CHAPTER 9
The tent’s flysheet was soaking when I woke, but with dew rather than downpour. Our little spot was to the East of the rock pile that held the shelter, so the sun was already having an effect on the moisture. I wriggled into my breeks and shirt before slithering out, standing barefoot on a rock before stepping sockless into my boots. Nature was calling in an urgent way, and once I had disposed of that night’s wine I pulled the kettle out of my rucksack ready for Caro’s wake-up drink.

“You both up, love? I heard the clanking”

Pat’s voice was absolutely overflowing with good cheer, so clearly genuine. I stepped round the boulders to see her sitting outside the shelter as Rob worked the stove inside, and she waved a hand at him.

“Got enough water for another couple of mugs, love, if you want to grab them. Oh, and take a look over there past Yr Elen”

I did as she suggested, and it was stunning, the lower ground covered in fog, or the top of low cloud, the peaks around us standing clear in bright sunlight like islands in a pearly sea. I had only ever seen a few cloud inversions before, usually in wintertime, but I was most definitely sharing this one with my own lover.

Pat just stood grinning.

“Grab your mugs, then, and give her indoors, or intent, a prod. She won’t want to miss this!”

I did as advised, giving the tent a little shake to see if Caro had joined the land of the living. Almost…

“You better have tea ready for me”

“It’s being made. You need to get up; something special to see”

There was a little bit of grunting before she was sitting in the tent’s entrance, bare feet sliding into her boots.

“And?”

“Walk this way, Madam”

“I’ll walk my own way, if you don’t mind---fuck! That’s magic! Hang on; I need my camera”

A quick dive back into our tent, and she was back with me, her old SLR in hand, and our walk round to the shelter was interrupted by a couple of stops for pictures of the surrounding islands in the gloom. Pat had her own camera out, and I left the two of them to snap away, handing Rob our mugs as his stove hissed away. Once the tea was brewed, we both stepped out and settled onto a couple of convenient slabs, Rob sighing in obvious contentment.

“Which way are you going from here, Mike?”

“Oh, over the big lump, then down the zigzags to Llugwy and the CEGB road. You?”

“Pat likes the Ladders, so along them to Dafydd and then the gentler way off Pen yr Ole Wen. We’re in Little Willy’s as well, for a week”

“Oh, we’ve just got the weekend. Back to work for us both on Tuesday”

He grinned again.

“In That Place, then?”

“Oh yes. Need an exit strategy at some point, but, well, a job’s a job these days, and we have a roof, so, well. Caro? Tea!”

The two women ambled back to us, clearly discussing the finer points of their over-complicated cameras, and Pat sighed.

“People we know, Rob and me, they always ask why I keep taking pictures of the same mountains, and I always say---”

Caro interrupted just then.

“That it’s never the same mountain? Always different?”

Pat frowned slightly, then grinned yet again.

“Exactly that! One of those things, not got the word for it. Rob said it, years ago”

He nodded.

“Aye. Never found the right word myself, but it’s a soul thing. One of those ‘If you have to ask, you’ll never understand’ wotsits. It’s either in you, or it isn’t, and if it is, then you don’t really need a special word. Just sometimes, you see something, or you’re just in a place, and someone else, someone you’ve never met before, you just grin at each other, no words. Soul, that’s what it is. Being alive, properly”

Caro was nodding in agreement, but she had to slide a joke in, being who she was.

“Yes, but this one pushes his luck, though, being silly on rocky bits”

Pat’s eyebrows rose.

“You a climber, then, Mike? Not just a walker?”

I nodded.

“I am, but not the usual route into it, I suspect. Always been a hillwalker, but it was in Glencoe, years ago; got myself into a couple of places that felt hairy. Didn’t have the skills, I suppose, or better, the right state of mind, self-confidence. Found a local climbing club to try and sort that out, and ended up hooked”

Rob was frowning slightly.

“Am I thinking the same thing as you here? People who only see one game in the hills?”

Caro was nodding now, and when she spoke it was in a far more serious way than was usual for her.

“Yes, that’s it. One of the things that did catch my attention when we first met. I’m not a climber, never will be, but I’m happy on steep ground. It’s what they call the gestalt for me, the whole thing, whether it be the peaks, or the open spaces, or the natural history stuff”

Pat looked up sharply at that, as Caro continued.

“We are both in a club, down in what you call That Place. It’s supposed to be a multi thingy, climbing, caving and outdoors, but the cavers are only interested in holes, while most of the climbers--- we meet at an indoor climbing wall in a sports centre. Most of the climbers see real crags as being like an outdoor version of that wall, and I swear some of them seem to expect bloody cleaners to come round after them”

Pat snapped out a terse “If you can carry it up the hill when it’s full, you can bloody well carry it back down when it’s empty!”, and we all nodded, silent as we each sipped our tea.

