I was recently hiking in the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, a few hours south of my home in Colorado, and I reached the summit of Mount Yale on July 21. For many decades, intrepid Elis have toted rocks to the summit in a geologically futile attempt to surpass the elevation of nearby Mount Princeton, a picture-perfect peak that stands four feet higher at 14,204 feet. When I summited Yale, I discovered a large stick that I assume had been left there for the same competitive purpose. Honor (and wilderness ethics) bound me to leave the summit undisturbed, but I couldn’t help but take one photo of the view with my Princeton hat for posterity.
I was recently hiking in the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, a few hours south of my home in Colorado, and I reached the summit of Mount Yale on July 21. For many decades, intrepid Elis have toted rocks to the summit in a geologically futile attempt to surpass the elevation of nearby Mount Princeton, a picture-perfect peak that stands four feet higher at 14,204 feet. When I summited Yale, I discovered a large stick that I assume had been left there for the same competitive purpose. Honor (and wilderness ethics) bound me to leave the summit undisturbed, but I couldn’t help but take one photo of the view with my Princeton hat for posterity.