We were three men in our sixties. We were three men who hiked over Buckskin Pass to sleep under the view above of Snowmass Peak.

We woke up to a bit of snow at the Snowmass Lake Campground. Rob ported a flask of whiskey in his pack, so we found ourselves talking as we setup camp each night.

And you know me. I’m not a big talker. So, anything I share here probably came from either Rob or George talking.

We talked about our health. Because we’re men, our talk was graphic, and because it was graphic, it was funny.

We shared stories of our heroic wives for sending us out together into the remoteness of the Maroon Bells. They’re the best.

We told stories that only sixty-year old men could tell. Stories of what’s next.