The earth spun below us. I don’t remember it getting dark, but I couldn’t swear to the day, and I wasn’t sure sub-Arctic night at fifteen thousand feet would be much different from the twilight of the storm.
When the snow fell away on all sides of us, nothing overhead but weather, elation didn’t take me. I don’t think I had enough calories left in my tissues for that. We planted ourselves shoulder to shoulder, backs to the wind. Two moons, desire and circumstance, converged in their orbits, and all the contrary tides below ran smooth. Despite the naked, howling air and freezing cold, it was the most peaceful place. I could see beyond the mountain for the first time. The future knit itself to the past. A thin, sickly looking thing, my immediate future, but there it was.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I FEEL VERY FORTUNATE to be associated with Counterpoint Press, particularly since they seem content to let me play around in my own little corner of the literary world. My thanks go to my agent, Felicia Eth, my editor at Counterpoint, Dan Smetanka, and the entire Counterpoint staff for their thoughtful approach to books and attention to detail. I am also lucky to be from a family of talented writers and sharp readers. My two frontline readers, my wife, Ashley Laird, and my mom, Stephanie Arnold, are insightful and hard to please, qualities I value beyond measure. Finally, my thanks go to two decades’ worth of climbing partners—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ve been all three myself over the years.
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