Are we sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.
Catstycam
The wind manifested itself as a spiteful mountain sprite, bent on preventing any further progress along the ridge. Crouching, kneeling and lying became the limited options for retaining her position. Her partner laid what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder, tapping urgently when the wind dropped enough for movement. They dashed through the breaks, and huddled against the gusts, making broken progress towards the summit. The snow, soft and new below, was now hard, slabby and interspersed with ice. Where their feet had loosened it, the wind picked it up and threw lumps at them. Hail occasionally joined the party, and coat hems and sac straps vibrated urgently, in sympathy with the winds ferocity. They knelt and used each other for support, the rocks pushed into their knees, and the turf threw crystals into the air as their hands brushed through the stubby spines of coarse mat grass.
As they reached the first, false top, the wind increased, and they huddled lower, holding hands as the opportunities for movement diminished. Attempts to drop to leeward brought few benefits, and they grasped the upthrust spines of rock as the ridge narrowed to the summit. The last few metres were crossed in a rush, and they collapsed into the snow on the bed-sized plateau, as she gasped and giggled with relief and the release of effort.
They lay there, holding hands, staring up at the sky. The wind, diminished now by the limited shelter of their plateau, plucked at their faces, but was unable to remove their smiles. Lifting their heads, they stared at the surrounding hills, and the valleys deep below. The grey-white of the higher slopes gave way to graphite screes, the rust of dead bracken stalks and the forest green of the gorse succeeded by the bright emerald of the low, fertile in-byes. Helvellyn blocked the western view, framed by the twin edges that buttressed its corners. The planes and pillars of its eastern face dropped in steep diagonals, each corner, break and ledge gathering ice, its slabs plastered with the damp snow. Below, cradled in the arms of Swirral and Striding, eddies played across the black face of the Red Tarn, the waters swirling like starlings about to roost.
Too soon, she had to face the wind again. They fought the gales attempts to push them towards the new-formed cornices on the eastern edge. Speaking was an indulgence, and they silently kept to the path as it steepened. Ice, snow and loose stones brought sudden slips and jolts; hazards the more annoying for being the less visible. She took the lead, tired of the wind and the path conspiring to pull her to the ground. A sudden movement on the periphery caused her to turn and see her partner barrelling past, swooping down the slope on his backside before collapsing into a drift and gales of laughter far below. Part amused, part annoyed, she suppressed a grin as he ran up the slope again, now free from fatigue, and insisted she join him for another glissade. Carriage-like and whooping, they sped down the hill, leaving behind the wind and ice, and collapsing together in the soft new-fallen bed of snow.
Catstycam
The wind manifested itself as a spiteful mountain sprite, bent on preventing any further progress along the ridge. Crouching, kneeling and lying became the limited options for retaining her position. Her partner laid what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder, tapping urgently when the wind dropped enough for movement. They dashed through the breaks, and huddled against the gusts, making broken progress towards the summit. The snow, soft and new below, was now hard, slabby and interspersed with ice. Where their feet had loosened it, the wind picked it up and threw lumps at them. Hail occasionally joined the party, and coat hems and sac straps vibrated urgently, in sympathy with the winds ferocity. They knelt and used each other for support, the rocks pushed into their knees, and the turf threw crystals into the air as their hands brushed through the stubby spines of coarse mat grass.
As they reached the first, false top, the wind increased, and they huddled lower, holding hands as the opportunities for movement diminished. Attempts to drop to leeward brought few benefits, and they grasped the upthrust spines of rock as the ridge narrowed to the summit. The last few metres were crossed in a rush, and they collapsed into the snow on the bed-sized plateau, as she gasped and giggled with relief and the release of effort.
They lay there, holding hands, staring up at the sky. The wind, diminished now by the limited shelter of their plateau, plucked at their faces, but was unable to remove their smiles. Lifting their heads, they stared at the surrounding hills, and the valleys deep below. The grey-white of the higher slopes gave way to graphite screes, the rust of dead bracken stalks and the forest green of the gorse succeeded by the bright emerald of the low, fertile in-byes. Helvellyn blocked the western view, framed by the twin edges that buttressed its corners. The planes and pillars of its eastern face dropped in steep diagonals, each corner, break and ledge gathering ice, its slabs plastered with the damp snow. Below, cradled in the arms of Swirral and Striding, eddies played across the black face of the Red Tarn, the waters swirling like starlings about to roost.
Too soon, she had to face the wind again. They fought the gales attempts to push them towards the new-formed cornices on the eastern edge. Speaking was an indulgence, and they silently kept to the path as it steepened. Ice, snow and loose stones brought sudden slips and jolts; hazards the more annoying for being the less visible. She took the lead, tired of the wind and the path conspiring to pull her to the ground. A sudden movement on the periphery caused her to turn and see her partner barrelling past, swooping down the slope on his backside before collapsing into a drift and gales of laughter far below. Part amused, part annoyed, she suppressed a grin as he ran up the slope again, now free from fatigue, and insisted she join him for another glissade. Carriage-like and whooping, they sped down the hill, leaving behind the wind and ice, and collapsing together in the soft new-fallen bed of snow.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
caryn:
That was well done, old bean. Quite.
kmk:
is she truly tired of the wind and the path...kiss. kmk.