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Seattle Log
The 18th day of January on this year of our Lord, two-thousand and twelve.

I have navigated the frozen tundra, traversed the barren hinterlands, and arrived upon our still green base camp. I find it deserted, desolate. I fear I am the only one of our meager number to survive Mother Nature’s fury. Not even the locals have stirred from their dwellings and I suspect I will find neither warmth around their fires nor coffee at their stoves. Those too slow to find cover have fallen where they stood, leaving only ghastly, frozen monuments to their efforts. May God have mercy on their souls and may he guide me through this dark hour. I pray only to once again feel the sweet kiss of sunlight upon my face.