We climbed part way up Esja today. On the way back down, Steve saw a side path and said, “Why don’t we go back down that way?”
“Okay. But you know it’ll hit a point where it goes straight down,” I said.
Steve got a wicked grin and said, “Great.”
So down we went. At a certain point, Steve was ahead of me and stopped. The path, in fact, the ground in front of him had disappeared. “Hey, Mary. Guess what?”
“What?”
“It goes straight down.” And then my brother vanished over the edge.
I followed him, leaning back on my heels and trying to stay on the vegetation instead of the sheer gravel slide that the path had become. The thing is that I’d always thought of Steve as a sporty sort of guy, but not as particularly outdoorsy. I’m wrong. Who knew?
We had to cut the hike short because Tóti from work came over for dinner. I made ratatouile with goat cheese and pesto vinaigrette and served that with greens and the leftover potato salad. We had daim ice cream for dessert.
