The boys had been eyeing that rock all day. To my climbing-wired sons, the 300-foot massif that hulked over our little campsite in the Cedar Mountains proved irresistible. I had informed Bridger and Weston — then ages 4 and 3, respectively — that they would have to wait until daylight, when I could strap their baby brother onto my back and help them climb it safely.
But the scattered campfire light dancing across its rounded surfaces was just too much. They waited until their brother spit Spaghettios all over the camp chair, then they made their move.
The above is an excerpt. Click over to the Transcript Bulletin to read the full story.