My camera lens fogged. That's not a Photoshop effect.

Well, here's the turning point, so to speak. If you want to know what happened, how things ended up, well, read on.

We topped out on Saddleback and looked for the descent off its back side. What we found sickened us both. I'd like to think that we were a little off-route again, but having read the guidebook once more, I don't think we were too far away. The descent was about 300 vertical feet of treacherously iced up ledges. With our loads, a descent would absolutely demand rappels, and we would probably be leaving gear. And really, we didn't have much. A few slings, two pins and a screw. And a #2 stopper. And that was it.

No one had been down Saddleback in a long time, from the looks of it. We knew that if we descended that we were going to be totally committed. We would have to make it down in one piece, make it up Basin, and back down. Then we'd have to make it out. We were convinced that we would be routefinding and breaking trail the whole way. My snowshoes would probably not make it. That would augur very badly for the deep snow we would almost certainly encounter. We were nearly out of food. We might even have to bivy again...

James and I thought all of these things aloud. James decided to put crampons on and go have another look at the potential descent. I wasn't comfortable going back out there without a belay, so I offerred to dig out a plush bivy site just off the summit. In a few minutes James came back with an assessment. It was possible, but "you're not going to like it at all." James described numerous rappels over ledges. Much sketchiness.

We decided to go ahead and bivy, have a quick meal and talk things over. So we went ahead and set up the bivy, had a quick meal and talked things over.

James was upbeat. He was also cautious. He had mentioned more than once how cool he thought Gothics was. He brought it up again, saying, "For me, Gothics is the highlight. The view was amazing. It was a great experience." He then added, "Speaking for myself, it's enough. I don't really have a need to go any further. I know the traverse is more important to you as a goal. I'm willing to consider pushing on, but it's not that important to me."

I was shovelling snow into our cook pot. James' words "I know the traverse is more important to you as a goal" echoed in my head.

As a goal.
As a goal.
As a goal.

Really? Why did I care about this thing so much?

And when I asked the question, it occurred to me, quite simply, that I didn't. I just didn't care about the thing anymore.

"James, I just realized something," I said. "This traverse thing? Not really all that cool."

Some nervous laughter.

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "Let's boil a lot of water tonight, get up in the morning, and if the weather isn't perfect, let's get the hell out of here."

I knew full well that the forecast was for mixed precip and high winds.

"In other words, James, let's pray for shit weather."

"Deal."

We talked for an hour or so as we melted snow and looked up into the sky, the stars so heavily hanging you felt as if you could touch them, that you could feel their warmth (you'll do all sorts of things to trick yourself into thinking you're warmer out there). We talked about the views, the uncommon sights, the incredible colors that one sees in the mountains. Those who do not go up high cannot imagine these things. They will never see them.

We were happy. It was okay.