We hiked for six hours along the cold and muddy terrain. The crew was tired and desperate, even considered turning back. But when we when the air took on a creamy, salty scent we knew we'd soon see place. Jo Joe passed his flask in a gesture of pre celebration. The whisky warmed my chest and I felt a little buzz come on just as the ground started to get mushy underneath my feet.
"This is it, boys," called the Chief as he chomped on his cigar stub.
As I unpacked my gear and marveled at the white lumpiness, I got lost in a daydream. The tributaries of steaming gravy, like lava, carved meandering lines from the top to the bottom of the hill. It felt like I was looking at a photo of the past. From this day forward it would never look the same.