It rained all last night and this morning, so we set out to climb a hill. Gorgeous hill, and very steep meaning we left the river way down below a hundred metres or so and it was fascinating looking down through the newly culled forest. I was thinking of these tall timber lookouts for maybe a couple of people about three metres up. I had been trying to work out what they were for and so I climbed one and it was a great shelter from the rain. What I’m thinking is one person goes up and works out environmentally which trees are to be cut.
It had been raining the night before so a lot of movement in the river. Rain began two hours early so we went back, we had really just wanted to get out. Then it started to rain heavily like night time rain and needing to get out I donned my full outfit. I love going out in the rain as I’ve told others before. It’s fresh, there’s no- one about, you can see nature in a different mood and our river was twice the height, double the speed and magnificent.
Well, my apologies again. All my doo dah in my last blog made me forget to send you that morning’s sunrise which I explained was treated like a full movie that I watched for 45 minutes from start to daylight. I will send you my only sunrise in stages of change. Maybe it’s a silly question but do the colours go through similar changing colours as this sunrise?
Remember: If you lose the sequence of the sunrise stages, the first one is the faintest one and if you look very closely you’ll see the moon.
Tomorrow it’s off to another mountain, only the second which we will have climbed to its summit.
And here’s a poem for the sunrise from our bedroom. I would have gone outside but I never walk out in a play:
Sunrise
What a precious play, it seems a duty
The sun and earth combine in this one act,
And then the clouds do give it form and beauty
Maybe a lightning strike will see it cracked.
The thunder may give voice to an angry cloud
Collecting rainbow colours is its play,
The mist may come, a temporary shroud
While fog may stop the show, it is its way.
I’d love to see a veil of hail on stage
I can’t imagine what the sleet might do,
And rain may come so lightly or with rage
The frost it glows as will a drip of dew.
The final act, a rain drop on a leaf,
It shines, then gone, with daylight’s silent thief.
Hi W&&C
Thank you for these stupendous otherworldly gloriously hued photos of your special sunrise that looked like it was thrown up there in that vast sky to thrill you both with its never to be repeated pardon the pun, heavenly splendour.!!
Enjoying your reports of your days very much – descriptions of the lively river as it develops, at it must be almost hypnotic to watch it, like a living thing with all its power and beauty, . humour of the hungry horses, your observations about the trees and shelters, so many ingredients making a huge array of unforgettable, and because of your blog, recaptureable, adventure. I’m so glad you’re doing what you want (within physical constraints) with such infectious zest!
I did check out a blog of a Brighton guy and his partner who did the dream walk, maybe 8-10 or something years ago, and it’s a huge physical and mental challenge. Some parts of the walks are very risky if you follow the’way’ and maybe some ppl do it just to tick it off. Some parts a very boring according to this guy. But to see the views from the peaks it takes getting thru the boring parts – sounds like life – then you only see the peaks if you’re lucky enough that the mist/fog/clouds are not obscuring everything. Then you have to scramble up with your pack and down which is even more challenging. It’s a great adventure no doubt for young fit things.
Are you going to try to go to Venice ? Even by transport? Keep on blogging! Love n hugs to you both,
Excuse my spelling mistakes as doing this on phone.
Thank you Ruth and very glad that you have come with us on our trip with your infectious undying enthusiasm..
No, we’re not going to Venice although we are dressed for it and a back pack is the easiest way to get around. I would love to stay there for a month, walking the streets and writing poetry but we have a plane booked for the third.
We will see you soon
Will
Hello dear William and Coralie.
Greetings from your Gold Coast friends, now in Cairns. Well, it has been forty days, or should I say forty days and forty nights – sounds a bit biblical. It has been a while since I wrote to you – been on the go for quite a while, and it was great to catch up with the blogs I hadn’t read yet. Re day 40, glorious photos of the sunrise, and a wonderful poem to match, which we both enjoyed. It reminded me of William Wordsworth and some other worthy poets (perhaps I should call you William Words -Worth!).
It has been great to see photos of Coralie looking happy and well, and fewer photos of you, as well as the wonderful photos of the landscapes and tremendous German architecture. On Day 35, you wrote that you were running out of good original photos, but you could have fooled me! On Day 39, you mentioned that very few people use Nordic poles correctly (apart from you two) and it was a good reminder yet again for us to start using them. We have also restrained ourselves from saying anything to those few people we have seen using them, always incorrectly!
You referred at a point to new friends you will never see again. There is someone special about travelling – making all these wonderful connections along the way, knowing that you will never see the great majority again, and making the most of those precious connections. Maybe a metaphor for life – just trying to be in the now as much as possible.
Anyhow, that’s it for now. Thanks again for your wonderful blogs.
Narayan and Janine
As always I love the points you make as you assiduously go through the blog.
I might have told you about that wonderful Portuguese word – saudade – when saying goodbye to something you can’t return to. “It’s a feeling of sadness that you are saying goodbye but coupled with a feeling of elation that you met them in the first place”.
Talk soon
Will
Our last day in paradise as we prepare to climb our last mountain