Feeling the Burn
Wilderness WALK 1200km 60km
THREE shadows crouched on a ledge above the entrance to the cave, poking sticks into a smouldering fire. Dressed in black and with bare feet, they looked like figures from a dystopian movie.
“Any room at the inn?” we chirped hopefully.
“There might be if you squeeze through the pinch, there are others in there somewhere,” replied one of the dark shapes.
Reports had implied Split Rock Biv was a mansion with three rooms, snow grass-carpeted floors and lovingly crafted stone walls. Blundering down from Fohn Saddle in freezing rain, we’d dreamed of the biv’s dry comfort. We hadn’t stopped for lunch; we were wet, cold, and grumpy; and the only accommodation was a one-metre–high pitch-black crevice.
The cave dwellers recognised our state and rallied. Mat and Amy helped with the tent and boiled some water on their fire. Things looked rosier
