An hour and a half later, I've lost nearly a thousand feet but I wish I could lose two more. My toes are screaming, muttering, cursing, and sending me ominous signals that seem to say, "That's it buddy, you can kiss your middle toenail goodbye." I don't know which is more horrifying: The loss of a toenail way out here or the prospect of kissing that reeking digit, and I had no desire for edification. On I trudged, absorbed in the pain, with only the camera to bear witness to the beauty that surrounded me.