Above the forbidden pastures of El Sur Ranch, Pico Blanco rises from the backcountry of Big Sur like the nosecone of an ancient spaceship. Early morning fog shifts around the limestone peak like pre-launch exhaust. It appears poised to lift into the calm, blue atmosphere.
Andy Ruble and I are standing at the mouth of a tight box canyon in a remote area of the Diablo Range. We are 42-year-old men, but, when alone, we still interact in much the same way as those two kids who became instant best friends in second grade.
