Day 6 - Valley of Mists

A corny title, I know, but the valley we descended into earned the name. The long stretch allowed us to see directly into the valley itself, only a narrow portion between the trees, but enough. Far away, the distant mountains beckoned, sheer, Olympian peaks ascending from the tree blanketed slopes pointed proudly at heaven, and seperating the peaks and slopes was a straight gash of pure white cloud, like a poor television connection cut through the middle by random static. Then we rounded a bend and the valley was visible only though the ice rimmed forest, leafless trees seemed held up by snow, like frosted crystal formations growing in all directions. Squirrels, black as coal, were occasionally visible dashing from icy stalk to icy stalk, shadowy blurrs at the speed we followed the dogs. Then the path took another turn, taking us back into view of the valley, and pointing us directly downhill again. The beauty of this place seemed magnified by the rushing wind and biting ice, the pad of twenty paws digging into the snow, the drag of sled on ice, the unending magnificence of these frozen peaks again made it seem as though I was caught in a dream, in a world of majesty and diamond dust.