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When I write this chapter in a café in Salzburg sixteen years later, I’ve known many people who have died climbing. I know that most of their last moments were spent in terror, and it haunts me. Some were dear friends and others I knew only briefly, but they were all kindred, and their names are Andre Callari and Rupert Rosedale. Micah Dash and Jonny Copp and Chhewang Nima Sherpa and Dean Potter. Scott Adamson and Kyle Dempster and Hayden Kennedy and Hansjörg Auer and Jess Roskelley and Ueli Steck and Hilaree Nelson and I’m sure that I have left others out.
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