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Click on the above link for more information! (£4.00- the price of a pint! {in London})
My own father, though I always called him dad, told me once that I was spoilt. My father was always right, so my mother once told me, yes me mum. I heard him, as the old Hebrew adage has it, but I wasn't listening. I had dreamt up this little challenge to raise money for The Children's Adventure Farm Trust, (the link up there) and thinking about that end kept me going through climbing hundreds of metres a day, often over such difficult terrain and at an altitude I was ill accustomed to, that I would put that simple thought in my head "just do it," and maybe, I thought, the suffering will offset that spoilt-ness me pop was referring to. Plus the kids get a few quid for donkey nuts, Win: win.
I would sit on a rock - getting my breath back- look across at a lake and say - nothing.
Up that morning after a blustery katabatic nights sleep. It's easy! Tent and stuff away and on the path in half an hour wash my face in the stream and look for a rabbit for lunch. Not quite, but oddly that morning, while walking up the track to get out of the valley I was in, I noticed a pool of urine and a lot of dug up stones all the way up the path and wondered what it could have been snacking so close to my tent last night!
Were they the little cloven feet of small deer? Pyrenean badger? Spanish wallaby? I didn't know but it gave me some food for thought that morning in between careful map reading. There were lots of lakes and lots of paths around them. I was headed for the refuge at the back of the lake above for a morning coffee with a view.
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Looking back down the valley I camped in.
Mystery solved? A Marmota |
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