Early morning sloth always attempts to convince me that a later start will mean more light for me and the dogs. Unfortunately the need to be out and back before humans and pets start their daily activities usually wins. Today was a compromise, the trails were clear of walkers and the visibility perfect.
Part of out trail runs through a stand of trees that, were it a few hundred larger, could be a wood. Recent mornings have been a leap of faith as a covering of leaves obscures any logs, rocks or pits that the local lads have created as mantraps. Natures road sweepers have been out this weekend, winds that cause havoc and rage about our houses forcing us to hunker down, light fires and take shelter are seen to provide a useful service to anyone who values sure footing.
Last nights clear skies and falling temperatures held the promise of a frost, but this morning a thin sliver of a waning moon smiled apologetically at me and my pack. No dissapointment for the dogs, simply being out is enough reward. Returning over the bridge the scent of a disgarded cigarette insulted my nostrils, my companions were more interested in the scent of the accompanying dog and we sprinted on up the track. Nearing the road we caught up with the lone dog walker. The husky and collie raced on by like pro cyclists on "la tour", whilst the small scottie barked as if to encourage us on. Sadly we left the scottie behind, it was, after all a pet, and in the cold, still early morning light, we are a pack, creatures of the trail.
The morning pre dawn run takes on a new challenge on wet days. The first part is easy, in the domain of man, with passing cars, street lights and the smooth tarmac poses no threat other than a early morning zombie, unaware of the fast approaching pack.
Leaving the lights behind we hit the muddy wet trail, the darkness engulfs us and although my lights penetrate the darkness, their constant movement gives no surety to my vision. Deprived of a clear sky and sunrise, the reflected light from the clouds means the wet trail shines like a silver river, a river whose shine hides all but the deepest potholes from view.
Here my companions take the decisions, left or right, to them each pothole is a choice, to cross and catch a mouthful of raw, natural water or to avoid if the depth will slow our progress.
My role becomes passenger and long range navigator, each junction or trail switch is mine to command, but the ruts and potholes I leave to my pack.
