23rd January 2019 The Expedition!

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Wednesday 23rd 29-30F, dark grey and breezy. Expected to stay under freezing point all day. Brr! Visitors to Davos are using between 1500 and 2000 private planes to reach a talk about climate. No wonder you can't lay your hands on an organic lettuce for love of [sic] money. Months have passed without finding our usual rabbit fodder on the shelves.

The BBC talks about online "influencers" being named and shamed. To make them declare their commercial interests in gifts and sponsorship of products they endorse. I wish! 😇

Today's walk was more of an expedition. I donned my alpine gaiters in readiness for the first direct ascent, in winter, of the vertiginous, east face, leading up to the woods. Fortunately somebody had left a fixed rope on the difficult pitch leading to a very exposed traverse. Pride has its place but it often comes before a fall. So I took a firm grip and overcame the otherwise, complete lack of hand holds.

A biting wind hampered my efforts to make further headway against tormenting brambles in the temperate zone. As I trudged onwards and upwards to finally reach the limited shelter of the summit forest. Made transparent by winter and where I surprised a [mountain?] deer. Tall trees, left exposed by clear felling swayed ominously. Patiently waiting for the next storm to topple them.

I walked a long loop on the snow covered, forest tracks. Wondering as to my safety with so many large dog footprints everywhere. Though I don't think wolves have reached the island of Fyn. At least not yet.

There are at least four tones to walking in a forest. The deepest is from tromping across freeze-dried and worm-tilled top soil. The next the sound of boots breaking though unseen ice over long-dry puddles. The metallic skitter and rattle of gravel climbs in frequency. Followed by the high pitched rustle and crackle of generations of dried beech leaves squashed underfoot.

View from the summit over the soaring foothills and glaciers below.

There is a fifth, as boots crunch through crisp snow but its depth constantly alters the tone. An hour and half later I braved the winds again on the last exposed slopes on the descent. With the constant risk of an avelance, of photographs, abjectly failing to capture the moment.

I should have worn crampons, if I had any, for the very last meter of polished ice at the tradesman's gate. Only the finely honed agility and balancing skills of a well-worn tricyclist saved the day!

The risk of an errand has the potential for a ride. First I must make an impassioned appeal to a higher court, in triplicate, to be allowed out. The Head Gardener is a strict disciplinarian when it comes to unnecessary gallivanting. Anyone would think I was trying to escape! And did. If only for a while. In bright, but weak, sunshine, no less. Seven miles. The GripGrab Nordic mitts were fine at 29F. I hit 114rpm, briefly, on one slight incline, but only because I missed a gear. Without enough asthma medication to kill a horse I couldn't keep it up for long. Silly old wotsit. 😊

Click on any image for an enlargement.

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