camp 3 about halfway down.
Descending a wall like this requires absolute focus. We stayed clipped into fixed ropes with two attachment points. On flatter sections, we used the rope as a brake, wrapping it around our arms. On steeper terrain, we rappelled facing the mountain, using a figure-eight descender. Some rope segments were 60 meters long; others were shorter and more technical. Each transition required reattaching gear—a challenge when working with bulky mittens.
We reached Camp 3 around 4:00 PM. I laid flat in a tent to regain some strength while a solemn scene unfolded nearby: a Sherpa guide and three team members were carefully lowering the body of a deceased climber, strapped into a yellow sled, down the fixed lines. It was a dangerous and delicate operation requiring extraordinary coordination.
After some rest, Ryan, Nema, and I resumed the descent, rappelling rope length after rope length until we reached the bergschrund—a final technical ice wall with a deep crevasse marking the transition to the Western CWM snowfield. At the base, one of our Sherpa guides from Camp 2 greeted us with hot water and a lighter pack, which I gratefully swapped for my heavier gear.
As the sun dipped low, we descended the gentle 1,500-foot slope toward Camp 2. After losing 8,000 feet in elevation since summiting, I felt a wave of relief. I was just hours away from a hot meal, electric power to charge my devices, and only one more challenge—the Khumbu Icefall—before reaching Everest Base Camp.
But the final stretch was brutal. Exhausted after a 12-hour day, I began stumbling over sharp rocks as we neared camp. Over dinner—noodles and soup—I fought hard to stay awake, doing my best not to spill my food. Jason and Grace, who had arrived earlier, were there, and for the first time, we could all celebrate completing the Seven Summits together.
Ryan reminded us that breakfast would be served at 7:00 AM and that we would begin our descent through Camp 1 and the Khumbu Icefall, aiming to reach Base Camp by 1:00 PM.
As I zipped into my sleeping bag, the cough deepened. My congestion and sputum worsened, and I could feel the sinus infection draining my remaining stamina. I fell asleep around 11:00 PM, but rest came only in short, 20-minute waves—each one interrupted by deep, hacking coughs. I prayed I would recover enough power in the next 8 hours to be ready for the final push home.
