We are climbing Mount Saint Helens, a party of five. It is completely dark, but it feels like evening, not early morning. It's completely snowy, and we're going to be traveling on cross-country skis, backward. Three of our group have gone on ahead, but we're having trouble getting ready. I put on my boots, and they don't seem to close correctly; there is some fluff sticking out that will certainly wick in some water. I've forgotten my gaiters. My companion asks how much water I have; I have my green canteen, and one platypus, so about 48 ounces. He has only 1 liter, but I say that I've got the same, just a spare 16 ounces.