My old Army buddy, Bear, and I had run out of food and water, yet spent three days on this peak, awed at the tremendous view atop a sheer drop of several hundred feet. We lived off of blueberries that grew at the peak, and were never hungry or thirsty. At first I was afraid of the height of the cliff, but on the third day was so used to it, that I eased myself down from the edge and sat on a protruding rock with my legs dangling. Bear, who was from flat Florida, was worried about me.
It was on this mountain that I had what I believe to be a Sasquatch encounter, and where my brave little dog, Omega, followed me across a slippery high log spanning the rushing Dicks Creek in a gorge below.
And finally my wife, Micki, accompanied me to the peak, on the way sleeping in a tube tent beneath the quilt I bought in Korea, cuddling to keep warm through the cold night.
Venturing upon Mount Higgins, with my dog and hunting bow . . .
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