I was accosted, Bear, daily, by ticks and flies and midges. The midges, beasts! They got into my tent, into my mouth, into the corners of my eyes. I must have inhaled a thousand of them. There was a stony trail to follow but often it was swallowed by a bog or confused by rock, and several times I got lost. So much of the land there was like a wet sponge and my bleeding feet were never dry. My clothing was inadequate and so was my tent.

On the third afternoon, zigzagging my way along the face of a rocky traverse, the whole of the sky descended on me and I was lost in cloud. Knowing that below me there was a drop of several hundred metres, I decided to sit and wait for the cloud to pass. I was wearing a thin cotton shirt but was hot from walking and so I didn’t bother to put on warmer clothing, even when the rain started to fall, so fine that it formed perfect, silver beads on the hairs of my arms. Steam rose hotly from my skin. I was content. In the mist, there was nothing at all to the world; it was like being underwater. I needed the rest anyway and I leaned back on the rock, water dribbling down my neck, and congratulated myself for being invincible. By the time I realized I was cold, it was too late. I dug through the damp clothes in my pack for my woollen trousers and top, and, with numbing fingers, jammed my limbs into the clothing. Remember, Bear, I had already spent my youth swimming in cold water – cold wasn’t new to me – but I was on a mountain, far away from warmth and shelter. I was also trapped by the mist. I couldn’t remain sitting in one spot so, going very slowly, I inched my way along the trail, blind, pushing my boots along the narrow path and not daring to break contact with the rock. My teeth were chattering and I shook from deep inside my body.