Extra credit, then, to the intrepid Megan, who made the trip while four months pregnant and with baby August strapped to her back. Your first glimpse of the Williams Lake basin is breathtaking, with rusty peaks looming just above that molt into ocher come afternoon and glassy water that assumes a mystical air in the darkness, as if a dangerous beast lurks beneath.

Karl, who had been up Wheeler several times earlier in his hiking career, knew an ideal spot to camp for the evening near the inflowing waterfall. Karl, Megan, and August set up camp on one side of the waterfall, and I pitched my little tent down the path in full view of Wheeler’s summit ridge.

It got cold during the night, and Karl and I were up before dawn. We backtracked along the edge of Williams Lake to the trailhead and then climbed the switchbacks through the forest. The surrounding terrain and the views were so spectacular that if the hike was hard I don’t remember. You’re above treeline before you know it, and you gain the ridge after a fairly civilized hike on a good-quality path through mild scree. The summit area is broad, and we had perfect weather for appreciating the finest panorama in New Mexico.

The register, which I always thought was some sort of decommissioned cannon, resembles a bronzed pneumatic tube buried in a cement block. Unscrewing the lid creates a frisson not unlike opening a time capsule (which every register is, I suppose).

By the time we took our summit selfies and signed the logbook I was beginning to get a headache from spending the night at 11,400 feet. We hiked down, broke camp, and I went on ahead to get a headstart on my long drive east to Oklahoma, but not before stopping in Taos for a well-deserved green chile cheeseburger and Coke at Blake’s Lotaburger.