I'm a buck who believes in the ability of members of different species to transcend their differences. But there are some impulses that are present in other species that I just cannot wrap my furry head around. One of these is the human desire to undertake perfectly irrational pursuits for some intangible psychological reward, and along the way risk one's tail. I thought Homo sapiens were supposed to be a knowing species. But after witnessing E+J's latest harebrained outing (and here I apologize to all hares and members of the genus Lepus), I'm beginning to think that all the knowledge collectively held in this bossy, 7-billion-strong bunch doesn't amount to much.

The idea seemed simple: dayhike up the highest mountain in the contiguous US. But let's break that sentence down.

"dayhike" = hike 22+ miles in one day, starting and ending in the dark

"up" = starting at 8,300 ft. and then climbing more than 6,000 ft.

"the highest mountain in the contiguous US" = Mt. Whitney. At 14,508 ft., there is 43% less oxygen at the peak than at sea level, where we live.

Needless to say, this is no place for buffalo to roam, or for deer or antelope to play. As a rule of thumb, I don't go where trees don't grow. Trees stop growing at about 11,000 ft., so after accompanying E+J on half their journey, I bid them adieu and waited for their return. And I waited. And waited.

E's travelogue below tells the story of what happened next.

Mt. Whitney as seen from the Interagency Visitor Center in Lone Pine, where hikers go to pick up their permits.

Starting hours before sunrise, we could only see a few feet in front of us.

We had no idea at this point that it would be more than 20 hours before our bodies would get to rest. But it was better that way.

The moon was still high up in the sky as the first hints of sunlight began to illuminate the mountains.

Sunrise over Owens Valley.

Mount Whitney and its neighboring crags, with the setting moon.

Just before the 99 switchback began.

Snow and ice covered some shaded parts of the trail.

...but not to worry. We packed our trusty Microspikes.

Upon reaching Trail Crest, Sequoia National Park and its many lakes and peaks become visible. It's a stunning view.

The summit. The only thing other than rock is the lightning shelter, built in 1909. We arrived so late in the day there was no one else there.

The registry in front of the shelter.

The sum total of the comments we could muster for the register: "Holy shit!"

We had arrived at the highest trail, and the highest point, in the US.

"Let's take this photo already and get it over with. We've got 11.5 miles to still hike."

As the sun set, we were elated to have summited. The adrenaline was pumping and we were headed to lower elevation...a cause to celebrate.

Behind E are the famous crags that neighbor Mount Whitney -- Keeler Needle and Crooks Peak.

Sunset over Sequoia National Park.

The morning following the hike, E+J broke down camp and headed down to Lone Pine for breakfast at the Alabama Hills Cafe while I snacked on local foothill vegetation. Lone Pine is one of the Owens Valley's four main towns, and with its Wild West topography, provided the background for many Westerns. It just so happened that we found ourselves descending the mountain as the 25th annual Lone Pine Film Festival parade took over Highway 395. Residents and tourists lined both sides of the street, sitting on hay bales and camping chairs, cheering on Western movie stars as they passed in classic convertibles and on horses.

On the drive back home, we stopped to check out a few of the abandoned buildings that litter Highway 395. We also stopped to visit Fossil Falls, which is neither fall nor fossil, but rather a unique geologic formation created when glacial waters were diverted over volcanic basalt flow, shaping and polishing the rocks.