bridges, and one speaks of those logs thrown across an angry mass of water, with some mud and stone and a prayer or two instead of metal and mortar, evoke mixed emotions, a cocktail of relief and trepidation… deadwood lying down yet standing tall with enough life in it still to face the wrath of the elements…
for when wading barefoot over torrents or skipping boulders, there is no room for doubt… in case of the former, the glacial waters numb fear with the first few steps, and the toes weave their own way across each mossy stone (the rejuvenating rush of warm blood once through is no less than salvation)… for the latter, one constructs a trajectory in the head and with a deep breath commits to it…
in either case, there is no time to hesitate… over a log though, one has to be slow by design, and that brings one to the doors of dubiety… it’s only a few seconds mind you, all these different modes traverses of water bodies a few meters wide… yet staring a frothing mass of water dead in the eye does make time go slowly…
we can go up a notch in carpentry… there are log bridges where one can be cocksure, walk and pause over water, watch the tiny whirlpools and eddies tumble restlessly down the slope… a mere mortal isn’t enough to bother their foundations, but there might come always time when the river becomes haughty and dismissive, and mock their seeming solidity…
then there are some just too precarious, where one sits and mulls over the axial forces and centre of gravity and all the other physics awhile to make a rational case against the skepticism of jet sprays from an indignant whirlpool, taking a few tentative steps before tucking one’s tail firmly between the legs and retreating to find an easier passage…
when retracing a trail in memory, they punctuate it, these log bridges… like portals to the other side, they keep one in a constant state of flux, in sync with the ever changing moods of the mountains, braiding the hems of valleys… ‘tis but one of the romantic indulgences of the mountain backcountry, one ponders, these lilting lumbers…
musings on log bridges, hikes in the Himalaya…
