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We were approaching a shoulder, a nook in one of the ridges that led to the peak above us, when my mother turned to say something.

“Looks like—oh.” Her words disappeared into the breeze as she looked behind me in shock. A wall of moisture smeared the basin we had climbed out of. While we focused on the storm in front of us, the one my grandparents reported, another had moved in behind us. The sun had somehow remained in a patch of blue sky, just above us, giving us a false sense of comfort while clouds encircled the basin. Spidery fingers of lightning flickered through the gray streaks of rain across the valley.

Leaving the trail, we beelined toward a little cliff band with some tree cover, ducking into a grove right as the sky broke over us. It hit so quickly we didn’t have time to take out our rain jackets, and as we bent over our bags to grab them out, hail the size of pomegranate seeds began stinging the backs of our necks. Thunder shook the ridgeline menacingly. Lightning silhouetted the few trees that stood around us.

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