At least it wasn't snowing on the way up and up and up. But never fear, the wind was howling on the ridge. That mean stinging icy daggers of death in the eyes when we walked into the storm and a cacophony of staccato of ice pounding on my back when we walked away.
Poor Treen got it double as she'd run up and then run back down to check on me. Methinks she cares too much.
Great views when the storm lifted. Or... there would have been. The storm never abated.
We huddled behind the rocks in a hole. Then we got smart and headed down.
By the time we made it back into the woods, half my face was red from the wind. The other half was just numb.
At least the trail down through the woods was fast enough to bring feeling back. Or maybe it was cleaning up after the yard sale. It's hard to tell.
