Nuptse
	the peak was reached by: Tomaž Humar in Janez Jeglič
	expedition members: Tomaž Humar (vodja), Janez Jeglič, Marjan Kovač
	west face of Nuptse W2, they climb alpine-style a new route Humar-Jeglič, 90° IV-V (50-70°, V)
	2500 m
	on the summit, a gust of gale sweeps Jeglič over the edge, Humar descends to base alone
Lobuche
	the peak was reached by: Tomaž Humar
	expedition members: Tomaž Humar (vodja), Janez Jeglič, Carlos Carsoli
	Northeast face. They climb alpine-style a new route Talking about Tsampa. V - VI 85° (50 - 70°).
	900 m
Pumori
	expedition members: Tomaž Humar (vodja), Carlos Carsolio, Janez Jeglič, Marjan Kovač
	Southeast face. They climb alpine-style a new variant on the French Buttress to 6300 m. 50 - 90°.

Some thought I had been dreaming about Nuptse for only a short while, but it had been growing inside me for a long time. And in Janez Jeglič - Johan to friends - since 1990. I later heard the clever debates on how it could have been climbed long ago if only it wasn't so damn dangerous, and how a high-grade winter ascent in the Slovene mountains should rate as an equal, if not greater, achievement as the west face of Nuptse.

I try to start the stove going. After an hour of vain attempts I doze off, exhausted, next to a lighted candle.

I wake around three a.m., surrounded by flames. With no conscious awareness yet of what's actually happening I whack at the burning stove. I manage to throw it out of what's left of the scorched tent. I again fall asleep, half-covered with my singed sleeping bag. Although down in the valley they're anxiously awaiting my call, I only manage to partly wake up after eleven. At noon I drag myself out of the snow and the remains of the tent. I'm tormented by a terrible thirst which reminds me I have to descend another 1500 meters or I may perish. Despite the wind, the going is fast as far as the edge of the crevasse where Johan and I set up our second bivouac at 6300 meters. But the ice bridge over which we crossed the crevasse four days ago is gone. I have no alternative but to throw myself the five meters over the crevasse and onto a snow cone beneath. There's no time for hypothesizing what'll happen if I break an ankle. Nor any will for it either. Next comes the couloir into which cascades everything that collapses in the Orient Express. The vertical icefall saps my last drop of energy. In the hard brittle ice, my feet more often seek support in the air than in the steep surface itself. I'm only a few meters away from the snow cone at the bottom of the couloir, when I hear a deafening boom above me.

I drive the ice-axes into the ice with all my remaining strength. Holy guacamole, have I been allowed this far only to be crushed now in a few seconds like a fly? Defenseless in the realization that this is probably what's about to happen, I hang my head after casting a quick glance up for the last time. Blocks of ice crash into one another and break against the vertical sides. The hail of ice chunks knocks my feet off their holds twice, and flattens my nose. The sharpest piece swipes the top of my head. I look back up. A powdery cascade of snow comes rushing at me and cools my hot face.
" Good god, I'm alive!"

On an adrenaline high I hurl myself into the snow cone, flip over onto my backside and skid down toward the foot of the face, back into life.

I brake with my ice-ax to spare what's left of my coccyx. With the last sunrays, the big face says goodbye to the day. I hurtle toward a rock pillar at the edge of the glacier. I reach the crevasses in twilight, drive in a piton and, wrapped in my bivouac sac, wait for Marjan. I don't dare tackle the dangerous glacier without a light.

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