her fingers, following them around until she came to three low steps that led to a secured door. The air was cooler with the altitude she had gained. The keen wind chilling the sweat that had stuck her hair to her forehead felt glorious after so long in the baking sun. She hurriedly shrugged off her pack so she could perch on the steps and catch her breath. Elation at having made it so far pushed aside the unease caused by the crack of thunder she had heard as she reached the summit. She drank sparingly from her last bottle of water, then propped it beside her bag and took up her camera instead. She felt the muscles in her legs protest at standing again so soon after she had promised them rest, but to the west a menacing blanket of gray cloud was swirling over the mountaintops, and she didn’t dare stay on the summit for too long, however much she would have liked to linger.
Through the viewfinder, she lined up a panoramic shot of the mountains whose names she had committed to memory: Mox, Redoubt, Spickard, Heart of Darkness. Layers of pristine snow softened the sharp edges of their summits, but their collective mien was one of hostility, the sweeping backdrop they formed undeniably majestic but unforgiving all the same. She gradually made her way around the shelter, any inclination to rush tempered by the sheer grandeur of her vantage point. Far below, with reflections of storm clouds boiling on its surface, Ross Lake seemed to stretch for an eternity, effortlessly filling the void where glaciers had retreated. Squinting hard, she tried to work out by which shore she had camped, before laughing at her own ineptitude and taking enough photographs to ensure that she had all of the possible options covered. An eagle circled overhead, its cry piercing the grumbling unrest of the threatened storm, while she crouched low and used a pencil and a scrap of paper to take a rubbing of the embossed US Geo Survey benchmark that was fixed onto a rock near the shelter.
Scrubbing her pencil across the paper, she wondered uncertainly why she hadn’t just taken a photograph. Her answer came as she stared down at the paper in her hand: an echo of Molly’s voice chattering with excitement as she ran her crayons across textured bark or stone walls to transfer their patterns onto her sketch pad. Molly would spend hours searching the garden for rough surfaces, only giving up when she finally ran out of pages in her pad. It had been Sarah who had first shown her little sister the trick…
The pencil dropped to the ground and Sarah blinked. Her fingers ached where they were clenched around the paper and her legs felt leaden and cramped; she had no idea how much time had passed. As she rubbed her eyes dry with her knuckles, the white of the paper in her hand suddenly darkened. She looked up at the sky, nervous tension twisting in her gut.
“Shit.”
If her exposed position had afforded her better protection, the rapid progress of the storm through the valley would have been truly spectacular to behold. She watched wide-eyed as a surging mass of charcoal-black cloud began inexorably to swallow up what remained of the blue sky. The sun submitted without a fight, plunging the summit into an unearthly twilight. That was enough to shake Sarah from her stupor, and she ran across to the lookout station, slipping and skidding on rocks already slickened by the first drops of rain. By the time she reached her pack, the mountains and lake she had photographed not half an hour earlier had vanished entirely. Mist drifted toward her, blurring the edges of the landscape, making everything instantly alien and unfamiliar. She quickly pulled on her waterproof jacket, drew the hood up, and fastened it tightly against the hail and rain that was now pouring down. The walls of the shelter were protecting her from the worst of the wind, so she huddled next to them, trying not to panic, trying to weigh up her admittedly limited options: to stay where she was or to
Through the viewfinder, she lined up a panoramic shot of the mountains whose names she had committed to memory: Mox, Redoubt, Spickard, Heart of Darkness. Layers of pristine snow softened the sharp edges of their summits, but their collective mien was one of hostility, the sweeping backdrop they formed undeniably majestic but unforgiving all the same. She gradually made her way around the shelter, any inclination to rush tempered by the sheer grandeur of her vantage point. Far below, with reflections of storm clouds boiling on its surface, Ross Lake seemed to stretch for an eternity, effortlessly filling the void where glaciers had retreated. Squinting hard, she tried to work out by which shore she had camped, before laughing at her own ineptitude and taking enough photographs to ensure that she had all of the possible options covered. An eagle circled overhead, its cry piercing the grumbling unrest of the threatened storm, while she crouched low and used a pencil and a scrap of paper to take a rubbing of the embossed US Geo Survey benchmark that was fixed onto a rock near the shelter.
Scrubbing her pencil across the paper, she wondered uncertainly why she hadn’t just taken a photograph. Her answer came as she stared down at the paper in her hand: an echo of Molly’s voice chattering with excitement as she ran her crayons across textured bark or stone walls to transfer their patterns onto her sketch pad. Molly would spend hours searching the garden for rough surfaces, only giving up when she finally ran out of pages in her pad. It had been Sarah who had first shown her little sister the trick…
The pencil dropped to the ground and Sarah blinked. Her fingers ached where they were clenched around the paper and her legs felt leaden and cramped; she had no idea how much time had passed. As she rubbed her eyes dry with her knuckles, the white of the paper in her hand suddenly darkened. She looked up at the sky, nervous tension twisting in her gut.
“Shit.”
If her exposed position had afforded her better protection, the rapid progress of the storm through the valley would have been truly spectacular to behold. She watched wide-eyed as a surging mass of charcoal-black cloud began inexorably to swallow up what remained of the blue sky. The sun submitted without a fight, plunging the summit into an unearthly twilight. That was enough to shake Sarah from her stupor, and she ran across to the lookout station, slipping and skidding on rocks already slickened by the first drops of rain. By the time she reached her pack, the mountains and lake she had photographed not half an hour earlier had vanished entirely. Mist drifted toward her, blurring the edges of the landscape, making everything instantly alien and unfamiliar. She quickly pulled on her waterproof jacket, drew the hood up, and fastened it tightly against the hail and rain that was now pouring down. The walls of the shelter were protecting her from the worst of the wind, so she huddled next to them, trying not to panic, trying to weigh up her admittedly limited options: to stay where she was or to
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