Toys in the Attic

We’re getting a new much overdue roof. The 1930’s slates have been doing their best but like two dimensional lemmings many of them have been sliding for the edge over the past few years and as amusing as it is to see some of them caught by the gutter and sticking up like sharks teeth, the ones planted into the lawn like ninja stars say yes, let’s fix it.

This has meant much packing and reboxing in the attic to try and keep stuff clean when the slates and underfelt (if anything is left of it) get ripped off. This has been an odyssey into my past with so many mixed emotions, waves of melancholy with breakers of joy.
Years back my first ever words at an outdoor conference were to say that folk didn’t recycle because of laziness or lack of care in the environment, it was because everything has a memory. Obviously I was talking partly from personal experience. The attic confirms this.

Also apparently I used to be a size medium not so many years ago. This seems unlikely looking down at the body typing this, but the labels are there. A lot of dull colours too, who was this man?

I have of course dragged a bunch of stuff down and I’ve been burning through the Nikwax Techwash with gay abandon as I freshen up anything that’ll fit.
This has loosened a few bits of Gore Tex seam tape but I’ve become a dab hand a fixing this now after a couple of years of using McNett (or Gear Aid as it is now) Seam Grip.
Seam Grip works too, I thought maybe some extended light wear and a couple of washes might be the best I could expect but my original repairs on my ’98 Karrimor Summit are still solid and I wear it a lot. I actually just did a wash and reproofing of that with the hand spray Nikwax TX Direct. I seem to remember from years back this this stuff only lasted one trip before you wetted out again.
I might update on that here. Might do a Seam Grip update now I think about it, the rebrand also seems to have made it stickier and faster drying.

I think more vintage or at least old gear stuff is coming up in amongst the new gear reviews I’ll do as soon as I can get somewhere different for some photies.

But, pulling on something from the 90s, even if it smells like a tramps arse after years in the attic, I can feel the wind on my face, I can hear my footsteps and I can smell the tent, damp down, wet grass and freshly made coffee.

You can escape lockdown in unexpected ways, who, what and where is waiting for you in the back of your mind in a rolled up old waterproof?

*This is from last week to illustrate the point. You can’t see how white my beard is so I thought I’d better make the point.

Oh to be young, again?

I’ve discovered something of the human condition in recent times. At 52 things get sprained, pulled or broken so much easier. I suppose I knew this was coming but nothing actually prepared me for it. I think lockdown has accelerated this effect too, I couldn’t keep to the exercise regime I was so enthusiastic about early on and snacking became a nasty habit, so I’m at a physical low of sorts.

But it’s not really that so much as the I had warnings that this would come, old seemed so far away as to be an impossibility when I was under 40 so I didn’t listen, do any of us?
Be prepared physically they said, I did, I stayed active, so I got lots of daft little injuries that would later come back to haunt me.
Eat better they said, I did, then had a donut after it.
Save for your retirement they said, so I did, when can I cash my pension in to clear my mortgage?
Wait till you have children and settle down they said. Well, that’s another story isn’t it.

I find myself being my dad when I tell Holly stuff, but I might as well be the 40mph sign at Taynuilt, she just doesn’t see it. I know she’ll look back and one day and think. “Oh, he was right…”. I do exactly that a lot now. Dammit man.

My mind is as active as it ever was, but now fueled by the content I’ve packed into it. I’m full of enthusiasm and mental energy but when I get in the driving seat and turn the key, so many warning lights come on.

Youth is wasted on the young? Maybe, but burning that energy in a carefree blur is an irreplaceable joy and I’d hate to go back and turn my volume down.
I guess every time of life has it’s light and shade, there’s never a perfect time.
That’s rubbish actually, I’ve had so many perfect times.

Maybe it’s simply making as many days count as you can whenever they are, maybe that’s why it’s all so hard just now, the days are slipping past us.
Is that harder for me at 52 because I know what I’m missing or for someone at 25 who’s just discovering?
Both, you can’t make memories and anecdotes to annoy the next generation with once you’re old yourself if you’re stuck in lockdown. So it’s not just the horrors of right now that Covid has brought, it’s shaping the future too in intangible ways.

We’re not in a political crisis, we’re in a human crisis of health both physical and mental. Young folks might be able to physically withstand the virus better but it’s continued existence is shaping their perspective and future.

Wear a mask, wash your hands. Quite literally, think of the young folks.

