I got lucky. Something shifted in my arm, so that the pain was suddenly significant, to the point where it made me sick at my stomach. I got lucky, though, and set up my tent, broken-armed, in dusk, in that blizzard, and crawled inside, where I shivered my shape into an ice cocoon, at the very top of the mountain. I slept solidly, and when I woke up it was still snowing, harder yet, deeper still. I got lucky; turned around and headed down. Fell into a crevasse with my pack, but was able to get out. Continued on, slowly. Crossed an ice bridge down in the low country that second night, and the ice broke, I fell in, but only up to my knees. Continued on, was out before midnight. Lucky.