Death Hike

I was thinking today, about something that happened a few weeks ago (and then I realized it was a few months ago. What the hell).
But before I can tell you about that, I have to tell you about this:

I have this friend. Our friendship is based on scotch, Monty Python, and physical absurdity.
We used to, on weekends, go on "adventure hikes". Which, retrospectively, got re-named as "death hikes". Now, normally, when I say "I went on a death hike last weekend" people assume that I mean it was grueling. Long. Hard, steep climbing.
No.
We eventually figured out that, on all our hikes, one (usually both) of us would come very near to death. Multiple times. Per hike.

You see, I assumed that he was experienced enough not to attempt things that weren't already provably possible. And if he could do it...hell, I could do it.

He, meanwhile, assumed that if he attempted something beyond reason... I'd stop him.
Both of us were operating under poor assumptions.

The end result was idiocy like:
1) free climbing out of the devils punch bowl
2) clinging one-armed to his flailing body as he got pummeled by a waterfall in an attempt to keep him from being smashing into the rocks below.
3) him diving into a river to haul my ass out after I slipped off a rock face into it.

etc.

Part of the idiocy may have been exacerbated by the scotch and cigars we would (usually) remember to pack. Along with rope and a big-fucking-knife (boondocks saints style). Which we always ended up having to use (ie rapidly scaling a rock face with the on-sent of a thunderstorm).

Anyway: death hikes. You get the idea. This companion resides a continent away. It makes me sad.

A few months ago, I became obsessed with large fish and the idea of catching one. I mentioned this, offhand one day, and found myself with a fishing companion from work. He was excited "we can hike out to a good spot I know..." <-- I was hooked.
We drove to Chilliwack and started our hike.

Immediately I was forced to assess and re-catalogue our hike as a "walk". There was a path and no imminent death.
At one point, we had a bit of water (/puddle) that needed crossing.
I didn't think much of it- having nearly died in rapids too many times to count.

I also didn't think twice when my fishing/hiking buddy told me to "hang on a sec" and started wandering around like he had a purpose. I waited, remembering crossing raging rapids on hikes long since past, until I finally thought to ask him what he was doing (he was moving a lot of rocks).
His response: "I'm building you a bridge. So you don't get your feet wet."

*Clunk* <-- that was the sound of my jaw hitting the ground.

I was so confused.
I didn't know what to do. What was this? Was he joking? Insulting me?
was this...
Chivalry?
what...the fuck...?

I blushed. I actually blushed. I didn't know how to respond, and had been (for at least 20 seconds) just been gaping at him.

"...I... I can...jump that. Man.I mean...thanks?"

We moved on. my feet dry. I would have jumped it. I wanted to. It was really hard not to, but he'd gone to all the trouble moving all those rocks. I made myself use a couple of them, just to validate his effort.

He beamed.
I...
still don't get it.

I didn't catch anything.
Maybe next time.