Our first campsites before the ice, neighbouring the lateral moraines, were in gorgeous meadows – a refuge amid all the arid rock and barren ice. Once we reached the core of the glacier, however, there was no grass or firewood to be found, no path for a mule to be walked; just snow, ice, and rock for the rest of the way. Crevasses latticed the snow, which by the end of May had begun to thin. As the wind howled and the ice popped and cracked, the light faded, and I understood how fragile this place could be. Just like us, human beings, glaciers are slaves to the whims of gravity, scarred by movement and change. I was bound to this place before I even realised it.