Yesterday morning I stood on a snow covered boulder at the base of Proboscis, looking up at the black-streaked wall. Sunlight reflected off the fresh foot of snow that covered the boulders around me. I squinted. The ridgelines resembled March more than late August.
Warren, our helicopter pilot from Kluane Airways, had already picked up Lorna, Madalaine and all of our stuff. On the five-minute shuttle to Glacier Lake, he flew them five miles and 3500 feet down the Brintnell Creek drainage.
I felt alone for the first time in a month. I had a small emergency pack with warm clothes, a stove and food. Sun warmed the back of my neck, and I wiggled cold, wet toes.
Snow fell from the summit slabs, cascading over the steep part of the face and echoing like thunder through the cirque. The route we climbed echoed above me too, with memories of the ten days we’d spent climbing on the wall: frustration and success, long days and long views, hard work and friendship.