The snow was wet, reasonably steep (35-50 degrees in spots), and, most importantly, wasn't leading to any ice. The bit of snow and ice we'd seen on a slab off to the right of the main gully was like cake frosting. Far too thin to even consider. And the running water underneath was a bit disconcerting. We decided to follow the gully up and over a rise to a large, pyramidal boulder pictured just above my pack, where we would take a break and reassess just what the hell we were doing with our lives.

As Brian and I discussed before, during and after, we felt it was necessary to document this attempt, banal as it may come across. And the reason for this is simple: when we get down off the hill and look back on the day, and the mind plays tricks and somehow remembers the effort and the route as "really not that bad of a line," or "probably a lot of fun when it's in," or "something to try again sometime," we can produce a document debunking such myths, and move on to something worthwhile.

Dignan: Gee man, that's not the greatest attitude in the world to have. I don't think we get anywhere by complaining, guys.

Please note the French pants. Unfortunately I took a projectile to the gluteus somewhere in Tahoe. Also, pay close attention to the glasses. If you look very carefully, you may be able to see the flames painted on the frames. These unfortunately did not make me any faster. I don't carry this sort of thing off very well.