Again the walk in ended in total darkness. But, hey. The sky was almost clear, the snow dutifully reflected every bit of light that was thrown at him, and I was casting a freaking shadow in the moon light. There is a little hill on the way in, the highest point of the last watershed, only two kilometers down into the valley from here. The top of this hill has the same grass as the Best Campsite in the World. It is always dry, always green, always short. I took my pack off and sat down for a while. The night was completely still, the moon surrounded by a rainbow, warm enough to sit there without gloves and hat. Moon bathing in February.
In the next night it was more difficult to stay outside. Sure, with Neopren socks, my new discovery for the highlands, I can walk around on the snow without any trouble. But the wind came out and tormented me. The snow blasting machine was full on. And still. The mountains in black and white. The cuts in the mountains are white, everything in between black. The zebra pattern is perpendicular to the direction of the valley, the direction of the glacier that formed it. The valley is like a zebra seen from the inside.
And then hurry up, back inside, my fingers are frozen.