the second day into our trek and the views over our first pass open to yield a panorama worthy of a Karate Kid prequel. i could sense my brain Waxing Off as we sat for an hour at the top, gazing out across blue skies where the mountains are bathed in a sprinkling of haze refreshing enough to bottle. dominating the deep horizon, the haze teases a distant mountaintop that is battling to retain is gigantic glacier, a mountain that will continue to get closer as the days pass.
we pick our way down the other side, following path across scree and snowmelt, and arrive in yet another Valley of Paradise. The topo didn't foreshadow this spectacular sight of undulation. a land of miniature cascading plateaus and gorges, all caressed with a gentle touch by a warbled array of streams busy carrying out their handiwork on the landscape. a touch of colour is added by the blankets of wildflowers out blooming their way through the day. the surrounding mountains gather around and begin to peer down upon us as we descend further into the the gorges; a confluence of twisted geography grasping for attention in a place where we are the sole observers.
or are we? trudging up the path comes another two trekkers. these Germans are rather happy to see us, which is understandable given they are completely lost. the day before, as we began our trek shortly out of Juta, we met the first of this discombobulated trio, Dorothy. she had lost her scarecrow, and was a long way from Oz. back in the present, the somewhat flippant attitude of Ze Germans to being lost in this disordered array of ridges, ranges valleys and gorges somehow lead me in a train-crash of thoughts to Basil Fawlty "Whatever you do, don't mention the war". So I didn't, but we gave them directions, and happy that they were OK, had enough food and could find their way out, left them to ascend the Cascades of Paradise. we parted as Griet and I exchanged furrowed brows at how they managed to get so lost, and what they hoped their umbrella would do for them in the case of serious mountain rain. i suggest in future they forego the umbrella for a map.
we camp where the ridgelines have crashed into each other, with gleaming white streaks of white-water rippling down the mountainsides around us. the setting is utterly spectacular, camped above flowing gorges, cut with the patience of eons. we are tired after a long day trekking, and decide to make for the tiny villages of Akhieli and Amgha, and onward into the wild unknown on the morrow.
hugs and love from Khevsureti
joe
