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Beyond An Inversion The slicing sound of skis slowly creeping up the mountain, the distant creek gurgling under the ice, and my labored breathing was all I could hear as we climbed up surrounded by a colossal winter cloud. "Clementine?" shattered the medley of sounds. My brother, Joe, holds an orange slice out in front of me and waves it back and forth, taunting me. Today is the third day of our adventure, and we are finally pursuing the summit of Copperstain Mountain in Northern Canada. My toes are frozen, I have blisters on my feet, and my nose is numb. For the past two days, the clouds have been living at the base of the mountains, and we felt lost in a strange place, knowing that we were tickling the valley floor beneath these giants. It is as if we were an ant on an ankle. Will these giants choose to slide some snow at us to relieve an itch? No one mentioned the word avalanche. We finally reached the base of our climb and started to ascend until my brother interrupted with the proposal of a bright orange slice that contrasted against the snow like a traffic cone in a Vail Parking Lot. My older brother and I are accompanied by our guide, Dan. Dan is a local small-town Canadian, from Golden, British Columbia. In his mid-twenties, he carries himself tall with a subtle slump in his shoulders and weight in his eyes. Like us, Dan was broke. The crew officially consisted of Joe, a twenty-three-year-old river rat, me, a sixteen-year-old pushed beyond my comfort zone, and Dan, the skier man. "Yeah, I'll take an orange." I muster to say between breaths. We climb up one grueling switchback at a time through the forest. The dark green trees huddle under the snow the same way that children hide under their hooded coats during a frigid morning recess. The trees did not welcome us, nor did they deter us. They accepted us. Suddenly a warm sensation covers the back of my neck. We are in the sunshine. Below us, clouds lay like a cotton sheet; we are in the heavens. My skis begin to slip. "You got this, Sis!" Finally, after many fruit snacks, hot tea sips, and a salty tuna lunch, we arrive at the summit. First, Dan slices off an enormous section of the face. The snow roars down the terrain like a white wave crashing against the trees. He skis toward us with a solemn demeanor. "I was touring a few kilometers West from here when something ugly happened. A buddy of mine triggered a slide while my sister was waiting below. The slide buried both of them." Dan watched in horror. He could see his friend’s ski sticking up like a tombstone and immediately went to dig him out. “Once he was free, we had beacons ready, but by the time we found her, she had already taken her last breath. Please ski with caution." Click, and my heels are secure. I float to the left, then the right, and then a rolling fall. Both skis eject in opposing directions, and I lay there relieved that I am not an avalanche's hostage. "I can't take you anywhere." Joe says with a playful skip in his voice and two cherry red skis under his arm. He lays them out for me, cradles my boot, pokes the snow off with his pole, and supervises my second attempt. We fly down with smiles so broad that the corners of our mouth land on the frames of our goggles. We were soaring in the great white North. "You two are lucky to have each other. Although I lost my sister, the mountains didn't steal anything, but they have taught me to appreciate what I have at the moment. That's why I spend every day here."