Wandering the ridge line
alone on high alert,
I kept my head on a swivel
as I moved down
into the humid-cool-mist
toward high camp.

Boulders strewn about
the size of Volkswagens
littered the landscape
as I walked
cautiously
expecting to see
Teradactyls in flight,
scavenging for their
next meal.

This place was the real deal,
barren, rugged & brutal,
the place where flying dinosaurs
could ruin your day.

It's no wonder most
people never come up here
to play. Alpinists say
they love it that way,
the fewer the better.

But I have my doubts.
I read something somewhere
about being able to outrun
your mates in the event
of an aerial carnivore-attack.
'Cause out here all alone,
I was an easy meal,
a sitting duck,
fodder for those
vicious-creatures.

I was overjoyed
when I saw the yellow speck
of my nylon tent.
I jumped with happiness,
thanked the mountain-gods
for my safe passage,
warm soup & gossamer feathers,
a restive-stronghold from
hungry reptiles!