BACKPACKER MAGAZINE
Sometimes scary stories from the trail.
Featured articles
Climb a fourteener at night.
The more we talked about it, the more brilliant our new mission sounded: We’d top out before sunset, chug a beer, descend, and prove once and for all that early mornings are for the birds.
Act like a local.
The place was filled with jumpers, music, and—worst of all—spectators. My stomach curled as I watched a group of teens launch back flips off the bridge into the Animas River.
Minor problem: I had never jumped off anything much higher than a pool diving board.
Survive the desert.
We climbed a ridge to get a better vantage and discussed our options. To my left, a slick rock face peeled away from the ridge at a 45-degree angle. I stood on the snow-covered stone at the edge, looking down 120 feet to the bottom. I was turning back to Gordon when my shoe slipped.