Master of Thin Air

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F

Preface: JULY 30, 1993

all! An almost vertical slope. I thrash urgently with my ice hatchet, however, it

bobs off the invulnerable stone, and the void beneath surges at me like a dark opening

that sucks everything into its void.

I whip urgently, mauling at the meager covering of delicate, wet day off—as it were

any expectation of halting the fall. The base of the stone slope is simply meters away, and

underneath that is a vertical drop of over a thousand meters. As yet sliding, I kick my feet

out wide, utilizing my legs to get a greater amount of the snow underneath me. It’s a hazard—on the off chance that I

develop a lot of snow underneath me, I’ll topple over in reverse and lose all

control. In any case, it’s a hazard worth taking—on the off chance that I don’t stop at the present time, I am dead in any case.

Nothing. As yet sliding. An idea flashed through my psyche:

Christ, it’s everything over

…

At that point I sense the smallest easing back, practically unnoticeable. The snow underneath me

structures a little wedge between my legs. The development between my arms gives me

enough parity so I don’t topple in reverse. Easing back, easing back … halted.