Walls of Jerusalem in Snow. 19 August 2017
We have been to the Walls a few times in winter, in glorious snow, but never have we seen it as tantalisingly lovely as it was this time. We encountered snow well below Trappers Hut (which is normally our snowline), and were in a fairy-wonderland long before we reached that cute little rest point.
If you think that pack of his looks huge and I am a mean wife making him carry so much, please be reassured: my pack was much heavier than his, and I had the shared-type items for the two of us. I have taken huge measures to make myself stronger as he becomes weaker so we can both keep going.
My husband had indicated after last week’s successful foray into white wonder that he felt he was up to a weekend walk to the Walls, so we acted accordingly. However, Parkinson’s is a fickle disease: this week you can be fine (relatively speaking), yet next week, you’ve gone distressingly downhill. This week was not a good week, and he struggled badly. The further we penetrated into the white wilderness, the less coordinated he became. His pace slowed to a virtual halt.
I got very embarrassed, as we were holding the others up dreadfully, so, at lunchtime, I regrettably pulled the pin and took us out, waving wanly as the others headed off to Herods Gates and where I wanted to be.
We began our path downhill, the weather making my decision easier to bear, as the clouds were amassing. My husband’s spirits picked up considerably as we descended, and we had a happy afternoon, figuring we’d managed to be in the beautiful snow for the best part of the day anyway. However, as we walked before lunch, I knew I was looking at my husband climbing in snow with a proper pack on his back for the last time. We have had many sad “last times” since his illness has taken control of him, but this is one of the worst, even though it is not unexpected. At least he can still do daywalks in the snow. For now.