Best Foot Forward

A fellow OG blogger John Hee has reached a point where he is archiving his posts and letting go of his domain.

The landscape of blogging has changed so much in the years since I started and I understand the emotions and hassle, indeed weight that comes with maintaining something that can feel like a lifetime’s work.

I’ve come and gone from here over the years and that’s been due to outside influence more than anything to do with my desire or lack thereof to write random pish on here.
Not so long ago running a business and becoming a single parent, both in difficult circumstances instantly limited my time and energy to even click on the bookmark for here’s homepage.

At one time I had a reach that was eyebrow raising, #1 in the world indeed, and look at it now. It’s er, just the same. No adverts, no wee plaques, no attempts to be a resource, no interest in being anything other than a colourful bucket to empty my thoughts and experiences and opinions into.
That’s what OG blogging was, is.
We did this stuff because we wanted to share, not be internet personalities or influencers.

Sure lots of us got careers in outdoor writing and photography of varying intensities out of it, but the blogging I feel stayed simple, even innocent despite any fighting over stats or more likely gear stuff.

I sometimes miss the old days, the banter, the ability to share with and take notes from experienced and knowledgeable peers, but I still believe the best day is always tomorrow. Well, the first tomorrow after lockdown.
I mean, I have review gear to photograph somewhere that isn’t the Lang Craigs.

So I salute the old guard, the workers of words, the initiators of the inspirational image, those who have fallen and those still standing.
I also tip my hat the the new crew of media savvy video and Instagram kids and also wherever comes after you. We’re all transient after all, the mountains, the coasts, the sky, the forests. They’re forever and the joy they’ll bring will be there for everyone to catch and hold and share in their own way.

Also, I’m going nowhere. Indeed, I’ve probably posted more in the last wee while than I’ve done in years. Blogging on your own terms is rather fun.

Five Mile Island

The snow transforms the crags and although I was losing the light, nothing was going to stop me getting up there.
I couldn’t park of course, every space was full and every foot of verge had a car on it and every gate had some arsehole’s bumper up against it including the Overtoun access gate where ranger super powers mean I can always get through and parked.
There was enough space for me to squeeze through, just, and the looks I got? Well, if you don’t want me driving an inch away from your expensive metallic finished paneling don’t park like a dick.

It was mobbed. Huge groups, no masks, no social distancing, dogs running around jumping and sniffing one group after another.
It was like looking at a Petri dish with trees.

I took a right away from the heaving masses and into clearer air, deeper snow and more accessible joy. I’d be better on the crag edge, it would give me a chance to check the gates were shut as well.
I’m not flippant about what we do up here, there’s deer getting in and eating the trees so if someone leaves a gate open, we shoot the deer, that’s the transaction.
So it’s up to you man in the wet-out puffa jacket with the carrier bag.

On the lip of the crags was just magic. It was dull but that didn’t diminish the view and the feeling of being in amongst it, and over it too, even at this not very fancy altitude, it makes me glad, always.
It was bitterly cold and getting colder too, I could feel it on my cheeks, just above where the hair stops.
Fog was creeping in, Donut Hill was becoming an island and the forest was being swallowed as the grey oozed westwards towards me. It just made me grin. How can all this be five minutes from my door.

The voices ahead in the murk pulled me out of my wee dwam and then the tone of them had me raising an eyebrow. I walked on to see what was happening.

There were three folk at the highest part of the crags ahead and uphill from me and I could tell there was something amiss. There was a bit of shouting, the trio were spaced out with Mr MountainJacket at the front, Miss NoPack in the middle and Dr Terror at the back, clinging, as it turned out when I got closer, onto the snow encrusted fence.
Oh. I thought. Ah…
I got a bit closer.
“You folks okay?”

No, no they weren’t.

Turns out none of them were local, none of them really knew the crags, none of them knew the route they were on at all, but one of them had seen someone up here from the path below and thought it looked nice so they thought they’d have a go.
What had happened here was that three strangers in lockdown had banded together to survive the Lang Craigs. Christ.

Not as funny as you’d think. Dr Terror was just that, terrified. He was hanging onto the fence in the murk and gathering darkness in a light jacket looking like a casuatly on legs.
Miss NoPack was happy enough, but worried about Dr Terror but not to the extent she wanted to wait and help him or turn back with him.
Mr MountainJacket wasn’t giving a shit, he was walking ahead and seemed quite prepared to leave the other two and continue his expedition.

