Kit began to take off her skis in an awkward and steep spot. She got her crampons on and moved around the corner, putting her out of touch with me. Word got to me that Rob was out of oxygen. I wasn't terribly worried; I could see the big pile of full oxygen bottles our team had stashed about 250 feet away at the South Summit. But I was unaware of the strenuous and contorted position he was in on the Step. Eventually, the rope went slack and I pulled it back up. Jimmy was anxious to get tied in, and he immediately slid to the corner on his skis and disappeared.

Time stretched on, with only a tug here and a yell there. The rest of our climbing team clambered down past me, and I was relieved to see first Kit and later Rob making their way on foot to the South Summit oxygen depot. After I'd been in my cold belay seat for two hours, the rope finally came up free. As I deconstructed the anchors, I watched Jimmy ski across the wild traverse to the South Summit. (Jimmy had also run out of O's on the lower part of the Step and had nearly gotten flipped when his skis caught on old ropes.) I was last and now in danger of being left behind in the gathering snowstorm. I saw the gang holding skis up on top of the South Summit, and I reached for my radio. I asked them to consider that the window of opportunity for skiing was closing with the weather, the late hour, and the unexpected difficulties that the Hillary Step had presented. They accepted my cautious thinking, adding their own observations of avalanche potential. Their intention had been to ski every inch of the mountain from the summit, but life in the stratosphere requires flexibility, and their biggest goal still remained—skiing the steep and slick Lhotse Face the next morning. Our team cramponed down to high camp, at the South Col, in snow and wind, carrying skis and "arm-rappelling" the steep fixed ropes. Rob and Jimmy couldn't resist strapping on the boards for the last few hundred vertical feet into camp. I had to admit that this was a beautiful and inspiring thing to see in a late-afternoon burst of sunshine at 26,000 feet.