It's 30 below and it's white out conditions on the mountain. The wind is blowing at around 130 MPH, and powerful eddies whip around my body. God, I love my job. The mountain is Denali. After 2 years, I was finally able to convince Alaska's Denali National Park to hire me as a ranger because of my experience and unique qualifications. They finally agreed that I would be a valuable asset to them. I steady myself with my ice axe and continue my slow march up the mountain. I am making my way up from the high altitude ranger station at 14,200 feet.
   There was one set of climbers that have been stranded on the mountain for 2 days. They were believed to be out in the open, having left their tent at high camp (17,200 feet) to make for the summit. I hoped they were still alive. My goggles were state of the art. They allowed me to see about 10 feet in front of me even in white out, and were wired to a portable GPS and radio system in my backpack. Not that the radio was much good in conditions like this.
   I was the only member of the staff that could climb in the current conditions without too much risk of losing my own life or getting frostbite. With this fur and this body's circulatory system, it was a walk in the park. If the wind didn't blow me off the mountain, that is. If the guys had survived this long, it would be a miracle. I was bringing a tent and sleeping bags, along with food and medical supplies. It was still another 5 hours of hiking for me to get to the vicinity of the climbers, and as I continue in my methodical march my mind starts to wander. How much had my life changed in the past 2 years since the change? It truly altered not just my body, but the course of my entire life...

   I talked with the Professor for several hours while we casually walked around the university's campus. He confirmed some of my earlier fears. In my winter coat I probably wouldn't be comfortable in temperatures above freezing, and in my summer coat (assuming that I got one) or if I shaved, I would probably not be comfortable in temperatures above about 65 degrees Fahrenheit. This was based on the fact that the arctic fox's body shape and circulatory system were specifically designed to conserve heat. He also said that the humidity of my native Florida would compound the problem. He suggested that I stay around for a few days, and they would run a few tests and see if they could help me out. Somehow I got the feeling the tests were not just going to be to help me out.
   Even with all the troubles the change was causing me, I couldn't help but smile to myself. I was now perfectly adapted to my favorite hobby. I was already running through plans to climb some of the hardest and coldest mountains in the world. I might even be able to set some new records. Since I wouldn't have to carry most of the expedition wear that I formerly had to, I could cut my pack weight to 1/3 of what it was. Back to reality, I need to figure out what I am going to do when I am not on vacation. Maybe I could find a job that would use my ability to withstand cold, then I would only have to worry about my fur when I was on vacation!

   I smile at the memory of that thought. It was, after all, why I was on this mountain right now. So dead set was I not to shave my fur... I was determined to use the gift that I had been given and not be made miserable by it. From that point on I thought of almost nothing else. What could I possibly do, and where could I possibly live that I could enjoy my new body to its fullest? It turns out that I never did lose my winter coat, apparently because I had always imagined myself as an arctic fox in winter, but who knows? The GPS indicator was blinking, telling me to veer a little more to the left, the wind being set on pushing me to the right. My determination to keep my fur, though, would also lead to one of the most hectic years of my life.

