Dear Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge,

I’ve got to hand it to you. You did everything possible to convince us to succumb to the cold. You gave us the darkest of nights. You raked us with your wicked winds and froze us with your biting cold. You got us lost. You tempted us with hope, then ripped it away. More than once, you made us think our baby was dead.
Through it all, we survived. All of us. True, the missus and I succumbed to permanent damage from our icy walk. We suffered the loss of our toes and still feel pain in our extremities when the mercury drops. But we are alive.
Though the cold is what ravaged our bodies, still reminding us thirty-two years later with every painful step we take, it was the isolation that has given me nightmares. Thoughts of your extreme remoteness and barren high desert emptiness keep me up some nights. Trapped in the depths of your vastness with no hope for aid terrifies me still.
As I have already said, all three of us survived. You failed. We faced starvation. We stood against your blasting snow and sub-zero temperatures. We shrugged off your threat of howling coyotes. Hidden in your furthest corners against all these obstacles, we triumphed.
It was touch and go for a while, but with our will to endure and our drive to keep our infant son alive, we did not go quietly. We fought every inch of our long march to thwart your plans for our destruction.
Maybe it was a test of our will. A test to see if we could, despite the most difficult predicament, keep our baby alive. Did we find you so we could prove our worth? I’ve thought about this often over the years. Was it a challenge set forth by some unseen force to probe the limits of human endurance? The spiritual side of me, seeking beauty in all things, tells me this scenario is possible.
My more pragmatic side, however, always wins this debate. It was an initial mistake on our part not to inform anyone exactly where we were headed. After that, we faced decision after decision, any one of which, if chosen poorly, would have ended in our demise. We made the correct call time and again until we found our way out of your labyrinth of death. That we are still here is a testament to an undying will to save our baby.
We beat you. Yes, we still bear the scars to remind us, but we beat you. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of those nine days. Decades have gone by, and the baby is now a man with children of his own. Not only did we beat you, we thrived despite your efforts to end us.
Our suffering has become an inspiration to others. People say things like, “I could never have done what you did. I’d be dead for sure.” My response is always the same. I tell them that I would have said the same thing if it had never happened to me. You can never know what you’re capable of until you are tested, like we were. When the life of your innocent child is in your hands, you will stop at nothing to save them.
Your efforts to kill us have only fostered a stronger will to survive and confidence in our ability to do so. It has also given hope to those with whom we share this story. In a way, your methods of culling the human population have only increased and fortified it.
So, while I hate you for trying to kill me, my wife, and our son, I thank you for making me the person I am today. I am strong. I am resilient. I appreciate the little things. I have faced death and won. I live a good life and can say, with confidence, much of it is because of how you changed me.

Sincerely,
Jim