For the past eleven months, all I had thought about was this blissful 15 minute powder run through the trees, but now, at 12:00 noon, after an hour of going virtually nowhere, there were still no tree groves in sight. Now, I just wanted to get off the mountain by any means necessary.

We spent the next hour and a half hiking in total confusion. Time flew by until Cedric finally turned to me and said, "If we don't move faster...." He swallowed the rest not wanting to say it, but we understood. He was right, after a total of two and a half hours of such little progress, where would be when the darkness began to fall in 3 or 4 hours? Images of the four of us huddled, shivering in the darkness with no food, no shelter, and no lights rudely invaded my mind... we had to get out by nightfall.

The fear of the impending darkness added pressure to a situation that grew more and more desperate as we slowly passed countless ridges, trees, and curves, each time hoping for a glimpse of the familiar, but each time receiving only disappointment. Instead of encouraging scenery, we found only blatant hints that we were desperately lost. We passed a valley framed by a mountain peak rising up on the other side that we didn't see last year. I shuddered as I thought about how long we would have to hike to arrive at a place where that peak and valley would disappear from sight on a clear day. But even if we hiked that far, we still had no idea if we were going in the right direction.

Collective doubt settled in and stopped us at least twice as we debated our decision to move to the right. Surely we should have seen something familiar but the more we moved on, the more tired, frustrated, and hungry we became and the more alien became the landscape. Will and I were soon convinced that we had moved too far to the right and perhaps missed something in the poor visibility. Resort maps came out, doubt lead to discussion lead to disagreement lead to desperate debate. Finally we all agreed with Cedric that we couldn't turn back into the avalanche, we couldn't have missed the cable car, and it was too steep to climb up. We had no choice but to push on our course to the right and further into uncertainty.

Hope began to dwindle and I finally decided to call our friend Lisa. She wasn't expecting this type of call but I was more shocked to hear my own voice say, "If you don't hear from us in one hour, please call the ski patrol. Tell them we are lost on the backside of the mountain." In the storm we realized that there was little they could do for us but, if we waited until dark, we would surely be alone until morning.

Fear of nightfall laced every monotonous minute. Hunger and frustration growled within. Step, slip, fall. Step, slip, fall. Stretches of alien landscape and the hours went by. Fatigued, our pace slowed to a crawl. Everything numbed and faded in the cold leaving us with the shadows of our foursome, the repeating plunge of our footsteps, and always the threat of darkness.

I finally wrenched myself from this numb sleep-hike at a most terrible moment. Cedric had just lead the way across a steep bled and Joe and I were halfway across when, ten meters above us, the snow cracked, began to slide, and quickly stopped, hanging precariously above us, awaiting any movement. I quietly slipped by the threat but my relief soon gave way to the nightmare realization that Will had not yet crossed. Had our path sentenced him to his death? He looked up at me, shook off his uncertainty, and said, "Keep an eye on me..." He shook his head again but the fear was evident on all of our faces. Slowly, he began his traverse and miraculously the mountain bid his safe passage. We were reunited under the shelter of a half-buried tree where, for some stupid reason,

I asked him if he would rather go before me in case we had another incident. He answered, "Yes, I want to go ahead of you, but I'd rather not lose a friend. Go ahead." We walked on.

To our immediate right was a large ridge that climbed above our heads. If we were going to continue to the right, we would have to go over it. We acquiesced in grunts and groans and Cedric, who was the undisputed leader by this point, lead the way in silence followed by Will. As we hiked along, we had often hit spots where the snow would give way and reveal that we weren't actually walking on solid snow cover, but over actual treetops buried in meters of snow. I had heard of 'holes' opening up between branches where entire snowboarders would be swallowed up not to be heard from until the rains came, but I had never seen one open until Will took his first step up the ridge. His lower body fell through tight knots of tree branches until he was buried up to his chest. Cedric was able to get his board away from him so that he could wriggle his way through but it was a tense moment that didn't fade away easily as Joe and I desperately searched for safer passage. For the past three hours every step had been a monotonous yet hopeful advance but, with the threat of avalanches and now holes, every step up the ridge became potential failure in an invisible landmine of white - Russian Roulette with every step.

Shuddering with fear more than cold we stood atop the ridge and someone half-heartedly mentioned that at least the slope was becoming less steep, the wind blowing less fierce, and, although I wouldn't recall the significance of it for some time later, we had stumbled across a grove of trees. We trudged slowly forward into the white haze and, as our living nightmare entered its fifth hour, Cedric suddenly stopped and said, "Shhhh! I hear voices!" We all stopped, but there were no voices. I was afraid to let my heart experience any hope from Cedric's report because I couldn't afford to set myself up for any more let downs this afternoon. Five minutes later he stopped again, raised a hand to silence us, and said, "I hear it again, listen!" This time, Will swore he heard it too.

I listened with all my might but Cedric and Will had begun to follow the voice and Joe and I could hear nothing but their footsteps. I fought to quell the enthusiasm that swelled within me because I wanted to hear the voice too, just to be sure. Then, like a mirage, the trace of a woman's voice so slight I feared it might be my imagination flashed through my mind. I stopped in my tracks, but the sound was gone and the more I tried to focus on it the more it faded away. I stumbled on and on in desperation hoping to hear that voice again but it didn't come. I looked up and grew angry with Will and Joe who were lying in the snow, laughing. We weren't out of this hell yet and I viewed their frivolity as a threat to our survival. As I closed in on them I heard Joe say, "Will, you're right. It really is beautiful..." Then, I heard it too, a steady and undeniable voice.

So many times I cursed the pointless recorded announcements that accompanied every lift, "You are approaching the terminal, please raise the bar and be careful getting off the lift," but that day, it sounded like the voice of an angel.

Throughout our day, out of fear, we hadn't had the time to take in the rare beauty of the landscape. Now, this simple voice recording liberated us and made that type of observation possible. But it wasn't the trees that Will and Joe were talking about, but life. Life is beautiful, and just for this moment the four of us were reborn and bursting with the blessings of our lives. The family, the friends, the love, the fun, and everything for which we are never grateful is a blessing that the mountain can take a simple whim. But, the mountain hadn't stolen it from us yet! I laughed. Then in fear I shuddered again as I realized that the real threat was not the mountain but myself, myself and my stupid decision.

One lousy decision and we were lost for a total of four hours. We would have survived much longer, but when I consider all of the things that might have gone wrong I grow a little older. If all twelve climbers had joined us, if we had been separated in our white blindness, if Will had injured his knee, if I had been buried in the avalanche, if Will had fallen through the hole, we might not have made it out of there. Our lives for the sake of one powder run. Is there any point to climb a peak and turn back? Maybe not, but sometimes it is pure stupidity not to. There will be other peaks, other weekends, and other powder runs, or maybe there won't. That decision is all yours.

We followed that shrill voice for the next half hour until the dull shadow of a lift building came into sight, at which point gave an exhausted cheer, and quickly boarded down the slope for the best spaghetti and french fries I have ever eaten. I can still taste them now.