This year we set our eyes on Ben Nevis. It’s a tall chap with frosty disposition and a hard exterior. As such, he attracts lots of birds (spot one in the photo!). I must say Snowdon by comparison is a big softy, tamed and user-friendly. But then, when I conquered Snowdon I was a year younger and still had all my teeth.
Dressed in my Siberian gear, I was ready for Ben.
He took a lot out of me. One third into the trek, he had me on my knees, dishevelled and begging for mercy (and I am not into that kind of stuff!)
By the halfway point lake however I experienced a momentary revival – a climax of sorts. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I became orgasmic, but there was something organic and alive in my general disposition. I kind of peaked (in my small womanly way).
From then on it was down the hill (Cow’s Hill to be precise) for me while Husband, ever the conqueror, tread on to the top. I think he was after the virginal white while I was content with the low-lying dirt. He likes being on top; I like a bit of filth. Everyone’s happy.
While he was having his way with Snow White, I met this gentleman in the valley. He said he was Ironman, and I had no reasons not to believe him. He talked about it being a bit draughty and I briefly admired his steel rod.