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.

Es Dohlen, Es.

- AHA, da schau, Helmut, da kehman no zwoa.
- Soso, es habts oba sho broate Schi, ha?
- Ja mei, wos san jetz des für Schi, des san ja Monoschi! Wos is jetz des füra Markn?
- I hob ja scho a an ea an broataren mid mein Shuksan, oba des....!
- Oiso geh Helmut, de zwoa warn de Richtign für uns gwesn - mid an Reepschniarl, do hedns uns aui zogn!


- Mei Helmut, schau de Vegl! Des Lebn is ja scho ungerecht, dass de si so leicht tuan, wia de da umanand fliagn, ha?
- Es Dohlen, Es!
- Ja, des schmeckt eich.. Ha? was mia Guats ham, der Kuacha, gej?!
- .....
- Wos tan de jetz auf Nacht? Des frog i mi ja scho. Mia ham ja a scheene warme Stuam mit an Ofa, oba de Vegl, was tan jetz de aufd Nacht? Des is ja scho schee, wenns a so uma fliagn mitn Wind, oba auf Nacht, do mechat i koa Vogl sei!


- Oiso na, oiso des san ja Sprungski! Oiso,i moan ja, es tats mit dene springa a!
- Wos, do woilts es owa fahrn?! Na, na, na, des war nix fia uns, ha Helmut?
- Des is oba a komische Bindung, ha?
- Aha! Telemark! Da hosch hoch und dann konsch a zumacha a, gej?
- .....Wos, dann fahrst jetz du da Telemark owa?!
- Helmut, des is a wuide, des hon i glei gseng, Helmut.

Because the night

The darkness is thick, almost palpable, something you can dive into and that will swallow you whole. Moving through the soft thrill of being awake while others are not, avoid the glowing pools of orange beneath the streetlights and begin your quiet flight from this hub of sleeping human life, upwards and outwards. You can feel the headlamp tight around your forehead but leave it off, preferring to be as invisible as you are blind. It is a race against time, to escape as far as you can before dawn catches you redhanded, a self proclaimed outcast searching for a world in the halflight.

On clear cold nights, the only sound that of moonlight glistening, it is not hard to see shadows come alive or the man in the moon wink. When seeing is believing, believing makes it so and the desires we have when no one is watching can be flung deep into the whirling stillness between the stars. Dance with your demons untill sunrise, then the days unfailingly claim you with a strange, unreal quality and you are left with the feeling of having lost something you never quite found.

The payback for getting up early comes when the energy of the spooky, dark places drains from your body, when you suddenly realize that you have been staring into space for far too long, not seeing, or pour boiling water over your fingers instead of into the tea cup. You get on with whatever it is you do in your respectable daily life, comforted by the memory of having been alone in the dark.

Kiddies.

I am usually ready to kill them, their parents and any witnesses by the end of the day but in the midst of exams and never ending numbers and charts, I almost, almost miss my skischool kids. Bunch of brats, but teaching does have its moments.