“You folks okay?”
“Do you know the route and how to get back down going this way?”

This is me being the chatty local more than a Woodland Trust ranger here. There are four ways down from the crags between here and there end.
The first is easy missed, a wide zigzagged gully, the one I’d climbed up not too long before. Full of snow and hidden wee rock steps underneath but hemmed in the first part and after that a slip would see a shorter slide or roll. It’s literally the safest route at that moment.
Second is the narrow buttress. I only do this on dry days, it’s a scramble at the top and likely deadly right now.
Third is the giant’s footsteps around 1.5km away, a well hidden short gully off the crag edge followed by a broken buttress with short, steep grass sections. I wouldn’t risk it there and then without metalwork on my feet.
Last option was the end of the crags, around a mile or more of extra pointless walking with an unpleasant end through the tightly fenced quarry perimeter walkway. It’s shite and I refuse to use it, they can chase me all they want as I cross the open land there.

Even Mr MountainJacket looked a little uncertain now. None of them had any idea about any of this.
The maps are indistinct, the Victorian fenceline leads you over the edge in places. It’s not funny.
I don’t care how urban you might think this is or how low it actually is, in full on winter mode, the terrain right here demands respect, planning, knowledge and skill.
Look at the photie above, it’s not a soft option, even got a wee pinnacle with a chockstone. A mistake up here is no joke. We’ve had the MRT out before, we’ve had helicopters.

Dr Terror started working his way back along the fence, he was going back the way they came and wasn’t waiting for the others or anything else really, he was off.
Miss NoPack wanted Option 1, especially as it really was getting dark now. Mr MountainJacket was brave, he’d driven across two council boundaries and the Erskine Bridge to get here but here knew he was in trouble.

I walked them to the gully and set them on their way before I legged it back to see where Dr Terror was. Behind me in the gloom I saw them at the run out at the bottom of the gully and going towards the gate. They were safe.
Dr Terror was far below on the main track. the speed of panic had carried him fast and far. I’m just glad it kept him upright too.

I stood in the dark and looked down on the now empty Lang Craigs and I did a very loud exhale of breath.

There’s two things.

One is the Lang Craigs. It’s not a soft option, weather can make getting off the waymarked tracks a whole different experience. A dear friend once explained the concept of SMJ to me, sound mountain judgement. It stops you getting into situations, it takes you left instead of right, it makes you think, it makes you look before you don’t leap. It’s common sense, it’s experience and aye, it’s what I’ve learned and earned and what I didn’t see this day. I saw people walking into trouble.
Laugh all you want, but I know this place better than the route to my own fridge, and on the crags in winter you’re in mountain territory and you need the skills.

Second is all this is taking place in Tier 4 lockdown. I mean wtf. That there’s folk traveling from all over to be here is one thing and then there’s letting stupidity guide them towards an avoidable incident that will involve others, manufacturing interactions that need never and should never have taken place.
I should never have met them, I should never have had to guide them off the crags. but imagine if the timing had been off and things have gone differently, how many others might have been out there that evening instead of being home safe.

This is one reason why covid is still here. Some folk just don’t give a shit, “I’ll be fine” is all they need do do what they like where they like. We’re all fine until we’re not, it’s not always our choice when or where that is.

I was so angry. I think I still am.

I’m still smiling though. This is and will always be my happy place.

But, I do fear where we’re going. The added footfall of the last year is adding too much pressure to the environment, I feel that a lot of visitors are coming not because they want the outdoors but because that’s all there is.
I think being there will develop a love and an empathy for the outdoors, but while that’s growing within you, can you park your car properly?

Also learn navigation, buy a headtorch, read some mountain books, don’t wear black head to toe… But mostly stay home, stay safe and let us get this nightmare finished. The hills will be waiting.

Age of Minority

It was a little muted as we slipped from twenty to twenty one. The three of us were happy to be together, to be healthy, but beyond the front door, the world is still a whirlpool of chaos and stupidity ready to catch an ankle or a sleeve and pull you in. It’s a new year, but nothing has changed but the number.
No New Year dinner at the folks, a socially distanced hello in the cold morning air and steak pie back at home for us.

