How many marks would this description get?

It was based on the image at the bottom of this (https://files.schudio.com/durhamjohnston/files/documents/ENGLISH_LANG_-_GCSE_-_PAPER_1_WRITING.pdf) booklet (the one with the hikers in the ice)
Please excuse any formatting issues.
Like a line of ants, the men traversed the freezing snow, their silhouettes serving as the only deviation from the bleached, white snow. Their footprints were the only signs of life in the frozen wasteland. The men were dwarfed by colossal mountains, their shadows rendering the men's shadows invisible. The crunch of snow under the men's feet was the only break in the silence of the land scape; the crunches were like alarms, alerting Mother Nature to the hikers' presence in her domain. The men marched like a convoy of tanks, making war against the ice and the snow.
So far, the men were losing.
Yet they marched on, full of determination. The fires of hope inside the men burned almost bright enough to melt the snow around them.
The bags on their backs weighed them down; the men were like camels, being ridden by the spirit of adventure. The men's shadows, casted by the winter sun, all merged into one straight, black line, only broken by the shape of the mountains. The men's shadows blended together, as did the mountains, the snow, and the days the men were hiking for. Anyone would be driven insane by the monotony of it all. But not these men, for they had hearts of oak, some of the only signs of life on the barren ice.
The terrian had creases like a tablecloth. This only added to the men's insignificance, compared to the sentinel mountains. The men were reduced to nothing but crumbs on God's tablecloth, as if he was playing a cruel joke on them. The men were seen as heroes in their native land, going to conquer the ice. However, it was the mountains which conquered them, stripping them of any acclaim, like a furnace melting down badges of honour.
The men flattened the rough snow with their smooth boots, a futile attack against the snow.
The sun's light twinkled off of the pure, white, angelic snow, but for the men, this was no heaven. They seemed to have been punished by the unforgiving landscape.
Yet in the face of all of this, the men soldiered on, perhaps out of fear, hope, or desperation.
From my perspective, it is impossible to know. The snow has suffocated each man's purpose.
The men pricked the surface of the snow with their poles. To the men, the poles were like a lifeline, the only things allowing them to traverse the land. But to the snow, they were like dull blades, just barely piercing its skin. The footsteps of the men, their coughs, and their groans were amplified by the icy mountains, in an almost mocking tone, the landscape reminding the men of their weakness.
Yet the men were able to look back upon their tracks, etched into the snow. Yes, the footprints may be covered again in a few weeks, even days. But in those fragile moments, the men were able to look back upon their tracks, and say "We were here!", a small amount of resistance, but resistance nontheless, against the snow which had held them, and their minds, hostage for all of this time.
And that was all the men needed to carry on.

I would highly recommend that you delete this, anyone could steal this without your permission.