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I climbed Gasherbrum I with Wielicki in 1995, after my partner Rob Hall had gone home. It was simply by chance that Wielicki and I met on the mountain, but as a partner he was a man you could trust and rely on. He loved being in the mountains, and he was like a tiger on the hill. I can only imagine how strong he was in the 1980s, when he was at the top of his game. I would gladly go on another expedition with Krzysztof if the opportunity arose.

I believe it will be the Poles, with their legendary stamina, tolerance for pain, and tenacity, who will be the first to get up K2 in winter. They seem willing to go back time and time again until they succeed. But even so, a future triumph will depend on phenomenally good conditions during the winter the climbers mount their attack.

On Everest, every plausible route—except the Fantasy Ridge, a line on the east face to the right of the two routes that have already been climbed—has been knocked off. On K2, there are still a number of high-quality routes awaiting their first ascents, including the east face and the complete northwest ridge. And the passion to put up first solo ascents of difficult routes is alive and well on the world’s second-highest mountain.

In recent years, helicopter rescue has—thanks to some astonishingly gutsy aerial feats by Nepalese and Pakistani pilots—begun to transform the game all over the Himalaya. There is already evidence that some self-styled hero-alpinists are willing to stick their necks out on 8,000ers farther than they otherwise would, as they count on choppers to get them out of trouble. This is, on the whole, a deplorable trend, for the pilots, who routinely go nameless in the media, risk their own lives to save showboating climbers who are only after personal glory.

If you doubt whether aerial rescue can transform an exploratory “game,” just look at the north and south poles. For centuries, the poles were the most remote places on earth, and such genuine heroes as Amundsen, Scott, and Peary gave everything they had to reach them by the best means available—sleds, dogs, and skis. Nowadays you can book a trip to skydive over the north pole or be flown there to compete in a marathon. Ninety degrees north can be “bagged” in merely a long weekend away from your home in suburban America. There are still daring explorers pushing new “firsts” in the Arctic and the Antarctic, although when they get in trouble, they are routinely spirited to safety by helicopters.

Will choppers transform climbing on K2, or is altitude an impenetrable barrier for aircraft? It remains to be seen. No climber has yet been lifted by helicopter from the summit of Everest, but a few years ago a nervy French pilot touched down there; with his rotors still going and only one skid balanced on the summit, he stayed for several minutes before peeling off into the empyrean. No one could have safely jumped aboard and been whisked to safety, as the helicopter was already at its limit. But who knows what the next few years may bring.

For me, it would be a sad turn of events if helicopters could pluck stranded climbers off the highest summits. In the last decade, cell phones have transformed the rescue of backcountry hikers and climbers in the United States. A lot of folks go out now believing that if they get into trouble, all they have to do is dial 911. God forbid if the same thing came to pass on the 8,000ers. I’ve always liked the sense of disconnection from the rest of the world that I get on high peaks, and the self-reliance that imposes, as I realize that my safety depends entirely on my own careful decision making. There aren’t many places left on earth where a rescue by outsiders is still literally impossible.

It’s clear that in recent times, climbers on 8,000ers, like some of the ones stranded in August 2008 above the Bottleneck, have simply sat down to await a rescue from other climbers. Such a thing was always inconceivable to me. On all my expeditions, I said to myself, If I get in trouble here, it’s my problem