The three climbers watched as the last sliver of sun traced the curvature of the Earth in a belt of dying flame. Two miles below, the striated expanse of the Baltoro Glacier was already dark, matching the cold interstellar blackness overhead. One by one, the massive peaks of the Karakoram winked out: Gasherbrum I and II, Broad Peak, Muztagh and Trango Towers, Chogolisa. Then the sun vanished, and the brief twilight swallowed the mountain on which they stood: K2, the highest and least forgiving in the range. For every four climbers who have reached its summit, one has died in the attempt.
The three – Gerard McDonnell, Marco Confortola, and Wilco van Rooijen – knew they had just seen something no sane mountaineer would ever wish to witness: a sunset from above 27,000 feet. Precious few who have seen one have lived to describe its glory. At that altitude every breath is a labor; each lungful of air holds only a third of the oxygen at sea level. Their bodies and brains were already beginning to shut down, and the coming darkness would bring brutal, minus-40-degree cold that would singe any exposed flesh. Experienced mountaineers all, Gerard, Marco, and Wilco knew they had pressed their luck by continuing to the top so late in the day.
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