I knew I was going to make some sort of attempt, I’d even left some kit out in case I came back for a quick smash and grab, but I had real stuff to do and I did it first.
Then, I scooted home, filled a water bottle and a flask, donned my gay apparel and with glad tidings I headed for the door with a head full of mixed metaphors. I looked at waterproofs and looked out the door, I chose big and cozy and skittered down the pavement to the motor as the snow fell with increasing enthusiasm.
The road up was a joy of unnecessary tail end drifting, it would be dark soon so I wasn’t hanging about and a sideways slide into empty car park with its virgin snow made me laugh out loud. What a child I am.
I was walking with purpose through falling snow, just to get clear of the trees and onto the hillside, I was soon plastered with snow but warm and comfy. Oh, I’ve missed having to get dressed up properly for this stuff.
The cloud started to break up as I was around 1000ft. Doughnot Hill was in front on me, the crags behind and the high, wispy pink clouds in the gaps told me that the sun was heading south. I headed for the crags in the hopes on a view as the north was solid wall of cloud and views I got of a cold steel grey landscape slashed by black flecks of trees with a jumble of twinkling lights beyond littering the shores of the river. Along the river came a wall of blackness, a 200oft thick wave, slow moving and snow bearing, the lights below it in Greenock and then closer dimmed and went out as it ground along the Clyde towards me.
I met the new snowfall near the trees and everything changed, it was dark, it was cold and I was really bloody hungry. Ah but what fun and what a grin I wore, even Overtoun House looked wistful as the falling snow diffused its lights. My cheeks were chilled and my brain was jumping like four year old on Irn Bru. And I know what that’s like.
Home for soup and a tired head, the warmth and the food misted me up and nearly knocked me out.