Northern Lights

camped there, under what is now buried and barren, and how soon the mountain will shift or shimmy and bury the snow cave we fought to hack into her.
    We had a short, screaming argument over how to circumvent the debris. I took the lead. We spent what seemed like two lifetimes getting through and around it, but it couldn't have been done any faster, no matter what anyone else thinks. It's a hazardous area, known as Quicksand Pass because the glacier's moving under you. You can't see it, can't feel it, but she's slipping and sliding her way under you. And she can suck you down, because beneath that world of white are crevices just waiting to make themselves your coffin.
    We picked our way up Lonely Ridge, ice axes ringing, frost clinging to our eyelashes, and after battling our way around Satan's Chimney, had lunch on a picnic blanket of untouched snow.
    The sun was a ball of gold ice.
    I risked a few pictures, but was afraid the cold would break the camera.
    There was little grace but plenty of passion in the post-lunch climb. Maybe it was the speed we'd popped for dessert, but we kicked and cursed the mountain and each other. We beat steps into the snow for what seemed like hours, while that golden ball began to sink and turn a vicious, violent orange, that set fire to the snow. Then left us in the killing dark.
    We used our headlamps to give us enough light to chop a tent ledge into the ice. We're camped here, listening to the wind blow like a storm surf through the night, easing our exhaustion with some prime weed and the success of the day.
    We've taken to calling one another by code names from Star Wars. We're now Han, Luke and Darth. I'm Luke. We entertained ourselves pretending we were on the ice planet Hoth, on a mission to destroy an Empire stronghold. Of course, that means Darth's working against us, but that adds to the fun.
    Hey, whatever floats your boat.
    We made good progress today, but we're getting jumpy. It felt good to carve my ice ax into No Name's belly, inching my way up her. There was a lot of shouting, insults—motivational at first, then turning on an edge as ice chunks rained down. Darth took some in the face, and cursed me for the next hour.
    For a minute today I thought he was going to lose it and try to bloody my face as I had his. Even now I can feel him stewing about it, boring the occasional dirty look at the back of my head while Han's snoring starts to compete with the wind.
    He'll get over it. We're a team, and each one of us has the others' lives in his hands. So he'll get over it when we start climbing again.
    Maybe we should ease off the speed, but a couple of pops gives you a nice rush and helps beat off the cold and fatigue.
    There's nothing like this in the world. The blinding sparkle of snow, the sound of axes slapping ice, or squeaking through snow, the scrape of crampon on rock, the free-falling wonder of the rope, and watching the ice fire with sunset.
    Even now, huddled in the tent as I write this, my belly roiling from our dinner of freeze-dried stew, my body aching from the abuse, and fear of frostbite and death gnawing like a rat at the back of my brain, I wouldn't be anywhere else.
     
     
    BY SEVEN, NATE FIGURED he'd put in a long enough day. He carried a radio phone with him. If anyone called the station after hours, the call would be bounced to his phone.
    He'd have preferred eating in his room, alone, in the quiet, so his brain could unclog from all the details jammed into it throughout the day. And because he'd prefer alone.
    But he wasn't going to get anywhere in this town by secluding himself, so he slid into an empty booth in The Lodge.
    He could hear the crack of pool balls, and the whining country on the juke from the next room. Several men were hoisted on bar stools, downing beers while they watched a hockey game on television. The eating area was more than half full with a waitress he'd yet to meet serving and clearing.
    The man Hopp had introduced as The Professor wound his way through tables to Nate's booth.
    He wore his tweed jacket with Ulysses tucked in the pocket, and carried a mug of beer. "Mind if I join you?"
    "Go ahead."
    "John Malmont. You're after a drink, you'd get it faster going to the bar. You're after food, Cissy'll work her way around here in a minute."
    "Food's what I want, no hurry. Place is busy tonight. Is that usual?"
    "Only two places you can get hot food you don't have to cook yourself. Only one you can get hard liquor."
    "Well,