The day after leaving Grants we had a choice: follow the official CDT route, or take a short, 15 mile alternative in order to climb Mt. Taylor. It wasn’t a difficult choice. Mt. Taylor first appeared as a snow-capped peak rising in the distance above the trees, and as the day passed, the ground under our feet steepened until we were huffing and puffing up the mountain’s side. We took an unintentional detour after missing a turn for the trail, but quickly found our way back.

The air grew thinner as we climbed. Colder. “I need to catch my breath,” I gasped to Britta, pausing for a moment. The wind raced past us, scouring the hillside where ledges of snow still clung to the trail. We finally reached the top but stayed only a few minutes – just long enough to admire the view and snap some pictures – before we grew cold enough to leave.

We were to take a different route down to rejoin the official trail, and we anticipated a speedy descent back to warmer climes where we could set up camp. It only took a few yards for us to realize our error. There was snow on the northern slopes. Lots of snow. And no trail, save for the footprints of some hiker who had gone before us. Even following the footprints, we sank in deeply, postholing as we tried to make it down the mountain.

Britta led the way, and it wasn’t long before she took a step and let out an exclamation of surprise. “It’s up to my waist!”

I stared in disbelief at the half of my sister which was visible. “Um…”

“I don’t know if I can get out,” she said.

I very helpfully took a photo while she struggled her way out.

If the snow was waist-deep at points, who was to say it wouldn’t be deeper later on? I began composing an email in my head.

Dear Mom and Dad,
Dreadfully sorry, but I seem to have misplaced my sister. I’m sure she’ll turn up in a month or so when the snow melts, so no need to worry.

We slipped and sank in and pulled ourselves out over and​ over until finally we reached a flat and semi-snowless place to set up camp. It was a cold night. The following day we continued our descent, gradually leaving the snow until eventually the sun shone more warmly above us and the ground under our feet was dry. A yellow butterfly flitted past. We’d found spring again, and the wintery slopes of Mt. Taylor were left behind us.