   "But why don't you just shave it off, dear?" my mom asked. She had taken off work as soon as she could, and she met me at the University of Colorado about two weeks after my change.
   "Because I don't want to look like some cancerous rat. Besides, I am viewing this as a gift and I want to make the most of it. I wouldn't be all that comfortable in Florida even with it shaved off, I would still be hot, especially with the humidity. I am still going to visit, and I wouldn't dream of missing Christmas. Me and the Professor have been thinking about it, and we think that if I slicked down my fur with a special grease, it would be almost as good as if I had shaved it. While I still couldn't spend much time outdoors in the summer, indoors where the humidity is kept under control I would be able to handle it. I might still be hot, but I could handle it. What, why are you looking at me like that?"
   "I... I still just can't believe what happened! You might see it as a gift, but I see it as the reason my son is planning on moving off to some college in Canada and will probably only come to see us a few times a year. I could care less about what you look like, you will always be my son, but I am going to really miss you. Having you three hours away was hard enough!" She was half crying by this time. My mom had always been a very emotional person, and I was the baby of the family. She was quite attached to me. My first year of college, she had cried every time I went to leave after visiting for a weekend. Don't even get me started about how she acts when I go mountain climbing. It's gotten so that I inform the park staff to expect a call about two days from my departure, from a hysterical mother inquiring whether I had fallen to my death or gotten lost in the woods. They usually laughed this warning off, but when I checked back in they always congratulated me on being able to put up with someone as overly protective as that. I love my mother to death, and I myself have inherited some of her emotional side... but sometimes it could be just a little too much.
   My father, on the other hand, was the typical strong Southern patriarch. The man did not even shed a tear at his own father's funeral, and they were very close. He's one of those people that when you screwed up as a kid, all he had to do was give you that look and you just withered before it. When you do good he'll pat you on the back, when you want to know something he'll do his best to explain it, when you left for a trip he always made sure you had money in your pocket, he would offer you his advice, but he would let you make your own mistakes. I loved my father. I aspired to be half the man that he was, and if I ever had children to be half the father he was. My favorite time with him was always Christmas, it was the one time of year that his emotional barriers broke down just a little bit. You could see a sparkle in his eyes while he is sitting in his chair watching his family laugh and joke around the Christmas tree. He had come up with my mother, and before I told mom I discussed my discussion with him.
   "Well son, no matter how much your mother wants to hold onto you, it's your life and it's your choice. We'll support you no matter what, just make sure you think about everything very carefully before you decide. And I want you to finish your education. No matter what you look like, I am proud of the man you have become." He gripped me around the shoulder and we started to walk back towards the hotel where they were staying. I had almost cried after what he said, but I kept myself from it. I didn't want anything to distract from that moment.
   My brother and sister had not been able to take the time off to come to Colorado, but I had several long conversations with them. They were both very supportive and thought that it was pretty cool. They both said they always knew that I was weird, and now I would look the part. They were both married, my sister being eight years older and my brother being four years older. My brother's wife sounded like she didn't quite know how to react and Ty, my sister's husband, who was a chef and former dead head, said that it was, "Groovy, man, I can dig that." I had liked Ty from the first time I met him. He generally loved life and judged no one. Whoever you were and whatever you did was cool with him, as long as you returned the favor.

   A particularly strong blast of wind knocks me off of my feat, and I slide a few feet before planting my axe. Slowly I get back up. Rechecking my direction, I start my march again. I wonder what those men's families are going through right now. I am starting to understand why my mother is as protective as she is. I hope they are alive. Just hang in there for two more hours, guys.

   Luckily, sorting out my college choices was far easier than expected. Florida State had recently implemented a massive distance learning program, and via the help of the Internet I could finish my classes from wherever I wanted. So with some help from my parents and a student loan, I purchased a nice laptop and cellular phone, registered for classes, and hit the road. I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I would find out when I got there. My parents had lent me their old pop-up trailer, and had packed my clothes and most of the other modern conveniences in it. If it was one thing I loved, it was road trips. Either alone or with friends, there was nothing like cranking up your favorite music, rolling down the windows, and setting out for destinations unknown. It was a close second to climbing in my book; if the voyage didn't span any oceans, just point me in the right direction and I am gone. Now I know what you're thinking: Whose parents would let their youngest son, now a fox, go gallivanting around the country with no destination in mind, and trust him to keep up with his studies via a laptop computer? Well, mine did. Sure they were worried, but I had done similar so-called 'crazy trips' in the past, and they had grown used to it. Not that it stopped my mother from freaking out if I didn't give her a call once every 3 days. Since it was mid-February, and it was Colorado, I stuck to the main roads on my trek north.

   19,500 feet. My GPS is telling me that this is the general vicinity of where the hikers should have been when the storm blew up. Walking in ever-increasing circles, with the GPS guiding me, I begin my search. The wind-chill is well below -100, and at that temperature I am beginning to dread what I might find.

