waking in the middle of the night in an primitive wooden box perched at 10,188′ between the Muir Snowfield and Cowitz Glacier to a symphony of disparate breathing and random snoring; uprooting yourself from eighteen bodies stuffed in sleeping bags, stepping over the unconscious in the dark guided by a mental image of their positions before the sun set, then tiptoeing in the direction the door you entered hours before and feel for a rope handle you vaguely remember. You pull and step outside onto a path illuminated by a moon brighter than any you had ever seen. Every star in the universe is scattered across the sky. Glaciers sparkle like diamonds. If you step off the side of the mountain you will walk on clouds.
It is the first time in your life you are thankful to awaken in the middle of the night to pee.