We passed under a high cleft in the eastern wall that hid, I knew, a remarkable ruin called Scaffold House. On a previous hike, starting at the monument headquarters rather than Marsh Pass, a friend and I had spent rapt hours exploring the site, with its dazzling pictograph panels and the enigmatic wooden structure, wedged fifty feet up a flaring chimney, that gave the place its name. As a boy, Jimmy had lived beneath the ruin for several
