Three thousand miles from home and nearly an hour from the closest town, depending on how many bighorn sheep you needed to dodge, I stare blankly at the fire hose of rushing water that is supposed to be my ice climbing route in the Shoshone National Forest’s South Fork. The warm November weather has brought comfortable climbing temperatures but having chosen a south facing aspect to climb, a relative mistake or accepted adventure (I have yet to decide), my climbing partner and I had found ourselves in the typical early season ice climbing conundrum. Having already climbed through two pitches of scrappy, western conglomerate “kitty-litter” rock, some snow slogging and a pitch of decent ice, I turn the corner to find that our ice route has turned into suspect spray ice and a technical, as I call it, aggressive uphill swim. Using what’s left of the dull point of my ice axe, I scrape out a suspect crack to my right and try not to fall into the hollow ice beneath my feet. I place not one, but three pieces of rock protection before considering moving another inch. If two lobes of the cam are on flakey, rotten rock does that still count? Or is this what they call, mental protection? Either way, this climb is beginning to show me the true meaning of Western Hospitality.