My body shook from the
cold, my hands and knees were numb. I could barely feel
my fingers raking a half-inch layer of pine needles into
a bed to insulate against the cold ground. I started
building a partial lean-to, but wasn’t able to break
off pine boughs from the trees needed to complete the
top cover. It was a desperate effort to survive a
freezing January winter night. I was alone on top of an
8,000-foot bluff in the Sierra Madre of Central Mexico
and lost in total darkness.
The starry night barely
showed through the forest’s mantle. Even venturing a
few feet in search of shelter materials required me to
feel my way back to my nest. My turtleneck shirt was
inadequate for such temperatures and I had not eaten
since breakfast. My mouth and tongue were dry and my
lips were cracked from dehydration. I was exhausted from
the long day’s journey. I shook from hypothermia and
was seduced with the thought of lying down to go to
sleep. Sleeping while hypothermic means death. The
night was sucking my warmth and energy like a black
hole. My body sought rest in rebellion against the
ongoing ordeal, but my mind called me through a fog of
denial to keep fighting. The reality was finally sinking
in that I wouldn't survive the night. There were a
series of events bringing me to this point.
