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 mantel. 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.
