So, I climbed all the way up and down 14,015-ft Mt. Wetterhorn, through treacherous Class 3 terrain, and the worst injury I received was when I returned to the trailhead, found a flat tire, and stabbed myself in the knee with a metal tool while trying to yank out a lug nut. I completely failed to appreciate the irony. Less painful, but more persistent, were the ants that chewed my legs as I straddled an anthill while cranking up the jack. I had chosen the wrong place to get a flat tire, and the situation was only going to get crazier from here.

The spare in place, I drove a quarter-mile down the valley to pick up my tent, but I had to disturb the meal of a grazing marmot as I backed the Jeep into the grass by my campsite. The fat, furry rodent fled the scene and chittered angrily at me from behind the trunk of a ponderosa pine. I ignored its beady black eyes and concentrated on loading my gear before the afternoon thunderstorms arrived. And then, unaware of the mischief that was about to be perpetrated, I descended to the stream to wash off the day’s dust and sweat.