Something to lean on

Adventure can knock on your door at any time.
A quiet Saturday stretching out ahead of me, dark clouds and the promise of a deluge, about which Moses himself would have been happy to narrate.
I make a snap decision, make a brief comedy final Will on Facebook and head out for another Minnie adventure.
Destination Kudin Most, ancient stone bridge spanning the Krupa river. Accessable only by well shod feet. Or helicopter.
Boots are cheaper.
I figure that when the deluge arrives, the place to be is standing in the centre of the bridge, facing the waters over the wide falls in one direction and watching them explode over the drop in the other. Until my nerve breaks and I cross the bridge to either bank.
I even wait and have lunch at home, knowing that the deluge will not arrive for an hour or so. Give the show a chance to build, as it were.
I pack my trusty bag with the usual provisions in case of disaster and head out in Minnie, camera at the ready.
The rain falls hard on the mountain road as we traverse the peak from Gracac to the valley. The show is building.
We park up, having seen not another soul. Minnie must wait patiently in this desolate place whilst I descend to the bridge.
A river rushes down the rocky path, flowing over my boots and cooling my feet. I wonder how the ascent will be, should the deluge continue.
I hold my trusty hiking staff, hewn from beechwood in a forest, many years ago in Buckinghamshire during a different world. It steadies my progress.
Everyone needs something to lean on when the edge feels close.
I reach the base of the valley and take time to drink in my surroundings, despite the rain, which is at once both violent and loud.
A natural wonder and climate oasis, tiny flowers grow as if it were Spring and the trees full of figs and blueberries as if it were Summer. Rain and white waters rushing over the falls as if it were Autumn. But the cold of Winter has not yet taken the stage. I feel the warm air in the gaps between the rain drops.
There are always gaps between the rain drops, if you look for them.
I stride out across the old bridge. It really is the Most. Nobody knows it’s age. Hundreds of years for sure. Maybe more. Rough stone arches interrupt layered uncut rock piles all the way across. Each stone arch is weathered by the centuries. The gaps between the arch stones… Do not look into that abyss! Trust the stones. They have been there through the ages and carried people over the river without ever failing.
I stop in the centre and just like that…
The deluge stops.
The first sound I hear in this new silence which envelopes me, is a cow bell.
Ringing the changes.
I take some photos and wonder at my new situation.
I am genuinely warm. Though the skies are still forebodingly dark.
I cross the bridge all the way, for you must traverse Kudin Most. Or indeed any bridge. Never cut back halfway once you have set out on a journey to the other side.
On the far side my choice becomes suddenly clear. I must swim. There can be no other direction. I place my things in my trusty bag and hang them from my staff, plunged deep into the earthy river bank, it holds fast.
A good woodland stick has a thousand uses. No manufactured metal pole can come close. In a place a great distance from here, a long time ago, this very staff saved me from a watery demise, holding my weight and the mighty waters of another river, flowing from a different mountain into a colder sea.
It is ever by my side at such times.
Everyone needs something to lean on.
To swim! Into the cold and lively waters I plunge. At the exact moment I resurface I am greeted by unexpected guests. Four hikers appear on the bridge. I hope they are enlightened as I did not prepare my swimming clothes, if you catch my meaning.
In moments they are on the bank where I entered the water and we hold a conversation regarding the water temperature and suitability for swimming therein.
I confirm by my presence in the river that it is more than tolerable and I do not feel the need to immediately get out. I impart the potentially awkward information regarding my swimwear situation, since there is a lady present.
Thankfully these fine folks are Czech and hold no issue over such things.
In moments they are joining me and we conclude that it is surely the finest day of the year to visit Kudin Most.
They remain in the water whilst after some time I retreat to the bank, use a kindly offered towel (I have brought none) and prepare to leave.
I consider at this point in time and space that my afternoon’s adventure is over, taking firm hold of my hiking staff, I begin the climb up.
But space and time has other ideas in store.
At a singular point on every trail and this one was no exception, one must choose the direction to take. It cannot be avoided. I choose firmly to take the trail less trodden, the one not traversed on the way down. Variety is indeed the spice for life.
Moments after I hear a mighty rumbling followed by a tremendous crash and ongoing commotion. I lean over the edge of the narrow trail to see a giant rock, loosed from it’s place by the deluge, flying down the hillside, across the trail I rejected. My thoughts were immediately of a Wile E. Coyote nature, but then quickly dissolving into those of a narrow escape from a sudden and very personal transformation from 3D into 2D.
Flattened is never flattering.
The boulder reaches the bottom and rolls out into the field a short way, where it is casually inspected by a brown cow wearing a shiny bell around her neck.
I walk on with a different swing in my step.
Today is not that day. No need for that Will just yet.
Once again as I’ve said so many times before, it’s been an interesting life; but nothing like the brochure.