The Ridge is a dangerous place. To your left, a steep, shale-covered mountain slope. To your right, a sheer cliff leading to the black abyss of the unknown. To walk the Ridge while the sun is up, is to stare Death in the face; while the sun is down, is to be cloaked in its cold embrace. The path of the Ridge is rocky, uneven, treacherous, at times, paralyzing. The wind blows hard, the days are cold, and the nights are colder. Few attempt to walk the Ridge; fewer succeed.
The Ridgewalker is he who risks it all for seemingly little. He pushes the limit, tempts fate, and dares Death. His lover is the night, pain his only comfort. The walk is long and arduous, but the Ridgewalker revels in the challenge, relishes the fight. His goal, to beat the Ridge; his reward, a glimpse at Nature’s greatest gift.
A Toast: To the Ridgewalker