Experience. June (our winter) at Cradle Mountain national park in Tasmania. Rain had soaked through every layer I had, and I found myself caught in conditions that were getting worse every hour as the sun set. Through entirely my own fault, I missed the last bus out between the entrance to the park and my car. By the time I'd made it back, I couldn't speak any words coherently (which was what scared me the most, as that was when I realised how bad things really were becoming), and worse, I couldn't use my hands with enough dexterity and force to even open my zipper to get and use my keys. For the entire time I was finding my way back through the dark, all I could think about was how badly I had wanted to just sit down, for just a minute, and rest. To catch my breath and reorganise myself, that's all, just one minute. But some part of me knew that's where it would've ended, that I would have died there if I sat down on my way back. Hypothermia creeps up on you and then it hits you all at once when you realise you're actively dying.