Page 84 of Fight
While ignoring the glittering void around us, it’s best to keep my head down to ensure I’m staying in his footprints. Footprints is the wrong description, with snow this deep, they’re more like boreholes. The ones he made yesterday all by himself. Being five-foot-three, I have to lift my legs a lot higher than he does to step into them, and I’m panting after an hour. The only savior for me in the waist-deep drifts is that we’re hiking downhill, giving me an advantage. It feels like we aren't getting any closer since I have no point of reference to compare our position to. My fingers and toes are freezing, but I keep wiggling them as much as possible.
We reach a section of the woods that has us breaking off to trek toward the river bed, and occasionally, Cal pauses to hold a tree branch out of the way so it doesn’t rear back and slap me in the face.It’s the little things that mean the most.While hiking through the small forest sections takes longer, I find them preferable to the clearings where there’s no protection from the wind. “I can’t believe you did all this yesterday by yourself… Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I’m incredibly impressed by his prowess in nature. Even carving out this path during the daytime, he had no trail to go off of. I don’t mistake that he’s made the tracks closer together than he would on his own. That was for me. It must have been painstakingly slow checking each step before making it, but based on how many we’ve taken, he must have been moving at a pretty good clip. I’m not ashamed to say it’s sexy as hell. There’s something about a man who can navigate his way through snowy mountains. Callahan’s a beast.
Unfortunately, when we reach the end of his path from yesterday, we’re slowed down significantly. Coyotes yelp in the distance, but they’re far enough away to not cause concern. Eventually, he’s tired out from making fresh tracks, so we break for water. I take the opportunity to eat the protein bar I was supposed to eat before we left. I’m just barely able to make out the horizon for the first time. “It’s almost dawn,” I comment, pointing toward the slightly lighter sky. His headlamp beam shakes with a nod.
We continue our route, and before long, the sky is a soft purple and we’re gradually able to see our surroundings. After another hour, the sun’s rays are warm on our face, and with the lower elevation, the wind isn’t nearly as chilling. The snow is finally below my knees, and it’s a blessing because a stair climber doesn’t have shit on the snow at Quell’s Peak. Boulders and rocks jut from the white landscape, and I’m not sure I’ll ever see them the same again. By the same token, any sign of less snow is a welcome sight.
We duct taped the tears in my soft-shell pants, but it’s not long before the weak waterproofing of the fabric gives into the snow. I do my best to ignore the penetrating chill as my baselayer becomes the final barrier between my flesh and the elements.
We pause to rest and enjoy the rays hitting the mountain and the sunrise painting the sparkling snow a rich pink hue. It’s dazzling. A couple times I find myself believing we really are on a “morning hike” instead of a survival descent.
Callahan leans to the side and points up ahead. It takes my eyes a moment to spot what he’s showing me, then I make out two dark horns against the white snow about sixty feet away. There’s a woolly mountain goat curled up in the snow, casually watching us.
“Amazing,” I whisper.
His hand slowly drifts to the left. “There’s another one.” His voice is soft.
“I take it we’ve made it to Goat’s Ridge?”
He chuckles. “We have.”
“Do we need to be worried about them at all?”
“Normally, no. But since it’s mating season, we’re going to keep some extra distance…”
I gape in response. “What?”
“It’ll be fine. These guys don’t seem to care that we're here.”
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
We march for another two hours along the ridge, and before long, the snow is down to my ankles, some areas even less. With each step, I feel the push back of rock under the chains strapped to the bottom of my boots. Callahan glimpses down, noticing how damp my pants are from the snow.
“How are your legs doing?”
“Fine,” I lie. We need to keep moving.
“My knees are fuckin’ killing me,” he huffs. I’m feeling it in mine too. “Let’s take a short break.”
We pull out our water bottles for a drink.
“Your headlamp’s still on,” I say, out of breath afterswallowing a gulp. I’m surprised our waters didn’t freeze while we were battling all that snow earlier.
“Whoops,” he says, flicking it off.
Callahan has me sit on the edge of a large rock as he crouches at my feet and unhooks the homemade crampons. They aren’t necessary anymore. I shove my water bottle into my bag while he stuffs the paracord and chains in his pack, and we’re on our way again.
Downhill sucks. I’ve never traversed such a steep descent for such a long period of time. About three-quarters down to the valley of Goat’s Ridge, my right knee is throbbing, but I keep moving because we have ground to cover, and I don’t want to be the one slowing us down.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I grunt.
He stops, locking his hands on my shoulders, and levels me with a stare. “Let’s try this again. How are you doing?”