the peak was reached by: Stane Belak - Šrauf, Tomaž Humar
	expedition members: Stane Belak - Šrauf (leader), Dare Alič, Vinko Berčič - Cenko, Cene Grilc, Tomaž Humar, Grega Kresal, Franci Vetorazzi - Štancar
	southeast face, the first time the Japanese Route was repeated, with the new Slovene Variant (1000 m), 90° IV-V (75° IV)
	2800 m
	Tomaž Humar's first Himalayan expedition.
	This was the first time he experienced the feeling of high altitude and started learning the basics of survival at an altitude over 4000 m. He was climbing in a threesome together with Grega Kresal and Stane Belak - Šrauf
	Kresal was forced to turn back because he was experiencing problems with his ribs. Humar persisted on continuing the ascent despite Šrauf's disapproval.
	Šrauf followed him and on November 13, 1994, 54-year-old Stane Belak and 25-year-old Tomaž Humar stood together on the peak.
	During the descent, Tomaž Humar, unaccustomed to conditions in the Himalayas, almost died of cold and exhaustion.

When we were setting off on our expedition, Šrauf nicknamed it "the underdog expedition". I was too young to understand his point, and too green to make out his meaning when I read his statement in the paper: "We'll see what the old ones are capable of, and what the pups are." He admitted in the end that we were such screwballs he could not even fight with us properly.

As soon as it dawns, we start toward the summit plateau. The sun is high on the horizon when Šrauf starts raving again:
"I'm baking like in a damn oven, goddamn it! Ganesh, you traitor, you're killing me!"
"Come on, Šrauf, just breathe," I try to warn him.
In a fit of temper he hurls his rucksack on the ground and says that he's not going to lug around a rucksack this heavy in his old age. He pulls his wool hat off his head and flings it on the ground, then picks it up and sticks it under my nose.
" Here, smell this, see, it smells of singed wool!"

He waits up for me some two hundred meters higher up. He's been walking for quite a while without his poles and rucksack. He wrenches the poles out of my hands and carries on plowing through the deep snow.
"Hey, Šrauf, what're you doing,give me back my poles!"

"Just take pictures, pup, take pictures!
Make people see how tough we've got it up here!"
Late in the afternoon, pretty well worn out, we climb up to the rock barrier. Šrauf tries to instruct me how to climb, but that's because he doesn't know me well enough. If he did, he'd know I take no-one's advice when it comes to climbing: "Okay, Šrauf, that's it, that's enough! Just belay and take pictures!"

The last pitch is fifty meters long, and I try everything I can think of, for more than two hours. When I finally manage to climb up onto a snow ledge, I can't insert the titan piton into the rock. Šrauf, who's not in a position to see my predicament, jumars up to me, despite the fact that rather than the belay, I'm the one holding him, since the piton is hanging out so far that it moves. When he sees that, he spends several precious minutes hauling me over the coals.

"Is that what you youngsters call climbing nowadays? You're all going to get killed!"
"Cut it out, Šrauf, you peg a better belay if you think you can."
Šrauf wastes some more time trying to do that, but gives up when he realizes it's pointless. All I have left is fifty meters of climbing rope and one titan angle piton. Šrauf starts grumbling again that this is not enough to get us over the overhanging ice chimney and that we have to go down since it's getting dark anyway.

"Do you know, Tomi, if you fall nowyou'll take both of us down?"
"Be quiet, Šrauf, just belay and take pictures!"

Šrauf falls silent when I pull myself over the ice overhang at the top of the chimney, wearing a single pair of thin, woolen gloves. I've finally climbed over, and I'm exhausted and gulping for air. The rope runs out in the steep, seventy-degree slope. I drive in both ice-axes as deep as I can and wait for Šrauf. He again jumars up the rope, almost dragging us both into the depths. When he reaches me, we leave my ice-ax with the rope attached to it in the snow and climb together to the peak.

It's so very pointed, we can only stand next to it and hold it. It's almost dark, the remaining light in the west is tainting Manaslu purple. This is where our wanderer, Nejc Zaplotnik, stopped forever. We radio base and flash our flashlights hello. On Šrauf's fifty-fourth birthday we're standing on the top of a new beginning. It's a big day.

Abstract from the book by Tomaž Humar, No Impossible Ways, 2001, Mobitel d.d., Ljubljana