I’m trekking with Jake, six days out of Phokara, nearing Annapurna Sanctuary. He tears up hillsides, skates down dusty slopes, devours suspicious rice and lentils like a ravenous bear. He looks like a bear, with his bushy, brown beard, his burly shoulders and chest. As I follow behind, always behind, I wonder when the bear will turn on me, engulf me.

We’ve come to a ravine, bottomless from the looks of it, lined with jagged rock. Jake scampers across the plank-and-rope bridge, turns and waits. The sun seems close here, at over 10,000 feet, and although the air is cool, the world glows too bright – the ice fields above, the terraced valley in the distance – and I squint at the treacherous planks.

“Come on, Oliver,” Jake calls. Part challenge, part impatience. We’ve been friends a long time. He drops his pack, wipes the sweat from his dark brow.

I step onto the bridge, as boldly as I dare, but I’m thinking of Jake, of close quarters in the huts we’ve shared, occasionally a single bed, linked, always breathing his scent. He must know how hard it is for me.

“Ollie,” he shouts. “Be careful!”

The span sways even as I take the first step. There’s wind here, it roars in the crevasse, catches my pack like a sail. I creep forward, gripping the slick rope.

Just a few feet remain. Jake is within reach, hands outstretched, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from jumping into his arms.

 
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