Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Mt Warning double/triple

Every time that I've tried to put finger to keyboard to describe our adventure a few Sundays ago, I've thought "I have nothing left to write" and "I'm out of creative energy", among other whiney excuses.
Today it dawned on me...Perhaps my mind has confused running with blogging, and that when I think of that morning on Warning, certain feelings are called to mind; having nothing left in my legs, or being out of energy for running, and that this becomes confused with my feelings towards blogging.
So here it goes...

Night came. Seated upon my throne over the Tweed Valley, I fell into a deep reverie, my gaze fixated on the Pacific. Ever watching, ever waiting for the first warm rays of sunlight to tickle my crown.
As the curtain began to rise, the mist to clear, I was given a start by many tiny pairs of lights snaking through the lowlands and coming to rest upon my foot.
And tiny figures exiting metallic shells, laughing, talking, urinating.
"Double", I hear. "Triple". Whispers and excited energy; some faces familiar, others previously unknown.
They begin to run upwards.
I am startled, offended even, but soon realise that these mostly unkempt vagabonds mean well. They have come here to pay tribute, to express their respect and admiration, to worship.
One, bald and slim, pulls ahead of the others, while the rest spread out.
An idiot in ripped shorts is some distance behind, leading a closely knit trio including two baby-faced backpack-wearers.
Then comes an Ashgrove ranger, a smiling man in boardshorts and two pretty women.
After forty minutes of watching their snailish upward progression with a bewildered amusement, I think to myself, "Let's have some fun".
I flick my craggy finger outwards, missing ripped shorts, my intended target, and striking the one they call Caine in the shin. He stops, starts, looks down at the puncture, deep and oozing, and stops for good.
How odd that the others wait and help him; I hardly remember friendship, I hardly remember the last time that another mountain visited me on my solemn throne.
Again, I am pulled out of my ponderance by the soft tickles of skinnyman's feet atop my crown. I have let my guard down and allowed this human to climb me in 1:03, two minutes off the endurance wizard's best time.
Speak of the devil, here he comes, floating up my tarmacked shins.
Confusion reigns among the group, some continue up and stroke my head, others turn around as their comrades are descending. Caine limps downwards, and I feel a pang of guilt.
They reach their cars, and to my astonishment, turn around! How can it be? No human should dare to cross me twice! Two slim speedmen have joined the endurance wizard, ripped-shorts and the non-injured pack-wearer, and they ascend side by side.
And again they spread and spread.
And again, some ascend above my proud brow, while others turn around early.
On their way down, the young pack-wearer and the endurance wizard lead, while the rest reform into a jovial group. Many seem to be having a blast, they leap over my hairs and stoney pimples with apparent ease and joy.
The first two reach my toes. They have a quick and serious discussion, and pick up some food. The wizard returns to his car, surely young packman will do the same.
But he turns around and runs upwards. Ever upwards.
My feelings of anger and annoyance have turned to astonishment and love. A human who wishes to spend over six hours on me, to run my length three times. I have made a new friend. Go Pacman, go.
He makes a generous offer to ripped shorts as he passes, who snaps back ungratefully, the tool.
The rest reach the bottom and bathe in the cool water at my feet, while pacman receives praise and encouragement from the walking humans on my chest.
Go pacman, go.
He reaches the top, turns around, and begins to cruise the descent, while the other runners amble around my stomach. Ripped shorts and boardshorts leave the path to scramble my unkempt boulders.
In little time, they return to my feet in their metal shells, to wait for the youngest of the group to return.
I look on in sadness as pacman takes his final few downward steps.
Goodbye new friend.

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