More than seven years have passed since I sat down in a smoking-car on the Canadian Pacific to enjoy a morning pipe. After several weary days we had left the monotonous prairies behind and were climbing upward through the beautiful foothills of the Canadian Rockies.<br><br>Sitting opposite to me was a man whose eyes never left the rugged mountainsides as they flew by the window. As I studied my companion I knew that his interest in the mountains came from a deeper feeling than the casual curiosity of a tourist, and while the train sped on we talked of mountains and mountain craft. From the Canadian Rockies our talk drifted back to other ranges we had known, and then I told of how, from high mountain camps in distant Alaska, I had looked longingly northward to where the great cloud-like dome of Mount McKinley - America's highest mountain - hung above the Alaskan wilderness.<br><br>And then I found that my companion was planning an attempt on Mount McKinley's summit the following year, and when I left the smoking-car I had cast my lot with his.<br><br>It is interesting, in looking backward, to see how small events can change the entire course of our lives.