The Sentinels 8 Dec 2012
It had been a long drive down, and we were not in bed much before midnight. But for some reason, perhaps because I was excited to be there, I awoke nice and early, and decided to risk censure and dash up the Sentinels while the others slept. I had the excuse that I couldn’t wake them up to ask permission, and I couldn’t have known in advance that I was going to wake so early in order to ask in advance.
Off I set. I wondered if I would have got into trouble having a training run along the road without asking permission. As a six year old, I used to go and play in the bush without permission, so I am having trouble adapting to this level of supervision. I would not have made a good citizen in the former GDR and would have landed in jail, alas.
I didn’t actually set out to reach the summit (another excuse in my defence before the imaginary court later), but, well, one contour led to another, and suddenly there I was with the most amazing view spread out before me. When I saw the low sun making those glorious striations across the scene filling my purview, I suddenly didn’t care at all what my later punishment would be. Up there I was wild and free and as happy as it is possible to be.
It was only when I neared the campsite that I began to wonder what my reception would be. I was not late or anything. I had just gone down to the end of the town without consulting whomever. Anyway, there they all were around the barby, laughing happily, cooking up a treat – a merry, wonderful bunch. I was welcomed and began cooking my porridge. During the eating, the leader asked had I … er… been up the Sentinels by any chance? I confessed (I like her far too much to lie, and, besides, not being practised at lying, I believe myself to be lousy at it).
They said they thought so, and that was that. This leader was happy to trust me. How refreshing. She’s fantastic. I told them they’d find me much tamer as a result of my excursion, and they laughed.
I was utterly content, and didn’t care at all if they were a bit slow getting going, or a bit slow later. I had had the most glorious day imaginable before it had even struck 7a.m.