There are many, according to he periods of my life.
This is one when I was 19-20 or so.
I was deer hunting with my relatively new beautiful pre64 mod 70. My dad gave it to me for my 16th birthday.
I came up to a box canyon that was just perfect for a buck to be hiding out in. I watched it for about 15 minutes and nothing. There was a small rock out cropping that was about 8 feet from the edge of the cliff face I was on. If I could get on to that, I would be able to see a little further up the canyon, and brother it was looking good. It was straight down about 20-25 feet, but I figured that I could back up and run a little quick step and jump over onto it. It was perfect,..no problems,..I backed up 20 or so feet and gave a little run and,.. Walla! I soared right over to the out crop. No balance problems, no real danger,.. just perfect. I sat there another 15 minutes and watched the canyon from this new vantage point. When I decided to give up the canyon,..I just turned around, and there staring me in the face was another 8' leap with no backward distance to get to get enough momentum to get over.
I was stuck on an 8' out crop with 20'straight down into a v shaped crevasse.
Did I mention I was by myself?
After a few O'S!**$,and a few sorrowful moments for my new wife, cause they'll never find my body, I had to try to get back. I slung my rifle over my back and took my best flat foot jump ever, and landed about 6" short. Down in the rocks and cactus I went, fingers clawing and feet digging in, with my knees and shins in the way.
This was my introduction to rock climbing 35 years before it got to the popularity it is today. It took a painful hour to get back up to the top. I tried every toe hold and finger hold imaginable.
The rifle still has every darn scrape and nick in it. It sits in my safe now glaring testamony to a foolish young man that always wanted an extra 6" the rest of his life.