The valley exhales at dawn.
The expedition logbook begins not at the summit but at the river that carries the mountain's runoff — a distinction that cartographers learn early and forget late. Here the air is thick with larch pollen and the residual cold of snowmelt. Every route upward has a beginning that is always somewhere lower than expected.
We set the first cairn at the confluence, where two streams braid into one. The stone is gneiss, flecked with mica, and refuses to balance on its first attempt. Patience is a geological virtue.