The Nearly Fatal Snow Caving Trip Essay

Rivers froze, and oceans. Boats were caught fast in the ice in every sea. It snowed in the jungle. Marble buildings cracked… people died of the cold. And their bodies piled up where they fell, like firewood” (54).

We were all encouraged to choke down as much food as possible. Any kind of energy was essential. A melancholy atmosphere hung heavy as the journey progressed. Minutes walking slowly progressed into hours, the sky seemed to darken steadily. All of us were oblivious to the danger shrouded by the dim evening. Only moments after scaling a rather steep ledge did nature dice to turn sour. A deafening rumble made each climber perk up. Snow began to descend at an alarming rate. Thunder began to mic the steady beating of a drum, causing more concern among the ranks of climbers. The powdery snow became more of a risk than ever, climbing under pressure and leaving nothing to stand on. Third base was more than three hours away. Three hours wasn't possible at the rate. Snowfall this bad could be detrimental to the climb’s success. Snow obscured vision and numbed faces. Shouts and orders deemed lost in the screaming wind; people’s figure became shapeless blurs frantically shifting, hoping if they struggled against the wind hard enough, they might find someone. Of course, this was to no avail. Not a single person doubted their demise would come at this point: the stakes were high and no-one could play too well against Mother Nature. The snow crept up to knee-level, making it harder and harder to travel. Death and I were face-to-face. To some, they couldn't bare the idea of dying up here; they had families and friends, children who need parents and

Reflections of the foliage are visible in the lake on my left, and behind that chairlifts can be seen waiting for the first snow to fall to begin their busy work of the winter. Small houses begin to appear, as well as family-owned ski shops, quaint motels, and Munroe’s Family Restaurant as I travel further down the road. Lining the sides of the road are hundreds of evergreens and maple trees, leading me towards the mountains in the distance. The mountains are topped with white fluffy clouds, that in a few months will be showering the pinnacles with

In a thousand spots the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground; some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning upon the rocks of the mountain or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of the

Staring up at the towering, glacier-covered mountain range, I felt impossibly small. My overflowing backpack dug into my shoulders and I bounced on my toes, eager to start hiking before the sun rose too far in the summer sky. Supplied with nothing but what we carried on our backs and in our minds, my family and I were about to backpack into the Alaskan wilderness for a week.

He would outfit himself in his warmest clothing and add on with his snowsuit, some warm gloves,

Once my dad arrived, we were on our way. I jumped out into the first park that we came to and the fresh new powder exalted me. We then rode over to our friend's cabin to say hello and have a Pepsi. We asked our friend, Bob to come along for the ride and he was delighted to join us. From there we cut across flat lined Twin Lake and then across the untracked Eggleston Lake. To my unpleasant surprise, we approached the lodge, and sleds were buzzing around like crows on road kill. Ten miles down the road I expected to, at least, see some other people riding, but we had the whole mountain to ourselves. We rode from mountain to mountain, crossing open drainages and gigantic playgrounds of snow one after another.

The picture of the surrounding for the readers is a territory of a snowed land with caked iced springs that is endless treacherous and deathly. “The man’s causal response to the cold to be at best naively reckless and at downright stupid.”

Usually people go do something in the mountains and are less prepared than they should be. Then they realize that it’s getting cold but have no resources to help them. Same goes for the man in the story “To Build a Fire” where is says, “To build the fire he had been forced to remove his mittens, and the fingers had quickly gone numb. His pace of four miles an hour had kept his heart pumping blood to his surface of his body and to all the extremities. But the instance he stopped, the action of the pump eased down.”

This reflection is about Archibald Lampman’s poem called SNOW. Archibald Lampman was born on November 17, 1861 in Morpeth, Canada, and he passed away on February 10, 1899 in Ottawa, Canada (Encyclopedia Britannica). The event in the poem takes place in the late 1800’s in a rural area of canada, during the winter time. In the poem Archibald Lampman does an outstanding job of using the imagery of nature, and in particular snow to make us feel as if we are experiencing these sensations with him.. He describes the color of snow, the sound as snow hits the ground, and the feeling of being surrounded by snow.

I felt the soft snow and brisk air hit my face as I stepped out of the car; perfect weather for a ski meet. I spotted a friend preparing for the race and quickly approached her. We kick waxed our skis while talking about the nerves we both felt throughout the day due to it being our first 5k. After we had finished waxing our skis we went out for a warm-up lap to calm the pre-race jitters. The snow was a perfect mixture that afternoon; powdery yet still hard enough for the wax beneath my skis to grip onto. I was ready for all the difficulties that I thought I would face; jokes on me, I wasn 't.

My journey began one evening in a Buffalo winter during my freshman year. My parents were running late that night; they told me they wouldn’t be home until midnight. So, I hopped on my bike and began the grueling trek to their restaurant. As I plowed through the snow and ice, my hands and face went numb as the icy winds cut into my skin like daggers. Despite the pain, I focused on getting to my parent’s restaurant.

Anyone who knows how good a mountain’s conditions could get after just a few inches can only imagine what the two feet was like. The thing that I thought was best out there was being able to go wherever. They had trails that were through the woods, and through unmarked terrain. My friend and I got in some snow that was about three feet deep. We eventually got stuck in it and had to try our best to crawl out of the deep snow. To me that was a good problem to have. What I thought was so crazy was how quick the lines were. Since Snowshoe is one of the best around there are so many people and the lines can get very long, but there is so much competition out west everyone goes to different places and the lines were not bad at all.

Payson's landscape is an ever changing experience of seasons, but my favorite has always been that first snow fall of the year. The way the snow trickles down from the foggy sky and lands on the towering birch trees, is like a scene from a movie. Little chirps eco through the canyon as the birds prepare their homes for a long-awaited winter. We sat and watched as the pine trees quietly gathered the flakes that snuck through the arms of the birch trees. The brisk powder like snow continued to pile up and slowly started to fill in our foot prints, erasing any sign that we were ever there. A few more steps on the trail lead us to one of our most memorable spots. Peering over the edge of the cliff is always a bewildering sight. The vast open valley below was covered in a blanket of milky white snow, and the sweet smelling, cool air was as refreshing as a tall glass of ice water during a smoldering desert summer night. In the distance the sound of the powerful water fall below breaking over the ice sickle reddened boulders is one that is truly breathtaking.