Red Rock

Smoke billowing over black and white ridgelines, sharp edges drifting in the haze beyond, sound and colour muffled by the wind, clouds rising and falling like water, thick oily foam smashing against stones in the harbour, it would not take much to give yourself up to the swirling vortex, be sucked under and in.

Tired despite the packed track and dismally wet but it aint nothing some pastoral stormy weather scenics and imagery of stereotypically billowing fog wont fix, especially in retrospect and from the armchair of heroic reflection.











Mister Splitboard and Miss Tele coudn't be bothered but Mister Dynafit went for the summit. Other meetings of note: Young ripper and happy dog.
Roter Stein in den Lechtalern.