Dry socks: something so simple, yet so pleasing. Walking the last couple kilometers to the our rustic mountain retreat at Simonskloof soaked my boots through and made them heavy with water. My feet turned white, pickled, and numb. I didn’t give it too much mind though because everything was soaked through, cold, and numb.
But we had arrived at shelter, a place to dry our things by a fire, dry ourselves, and sleep cozy for a night. We shared a great dinner with some wine, talked about the hike to arrive here (most of us went silent walking in the worst of the weather, our attention on the path to shelter, our mind already imagining its warmth), and looked at the maps leading us away from here.