The Jackass Prize


Clayton may be in possession of the only Ivy League degree between us, but he arrived in New Mexico without either a sleeping bag or hiking boots—he’d lost the Vasque boots our sister and I had given him a year or two earlier—and suffered for his folly that variety of derision unique to close siblings, even siblings who are supposed to be adults already. Essentially, whatever fancy engineering job he had back in the city, in the high backcountry our baby brother was out of the running in this round of rivalry before we even set boot—or sneaker in his case—on a trail.

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