“Beautiful night,” I grunted aloud, attempting to distract any thoughts of falling. “Balmy ocean breeze. Surf … thundering gently … in the distance. Beats the piss out of Antarctica. Uhh … Of course … technically … this is Antarctic … ugh, aw, shit. Gonna need … a manicure. Moonlight would … be nice. Wish … I had … some tunes. Rolling Stones. Easy. Breathe slow. I can’t get no satisfaction … but I tried—”

Three-quarters of the way up the cliff face, two hundred feet above the crashing waves, I stretched blindly overhead with my left hand—and lost my balance!

Tumbling sideways, I frantically slapped my palms across the rock face, miraculously catching the sharp rounded surface of a tree root with my right hand. Gripping the dried-out offshoot, I dangled briefly by one arm until my feet relocated their perch.

Easy. You’re okay, you’re okay … just breathe … nice and slow. Tree roots mean I’m getting close. Just need a short rest.

Regripping the root with my left hand, I gently opened and closed the fingers of my sore right hand, the joints curled, the digits painful and stiff. After a minute I switched hands, then, using the root, pulled myself higher, my eyes catching a tapestry of stars overhead.

Maybe a hundred yards. Might as well be a hundred light-years.

Eyes tearing, I set off again, grunting lyrics to one of my favorite oldies. “Sun … turnin’ ’round … with … graceful … motion . Bound for … a star … fiery oceans. It’s so … ugh, very lonely … you’re a hundred … light-years from home …

“Ow!”

Climbing in near-pitch darkness, the top of my head smashed painfully into a ceiling of rock. Dizzy, I looked up, my nerve daunted as my dirt-crusted eyes inspected the overhang—a five-foot curl of rock blocking my ascension.

Frustrated and full of anger, I yelled into the night, “Is this really necessary, God?”

The overhang was similar to what Andie and I had faced back in Virginia. To climb over it, I had to dangle by a handhold, blindly working my feet and legs up and over the edge.

“Embrace the fear, Ike. Use it to focus your strength.”

A blast of cold wind forced me into action. Leaning out from my perch as far as I dared, I felt along the underside of the overhang with my left hand for something I could grip.

Nothing but smooth rock. Wait … My fingertips probed a two-inch-deep crevice.

It would be a ballbuster—worse than Virginia. Once I committed to the move, there was no turning back. I would be dangling by my fingertips while my free hand searched blindly for a second handhold.

At best, I figured I had twenty seconds.