With a shuddering sob Helen collapsed on the ridge and burst into tears.“I cannot take another step,” she sobbed. “Oh, I know it’s all vanity and pride!”

She was referring to the summit, looming in full infuriating view an hour’s slog above us. “You go on,” she said with quivering lip, “I’ll wait for you here”.

“Forget it, I’m not going up without you and frankly I’m not that bothered about the summit. And for goodness sake stop crying. You’ll need that energy for the descent”.

So that drew a line under our climb of Stok Kangri in Ladakh, surely one of the Himalayas most accessible 20,000 foot peaks. The error that day was to have taken the summit head on across the moraine from our advanced base camp, which was set up on the wrong side of the glacier. Had we crossed the glacier and pitched our tent on a platform below the start of the climb, and then headed off diagonally left across the moraine towards the ridge… who knows?

It doesn’t matter: I repeated the mantra to myself on the silent trek back to base camp and down the trail to Stok village at the road head, the last stop before picking up the jeep to Leh. Success, failure – every mountaineer knows these are mere words, devoid of significance. The summit is a trap cunningly laid by our ego, designed to keep us bound to the wheel of samsara.

What’s that, you failed to summit Stok Kangri? There it is, the very word of shame and humiliation, enslaving us to our egos. It’s all rubbish, of course, we reassure ourselves. What really matters is the camaraderie, the days spent with good companions in the inspiring environment of the high mountains. The summit is a bit of icing on the cake. It adds nothing to the experience apart from a false sense of prestige, derived from the Latin praestagium, meaning illusion. The summit, in fact, is a mere illusion.

Oh yes.

So it was that the following August found us starting off once more from advanced base, this time camp properly sited on the far side of the glacier, plodding manfully across the moraine straight towards the summit ridge.

Two hours into the climb and “Oh, God,” Helen moaned, collapsing once more on the ridge, in fact the very same spot as the previous year. “It’s such a long way…”

Not again, I thought with inner rage, an eye fixed on the beckoning summit.

“All right, have a little rest. Have a drink of water, catch your breath, count to ten – but we’ve got to carry on because the weather is looking pretty naff.” Bands of mist rolled up from the valley, intermittently obscuring the snow-capped summit. It was obvious we would have to move smartly if we were to enjoy any view at all from the top. Helen began rummaging in her day sack and what happened next left me gaping in stunned disbelief.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing with that?” “It’s all right,” she smiled. “It’ll boost my morale”. But – lipstick! We’re nearly twenty thousand feet up in the Himalayas and you… “There we are.” She zipped up her sack, smacking her brightly rouged lips. “Let’s go.”.

Helen is six feet tall and she is maddeningly unaffected by altitude. Once suitably made-up off she marched at a sprightly quip, unheeding of my protests about the importance of keeping a slow and steady pace. We negotiated the handful of slightly exposed spots on the ridge and three and a half hours after leaving out tents we found ourselves on the top of Stok Kangri, with just enough sunlight left for a couple of snapshots of K-2 on the horizon, before the mist billowed over the summit.

Jules Stewart is leading a Ladakh trek and ascent of Stok Kangri on 17th-31st July 2004. Details are available on 0207 2294774 or e-mail: Jjulesstewart@aol.com

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