Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
had experienced, sharing leads and stories. Al and Ade caught us as dusk dimmed
the sky and ominous snow clouds gathered on the highest summits. Neither Al nor
Mick fancied a bivouac in a storm and scurried off down toward Morskie Oko from
the highest peak, Rzeski, via the easy summer route. Ade, Pete and I decided to
take our chances with the weather, two privateers and one professional working
together.
The storm blew past and next day was another fine day of climbing in a mixture
of sunshine and cloud. We stopped for a comfortable bivouac just on the Czech
side of the ridge looking down less steep ground toward the ski areas near Poprad.
Ade and I cleared snow and made a luxurious flat surface while Pete got the stove
on and cooked. I walked a few paces from the bivvy to relieve myself over the other
side. The lake of Morskie Oko was a black eye in the rapidly darkening valley be-
I involuntarily shuddered before slipping back into the comfort of my sleeping bag.
Rocks plastered with snow probed my right side while the reassuring hulk of Adri-
an Burgess brought some warmth to my left. His deep steady breathing spoke of a
man of the mountains at home and nearly asleep.
A full moon shouldered its way above the mountains of the Czechoslovakian
Tatra. On the other side of Ade, Peter Boardman's voice greeted it with the poetry
of T. S. Eliot:
'Let us go then, you and I/When the evening is spread out against the sky/Like a
patient etherised upon a table.'
I carried on: 'Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,/The muttering re-
treats/Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels.'
'And sawdust restaurants filled with oyster shells … '
'Can't get any hotels cheaper than this, aye Pete? Wouldn't mind a sawdust res-
taurant though.'
We lay silent for a moment looking up, wrapped in darkness but floating among
stars. A near absolute silence was broken only by the tinkle of cascading ice as it
snapped from rock spires in the plummeting temperature. The marrow of our
bones sensed the absolute zero of space. A sudden breeze whipped ice particles
around our bivouac. I switched to A. A. Milne:
'And nobody knows, (Tiddely-pom)/how cold my toes (Tiddely-pom) /how cold
my toes (Tiddely-pom)/are growing.'
Pete responded with Robert Frost: 'Whose woods these are I think I know./His
house is in the village though;/He will not see me stopping here/To watch his
woods fill up with snow … The woods are lovely, dark and deep/But I have prom-
ises to keep /And miles to go before I sleep, / And miles to go before I sleep.'
