That’s what I’ve heard said of winter. But we’ve had a ball, so the naysayers can wrap themselves in double sided sticky tape and run around the haberdashery department of John Lewis collecting lint for all I care.
However, now is a wondrous time for the mountains. The air is chilled at night, the colours are still muted and the trees are bare, patches of snow lingering in the gullies and dark corners, the sun is still low and less aggressive to my secret internal gingerness, the burns are full of clear sweet water. This is the time to be out there on the tops with a tent. Not summer with it’s sticky inconveniences, midges, spaceless laybys and suncream delaminating your flysheet.
Once this wind has dispersed right enough…
Hey don`t knock the wind! It literally blew us the last 20m up Whernside today! Must`ve been 40mph+ at a guess. It did however scare the cr*p out of me coming down the narrow footpath by a 100m drop! (SD 740 823), clinging to the fence for dear life!
The scenery on the way back (when you could actually open your eyes) was very Scotlandesque, though with slightly less in the way of mountains.
It’s the randomness of wind that catches you out. Step, step, step, boof! you’re on your arse.
At steep bits it can have the uncanny feeling that someone is tugging you with a rope.
Amazingly it’s windless with a clear blue sky this morning. And I’m fitting a boiler.
Good grief.