Cairn

Stacking rocks

Ever since I was fairly wee, I've loved hiking up and around mountains. My first memories of it were on family trips to Austria, of which there were a few, where we'd stay in some Alpine hotel made of wood, nestled in one of the serene valleys typical of the region.
Our days would start with breakfast, after which we'd pick up the little lunch pack they provided at the reception (my favourite part being the wafers), and set out onto the trail with our hiking sticks in hand and boots on foot.

We'd meet goats and other hikers along the way - Grüß Gott!, and we'd hike up and down the trails until our feet felt hot and swollen in the summer warmth.
Often we'd stumble across Kneipp pools: cold, shallow pools of water that you walk through to relieve the swelling of your feet.
Still damp, we'd don our woolen socks and boots again, continuing with renewed energy.

This love of the mountains came home with me, and was nurtured through experiences with the Duke of Edinburgh's award at school, and beyond it.
We took to the Mournes like goats - navigating our meticulously planned routes, following the contours through the range, often guided by the Mourne Wall. And we'd climb.

For each peak we summited, we left a rock on its cairn, raising its height by our own measure, having measured ourselves against it.

And we'd rest upon them, admiring the landscape we knew well, the views that photos can't really describe, free of... well, you know.

We were there, with nothing but the gear in our packs, a disposable camera returning to the side pocket, and- Oh. Was that thunder?

Celebration on Donard cut short

A realisation

Lighting hits the tallest thing

Right now that is

Us.

We ran (rolled?) down that slope, climbed the stile over the Mourne Wall, and briskly carried ourselves the rest of the way to Newcastle.

Why's all this on my mind? Well, because of Cairn. From the first time I sat down with the game, it has occupied my mind, and pulled along with it these memories.
Now, my type of mountain climbing is more the hiking kind, but what you do in Cairn is far more engaging for a video game.

You're out there, alone, with nothing but the gear in your pack, a camera- oops. Well, at least you can compost it into chalk for better grip.

Patience and planning is vital when approaching these rock faces. Scramble too much with poor grips, and you'll be worn out, sliding, and your fingertips will be shredded before you've made it more than a couple of metres up.
The way is to carefully place each hand and foot, making sure always to have a couple of good holds, keeping calm when things go wrong, and making good use of your pitons to rest.
When I finally reach the top of each cliff, it's a milestone.
She rests upon it, while I admire the landscape, with views photo mode can't really describe.
It's uncanny how they managed to capture that feeling, one so familiar to my experiences in the hills, and I can't help but reminisce.

Something is off though.
Conversation flows on the trail in a way that it doesn't over a call or even at the dinner table. More is shared in those times than any other.
Had I been alone on that Sleive Donard that day, no-one else would know that moment.
The way it was, the way our legs felt after all those other peaks we'd stood on, the air, the sound, what it really looked like,
the way it was.

I only talk to one of the two of them now. The other's been gone living his life somewhere, and I never did keep up with him the way I'd ought to have. I suppose that's true more widely, but I'm tryin to do better on that front of late.

Aava doesn't reply to her loved ones' messages while she's on her journey. Maybe I'll understand that better as I get deeper into the game. Or maybe I already do. I dunno.

Be an island

When we'd return to the Alpine hotel in the afternoon, we'd be thoroughly ready for dinner. It was quite a social affair, with most of the guests attending for whatever the host had prepared for that day's meal.
One evening was memorable: the main dish I don't recall, but as everyone was standing up to leave, the hotel's owner rushed into the dining room, and with utmost urgency:
"The soup! You must eat your soup!"

We were all returned to our seats, and the soup was had.
I forget what kind it was.

It's easy to settle into Aava's careful rhythm: Plan your route, patiently climb a section, rest off belay, climb some more. Reach the next plateau, set up her tent.
Carefully inspect and bandage each bloodied fingertip. Cook something warm for the day ahead. Rest her aching body.
Climb.
Rest.
Plan.
Climb.
Rest.
Plan.
Climb.
She pulls herself up onto the ledge, cools her feet in the plateau's shallow lake. Time to rest.

"Do you like miso soup?" - a rare voice cuts the silence of the mountain.
Aava isn't totally alone, and meets some unlikely folks along the way. She interacts in passing, even sharing some meaningful moments, but she isn't there for them. Sooner or later, she'll leave them behind.
For that moment, though, the soup was had.
Despite her attempts to dismiss them, she finds a connection with these strangers, because she doesn't have the option to reply with silence as she does with her loved ones.

That damned option. That which supposedly keeps us connected gives us that option. What possessed them to give us that? They had to know we'd misuse it.

... [read]

Some of the climbs are really tough.
Your food goes cold, night falls, and the cold sets in. Your plans fail, leading you to dead ends. All the game's pressures accumulate, you start to make risky scrambles, a piton breaks, and down Aava falls.
The vocal performance really is impressive, and you can feel her rage and frustration when you slip and tumble. That type of outburst that feels necessary for you, but that others will find offputting.
Good thing nobody's there to hear it.

I'd rather be better though. When morale wanes, everybody pools what they have left, somebody cracks a joke or says a cheesy line, and somehow it works.
I can't see how anybody'd make it all the way up without em.
Besides, if a tree falls in the woods with nobody around, and all that.