In early March of 2000 I was coming down Aconcagua in northern Argentina. I was at maybe 12,000 or 13,000 feet when the river along which the trail ran rose to cover the trail, which at that point was running through a narrow section.

The four people with whom I was climbing took off up a loose scree hillside, climbing about 1,000 feet to a plateau which gradually descended to rockfields which led to the camp.* I was too tired to try that hillside, which led straight into the river if the rock gave way, and was prepared to spend the night, anyway. Not comfortably but certainly adequately. I had light, matches, garbage bags, heavy clothing, some food, water, not great but OK.

We argued by radio for a while, but I wasn't going on and they weren't coming back so I built a fire and settled in on a sandy, level area with big rock windbreakers. The only wood around was brushy, and burned like gas, so it was either try to sleep or have a fire.

There were no airplanes, no contrails, no nothing there. The Moon went down and so help me the Milky Way was like a fluorescent tube. The meteors lit up the sky almost like magnesium flares for a brief second as they trailed off.

I was exhausted, and cold, as it was close to 20 degrees F. according to my watch thermometer but I couldn't resist staring at the sky. I welcomed and resented the sleep I got, I welcomed and resented the fire I had, and I was simply hypnotized by all the stars, all the meteors, and the clarity.

And then the dawn. The river had dropped enough to make it around the cliff, and radio contact revealed my friends had walked about halfway to meet me. There was something touching about that, a perfect way to end a miserably delightful night.

*The scale of the hills and valleys in that part of the Andes is not comparable to anything else I've seen. A 1,000 foot scree slope with a steep rock cliff above that was not unusual.