There's a point on the traverse where the decision stops being a decision. The slope steepens, the rocks close in behind you, and the only remaining option is the one in front of you.

Somebody has already been through here - you can see where they went, and where they thought better of it. But the line they took isn't yours, and the mountain isn't offering advice. It just sits there in the cold light, holding its shape the way it has for ten thousand winters, entirely indifferent to whether you make it down cleanly.

Most of the important things work this way. You commit, and then you find out.