Go Darke

Selfies. Not quite the top yet, but ‘we’ are taking a break, ’cause I’m sucking air. It’s been a quite scramble to get to this point I decide, trying to justify my (clearly) quantifiable decline in fitness. (yesterday was also leg day, and my gluteus maximus is yowling all manner of protestations)

We’re trying a new route up the mountain. The ‘trailhead’ starts about a mile from my front-door. Contractors from the municipality have recently cut back some of the alien vegetation here but have left (what I can only imagine are) most of the branches behind, which have formed this springy weave, full of voids and snags. So the first half-a-kay is actually a gingery-shuffle across no-mans land.

I used to think poorly of people who traipse around in their snake gaiters… but in terrain like this, maybe, to paraphrase Shakespeare, ‘discretion is the better part of valor’, and I find myself wishing I had some. I didn’t see a puff-adder on the road until I was right on top of it. It would impossible to see one here, and while I’m weary about where I place my feet, I know its largely pointless exercise.

Once we were passed that we found a well trodden path likely used by woodcutters and Bergies¹ for their traversal up and down this part of the ‘berg. We don’t meet anyone though.

[1] Colloquialism for… mountain hobos I guess would be the best translation.

The easy part ends on the other side of the trees. Someone, at some point, dammed one of the mountain streams here. Gravity feed, there’s a three inch plastic hose running down the mountain to someones property. Quite industrious I decide.

And illegal. But my black libertarian heart is pleased. I’m no snitch. Says the person who will kick over stacked stones but doesn’t begrudge engineering works. Just to carry bricks and concrete up here is worthy of a certain sort of nod.

From here on out it starts to look like this. There is a path. Sorta. It might actually just be a thoroughfare for Grysbok and porcupines to get to the dam. Good enough for the daring duo though.

It’s only when I stop thirty minutes later and look down that it suddenly dawns on me that this might (actually) be a little too steep for the German to get back down safely… and I didn’t bring a harness.

I do have a rope though. And boy-scout skilz. (Ha!) And so I fashion a harness, bow-lining it round her front leg on the one end and then back round the other one.

It’s more so I can arrest her continued descent if she takes a tumble. She’s fine… and doesn’t actually need any assistance getting down… while her hapless owner ends up on his bum. (More than once)

Don’t worry dad. I still love you. Even if you are kinda useless.