Just fixed a broken ice axe handle with duct tape and hope

It was the kind of cold where your breath freezes in your throat before it even leaves your mouth. I was halfway up a frozen waterfall, gloveless, when the handle cracked like a dry twig. No time for panic—just fumbled through my pack, found the tape, and wrapped it like I was binding a wound. It’s not pretty, but it held. Now it’s more of a metaphor than a tool: taped together, barely functional, but still doing the job. The mountain doesn’t care how you show up—only that you do.