0700, portaledge camp, Torres del Paine. It´s just not going to happen. I feel it, I know it. I hate knowing it. Looking out our tiny suspended PortALedge tent, outside the weather is grey, sober, windy. How are we supposed to tackle our VIII offwith crack like that? We have been waiting for three days for some sunny spells and the opportunity to give it a fair try. Three days already, and today, this very day, our attempt on this face seems to be given a halt at belay 17. It is a fact: we will never top out on to the summit in our remaining 3 days. A bitter pill to swallow.

1300, belay 14, Torres del Paine. Gerke and I are on our way up to the top of the fixed lines, as again huge blocks come falling from the top of the central tower, heading for Martin en Ronald in their PAL´s. Gerke and I duck for shelter, and as huge pieces pass me by, a nasty last one strikes me in the neck. The shock makes my knees collapse below me, and I nearly get blown of the ledge. I seem to be okay, but being so close to lifetime disability and a wheelchair, the incident has scared the shit out of me. This incident matches the day’s sober state, as we continue our way up, to get those fixed lines back down to camp 13. Our retreat has begun..

1600, portaledge camp, Torres del Paine. We are back down at camp 13 again, arranging gear and coiling up ropes that we have taken with us from above. Hopefully the labour will make us warm up a bit, for the ever lasting wind has made the rappels from belay 17 a day’s work on its own. We´ve lost almost an entire static on the way down, probably jammed at the belay just by force of the wind. Unbelievable, but a hard Patagonian reality.

1900, portaledge camp, Torres del Paine. Martin hands me over a cup of coffee. What will run through his mind? And Gerke and Ronald, how will they feel? I seem to think of nothing. I feel so defeated, I am just so utterly sad…

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welcome to thursday 4st of february