Some Choose a Bar or Club for Their Wild Nights...

by Trevor Bockstahler

The snow was thick, fluttering down now harder than ever, it was hard to believe that just an hour ago at the bottom of the pass I was sweating through my shirt. The air was crisp, cold, and quiet as I ascended the pass. It felt sharp in my lungs as I inhaled, packing down freshly fallen snow into the screen slope with every step. With an exhale, I took my last step up to the top of the pass, watching the condensation of my breath cloud the beautiful view before me.

The valley was entirely free of the storm behind me which lazily sat in the cirque that formed the pass. It was beautiful, a long ridge split the left drainage from the right, the massive hilly landscape was complex and unclear. The sun was well below the horizon now, and as I traced a probable path the patches of thorn bushes softly, gazed back, easing me away from the cliffs. I was far from sure that I was going to set eyes on this today. I had found myself dramatically slowed by two unfortunate events getting lost, and by numerous river crossings through a frigid canyon. I had also just been strongly questioning if climbing into a snow storm on a high trail-less pass was a wise move in the late evening. But I went anyway, not so much because I had a desire to be quick and efficient, I did, but what I really wanted, what I needed was the night and the valley. It was almost here, and it was right there...