It’s brutal, but we stick to the rules because we’re protecting our vulnerable family members, ourselves, everyone else. I will speak more of this concept with a detailed explanation from experience with graphs and diagrams of why it’s dumb bastards are perpetuating this nightmare time. It’s not the government, it’s not a conspiracy, it’s not even the virus itself, it’s stupidity that’s keeping the train rolling. And it drives me mad.

And then there’s Brexit too. Christ.

We had a little light in the dark though, the rather perfectly named Wee Spark. I’ve been a more frequent visitor of late, keeping Jimmy a little less worried about it as he’s been either shielding or watching my mother with here new hip. Aye, that was an unexpected pre Christmas joy after an ASDA car park mishap. What a year.
But I’ve been going aboard for a little peace too, it’s a happy place, no matter how many times I bang my head on the low insides.

This evening the three of us went with cuppas and snacks and lit the fire as the sun sank and the sky’s blue was washed away by the blackest of cold, clear winter nights.
The stove lit first time and warmed fast. Coffee and toasted shortbread helped smooth the mood as the steel hull had sucked the life out of EE’s 4G for the girls.
I had my new Black Sabbath book made of old fashioned paper, I was just fine. In fact I got a pile of books for birthday and Christmas this year, it’s magic.

Oh aye, birthday, I’ve been 52 for a couple of weeks. So has Linda, we were born minutes apart in the same hospital in ’68. And here we are. What’s the chances.
52 is grown up I think? I think I’m feeling that anyway. A wee bit at least.

I think we’ll be seeing more of the Wee Spark. I like it here. And I’m learning how to drive it solo. Steer it? Ach, it’s early days.

And 2021? I suppose we’ll be seeing more of that too. It’s already a shitshow if you look at the news.

I reserve the right to maintain an easily accessible pot of joy and wear an unlikely hat of optimism though. It’s my thing after all, and I mean look at the weather? Alright!

Run Deep

Still just playing at home. But that’s okay.

Covid was started in mystery, spread by ignorance and now perpetuated by stupidity.
I’m not playing a part of that last phase and staying off of outdoor social media helps me keep my cool as dumb bastards gad about the countryside regardless because “we’ll be fine, and we don’t have the virus anyway”.
Aye, until they slip and mountain rescue comes out, the police come out, then people are out of place without choice and that’s when there’s unnecessary contact and the associated risk.
If you have kids at school or you’ve been to any shop in the last ten days you’re an infection risk and should just suck it up and stay home.
If folk had wore masks, washing their hands and not been arseholes nine months ago we wouldn’t be where we are now. Makes me mad.

Still, just playing at home isn’t too bad. West coast skies are the best, and it’s cold now, dark so early too.

It’s getting popular here, cameras and drones are here most nights when I had the place to myself a year ago. How did folk not know all this stuff was here already, that every setting sun was a potential breath taker? 2020, it’s changed so much.

I had to run down the waters edge waiting for the floating balls to line up just right. I was so pleased when I caught it and I did a wee Whoop. I got looks from the proper photographers. So many humourless bastards out there.

The mist never really formed properly, it stayed just a haze and the lighting was subtle. You don’t always need the fireworks though, I liked the quiet mystery of it, the softness and the calm.

I like this phone, the Xperia 5 II camera does okay in low light. It doesn’t bear up on laptop screen size, but blog size smooths it out just nice.

Aye, still just playing at home.

Mr. Magoo

Forty odd years with perfect vision and without wearing glasses and now I can’t see for shit.
I know my prescription has changed again but I can’t face it, even now that we’re allowed to go and be breathed on at close quarters by an optician again. I’ll get to it.

It does mean that I miss stuff though. I took the photie above of the sunset the other day and had no idea that there were birds having a stramash just outside the window. Ah well.

I saw the spider though. I see it every day. It mocks me with its safe position over a long drop and my choice to have incredibly awkward windows to clean from the inside and my reluctance to get a proper windae cleaner in because he will see stuff that he won’t understand through the glass from his far too tall and most likely wobbly ladder.
Aye, so the spider lives for now. Unlike that mummified winged buffet it has lashed up all around it, it’s a dab hand at catching a free lunch. Crafty wee bugger.

Sing a Rainbow

As I was heading up the crags yesterday my head was spinning round looking at all the trees, splashes of red and yellow reigning over the creeping brown and fading green.
It’s utterly glorious and it was only improved as I gained some height and the sun broke through the shifting clouds with searchlight beams that flashed across the landscape lighting up even more autumn flags through the patchy rain and haze.

