Ah, the great British institution that is talking about the weather. This weekend it appeared justified as a large low pressure settled over our part of the world and while the OMM competitors were dealing with this (!) on that side of the North Sea, the citizens of Bergen, Norway were mourning the loss of hundreds of umbrellas as driving rain and gale force winds stampeded into the city and promptly got corralled by The Seven Hills. We went out for a Vietnamese dinner last night and the city's litter bins and streets were strewn with the skeletal remains of umbrellas, torn nylon flapping in the wind like shredded skin.
The weather was slightly better this morning so a quick jaunt around the ol' backyard was in order. I donned waterproof mids and wee gaiters and was thankful as practically every path up onto the main ridge was running water. The little scramble pitch pictured above is normally dry, grippy granite but today it required a bit of concentration as a stream had appeared down the middle of it. Up on the plateau the wind hurled sheets of hail sideways at the few souls brave/stupid enough to be out today. Then a moment of magic. As I cowered behind a small cairn for shelter and pulled my Flux on a Mountain Hare in full winter pelage appeared in front of me and bounded effortlessly away from me in the terrible conditions. Obviously I need to work on my camera quick draw as my fingers were still fumbling with the Trio's zip as the Lupus loped away.