I remember the way the sky seemed to glow as the sun rose mountains behind the fog. I remember making dinner and sitting on a stump on the ridge of a mountain, watching the mist descend in an eerie cloud of silence until the mountains had disappeared and all that was left was me. I remember lying in the tent and thinking about how uncomfortable I was, but knowing that when I woke up, I would be glad to find myself in a world of mountain lakes and snowy glaciers.

I remember the paddles splashing into the calm water as we floated down the Colorado River at dusk. I remember the ache in my arms and the pain in my back and the burns that the sun had put on my face. But I also remember being happy to be where I was, to be able to look up and see the walls of the canyon turning bright orange as the sky turned purple and pink and the sun set in the west.

I remember walking down the trail above the lake and reaching a point at which a rock jutted out above the water. I remember staring down at the bright blue lake and shivering at the thought of how cold it would be. I remember looking out across the lake to the spot where the mountains parted, creating a passageway into the heavens. I remember yelling at the top of my lungs, jumping, and, for a moment that seemed like eternity, free-falling until I hit the water, and then, nothing.