On my way back down as I got closer to the trees it occurred to me that nature isn’t just painting in beautiful broad strokes here, the joy is also in the detail.
I picked up leaf after leaf, finding in each infinite shades of the colours that usually melt together with distance to give the autumn blanket.
Impossibly diverse and wonderfully individual, every leaf shouted out to me and I soon had a pocketful to take home and make a little centerpiece for the dinner table.
Outdoors brought indoors. And, everytime something new. Ah, the joy of it all.

 

15th Wish

I’m rarely disappointed now. It’s taken a lifetime to be like that, to hope but not to expect, to imagine and not demand.
Today I had cold hands and rain on my glasses, my base layer was overloaded with sweat and the best of the blue skies were hours earlier.
I grinned the entire time.

The rainbow was just cream on top.

Which reminds me, I didn’t get cream at the shops so we’re not firing up the vintage coffee percolator tonight which has become a Friday dinner ritual.
Dammit, I’m so disappointed.
Hey, it’s not the hills it’s fine, I’m allowed, shut up.

Nightflight II

A walk in the chill air to a door I can’t pass through.
To look back at a face I have known and loved all my life from two metres distant.
To see a hand wave back that I can’t hold in reassurance and that little frame that needs so much a wee cuddle.

It’s the cruelest of times.
Started by accident, spread by ignorance, perpetuated by stupidity and suffered by us all.

Hindsight will always have 2020 vision now.

No Rest for the Thankful

I’m a reasonably frequent flyer of the Rest and Be Thankful road from Arrochar to Loch Fyne and I’m a constant viewer of local road signs telling me that Beinn Luibhean has shoveled some of its excess onto the road after the rain and closed it meaning that if you’re lucky you get a wee trip up the original road or if you’re unlucky you’re on a hysterically long detour round half of Scotland.
It always was a stupid place to put the new road, the hillsides are cut deep with water fueled movement on that side of the glen. The schemes in recent years of catchment pits and fences were a waste of time, all that money and effort could have been spend on what they’re finally looking at – a permanent fix.

However, the official document on the subject is hilarious Project Corridor Options – Access to Argyll and Bute (A83). There are some sensible options on show but it’s the wacky sci–fi ones I like best. I thought the councilors in Inverclyde fact finding about running a cable car service four miles across the Clyde from Greenock to Helensburgh was good, but these new plans are a clear winner.

Option 1 is the most sensible probably unless they get some Italian engineers in to tunnel it, it moves the road onto the other side of the glen, just where we are in the photie below in fact.
The hillsides are very different over here with no major water runoff channeling comparable to the existing problem area but there’s long established forestry that won’t be there for ever so it could all change.

Option 2 is horrific, cutting a road through the lovely empty lands from Butterbridge past the tail end of Loch Sloy to come out north of Ardlui. The east end here is a problem area, very steep, but they managed to do a steep climb for the new Glen Fruin military road a few years back, so it’s a worry that they might have a go at this one.
I would drive it though, often.

Option 3 takes a similar cross country route but through a glen that’s more developed, less remote feeling. Still steep to the east, I just can’t see it.

And then we’re into fairy tail land. A land where they have unlimited money to build their dreams, to cross oceans, scale mountains all the while unrolling a new road behind them from their magical bag of infrastructure spells.
Their document is worth a read in general, but in particular that they’re so worried about nuclear submarines hitting their new bridges.

In an ideal world a lot of these other crazy roads would actually exist, but Scotland has mostly been there as a resource for others not as somewhere needing to be developed so it all feels a little late.
That new Glen Fruin road I mentioned? Built for the military to use then handed to down to us when they were done with it. The newer roads and bridges up north seems to have got money from somewhere, maybe it’s that logo I see on them, a blue background with gold stars? I look forward to see what else these folks manage to help with…

In the meantime, Argyll and Bute, Italy’s dialing code is +39. Get on with it.

Push to the back to the front to the back again

I like the daily movement of it. Not the predictable east to west, it’s the daily creep of the point where the sun hits the horizon which is so very noticeable from this window. even if the daily increments of it’s travel into winter positions are probably actually awfy wee.

The variations are endless too and I still get caught by surprise after a hundred years of watching it through my apparently slightly grubby mid range double glazing.
The colours, the shapes, the brevity of the show and the times where I just catch the last whisper of red on a cloud because I was in the kitchednand missed it all.
I’ve seen a lot of glorious skies in my time, from sea level hands in pockets to summit tears in my eyes and this window has the power to beat them all.

