Apropos to nothing, back in 1969 I was living in the mountains of Wyoming in a log cabin, miles from the nearest road. Some mountaineering friends skied 22 miles cross country from Jackson Hole, stayed the night, and then we all went on an overnight climb of a nearby peak to about 10,000 feet, more or less. We then skied back down the face. Much fun.
As we neared the top, the leader, Chuck started to hesitate. Then he stopped, and told everyone to stop.
He took his ski pole and started poking down in the snow in front of him. Nodded, stopped, and told us all to take a look.
He had led us to the edge of the cliff, stopped, and through the hole I could see straight down about 2,000 feet.
Fuck me. That's nature in a nutshell. You're fine right up to the moment that you're dead meat.