Day 62 6/28/01 17,200' Camp, Denali Acclimatization/rest Day Sure enough, during the night, the winds kicked up to about 40mph, blasting the tent and blowing drifting snow everywhere. The noise (and uncertainty of the tent's true stability) made it almost impossible to sleep, although I did get a small amount in. In the morning I could see telltale lenticulars (lens-shaped clouds) over the summits of Denali and nearby Mt. Foraker. These are sure signs of high winds on the summits, and to climbers they spell "keep away". That was all I needed to know. I'd be going nowhere today. There was a lot of drifted snow to be dug out anyway, and work of any kind at high altitude is exhausting. There is a peculiar sensation to being at a high camp on any mountain. One feels almost a trespasser, there only by the good graces of weather and whatever your own puny body can adapt to. This forbidden land will destroy you without consideration unless you adapt to it. Like the sea, you'd best roll with the punches instead of trying to bend it to your will. Later in the day the wind died down, and it was decision time again. I would leave in the morning for the summit, so there was a lot of preparation to be done. I'd need to separate out a minimal set of gear for a summit dash, light enough to move quickly but enough to survive if things turned bad. That meant a few extra clothes, and more importantly a snow shovel to dig out a shelter in the event I needed to hunker down during a storm (which could last days, so better bring the food for it too). I laid in my tent that night, my mind filled with all the scenarios that could go wrong, and what I would do about them if they happened. I take risks; but they are calculated risks, and whenever possible not hapless ones. In the morning I would travel alone farther than I ever had, to an altitude I had never been. For everyone, there is a first time.

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