Photo by freestocks on Unsplash
The boat pulls away, leaving the three of us standing silently in the sand by our rucksacks, watching its retreat, the cold, mirrored water swashing back and forth on the shore. Soon there are only ripples and the cool, wet air closes around us. Looking up the hill, where we will walk, the landscape disappears into whiteness. The fog is getting thicker, heavier. Somewhere up there, just a few hundred metres away, is the exploration camp we’ll walk to. But there is no sign of it in the ghostly morning light, no sound.
The walking is heavy going through the shrubby vegetation that clings to the sides of steep gullies. The air’s wetness pervades everything. Yellow leaves lean low under the dewy weight of pregnant droplets, ready to fall. With every step, I can feel the dampness creeping into my clothes and soon my trousers are soaked through. Sound too, is dampened. But the morning sun, which seems brighter ahead, promises relief.
The long walk separates us. We’re only a few dozen metres apart but in the heavy air, I can barely hear my companions, tramping onward through the brightening fog. Each of us is in our own small world now, enclosed in our own thoughts and endeavours. With my eyes fixed on the ground underfoot, unconsciously selecting where my boot will next fall, the sunlight saturates the glistening air with hazy yellow-white light, and suddenly I stop, enchanted by the world I had not seen before this moment. In the changed light, every surface is covered in a delicate fabric of glistening threads, each a string of shimmering pearls. Every rock, every stubby blade of grass, every spindly limb of heathery brush is encased in an almost invisible shawl of spider webs.
