Quick report
The wind was howling from the northwest, gusting like a wild thing, pushing 30 and beyond. The sun was blinding, sky a cruel, unblemished blue, mocking the pain of the cold. Above 8,000 feet, the snow was a mess—icy, but firm enough to hold you up, wind-scorched to a jagged, crisp perfection. Below Horse Camp, though, it was a different story—conditions were as unpredictable as a rabid coyote. The crust was—breakable, brittle, like walking on the bones of something long dead. Mother Nature, it seemed, had forgotten her mercy today.