There are some of us though who seem to need the conveyance old books offer more than ever. Finding them is like mining for diamonds.
"The sound of wind has been conventionalised by the theatre, the film, and the B.B.C. into a wailing and whistling, but that is not the sound the climber hears. The worst Alpine storm I was ever in was on the Schreckhorn in the Bernese Oberland. The wind made a noise rivalling the thunder that accompanied it, so that the wind and thunder were almost indistinguishable. There were times when it approached with a roar like an express train in a tunnel, whilst now and then it fell upon us with a sudden tearing, explosive sound as though it were rending the mountain in twain. I have heard this same rending sound in the British hills, a fearsome noise difficult to attribute to so fluid and transparent an element as air. But to appreciate the grandeur of wind you must struggle down through a storm of it and having reached shelter listen to it on the mountain above".( P. 34 )
"The great advantage of British mountaineering is that it is unnecessary to rise early. For me the early Alpine start, the inadequate breakfast, and rebellious stomach, the boot lace that breaks, the candle lantern that insists on unfolding the wrong way, the stumblings and cursings on the moraine are things that must be endured: they have long since lost their romantic charm. In the British hills a man can rise at a Christian hour, leisurely bathe and dress himself, and tuck away, in peacetime at all events, a substantial breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast, butter, and marmalade before setting forth on his climb". ( P. 25 )
The bookshop I work in will be closing soon. Is that a triumph of the new over the old? Perhaps, but perhaps too it's a fearsome rendering.
I'm fortunate to have my shelter and to know I can climb the steepest of gradients.