I leave ABC after lunch, loaded up with everything I think I might need — camera, backup camera, extra batteries, tapes, oxygen mask, axes, down suit — the list is endless and heavy. As I walk out of camp, Dick and the rest of the team line the path up the hill, shaking hands and wishing me a safe trip.

I'm excited and nervous. I still have no idea if I can do this. My job is to climb to Camp 4 at 27,500 feet (8,400 metres), filming all the way. Once I get there, I'm to film the teams arriving and leaving Camp 4 for the summit and then arriving back.

On Day 2 of the summit push I leave Camp 1 just in front of Mogens and Brett, then film back down the hill as they leave camp. Mogens catches me and passes. Brett climbs slowly around 100 feet below me all morning.

Around 2 p.m. bad weather hits us — strong wind and driving snow. Within a few minutes visibility is down to a few feet. I can't see any of the climbers and I'm not sure how much farther there is to go. I think about waiting for Brett to catch me but I'm not sure how long I can survive in this weather, so I continue to push up toward the next camp.

Within minutes of the weather hitting us Brett comes on the radio saying he's finished and is turning back. There's no way I can climb down to him in this weather; I’m getting cold and the climbing is getting harder. I have to reach the next camp.

Beauty and the Beast I thought the weather at Camp 2 was bad, but by Camp 3 it's getting ridiculous. Camp 3 isn't really a camp in any normal sense of the word. There's no space for tents, so the Sherpas cut ledges into the steep slopes of the mountain and bolt everything down with rocks.

When I arrive the wind is gusting to 50 mph and getting worse by the minute. The Sherpas are struggling to pin down one of the tents. It gets loose and hits me full on, knocking me off my feet.

Suddenly the whole situation steps up a notch. Adrenalin starts to kick in and if I hadn't realized it before, I'm now fully conscious that this climb is real. The wind is so strong that standing upright is seriously cold and the risk of being blown off the mountain is very real.

With the camp sorted I join Ken in our tent. He's a serious climber from the U.S. — he makes films about big wall climbing and summited Everest last year. In two days’ time he'll go for the summit again, filming our team. In the tent we have to shout over the noise of the wind, and every few minutes a big gust threatens to blow us off the mountain, tent and all. Ken says in his climbing dude drawl, "If this wind gets any stronger we'll be blown in to China by the morning."

At around 5:30 p.m. we hear Russ on the radio to head guide Bill who's in a tent only a few yards from ours. The weather is so bad they're talking about postponing the summit bid. I get geared up and check with Ken to see if he thinks it's safe before I head out of our tent and walk the five yards to Bill's tent to capture the conversation on tape.

After just five yards I need a down suit, oxygen and crampons. Standing up outside the tent with a 5,000-foot drop on one side and a 50-mph wind feels like an extreme sport — and there's no safety rope. Bill is calm, even though he says we're staying here an extra day. I check Mogens' tent. He's climbing without oxygen and an extra day for him is bad news. He's putting a brave face on it.

Up here no one gets negative — it's all about being positive. Apart from the view, there's nothing really very nice about anything at Camp 3. Your entire being is in a state of constant ache, like a bad case of the flu or worse. If I ever felt like this at sea level I'd check myself into the hospital. So if people started moaning, the whole deal would collapse and we'd all go home.

The view, however, is otherworldly — miles above the clouds, miles above most of the surrounding peaks. I stop on the way back to my tent and set my camera on the ground, leaning my weight on top. The sun is setting and I want to capture five minutes of time-lapse footage as the sun drops behind the Himalayas. It's all I can do to keep the camera still and quickly my hands start to freeze.

After sundown I crawl back to the tent, the wind still blasting away. Ken is angry and tells me, "You shouldn't stay out there that long, man. Stuff turns to s**t real quick up here. You need to be real careful not to get cold or you won't warm up again." He's right, of course, and it takes me most of the night before I'm warm again.