Well...OK - throw another log on the fire, and I will tell a tale of youthful misadventure that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far away - actually in Arizona forty years ago.<br><br>We were planning to climb the Mexican volcanoes, a virtually mandatory ascent for aspiring mountaineers, over Xmas break and we decided to train on the San Francisco peaks, Arizona's highest mountains, a couple of weeks before we took off to Mexico.<br><br>The Peaks were suitably snow-covered and plenty cold. Base camp was the Arizona Snow Bowl, a very nice ski resort. We got a properly early start, but were soon slowed down by deep snow - me less than my companions, because I had brought along a pair of snowshoes. After about two hours of floundering, we talked and my companions decided to bag it - intrepid climber that I was, I elected to continue fearlessly on, alone. Things went pretty well, and I reached timberline and the summit ridge, where I found the snowshoes unnecessary because the wind had swept the ridge fairly clean and had hardened the remaining snow. Stumbling against the fierce wind, I made it to the summit.<br><br>Returning, the wind continued to give me problems and I was really anxious to get into the timber. When I reached the point where I had cached my snowshoes, I elected to leave them behind (dumb move #2, if you are counting). I plunged down toward the Snow Bowl, but soon found the going real tough, due to heavy, deep snow. I was often up to my waist. The short afternoon wore on and about 4 PM I could see that in half an hour I had progressed maybe 150 yards. I realized that I was going slower and slower and that it would be prudent to bivouac. I cast about for shelter and selected a reasonable tree, thinking to dig a snow shelter of some sort. Darkness came as I managed to fashion a hole close to this pine. The snow was soft and powdery, so I was left with an open hole, partially sheltered by tree limbs. I had brought along a stove and some food, so I melted snow, ate, and changed my socks and put on all my clothes as I prepared to spend virtually the longest night of the year out in the snow. I soon developed a pattern of sleep, wake up from the cold, light the stove, make something hot, get warm, sleep again, and repeat the cycle until morning. I concentrated on wiggling my toes and avoiding frostbite. I also decided that if anyone was outlooking for me, I wanted to be in good shape, and be able to offer them a nice warm drink...<br><br>Dawn came, and I set off downhill. Despite fitful sleep, and quite cold temps (that night reached about 10F), my progress was much better, and I reached the Snow Bowl in about three hours, taking the bus back to Tucson later that day.<br><br>Lessons learned: One - Have a general plan for the unexpected. I had already been reading about mountain survival (I still have the classic survival book by Allen, Pond, and Nesbitt which I had read then) and I was mentally prepped to bivouac if necessary.<br><br>Two: Carry the right stuff. The stove and extra food and clothing was probably a life saver. I had a really good pair of Swiss climbing boots, horribly expensive (I think I paid $45 for them) which kept my toes from turning black). My 60/40 parka was another good item, and most of the other stuff was wool.<br><br>Three: Carry the right stuff all the way. Don't leave the snowshoes behind! They were military surplus bearpaws, cost me exactly $7.50, and would make great wall decorations today ater a long and useful career.<br><br>Four. You can survive, despite an occasional dumb decision, as long as you don't make an unbroken string of bad calls.<br><br>My abandonment of the snowshoes is a scene I have since seen repeated many times as panic builds. Just when things get tough, people start discarding material. I later heard an experienced SAR worker say that people with big egos survived better - they wanted to "look good." I think he is right.<br>