Thrilled at the prospect of a night beneath Mont Blanc, we skulked off the path and made camp amongst a scattering of alder shrub. It was dark, yet the soft radiance of the moon illuminated the snow-drenched crest of the White Mountain with a subtle, sapphire glow. In the low light, she was humble.
When morning came, we unzipped the tent and stared up at the mountain. With the light of day now washed across her contours, her angles were raw, her glaciers bleeding and her atmosphere volatile. What a stark contrast she was from the day previous.
At a glance, the White Mountain is strong and definite. But have no doubt, she has a dynamism that could conquer a storm in the desert and the waves through the sea.