Alright, I've got one.
Granted, we were only 13 at the time, but still, something should have told us that what we were doing was not something any moderately sane person would want to risk just for giggles.
The story goes like this:
Me and four of my buddies were forced under great duress to accompany the rest of our class on a school outing to the local museum of ancient and musty history of no great relevance. As we were being guided around by our assigned zombie we found a great opportunity to sneak away from the group when we passed through some ancient rotting viking halls that lacked a rather large part of a back wall.
We then proceeded straight for the perimeter and climbed over the fence and started exploring the mountainside. I'm from Norway, you know, steep valleys and fjords etc. Oh , and a never ending supply of snow and sub freeze temperatures. So there we were, climbing our way along fairly vertical rock faces at about 850 meters above sea level, with about 50 meters (I figure that amounts to about 150 feet give or take) above a glacier run-off.
And what do you know, we decide to see if we can't get to the source.
10 minutes later we're as far as we can get without hammers, pins, ropes and harnesses.
Of course, I have to try pushing my luck.
One bundle of wet leaves and a surprised squawk later I'm sliding down what I swear to this day was a natural slip'n'slide into a freezing river of glacial water.
Let me tell you, water close to freezing temperature pretty much amounts to a crotch punt, minus the crotch agony. It pretty much felt like someone had went and lopped off one of my lungs along with both my legs.
Long story short, I traveled down stream about 50 feet to an outcropping which I hung onto until my buddies managed to get a freshly uprooted tree out for me to be hauled in by.
When I look back at it now I can only surmise that I was an insane tool at that age.
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