One of the many wonderful things about Snowdonia is the way the architecture and the scenery blend into each other. The slate and stone of the hill sides becomes the building material of the farmsteads, byres, shepherds huts and terraces. As the weather changes, so the stones change texture and colour; there is of the year when both are not interesting and changing. The picture here is on the descent of the Devil’s Kitchen that sits between Glyder Fawr and Y Garn. Neither summit was reachable today with the wind blasting in and around so we descended back to the lake in what was an invigorating walk.
It’s been an interesting week, getting up at 0400 to clear work, leaving for a training walk (that Annapurna trek is just over a month away) bee returning to cook a meal and out another four to five hours in before retiring. I’ve been up with my daughter so conversation flowed both on the mountain and in the cottage. There is a rhythm to this type of working which is immensely satisfying and its the combination of reading or writing with physical exercise that is important. Ellie made the point yesterday as we took an old drover’s road over the hill that we neglect those who work who do physical work not just in terms of income, but in terms of respect and status.
Here in the mountains, my cynefin, I always feel at home. The sudden call of the raven, the sense that the wind is about to blast the surface of the lake into a cloud of spray, navigating paths that change character and texture with the weather. All of this is a part of what I am. Without that sense of physical place we are nothing, indeed the singularity would be a relief. For me the idea is abhorrent. If my wishes are respected my ashes will be scattered from the summit of Tryfan, I never want to be separated from these mountains.
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