snowbound

DARK. COLD. AND QUIET.

The quiet was a huge relief. Quiet meant the snow had stopped. It had been snowing when I went to sleep.

I was camped beside an alpine lake near the Continental Divide in the Wind River Range of the Rocky Mountains. I was alone. The nearest road was nine and a half miles away. I looked at my watch. It was close to midnight.

Maybe it was the quiet that woke me. Snow falling on a tent makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a rattle, depending on wind and the amount of snow. There was light but persistent tapping when I went to bed. I fell asleep hoping it was just a flurry.

I’d hiked here the day before from a trailhead above Wyoming’s Green River Valley, south of Grand Teton National Park. I’d never been to the Wind Rivers before. I’d had enough trouble following