Page 18 of Chasing the Wild
My foot hit something, and I looked down to see—
An orange marker. Partially buried in snow but unmistakably there.
A campsite. Sam said all of his company’s campsites were flagged with an orange marker. Relief and fear warred in my chest. I was in the middle of blizzard conditions, but I wasn’t lost. Plus I had all my gear, especially the expensive four-season mountaineering tent that Sam had mocked but then taught me how to use properly.
I could do this. I could survive this.
Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, Sam had said.That's rule number one.
The wind tried to tear my pack away, but I held on grimly. My hands were already going numb, but I forced them to work. I wouldn’t be able to find the parking lot at base camp on my own. But being at an established camp would be one of the first places they’d come looking after the storm.
Stomp down your platform first. Clear it good. The ground's your foundation.
I could hear Sam's voice so clearly, like he was right beside me coaching me through this. I stomped down the snow in a flat area, cleared it as best I could with my boot. The wind was vicious, but I'd practiced this. He'd made me practice this.
The tent fly snapped out and immediately tried to sail away. I threw myself on it, pinning it with my body weight while I fumbled for the first stake. The ground was frozen solid. I used a rock to hammer it in, each impact jarring up my arm.
One corner down. Three to go.
My fingers were clumsy with cold, but I kept moving. Stake. Hammer. Move. Stake. Hammer. Move.
Don't rush. Rushing causes mistakes. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.
The poles came next. I fed them through the sleeves with shaking hands, locked the sections together. The wind caught the partially erected tent and nearly lifted it away, but I lunged, catching the frame before it could tumble into the storm.
You're stronger than you think, Sam had told me.You just need to believe it.
I believed it now. Had to believe it, because the alternative was giving up and dying.
The tent shuddered and bowed as I threaded the poles through the grommets, but it held. I tightened the guy lines, testing each one. The structure was solid—maybe not perfect, but solid enough to survive this storm. This tank of a tent, the one he'd mocked me for buying, was going to save my life.
I crawled inside, dragging my pack with me. Out of the wind, the difference was immediate. The howling was muffled now, the space barely bigger than a coffin but blessedly protected. It was still damned cold, though.
My hands were shaking violently as I stripped off my wet outer layers and pulled out my sleeping bag. Everything Sam had taught us about layering, about managing moisture, about the order of operations for staying alive was forefront in my mind.
Dry layers first. Then insulation. Then stay as still as possible to conserve energy and body heat.
I changed into dry base layers from my pack, climbing into the sleeping bag, adding my emergency blanket as an extra layer. I pulled out a protein bars and a water bottle that I had stuffed in my pack before we left. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but it would help.
But I was alone. Separated from the group. And Sam...
Sam was somewhere out there in this storm. Or maybe he'd stayed at the campsite when the storm hit. Maybe he was in one of the emergency shelters, waiting it out.
Maybe he was safe.
I had to believe that. Had to believe he was okay, because the alternative was too terrible to consider.
The tent shuddered in a particularly strong gust, but held firm. I checked the guy lines from inside, adjusted one that seemed loose. Outside, the storm raged on. But inside my tent, I was safe.
For now.
I settled deeper into my sleeping bag, conserving energy, and tried not to think about how long the storm might last. Tried not to think about Sam out there searching. Tried not to think about the fact that I might die on this mountain before I ever got to tell him—
Tell him what?
That I was falling for him? That the few days with him had shown me more about myself than years of therapy and self-help books? That the thought of going back to my old life made me feel like I was drowning?
That I was starting to believe I could be extraordinary, just like he said?