   The Canadian Rockies are, in a word, beauty. They are not beautiful, as that would imply that they have beauty. No, they are beauty itself. I was 2 weeks into my journey and thoroughly enjoying myself. It was still winter, and so was confronted with the fact that many of the smaller roads were closed, but there were enough places left open for me to explore. I got many odd stares from the motorists I passed. I suspect they first saw that my windows were rolled down, and being that it was -10 degrees Fahrenheit, this would be an odd sight. I think I further confused them when they noticed who was driving, that was definitely an odd sight. Every night I stopped somewhere, popped open the camper, and did my required work for the day. Afterwards I would write in my journal about what I had seen and done, then I would step outside and soak up the crisp night air, reveling in the stars that just couldn't be seen in Florida.
   Subconsciously, I suspected I was on this journey so I wouldn't have to deal with the social ramifications of my change. I had chosen a course of action that enabled me to avoid almost all human contact, except when needing to buy supplies. A course where I didn't have to really deal with my family, friends, or society in general. If I was going to run away from my problems, however, this was surely the place to do it! It's really what I had always done, and may very well be why I enjoyed mountain climbing so much. Because when you're alone on the mountain, the only things you have to deal with are the mountain and yourself. It was also why I always picked the worst time of year (winter) to do my climbing, I didn't want anyone to interfere with the feeling of contentment and peace I found up there. It's not that I am antisocial, in fact I am a fairly outgoing person. Always the first one out on the dance floor, first to make the joke that breaks the ice. The thing is that people wore on me. I am an idealist in every since of the word, and if I didn't escape humanity every once in a while I found that the idealistic worldview I created for myself starts to collapse. So I go to the woods to escape humanity, and to give myself the time to rebuild my world that everyone and everything else seems intent on attacking.
   Now the real world had given my idealistic world what it needed most: Its creator now had a form to match. The real world had given me the means and the excuse to more permanently escape its harsh truths. If I didn't experience them and I avoided the people that might inform me of them, then I could imagine the world to be as I hoped. Staring at the stars each night, these and many other thoughts mingle in my head. Sure I knew what I was doing, at least on some level, but that didn't mean I wanted to stop. I had tried that before. I had once tried to dismantle my idealistic world and see things as the really were, it had nearly driven me to end my life. I simply couldn't take such a world, so I methodically rebuilt my own with the aid of many expeditions into the wilderness. Some might call me naive. One day I am sure that I will end up dead. I give lifts to hitchhikers and homeless, I go for walks through my neighborhood (ghetto doesn't quite describe it), I sit in the city park at night, and countless other things that normal people would deem stupid. But I never once do I fear for my life, because in the world I live in, no one hurts the people that help them. I fear I am boring myself with memories of introspection and my insights to my inner psyche, so I prefer to move on to other thoughts...
   It was on a night like many others, a month after my change. Staring up at the stars, I thought of things I wanted to do when I was finished with my education and my wandering. I wanted to do something where I could enjoy my vulpine form, something outdoors, and something that helped people. It was all selfish in a way, even the part about helping people. It was all part of my master plan to make people see the world as I do, that way there were less people I had to avoid. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a professional back country rescuer. I somehow doubted that my parents would be pleased by the switch from Electrical Engineer, but it was my life.

   There, in the snow ahead, what is that? Picking up my pace, I make towards the anomaly I saw in the snow. I all but tripped over the still body of the climber. Shaking him I lean down and yell above the roaring wind.
   "Can you hear me?" No response. In the wind and the snow, there is no real way for me to tell whether he is alive or dead. So I lay my pack down next to him to try and block the wind and pull the tent from the pack. Struggling, I spend 20 precious minutes getting it set up. I now know why they trained us to set up our tents in a wind tunnel, it's a bitch. The tent being up, I drag the unconscious or dead man into it and start pulling out the mummy bags. Taking off his outer layer of expedition wear, I am holding a mirror to his mouth and praying. Yes! he's breathing. I remove everything except the thin thermals and stuff him into the sack. You would be surprised how difficult it is to put someone else into a mummy bag, but I manage. After he's in, I step back out onto the mountain. One down, one to go. I search until I feel myself getting exhausted. Distraught that I haven't found the other climber, I make my way back to the tent. Entering, I notice that the climber I found has regained consciousness. I ask how he feels and offer him some hot chocolate out of a thermos that I had buried deep in my pack. He says he doesn't know what direction his friend went off in. I am way too tired after the climb and subsequent search too go out again.
   After two days the storm finally clears, and a helicopter lowers a cable to attach the injured climber to. He will probably lose all ten toes, maybe half his fingers, and the tip of his nose, but he was alive. I started my search again, being able to cover much more ground now that it was clear and sunny. The mountain was like that; beautiful one moment, and the very picture of hell the next.

   It's two weeks after my rescue of the climber. His partner was never found. Maybe the wind and snow would decide to unbury him ten years from now, only time would tell. Since then it had been fairly calm on the mountain, only a few minor injuries that I assisted with. I once again thought of my life, past and present. I loved my job, and there is nothing I would rather do until I become unable to do it. Sooner or later, though, I am going to have to face the music, face society, face the world. It had been two years since I became the dream that I had so often imagined myself as, but in that time the only people I had dealt with were my family, my-coworkers, and those people I rescued on the mountain. I wonder if the world had changed in my absence? Maybe it was time for me to take a vacation. Maybe it was time to take a break from the mountain and the aurora, and see if the person I now was dealt with the real world any better than the person I had been. Maybe I could share the beauty of the aurora with someone. Maybe someone could describe that sunset to me.