My form-fitting cherry red ski suit was not designed to carry a camera. Bought in Australia, for Australian conditions, it barely accommodated the extra layers necessary for the sunny side of the mountain once I hit the ski slopes of Austria. It’s a shame, but there it is – no snowy mountain pictures in the The Wanderlust Gene’s archives.
But as Ailsa points out when setting this week’s challenge, the definition of ‘mountain‘ – in English, at least – is more subjective than prescriptive.
My relationship with mountains began around the age of four, sitting on Papa’s knees (so as to see through the steering wheel) as I urged him to fly over the mountain created by a rather steep little bridge on the road to Hanwood. Yes – the countryside where I grew up was as flat as a billiard table and the adrenaline rush I felt in the pit of my tummy as we took off across that little bridge was a secret thrill we shared when it was just the two of us going to (but not coming back from) the post office.
Later, seeing Mount Bingar in the distance on the way to Yenda, I recognised that our culvert crossing perhaps didn’t make the grade. But what about this, was this a mountain? And like trying to define ‘city‘, identifying mountains became a game we played for years culminating in a trip to Mount Kosciuszko (7,310 feet), Australia’s highest mountain, some years later. I at last had a better idea of scale.
I was blown away by the the mountains I met in Switzerland – iconic, snow-capped peaks enlivening every horizon, it seemed. But what I loved, it turns out (other than flying down a snowy mountainside) is the geology – how they were made and shaped. All that rock.
So, in response to Ailsa’s Travel Theme Mountains – a few monotone images of rocky mountains.
Click on any image to activate the gallery.