Sometimes the weather forecast is incorrect. We all know that it is an inaccurate science, and predict the future in any way is a difficult job. Francia Ridge’s prognosis today were light winds, clear skies and the caregiver had said the jealous night he was from people who would walk today with the incredible views they would experience on the Alpine crest.
I woke up with the cloudy skies and a strong breeze whispered the store at 5.30 in the morning. This was not the day they promised me. Chestnut was in his tent on the same platform and suggested that we sleep and wait for the weather to improve.
And we did so. A couple of hours later there were blue sky patches on the top and decided to pack and go to the crest.
While we climb, the patches of the blue sky wilt and died. What we had left upon reaching the crest was gray, opaque and windy.
I decided to appear on the first peak of the lateral path and Chestnut continued on the main path. I made an additional distance to return zero with respect to the views, even with my patience dialing while waiting in vain for about 15 minutes for the cloud to pass.
It really did not improve after returning to the main path. My strategy was to break a lunch early before leaving the protection of the tree line, and I sat for another hour while ate tortillas and the mixture of trails. Unfortunately, this climate was not playing, and the wind if something seemed to be speed.
Wind on the tree line
For those who read that they have ever ventured on the tree line in a windy day, they will have no problem relating to the next three hours of my life. For those who have not yet experienced the sensory pleasures of realizing that nature can kick your butt whenever you want, let me paint an image.
I left the protection of the trees and instantly surprised the strong wind. The crest was completely covered by the cloud, so its visibility is limited to perhaps 50 m. Therefore, an invisible force pushes it as long as you cannot see if the path is up or down in front of you. The wind steals his ability to listen to anything around him, and all the experience I imagine is quite similar to being put inside a commercial dryer in high turn.
My first fall was particularly spectacular. I was stepping on a great rock on the path (I may have mentioned previously that the rule in the whites is not a path of trails … never), and I had a leg at full speed, and when I picked up my rear leg to join my front leg in the rock, a particularly viscous gust of wind approached and put me on my face. This made my body decide to go back just when both feet arrived in the rock and landed again in my backpack. With the ego and the body, I realized that the conditions were not optimized to walk alpine today.
Anyone more windy?
I finally reached the highest peak along the crest and was in the descending part (ISH). This is where the wind really decided to see if I could get up from my feet. It turns out that the bursts reported today exceeded 80 km/Hy The cold of the wind was in a single low digit.
The next time was more or less difficult. He had to physically rely on the wind to avoid losing his balance, and with limited visibility, all he could expect was that he saw a line of trees ahead to get out of the crest.
All fun things must come to an end and finally I saw some trees. They were not very high, but instantly they made the difference. The terrible experience of a wild crest in Franconia was over, and I was very happy that this was the case.
Fall two
As Murphy (or lawn depending on the law to which he subscribed) he would have it, the heavens began to clear while he continued descending through the trees. To add insult to the injury, then I took my second fall for the day. I live a reasonably free life in general, so I was impressing particularly with my legs not staying under me. This fall was caused by my courtesy, which somehow worsens it a lot. I found a couple of hikers who were sitting on the path almost not existing. I went to tour them and trusted a particularly large rock. The rock seemed reliable. It wasn’t. When the rock moved away from my foot, the physics of my body made me fall to the ground once more.
I got up from the ground, dusted and my ego and continued on the path. I went to a hiker who came on the other side that said that the conditions had cleared in the next peak that I was climbing, so good news encouraged me when I started climbing Garfield (I suppose this hill bears the name of my favorite orange cat).
Garfield
It was a brief decent climb to the peak and finally I could see a part of what so many people were excited when they talk about Francia Ridge. The view of return to the hills that still raised was spectacular.
I tasted the views for thirty minutes or so while evaluating my bruises and decided that I would live to fight another day.
As you can see from my beard position, the wind had not yet left the wind.
I crawled on the other side of Fat Cat Hill and decided that my day was over. I went to the next camp and launched my tent on another platform inadequately prepared.
A delicious potato and instant tuna mashed dinner was consumed around 4.30 pm, which I think is a very reasonable moment for the final food of the day, especially when the time of sleep is at 5.30 pm
The good news is that tomorrow is the second part of its favorite delivery and the mines … Operation Avena.
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