The Shelter on the Ridge

Zane has been talking about the view all week. From the ridge, he says, they will see the harbour and the island beyond it. He has brought his camera in a dry bag and cleared space for the photographs. Priya has brought cheese rolls. “You can’t eat a view,” she says. Their walking-group leader, Mae, checks the route and weather with them before they leave the car park.

The first part of the track is sheltered by trees. Zane walks near the front, stopping whenever the branches open. Above them, the sky is pale grey. At a junction, Mae checks the updated forecast on her phone. The cloud is coming lower than expected. She gathers the group. They can continue to the nearby ridge shelter while conditions allow, but the exposed summit loop is off today.

Zane looks at the map. The summit loop is the part he wanted. “It’s only a little farther.” Mae points to the open ground beyond the shelter. “And harder to follow in low cloud.” Priya waits while he puts the map away. She does not tell him the shorter walk will be just as good. It might not be. They follow Mae onto the signed ridge path.

By the time they reach the shelter, the harbour has disappeared. Cloud drifts past its open front. Zane takes one photograph, then puts the camera down. It shows a grey square and half a wooden post. Priya unwraps a roll. A drop falls from the roof onto his sleeve. “There’s your water view,” she says. He tries not to smile, but fails.

Mae checks the group and their return route. They will eat here, then head down together by the same clear track. While they rest, Priya notices water collecting on the tips of the shelter’s old roof nails. The drops hang, tremble and fall. Zane lifts the camera. Through the lens, one drop holds a tiny upside-down patch of yellow grass. He moves back from the drip and takes another photograph.

He tries a wider shot. Now the picture includes Priya’s hands round her cup, the rough bench and rain caught on the edge of Mae’s jacket. “That one’s got people in it,” Priya says. “Do you mind?” Zane asks. She is happy for him to keep it and show the walking group, but asks him to check before posting it anywhere else. He agrees and takes one more.

On the descent, they keep together. Zane stops only when Mae says there is a suitable place. He photographs a muddy boot print beside a bright fallen leaf, then the backs of the group passing between two dark trunks. At the car park, the cloud lifts just enough to show a strip of harbour. He takes the picture he has been waiting for. The island remains hidden.

That evening, Zane chooses three photographs for the group message. The harbour is clear but rather empty. He adds the hanging drop and, after checking with Priya, the shelter picture. Replies arrive almost at once. Someone notices a spider’s web behind the post. Someone else remembers Priya’s joke. Mae asks for a copy of the photograph with the group on the track. Zane had nearly deleted that one.

Priya phones while he is putting his boots out to dry. “Did you get your view?” “Part of it.” “Going back?” “Probably.” He looks at the three pictures on the screen. In the shelter photograph, his own cheese roll is balanced on the map case. “Next time I’m bringing lunch,” he says. Priya laughs. Outside, a last drop slips from the toe of his boot and darkens the step.