On the morning of our summit attempt, our local guide was accidentally locked in his hut. I let him out, but I think that in the confusion he thought I was the one who had locked him in. That is, unless “F### you, Adam!” is actually Russian for “Why, thank you for releasing me, kind sir!”

On the morning after our incomplete summit attempt, he dropped a minor bombshell on us. We’d spent the night having a singsong and making peace with the idea of not reaching the top. I’d decided that we’d made all the right decisions and done everything right and that was good enough. Then he went and offered us a second attempt. My initial reaction wasn’t excitement or relief or even apprehension. My initial reaction was “bugger, I wish I’d left him locked in the feckin hut.”

It felt like I’d just sat an exam and passed with a decent grade, let’s say a B-; and then the examiner offers us the chance to resit the exam and try for the A+. It was another chance to do things right, but it was also another chance to do things wrong and we were under pressure to make a quick decision.

The offer was to start from the hotel in the valley at 2am; pay the cable car and chairlift operators to run after hours, get a snowcat as high as possible and (and this was important) get up and down before the chairlifts stopped again at 4pm. It was doable, but it was a big ask. If we missed the 4pm cutoff, we’d have to spend another night on the mountain and miss our flight back to Moscow. If everything worked out, it would cost an extra €2,000. If anything delayed us, who knows.

I think we were all pretty stumped by the offer. Up til then, we’d made every decision right, but here was another one and tougher than all the rest.

Some people pulled out immediately: they were exhausted; the price was prohibitive; or they felt they’d already done what they came to do. Some people were immediately eagre to start again: they felt that adrenaline would make up for tired muscles; they might never be back; and the price of a second summit attempt was always going to be less than the cost of a second trip from Ireland to Russia. With everyone who pulled out, the price per person for the rest of the team increased.

The weather forecast didn’t help us decide: slower winds, which was good; but colder temperatures even at lower altitudes and more fresh snow leading to an increased avalanche risk.

By the early afternoon, four of us were left in it. One definite, one probably and two who were undecided, including me. My thoughts were these: the weather isn’t any better, my gear is still wet, my muscles are still sore, and we’re under more time pressure; but… I’m not going to sit in the hotel and wonder while some of the team are trying again.

I have heard  (from Stephen Fry on QI, I think) that we make better decisions on a full bladder, so I considered drinking a skinfull of beers at lunch at making my decision then, but I had actually made my decision before lunch.

It took me a while to realise that my only argument in favour of a second attempt was so that I wouldn’t feel like I’d missed out. I didn’t really feel strong enough to try again, but it took a while before I’d admit it. When I did, I pulled out and in the end none of us went. I don’t know if it was the right decision, but it was the one we made.

We found out later that another Irish team had reached the summit that day. It was their first and only attempt and they got blue skies and magical views. So it goes.

We spent the rest of the time in the Baksan valley enjoying the views and the local culture. We haggled for woolen goods, I bought a hat that resembles either a bird’s nest or the lining of a hanging basket, we hiked to a waterfall and we adopted a very cute little dog who joined us on our walks for two days. We fed her, petted her and took pictures, but eventually she abandoned for another team. What a bitch.

We last saw her as we were leaving a restaurant late on our last night. She was hanging around the square on her own; probably hoping to adopt another team. We saw her but I am not sure if she saw us. Maybe she did and just ignored us… sniff.

We had a good time in those last two days. On our hike, we disturbed a young couple in the long grass. Later on we passed an elderly man piling cut grass and weeds into the back of his lada. Our guide said it was for animal feed but I think the old man was just searching for more canoodling couples.

We drank beers and told stories about taking sick cocks to the vet and asking the waitresses to take our tops off (our beers). We met our guide’s girlfriend, an event which might have broken a few hearts, but we mended them with honey pots, beers and lots of free vodka.

I made a point of trying to reduce the weight of my bags for the return flight to Moscow, but all I could think of leaving behind was half a roll of damp toilet paper and 15 packets of crumbled oat biscuits. Still 630 Rubles overweight, but we all made it to Moscow.