Stop and write about “nothing but the forest in total isolation” if you wish. Or you could [[a mind to meander|go back to where the river begins]]. ---- January 19, 1981 Today marks three weeks that we’ve been confined to these god forsaken mountains. We anticipated cold weather, but nothing to this extent. We came up here to investigate and research the different mountain ranges throughout Montana and how the animals that inhabited the area behaved during cold weather in their natural habitat. Our first expedition - The [Beartooth Mountains](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beartooth_Mountains). Ever since our journey up, it's like Mother Nature has held a personal vendetta against us. Temperature held constant below zero, at least 6 inches of snow a day, and extreme winds. We weren’t able to put up tents due to the wind that challenged our every move, but we found a cave near our original site, so we set up there. Our plan was to move once the weather cleared, but as I stated before, it’s been three weeks of constant torture. All our food and water is frozen, wood is too damp to light fire, and the cave entrance does little to block the wind. Even my pen ink is starting to freeze. We debated just hiking back down the mountain and trying again another year, but were soon reminded of the several feet of snow that surrounded us when the wind blew a giant pile straight into us. We attempted to call for help but our phones had no service and our batteries for the backups had frozen. We’ve exhausted all our options. Now we stay huddled in a little corner, stealing as much warmth as we can. Though, I can sense some tension forming. I mean you can only spend so much time with the same people, cold, starving, and tired before everyone starts to lose it. Some have resorted to eating snow for hydration, while others are too frozen to move. While writing this letter I heard someone to my left exclaim. There was some rushing beside me and I saw a glitched phone screen appear in front of me. “Look, this is the story I was trying to find before the hike.” It was hard to make out much but all I could read was, “The Survivor of Donner Party”. I felt panic consume me and I pushed all thoughts of that happening to this group away. I can tell people are starting to lose hope and each minute I pray to whatever God is out there to save us. I’m using what little energy I persevered to write this letter. There is a group of birds right outside our cave that do nothing but taunt us with the idea of freedom. I think they’re [American Tree Sparrows](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_tree_sparrow). My plan is to attach this note to the leg of the bird with some string we packed. I know not if it will fly to the city or simply stay perched on the branches, but if you’re reading this, I can only assume my plan has succeeded. I beg of you reader, send help. My group is starving and shivering. Our eyebrows are beginning to grow icicles. If you have any mercy and kindness in your soul, please rescue us. - Amanda Clark > Allison Wadd