Summer is quickly fading, and before long, the man will find himself removed from the land that he loves. For now though, let’s start today’s journey with a single step.
Fading into the landscape the higher he goes, mile after mile peels raw skin from his burning feet. His walking stick is holding up shaking limbs as well as his spirits.
Above the treeline, the glacial rocks become a playground. The high altitude plays with his better judgement as he scrambles and jumps.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The last drops of water fall on to his parched and cracked tongue. The clouds seem more magical above 10,000 feet.
White Pine Lake comes into view around the final bend in the trail. It’s crystal clear blue waters temper the sweat, blood and tears of all those that make the seven mile journey to her shores.
He finds his solace, dare he says religion, in the wind kissed waves that lap the mountain.
Seven miles up, seven miles back. The route was much longer than expected, more gruesome and challenging than he was prepared for.
But survive, no, conquer the mountain he does.
In the fading light and images of the land he loves.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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