A Walk in the Clouds: 50 Years Among the Mountains
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
A Walk in the Clouds: 50 Years Among the Mountains is a heartwarming, inspirational, and evocative collection of memories and short stories from Kev Reynolds, a prolific and celebrated guidebook author who has been roaming the mountains for a half-century. These recollections trail Reyonlds' journeys through some of his favorite and most memorable lessons learned on the mountains. The people met, experiences shared, and cultures bridged throughout Reynolds' travels make for an engaging read for hikers and non-hikers alike. Shadowing Reynolds across the Moroccan Atlas, the Pyrenees trails, the European Alps, and even the Himalayas gives the reader the feeling not only of hiking the trails, but also of forming the relationships and connections throughout the world that Reynolds was able to create. This book motivates the common reader to undertake something they have never done before because, as the reader learns from Reynolds, that is where some of the best experiences come from.
all provided rewards, but now I was working in the Alps the opportunity was too good to miss. Never mind the cold, that would add to the magic. Or so I told myself. After an hour or so I crept out of the tent, groped my way onto the rock and peered into the Engadine valley, whose frozen lakes and twinkling lights were 1 mile below me. The valley ran southwestward, plunged into the darkness of Val Bregaglia, and beyond Piz Badile slid into Italy. North of my perch, St Moritz cast gems of light
Briefly looking down, I noticed the chaos of rocks and boulders between the foot of the ladders and the glacier were becoming much smaller as we approached a ledge projecting from the rock face, and I was glad that Annie was not so inquisitive. She would have flipped. At the top of the second ladder I helped her to get onto the ledge and grasp the rungs of the much shorter top ladder. At any other time I’d have paused here to enjoy the view downvalley, but my duty was to help the tiny Scotswoman
the summit, a quick drink at the hut, then off along the continuing ridge to the next summit, then the next . . . Or so I recalled. What I didn’t remember were the trees on the lower part of the first ridge. Surely that used to be bare rock? I noticed individual features that played no part in that long-gone history. Was the hut still there? Was the hut on this peak—or the next? It was all speculation as I had no map. My rests were becoming more frequent for I was growing tired, yet I was still
didn’t. The storm broke, catching me on the ridge with at least 300 feet left to climb. So I slithered off it and lost as much height as I could as fast as I could; height that had cost a lot of effort to gain. All around me the air seemed charged with electricity; my heart was racing, my nerves were raw, no doubt my hair was standing upright—but I couldn’t see that. There was nowhere to hide and I could not outrun the inevitable, so I threw down my rucksack, knelt on it, and with head down
sat outside gazing across the valley to snow mountains that rose above wooded hills. Amit joined us and squatted shyly beside Alan. He’d been a great asset to us, this diminutive Rai hillsman from eastern Nepal. He’d carried our tent, cooking equipment and food for the high camps, and taught us a lot about the customs and beliefs of his country. Quiet, strong, and dependable, he had made the transition from porter to friend in no time and had opened doors for us, both in the literal sense and