>It's cold.
>That's the Alaskan mountains for you.
>You trudge on through the snow looking for the signs of the herd you've been tracking.
>Weather forecast said a massive snowstorm would roll in later tonight.
>If you don't find the caribou in the next two hours, then you'll have to turn back or risk getting caught in the storm.
>Gramps could have made it through the storm like it was just a flurry, but you're not a tough old bastard like him.
>You adjust the slung rifle on your back and hike uphill to get a clear vantage point.
>Reaching a knoll that overlooks the nearby forest, you unsling the Tikka T3 from your back and look down the Swarovski scope mounted on it.
>By the treeline, you spot stragglers from the herd.
>You could probably take the shot, and you're desperate enough.
>They look about four-hundred yards out.
>You sit with your knees up to support your aim.
>The crosshair is lined up on one of the bucks, with appropriate hold over.
>Taking a moment to calm your breathing, you observe the wind blowing the gentle snowfall.
>As you bring your finger to the trigger the wind picks up.
>The caribou disappear into a snow plume.
>Shit.
>You hop from your stance to your feet and watch as a wall of snowfall blows in.
"What the hell, the storm wasn't supposed to be for another few hours!"
>This is an emergency.
>You search around for nearby shelter.
>The only thing around you is the sparse forest where the caribou were in.
>Slinging your rifle, you start sprinting as much as possible down the snow covered hill.
>Two hundred yards into the run, you get blasted by the wind, and the snowfall increases.
>You're nearly blinded.
>Before the snow can halt your progress, you fight the wind and ice to get to the forest.