Finally on top there was no time to celebrate as the conditions ensure this was no perfect glory run. Skidding sideways on barely edgeable ice, axe firmly clasped in hand, the rock wall sits and waits, an uninviting catchers mitt for any mistake. The windblown patches invite more speed, which I immediately regret as soon as another ice section clattered under my skis. Staring back up the beast, slumped in the snow, the first flakes of the arriving storm fall, the beguiling serenity of the moment abandoned to a mad cap escape, staggering, falling and giggling our way back down the boulder strewn creek.