Personal Narrative-Base Camp

There is nothing more menacing, more intimidating, more alluring than the prospect of conquering a mountain. At 1:15 a.m. I emerged from my tent with my boots laced, my ice-axe stowed, and my headlamp glowing. I was ready for this mountain, rearing to begin the ascent up its face. Before leaving base camp, my guide had a few words to share with the team. We gathered around him, and he began. “This will not be an easy climb,” he warned, “And not all of you will reach the summit. If you feel disoriented, I will send you down. If you are slowing, I will send you down. If you present a danger to yourself or to the team, I will send you down. If I tell you it is time, you will not object to my command. You will go down. Do you understand?” None of us had any intention of stopping. We spent weeks training for this climb and were certain that by midday we
As we bent down to strap on our crampons, our long-silent guide spoke. “When that sun crests, its going to heat up. Take off your jackets now.” Everyone shed their outer shells, exposing their limbs to the still bitter cold. But I refused. I was frigid and aching, and the last thing I would ever do was leave the warmth and comfort of my puffy. The sun had not yet risen, and until it had I was determined to stay in my cocoon. Smug with my decision to outwit Mother Nature, I took pity on the shivering, suffering fools standing around me. A mere twenty minutes later, I was exhausted. The sun had burst through the clouds and was basking the mountainside in violent light. I was roasting in the safety of my outer shell. As my once confident steps became desperate shuffles, I began to understand that my end was near. But I had a goal to achieve, and so I fought to deny what I knew to be true. Soon, I fell back and separated from the group. It was then that the guide made his move. He swooped down on me, looked me in the eye, and told me it was