There’s a special breed who live for dawn. While you’re asleep we tip-toe out of bed. We yearn for the unspeakable hour. A 2am wakeup call means nothing. There’s anticipation in the air when we lace up our boots by headlamp; our foggy breath obscuring our vision. A morning cup of joe high in the mountains sounds like the perfect coffee date. Nothing beats skiing a fresh line of powder shortly after sunrise. The pyramid shadow of the mountain points us to the next horizon. We live by the sun. We are dawn patrol.
You’re surrounded by peaks so steep they look like cartoons. Ice hangs precariously from their tops, as if a toddler dolloped icing about the landscape. Everywhere you look the jagged knife edges of the Himalaya stare back menacingly. You peer cautiously over the edge of the trail, even that makes you dizzy. The milky glacial river roars below you.