Mick had trouble keeping his eyes off Two-ton in his yellow parka and Patty in her red one as they crawled upward. A two hundred foot high ice-and-rock field wasn’t much of an issue. One at twelve thousand feet atop an Alaska mountain in October was a whole different matter.
“Got it bad, brother,” Caspar dragged Mick’s attention back down from the climbers.
Mick shrugged. It was the only answer he had.
Caspar started leading him across the glacier, climbing the steep ice field on a slant. Mick followed. He was ten minutes out, just looking back to spot Patty’s red parka—still in the lead up the ice face—when he heard a soft cry.
He turned in time to see Caspar go shooting by him.
“What the—”
The rope snapped tight on Mick’s harness and flipped him off his feet. Some piece of training
