NOVEMBER 2022 · ADVENTURE
On the Black Hill: Dreams of Inversion
Black Mountains, Wales
The forecast said temperature inversion. That particular condition where cold air pools in the valleys and the higher ground sits clear above it, with a distinct layer between them. The photographs you get from that — mountain tops above cloud, other peaks floating like islands — are the reason people go to the lengths they go to. Camp the night before. Be there for the light.

What actually happened was fog. Undifferentiated, complete fog. The Hatterrall Ridge on the Wales-Herefordshire border buried in it by the time we reached the summit. The Black Hill: 640 metres, and about 640 metres of visibility.
Bruce Chatwin's novel sends twin brothers through their whole lives on a farm below this ridge. They never really leave. Looking out into the white from the summit, with the trail disappearing after twenty metres and the cairn barely visible, you could understand something about that kind of narrowing.
Looking out into the white from the summit, you could understand something about that kind of narrowing.
The Black Hill — November 2022


The tent went up on the rocky ridgeline in the fog. A moss-covered outcrop nearby. Windswept heather at the margins of the track. The camp felt very exposed and very enclosed at the same time — you could hear the fog moving.

In the morning: no sun. More fog. The inversion had not materialised. We had the ridge to ourselves for a while, then came the hikers, then a group with goats — actual goats — navigating the path with more confidence than anyone else out there. Gnarled trees on the slope below. A silhouette on the summit dissolving into white behind them.
A standing stone, barely discernible through the mist. A summit cairn that came and went depending on how the fog moved. Two hikers ahead of us on the ridge, visible and then not.
That's what we got. No inversion, plenty of fog.

