High in the sky, the jagged peaks pointed to the Gods: protruding beyond the surface of the clouds. (Even at this lower altitude, they struck an intimidating figure.) In contrast: A lucid wash of blue trickled through the skyline, both inviting and serene. 

 

   That was the end goal; to reach the summit - unscathed. There’s nothing quite like conquering a mountain. Down on the ground, while the birds of the sky dance above our heads, we can feel limited. Up at the highest elevation, these confines that restricted us are eradicated, and our spirit roams freely. We are no longer insignificant, but are filled with an overwhelming sense of purpose.

 

    Reaching for my rucksack, I pulled out my flask, unscrewed the lid, and sipped on the icy-cold water. An instant burn punched my throat, providing a high-speed jolt to the senses. The sun’s rays made my skin tingle, and tilting my head, I peered at my watch. There was only about an hour of light left, and my initial destination lay far ahead. To delay would be fatal; this was not an option. Quite often, dark penetrating thoughts sought to overcome my mind - and yet it was not my mind that troubled me, but my waning physical strength. My body's bruised shell was no match for the bitter-harsh winter, its elements wrapping around weary bones.

 

    I had to arrive at the cabin soon, where I could find shelter and team up with my climbing partner Doug. We always trekked the first part solo - it offered a supreme test. Contrary to this, we would climb the summit as a pair. Whilst solo climbing to the summit was realistically possible, it was now illegal (due to the steep rise in fatalities in recent years - which involved even some of the most proficient climbers). Besides, it was safer with one of us belaying, and we delighted in each other's company. 

 

    Just as the wind grew fierce, a delightful sound echoed from naked trees, melodic and soothing; its dulcet tones a therapeutic antidote to pained limbs. This small-scale woodland would act as a landmark for planning my remaining route. Looking ahead, what seemed unattainable was now achievable. Birdsong was a marked reminder that even in these vast snow-covered mountain ranges, loneliness could be erased. 

 

    With rigid fingers, I unfurled my map, and withdrew my base plate compass from my pocket. Lying the compass’s baseline along my direction of travel, I calculated the distance, which was approximately 2.5 kilometres. Such that my orienteering lines were vertical-facing and directly parallel with the north and south lines on the map, I then rotated the compass - the red magnetic needle lay in the engraved arrow, inside the compass housing. This red arrow would tell me where North was, and seeming as I was heading East, it was reassuring to see that North was still to my left. With the cabin's coordinates checked, I allowed myself a dubious smile. 

 

    Even with this knowledge, it would require all my robustness and wit in order to reach the rendezvous before emerging darkness fell. I did not long to be engulfed by its haunting black shroud. Already, the temperature was plummeting like a falcon swooping for its prey, ready to strike with outstretched claws. Prey is an easy target when it’s vulnerable, where there’s nowhere to hide. And there was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go - except on. On and on, suffering the merciless climate, that maintained its relentless assault on my fragile resolve. 

 

    Off in the distance, a faint wolf-howl carried upon the wind, filling me with unease. An unfriendly chill stunned my senses. Even with my PKS knife, I’d be no match for one, let alone a potential pack of wolves. Casting aside unpleasant thoughts, I rediscovered focus and poise; the journey resumed. Leaden feet traipsed through shin-deep snow; a frozen expanse of eternal white. Eyes stung and bloodshot, toes blistering, feet numbing; a stomach yearning for a heavenly stew beside a snug fire. The last prospect gave me hope. 

 

    Plunging my walking poles into the snow, I gathered up all renewed vigour. The ground felt uneven beneath my feet, weathered from years of exposure to the elements. The delicate crunch of the snow sounded with every imprint, dissolving against the heat of my soles. Soon to freeze over as ice, a shimmering-silver sheet with the pristine cut of diamonds. The blue of my eyes would certainly be seen in the ice’s ornate mirror (but one that I was determined not to look into).

 

    As the crescent moon became clearer, peeping from behind clouds, time’s slow erosion seemed to accelerate forwards; stars winked faintly, and the woodlands faded behind me. Just as the impending nightfall bared its serrated teeth, a glowing yellow light revealed itself amid the gloom. Sensing the end to my turmoil, I began to pick up my pace. All agony had subsided, yet this offered minimal comfort – for all sensation in my feet and legs had vanished. I longed to throw myself into an armchair, sinking deep into its eternal comfort; to dangle my frostbitten toes in front of the flames, before falling into a blissful sleep. The thought of food (not so long ago appealing), was now unimaginable – my mind was utterly spent. 

 

    With rasping breaths and a racing heart, performing its pitter-patter-tap-dance against my ribcage, the cabin came into view – rustic, earthy and charming. A welcome relief flooded through my blood; all my fears now vanquished. I’d survived, at least for another day. The dangers of tomorrow would undoubtedly follow, more treacherous perhaps than today’s. Let it come, I thought. Let it come.