Rob muttered something under his breath, and Pat nudged him to share it.

“Aye, I was in the climber’s caff in Llanberis once, having a look through the new routes book. Someone hadn’t understood what the book was for, and put in a comment on a day’s walking, and instead of just putting a label on the book explaining what it was for, loads of ‘real climbers’ had written a whole series of things like ‘wanker’ and that. I think here, the four of us, I think we all know who the real wankers are, am I right?”

There was no disagreement to that, so Caro turned the conversation away from the nastiness to lighter things, from bird life to the best local places for getting pictures developed.

“I always leave mine till we get home, otherwise, on a bike, with rain, the prints get ruined”

Pat shrugged.

“We’re in the car, so we pop into Bangor, use the one hour service at Addison’s. Gives us time to get some groceries and stuff; better choice in the big city than in Bethesda”

Rob barked out a laugh.

“Aye, and the rest! You two, she has somewhere else she spends a lot of time in over there. You going to admit it, love?”

Another shrug from his wife.

“Guilty, I suppose. Cob Records. Got a superb folk section, and obviously loads of the Welsh stuff you can’t find anywhere down our way”

It was my own turn to look up sharply, before grinning.

“You two folkies as well, then? Got our own club down in That Place. Good crowd, there. They get some good acts in, but then the club gets a grant from the local arts council. Be all floor spots without that, it would”

Pat laughed.

“Nothing wrong with a decent floor spot. Unless it’s from Rob, there. Sometimes he thinks he can sing. You know there’s a club in Bethesda? Can be a bit irregular in the Summer, but me and him, we drive down, toss a coin for who stays off the beer. You’ve missed it this week, though”

That was me shown up as a fount of local knowledge, for I hadn’t realised such a place existed.

“If we’d known, hell! Always avoided Bethesda. Bit of a reputation, that place. And being on a bike puts the mockers on things”

Pat was insistent.

“You got out to the Vaynol, though, and the Bryn”

“Ah, the Bryn’s next door to the Youth Hostel, almost. If I’m climbing, I don’t camp; no room for both on the bike. If I’m up with the club, they tend to blitz the Pass, so we camp at the Grochan, or doss at Humphrey’s bunkhouse, so it’s a walk to the Vaynol. Been warned off Bethesda too often”

Rob was shaking his head.

“Place has a reputation, I’ll give you that, but once you’re inside it, they’re good folk. Tell you what: if we bump into each other again, at Willy’s, me or Pat will drive you down for a pint and some music. Now, I think it’s time for bacon sarnies. What have you two brought?”

We finally parted on the top of the ‘Big Lump’ after a round of hugs and handshakes, as Caro and I turned South-East for the Saddle and the other two set off along the ridge to Dafydd. I hadn’t been wrong about the gloom, and by the time we were on the Zig-Zags it was raining steadily. We had paused at the base of the little rock step to pull on our waterproofs, and after the knee-destroying descent of the VEGB road, we were sweating heavily. I really needed to get one of the new breathable jackets, I realised, but it was still far better being warm and moist than cold and wet. My bigger tent was still dry inside, of course, and after topping up our water supplies, Caro and I left our boots and waterproofs in the rear vestibule while brewing up in the front one, then settled down to read as the sound of the rain on our fly gradually diminished, an opened sleeping back laid over our lower halves..

“Mike, love?”

“Yes?”

“That couple, Pat and Rob. They’re really, dunno, right? I mean, right in their skins, right for each other. Do you think we’ll ever get that settled?”

I turned onto my side, setting down my book and pulling her to me.

“Only one way to find out, love, so you better be ready for October”

She squeezed me tightly enough to stop my breath, before kissing me.

“Walk those paths together, then?”

I kissed the tip of her nose.

“Oh yes!”

There was a rattle of pans outside, just as things might have become more interesting., and Pat’s voice.

“I’m driving tonight, if that’s Mike and Carolyn in there; we’re eating in the dry at the Bryn. Fancy a lift?”

Living life the way we needed to, together, and with new friends. As soon as we were back in Luto, Caro and I sorted out the banns. October 12th would be our wedding day, followed by a long weekend in Llanberis. The Rogal Victoria had a function room for a blow-out, and the bunkhouse was more than glad to take a party booking for what was heading for the off-season.

The one place I didn’t shout too loudly about our nuptials was at work. Derek and Simes were most definitely not going to be welcome at the feast.