The smoke rose slowly from amongst the trees and seemed to hang motionless. The cloud above obliterating the Dent d'Oche and in the dense cloud out of sight is a refuge no doubt full of hiking holiday-makers, some walking the GR5 and some too frightened by the rumbling of the thunder within the cloud to continue. It used to be thought that monsters lived on the tops of mountains, until the British (mostly) turned up in their tweeds with lengths of rope, and hob-nailed boots and puffing on their pipes announced to the local people that they would climb up to the top and would be looking for guides to help them. The fools.
And now the mountains are full of fools, some much less foolish than others but all waiting to take their place in line and climb ... and I'm one of them.
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