We’re up at a cabin in Brian Head, Utah. Nicholas and Pokin are doing their Everest Base Camp training thing, which apparently means finding any mountain with snow on it and marching up it with heavy bags until their legs stop working.
I had a different plan.
Chestnut had never seen it snow before. He’s from Hong Kong. The closest he’s gotten to weather is Pokin’s air conditioning. So when the flurries started this morning, he was absolutely losing his mind. “It’s so pretty! It’s like magic! Every single one is different!”
Look, I’m a mountain bear. Snow is kind of my thing. But there’s a difference between appreciating snow and marching through it with a heavy bag for three hours. Chestnut and I had the right idea. Window seat, heater on, front row to the show. He narrated every flake. I supervised.
Meanwhile, those two decided the snowstorm was an invitation.
Three hours. Five-plus miles. Twenty-pound packs. Through fresh powder, over the top of a ski slope, in conditions that would make a reasonable bear stay indoors.
They came back looking like they’d conquered something. Red-faced, snow-dusted, talking about how the trail just kept going up.
I reminded them that Everest Base Camp doesn’t have a cabin with heating to come back to. They ignored me.
Chestnut said they were brave and inspiring. I said the cocoa was ready.