Black Mountains
Austin and I take in the epic view from my favorite spot on the Woody Ridge Trail.
"Today is Sibling Day!" I shake my head in disbelief. "We forgot again!"
Austin and I are closer than most siblings I know, but we almost always forget to mark "Sibling Day" on our calendars. More often than not, we happen to be together on April 10th, doing something awesome.
I didn't take a photo at that moment, but if I had, it would have captured the identical grins on our faces.
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Lounging in my happy place.
Throughout our time in Antarctica, I never felt homesick. I never wished I wasn’t there. But I did spend a few nights tossing and turning—either from the lurching of the ship or the turbulence of my own mind.
In those moments, as I squirmed around in the small bunk, I allowed my thoughts to drift to my "happy place"—not my bed, not my house in Chapel Hill—but my little orange tent, the Creamsicle.
Now, as I pull my sleeping bag up to my face and breathe in the cold, crisp mountain air, I can't believe I'm finally here.
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On the last day of 2017, at a trailhead deep in the Black Mountains, the temperature hovers right around 20 degrees. We have a big crew - 10 people bundled up in all the warm clothing they own. Armed with snacks, hand warmers, a thermos of tea, and a flask of bourbon, we're preparing to do a nine mile hike with over 6,000 feet of elevation change in temperatures that will only decrease as we climb higher.
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