One drop. Two drops. Oh no, it had started to rain. There’s never rain on Hill walks before. Well, to call it rain would be an understatement, it was a downright down pour! Memories of my previous hill walk experience flashed cross my mind: azure sky leading straight to the porch of heaven, sun generously radiating its warmth and comfortable rays…. Beep! Oh, that’s our group’s cue to leave. I tucked my blue skies and sunshine into the back of my brain, and with a sigh, steeped into the veil of water.

The clouds looked greyer and more savage out in the open, without the shelter of our basecamp. Great lumps of black masses clotted the sky, obviously porous as bucket loads of ice-cold water unleashed upon us. So low were the grey giants that they swallowed mouthful of mountain peaks, taken bites from their base, and licked around their waist. The plants and vegetations seemed to succumb to the constant siege from the rain, bending their heads low like servants, begging to be spared from this never-ending deluge of water. But the rain was merciless.

The walk started off just fine, expect for my drenched parka and soaked hiking boots. The route was a steady incline, slopping at a gentle gradient, which even levels off to a flat road as we meandered around a lake. We arrived at our first checkpoint relatively unscathed.

But then we saw it.

Diverged from checkpoint 1 at a bearing of 50 lies a trail, or is it a trail? The wild tendrils of ferns, tarnished with wet dews, and the tired trees that stood beside the miserable muddy path, grew so unrestrained and primitive as if untouched by even the barest of civilized societies. The trail, more like an alleyway than an excuse as a hiking route, slanted straight up to the sky. Completed with the slickness of rain, the mud and rocks gleamed, flexing their smooth surface smugly at us. We gaped at this impossible endeavor. How is it possible to ascend to the summit without losing footing and breaking a neck?

Gulping, I lead the way up this monstrous trail. One hand grasping nervously at a tree branch, I stepped on the first mud caked boulder and in a swift movement – a firm tug of the branch and a strong push to the ground – I hauled myself up without falling face down. Great work. That’s one meter down, and two hundred and ninety-nine meters to go. Like that, we snailed our way up to the peak, never daring to stand up in full heigh in fear of tumbling down like so many pebbles that were previously under our feet, which were now probably lying at the bottom of the trail, split and broken into a fraction of its former self.

I silently cursed the rain for the hundredth time that second as my boots slid dangerously on a slick rock, so smooth that it was practically reflecting light. The rain had turned the difficulty level from about hard to absolute hell. My wet parka stuck uncomfortably to my skin. My feet sloshed in the water that soaked and drench my boots and socks, effectively making every step feeling like walking on a piece of dirty kitchen sponge.

Five meters, four meters, three, two, and finally, with one last push with my left foot, I came tumbling onto a flat terrain. The peak of the mountain. And what a sight to behold: mountains lied out beneath me, hiding shyly in the masses of clouds. Greens and emeralds stretched as far as the eye could see, fading into the horizons as the mountains were framed and thin veil of fog and rain.