Even this rather subtle showing, a few scattered clouds like still glowing ashes blown from a bonfire, it brings me joy. I’m always lifted by it.
It really is the little things.

 

Caught

It’s not all the denim, it’s not that we’re both wearing the best shoes in the world and it’s not that I thought it was my dad in the photie at first glance.
It’s just a perfect moment caught by Linda.
It’s a real moment too, crossing the burn with a mix of laughter and mild terror with both of us secretly hoping the other would slip into the water. Not because we’re cruel, but because we know we’d both be helpless with laughter whoever got soaked.

It’s a metaphor as well. What I saw there was instantly symbolic for how I feel as Holly gets older and faces a difficult, confusing and often unfriendly world. Wherever she is in that world, that’ll always be me, right there, one hand out to catch her.
Maybe sometimes one of us, maybe even both of us will slip. That’s okay, we’ll get it right next time.

Never felt more of a dad as I do looking at this. So proud of that wee lassie.

Sunsetting

I’ve taken more photies in the past 18 months that I did probably in about five years before that.
I went from not being able to find a camera then not being able to find the batteries or their charger to having it all ready to go every day.
I’m still relying on stuff to point it at that doesn’t need much fixing and my usual three idiot proof settings but it’s just magic.

We’ve been exploring local as well as beyond and seeing the familiar and well as the new and it’s just a joy. Oh, there’s going to be so much sunsetting on here in the coming days.

Missed It Again

It was the anniversary of starting this thing last month and I not only missed it I forgot. Ah how priorities change.
From the #1 outdoor blog in the world – really, I have the numbers and the analyst agency figures so fight me – to an occasional accidental clicked on destination on my phone. Ah, silly bugger what am I doing.
Waiting actually. I was waiting to see if Photobucket really had shat the bed and and I was going to to have thousands of images stuck in a host that I couldn’t use anymore. I would never redo this place with another host, I couldn’t face it. Plus my photos are are so badly labelled on hard drives etc that I would never find anything to do it all again.
It was actually very dispiriting.

However, Photobucket seems to have turned a corner. It’s early days but their new site and new regime is doing the right thing today, we’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings.
So this is a fresh start of sorts. Let’s see what I can do with it.

Hiding in darkened churches for the most part. How a huge building with so many windows can be so perpetually dark I don’t know. Even with the sun beaming through a break in the clouds it just lights one single spot.
I love it.

 

Glass Menagerie

I spend so much time in empty churches. And I tell you, I can feel something standing there, looking up the images of stories centuries old… cold usually. Churches are always cold, even in the height of summer. My job of 30 odd years is to fix that for when the people are on the pews, and it takes time to test stuff.
Big systems are slow to react, slow to change despite my efforts. Hmm is there a message for the wider world in there somewhere.

So I wander around, feeling pipes or checking my strap-on thermostats for flow and return temperatures and maybe I’ll sit on the worn varnish of a pew with a cuppa and listen to the silence as it’s subtly punctuated by the creak of an expanding steel pipe under the floor or the burble of an air pocket that keeps escaping me.

Sometimes things just line up perfectly while I’m not even looking for them. Old churches are dark by design, high and thick stone walls and tall slim windows dimmed further by their intricate patterns of leadwork holding painted glass.
I could spend hours wandering around at these windows and even places I’ve been visiting for nearly 20 years like the church here I can still see something new.

This day though, on a dark winter’s afternoon as I sat in the gloom wishing I had a phone signal, the low sun broke through the cloud and shot a kaleidoscope of colour and shape across me and whatever surface in the church it could find.

It lasted for about ten minutes until the pulsing light source dimmed once more and didn’t come back.

I took less shots than usual probably as I sat or stood waiting for the light to come up to full brightness for a couple of seconds and relocate to try and capture something else.
I had a great time, running around snapping on my phone as its weary battery dropped power noticeably as I kept the camera live. It was close to dusk or dawn on a summit, that level of grinning and chuckling. I think I actually just love doing photies, wherever that may be. Never thought about that before.

It was over too quick, but I got what I saw. That’s actually very true too, no editing on the phone or laptop other than a couple of crops.

And now, the nearly versions… Or the better? I have long learned that its our eyes that are different, everything is beautiful to someone.