The tent smells like wet shoes and last night’s onions. It is so damp that the calluses on my hands have taken to peeling off by themselves, as if they have decided to go home early. I wake up, certain that my hip bone has dug a grave for me beneath my sleeping bag during the night.
This is camping, Buttercup.
..as I wrap my cold hands around a hot cup of coffee and listen to the ever-present rush of the waterfall, I feel a little warmer about this adventure.
The sun will rise over the canyon around 10:30, and a rainbow will appear at the tip of the waterfall. The tent will heat into a sauna, and we’ll unzip the doors.
I find I am still inspired–jotting down scraps of notes at every turn: fragments that will turn themselves into stories.
Reading and writing and running and the setting so spectacular, I can’t fully capture it–not on film, not on paper–only in my memory.
Yesterday we visited the Trummelbach Falle: ten waterfalls, running from the glaciers through the mountains.
We climbed the stairs, which were carved from rock and gleaming with spray from the falls.
There is nothing jagged or harsh in the cave, only rock that is smooth with the ceaseless caress of water.
But for all the gentleness there is also power. The rush of water so loud, you have to cover your ears. Looking over the railing to the broiling brew below, your stomach gets a knot when you realize one false slip would mean an instant end to your life.
Rob told me during training, ‘The mountain will not be kind to you!’
I know it won’t.
Nature is beautiful.
It is a privilege to be so close to it.
To be immersed in it.
To be inspired by it.
I want to take its beauty and strength
and run with it.