Doug Donovan hadn't been sleeping much lately. It was 3:30 a.m. on a day in early February -- the darkest, coldest time of the night during the darkest, coldest time of the year. The ground was frozen, the air subzero, and his hands were snowballs with icicle fingers. He wondered what the hell he was doing up here, high on Chief Mountain, separated from his bed 35 miles away in Denver, a place that seemed as distant as a warm dream where everything was comfortable and complete and not going to total shit... More >>>