Up on Pas de Boeuf was a new singing cable, pulling the happy tourists along. Some Vaudoise could only express herself in "oui oui oui"s, which probably meant she had a superb lover. Thankfully, the singing cable was pulling me along and out of sight of these strange creatures. The snow was singing under my board and the Touno was looking fantastic in the bright sunlight. It may have been the last big snow, who knows. But it is not happening anyway and it is getting colder as all the enlightened NZZ commentators write. Stupid me to waste some thoughts that the climate might get warmer. We had all the evidence this winter that it doesn't. Only the tenth warmest year since the recordings began, loads of snow and moaning that it wasn't cleared efficiently enough, all the salt stocks in the UK depleted and widespread moaning how cold it was. Q.E.D. It is not happening. Let the cables sing a bit longer. To the left, some skiers came down the west flank of Bella Tola. Good for them. When I was younger, I did this too. Now I stick to the slopes and after a couple of hours to the cold beer down in Prilet. Much better than wreck my old bones.
Going where I grew up feels strange now. Living where I live feels strange too. Maybe it is because I am constanly tired and try to get some sleep. The cables that might not sing anymore and the collapsing Pomas keep me awake. But I guess they will still be standing there once we are all gone, so I am confident that these pylons will outlive us. And the cable might still be singing. In the next desert storm that hits Val d'Anniviers. Rattling the lose shutters of the derelict Hotel Bella Tola in St. Luc, blowing dust through the deserted appartment blocks, slowly eroding the roads that brought civilisation and eventually the collapse of the civilisation as we know it.
Somewhere up in Spitzbergen is a project to erect some kind of a ski tow, since every second year there is enough snow to glide down a couple of hills.
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