On Top of the Clouds

I had six hours before catching the last train back to London. The forecast in the valley was poor; heavy frost, low cloud, no visibility. Typical Cumbrian Christmas. We could have stayed in, but I was desperate for a bit of snow and the only way to get some was to go up. I had tights on under my jeans, two pairs of gloves and three pairs of socks as my mum drove us to Wild Boar Fell.
The cloud was so thick that it blotted out the sun and gave the mountainside an orange half-light. We could see four feet in front of ourselves. It was like being swaddled in a duvet. The tussock grass crunched underfoot as we skirted sinkholes and patches of bog. We stayed close to the dry stone walls to keep from getting lost.
Five hundred feet above sea level. One thousand. Fifteen hundred. Wild Boar is comparatively small. It's not a big name or a destination, it's not in the wilds of the Lake District. There's a youth hostel and a Co-op seven miles away. That day there were no other people. Just my gasping breath and shuffling boots.

The clouds thinned as we ascended and caught sight of the first cairn. Another two cairns peeped out, warning us not to fall off the crag into the Mallerstang Valley. My legs ached and my chest was tight from gulping too-cold air. I stopped to take photographs, really trying to catch my breath. Two thousand feet.
We reached the steep pull up onto the Nab, the flat hilltop of millstone grit. The breeze picked up and the snow was brighter. In less than a minute the peak had appeared, dazzling and blazing in the morning light. The sky was suddenly visible, a pristine blue.
It was the kind of minute that almost makes you believe in god. We were above the clouds.

We ploughed up to the crest of the Nab. It was sheer and overwhelming. We couldn't stay silent, pointing out views. Mallerstang Edge poking through the clouds, the Howgills in the distance, another set of snow-blasted cairns, the Yorkshire Dales. We hauled ourselves to the trig point.
Two thousand three hundred feet. We couldn't see through the thick cloud which filled the valley, but we could see over it for miles. The sun shone so brightly. It was the top of the world.
The wind was beginning to bite. The snow was melting into our socks. We shifted from foot to foot, to keep our circulation going. It wasn't a day for hanging around, but the risk had been more than worth it. The Vikings had been and gone, so had the boars. A month later I'd quit my London job – I'd be coming back.