I'm somewhere high up on a snowy, stormy mountain, just entering a cold, bare cabin in the early morning, still dark. Several of my mountaineering friends are sleeping on cots in there, and I'm trying not to wake them up as a come in and set down some things on the open floor just a couple feet in front of the door. But at least one opens his eyes and greets me drearily. I feel a little sheepishly privileged, as though I got to stay in a warmer lodge and they had to sleep out here.

I'm preparing to leave on a climb from here, but when I came in last night I left my pack outside on a stump which is now buried in snow, so I have to go outside and dig it out. It seems extra hassle to put on my shoes and then take them off again, so I head out with bare feet. I expect the snow to be very cold and that maybe I won't last long enough out there to retrieve my pack, but surprisingly, my feet aren't cold at all.