The head of "OLD MAN HILL" nuzzles into the lingering mist. Reminding me of a rotund uncle perched on a bar stool and shrouded in tobacco smoke, in his favourite working man's club. Faint wisps incriminate the younger smaller hills as if from a bicycle shed where a schoolboy steals his first cigarette.
The rainforest chirps and buzzes with hidden wildlife as we ascend the well trodden arteries enveloped in glossy emerald foliage. For respite, we stop and admire the view as a good tradesman respects a job well done. The false horizons tease my aching muscles into thinking I have reached the summit, only to be deceived yet again and again until, as in "The boy who cried wolf" I am not ready to believe the truth when it arrives.
We wait for the irascible grey rain cloud to grumble by and dispense his heavy burden, which rattles through the trees, tickles the undergrowth, plays and dances in mountain streams then gathers into a large forceful crowd and finally rests in corpulant lazy lakes.
In ignorance, I feed a leech on my very rare AB Pos. It is a new experience for me, if not for him, and a relief to know the thought is far worse than the actual deed. If they could talk I would ask if they have learnt that the tourist trail is an abundant source of nutrition, and invite them to try some body fat as an alternative.
Night arrives and steals the panorama, reducing my territory in this non-electric world to a confined room. Well fed, I shall retire and dream of how to describe this experience to those less fortunate to venture beyond their own safe horizons. In the morning I shall be ready.
Dawn is a welcome smile agter a sleepless night. The vociferous nocturnal change shift with the daytime wildlife. The cuckoo has yet to find a mate. The crying child his mother. She is the industrious woman who lights a wood burning stove in a kitchen with only two walls and whose smoke has no desire to leave this tranquillity. Neither have I.
He stands bold, Annapurna, Emporer of the Valley. He has chosen two fine noblemen with suitably impressive names to stand beside him. The morning sun rises to place an orange crown upon his head. I know he is ruler, omnipotent of all he surveys. Man cannot conquer him. Sure, occasionally he is given temporary permit to visit. No urban sprawl will ever abuse or replace him. So is this why we come to pay homage?