As a child, I had a big imagination. Stuffed animals were people with personalities. The family room floor was a desolate savannah. The hallway was a ravine. A small creek was a vast lake. But most importantly, snow hills were the site for an epic arctic expedition.

I traversed the frigid arctic desert to Basecamp. But Basecamp was empty– it was just me and my goal of reaching the summit. I had no supplies at all, so I guess I had to rely on whatever I had on me.

I slipped on my fluffy gloves, but had to take off my coat first because I hated the feeling of wearing my gloves over my coat. I zipped my coat up all the way and pulled my hood over my head. I tightened my boots and was ready, gazing up at the treacherous climb ahead. The fresh snowfall meant that the snow could be unstable, resulting in an avalanche at any moment. Any hint of a deadly crevasse would be invisible. I took a deep breath, 1rm in my determination to reach the summit. This climb would be my hardest yet.

I pushed my boot into the snow, finding a foothold in the mix of ice and packed snow beneath the fresh layer. I reached up and sunk my glove into the snow, pulling myself up. The initial ascent would be at a 45 degree angle. Not too bad, but it could get tiring. I repeated stepping and reaching, stepping and reaching over and over as I climbed the mountain. Sometimes I would get curious and look down at where I had been before. Basecamp shrunk each time. Soon I would reach a small plateau on the side of the mountain, and there I could 1nd rest at Basecamp #2.

They say that nature falls silent when there is danger. The prey animals stay quiet when a predator is near.

The predator stays quiet to lure out prey, giving the semblance of safety. I 1nd that it is the opposite when it comes to the forces of nature. Animals can be scared off, but weather knows neither fear nor mercy. The crashing of waves, the roar of a tornado, torrents of beating rain.

The forces of nature don’t stay silent. They tell you they are the danger.

I pulled myself up and collapsed onto the plateau, exhausted but excited to continue the climb. I curled up under an overhang of ice for a brief nap. Then, upon awakening, I got right back to climbing. There was no time to waste. I departed from Basecamp #2 on time. This ascent was longer, but at a lower angle with some plateaus sprinkled here and there. I checked the position of the sun in the overcast sky. I would have plenty of time to reach the summit. For the most part, I didn't need to use my hands at all and I just walked up the slope carefully. I made sure each foot was planted in the snow before I lifted the other.

But then something caught my attention. Remember what I said earlier? About how things get quiet when there’s danger? Despite the area being barren already, a hush fell over the mountainside. Between the snow dampening the noise and my sudden attention to the overwhelming silence, it made my skin crawl. One noise stood out to my left. Faint trudging. Something heavy moving. I held my breath and my eyes shot to the side, catching a 1gure on the horizon.

If it’s black, fight back. If it’s brown, get down. If it’s white, goodnight. Polar bears are the most dangerous land predators in the north. You can’t outrun them, and they are always stronger than you are. I froze in place, watching the polar bear stalk along the slope of the mountain.

Why is there a polar bear on a mountain? I thought they were on sea ice and near coastal regions. Sigh. You know what? Nevermind.

I got onto my knees, scanning around for a place to hide. A ditch came into view. Perfect! I crawled over and slid into the ditch like a seal entering its den. Maybe that isn’t a good analogy for this situation. I curled up in the ditch and hoped that the polar bear wasn't interested in kiddy meals. Let’s ignore the fact that a bear’s sense of smell is impeccable, okay? Maybe the polar bear had a stuffy nose. Just go along with it.

My heart raced for several minutes before I had the courage to stick my head out and look around. No polar bear. Shaken, I emerged from the ditch and continued climbing.

As you get higher up, the atmosphere thins. Above 8,000 meters is the Death Zone. That is also the name of your local high school punk band. At that altitude, you can experience hypoxia if you don’t have an oxygen tank, and altitude sickness if you ascend too quickly. Thankfully, I am nowhere near that height.

However, I gradually noticed the wind picking up and the clouds growing darker. Snow started to fall, soon being replaced with a whipping wind and blinding snow. Weather knows no mercy. Before I knew it, I could barely see in front of me. The frigid winds bit at my nose and cheeks like the polar bear had sent them after me. SnowRakes gathered on my eyelashes. This kind of weather puts an end to expeditions. My eyes could barely open. I couldn’t turn back, I was so close to Basecamp #3. I had to rely solely on my understanding of my surroundings, carefully maintaining my sense of direction, not veering to the left or right.

It felt like it was going on for too long. I had been making my way up the mountain for a while so I should have been at Basecamp #3… except I wasn't. I had zero points of reference. I was about to give up and stay still to wait out the storm, risking freezing in the harsh gusts of arctic air, but then I miraculously stumbled into Basecamp #3.

Exhausted, I rested there until the storm died down. The frail howling of its wind as it died seemed to say, “I’ll get you next time!”

Now I had the 1nal push to the summit. This is what I had been waiting for. I could see it so clearly. Once well rested, I started my climb. Once again it was steeper, perhaps the steepest leg of the expedition. Everything was going smoothly.

I slipped.

There was an ice patch. For a moment, everything rushed before my eyes. All the work I had put into this climb. Then I grabbed into the snow again and pulled myself up. I sighed in relief and cautiously ascended the 1nal couple of feet to the summit. I scrambled onto my feet and looked out in awe across the vast mountain and the land beyond it. I could see small towns and rivers. I could see all the way back to Basecamp #1. I stood tall and took in the fresh air, feeling the warmth of the sun that had been hiding all day.

The world felt so big, but also so small. I stomped my right boot in the snow, creating an imprint of the pattern on the bottom, much like Buzz Aldrin’s boot-print on the surface of the moon. Well, minus the permanence. The mountain would forget me the second the wind picked up and snow fell again.

Soon, the scene melted away like snowRakes hitting the pavement. I stood at the top of a snowy hill, only at most eight feet tall. Other kids ran around me, yelling at each other and playing. The school bell rang, signifying the end of recess.

I declared the expedition a success.