As we pulled ourselves up and over the lip of the saddle, a cold wind whipped up from below. It pulled the sweat from our foreheads and brought goosebumps to our arms. Suddenly, standing on the narrow top of the pass, with precipitous drops on either side and glacially carved valleys far below, the vastness of the landscape drowned us.

We were in a good storm. A satisfying one. Every three hours, one of us had to go outside to excavate the tent from the ravenous snow. The wind was blowing so hard that you had to hide your face in order to see, and you had to be careful in order to keep your balance, but at least there was nothing to fall off. The clouds that blanketed us on the glacier hid the sun, giving the world around us an apocalyptic tinge.