Keeping Breakfast Down

With Holly at high school now our day starts at normal time, I’m ready for action at the same time as normal people. It also means I can be a skiving bastard much earlier in the day as well.
When I walked into the living room this morning and saw the fog and I knew what I was doing. Engineering kit went in a bag for later, hill gear went on.
I dropped the girl at the train and swung by my folks for a quick breakfast, filled a water bottle and made a dash for the crags.

The mist was thinner at the car park, light was forcing it’s way through in fuzzy spotlight beams around the trees and the pylons. I wanted to run for it but I was caught by the glistening spider webs that seems to be stringing every blade of grass on the hillside together into one shimmering blanket or wonder. And terror I dare say, the spiders at the centre of each web looked hungry. And there was a lot of them. A lot.

It was cool in the mist but got warmer as I climbed and breakfast was making it’s presence know too.
I had no need to hurry, it would be like this til lunchtime, I just wanted to be above the cloud.

I’ve done this countless time and it’s breaks a grin and girly laugh every time. I love it up here anyway, but some days shine a little brighter in my memory and my imagination.
This is happiness.

I went straight to the top and looked out, glorious. The higher tops, the real mountains are all far away but I don’t care, this is home, this is mine, this is pure magic.

I saw the Brocken Spectre follow me up, changing intensity and size with my height and the mist level all the way. It had the fogbow outer edge as well which seemed like it extended in an arc all the way to the Cowal peninsula, it was so distinct I felt I could step out onto it and walk on this ghost bridge high above the Firth of Clyde in the sunshine.

I sat and kept of sitting, I drank my cool Robinson’s lemon. Worry free just for a while, full of joy and wearing a smile under that manky old cap.

I eventually decided to wander the edge of the crags. It’s a lovely trail anyway, but the evolving view sells it even more today.

Ben Lomond was lying on it’s back under the clear blue skies, the trees have lost that angry summer green and the moon slips quietly across the sky, most likely wondering why the hell it’s here in the daytime. It’s used to shiftwork, but this isn’t right surely?

As the sun rose so did the fog, in tufts and waves it poured slowly up the glens and the gullies before finally running out of puff then breathing back in and fading into patches that would sit defiantly until I got back to the truck.

The little white dot on the ridge above is a pickup truck. The quarry track goes round the rim and I watched the big trucks driving round ferrying fresh stone downhill. What would that dashcam footage be like.

I stayed up there for hours. Wandering and watching, just letting time pass.

I came down the long way, checking on the cup marked stones (don’t ask, still not telling) and my gate repair. I was starvin’ too.
Back to my folks again.
“Oh, you want some lunch?”
Er, aye…
“How did you get on a work?”
Fine, just fine.

 

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