What struck me most about the wall is how it was constructed atop the mountain ridge lines regardless of incline or accessibility. I have no idea how they managed it. Probably with monkey magic. Apparently until late last year you could hike along sections of the wall that had 60 degree or more inclines, but decadent, lumbering westerners kept falling down/off the wall so they closed this section. Which was a pity as I was really looking forward to tackling the Spiders Steps* and the Dragons Broken Wing**.
And 'hike' is a bit of a misnomer to. The section we did could have been done in a comfortable pair of runners, a hat and a bottle of water. But no, Outdoor Gear Brand Man here went in full REI.com summer hiking special and looked like a rich, decadent, overdressed westerner who deserved to be pushed off the wall.
Perhaps that is why it proved so hard for me to fathom what it must have been like to patrol this wall all those hundreds of years ago. In a tea-shop we stopped in after our walk, sorry, 'hike', there is a photograph of the wall in the midst of a thunderstorm. Like I said, the wall sticks to the ridge lines making its guard towers the highest objects around. And they, if this picture was anything to go by, attract lightening strikes the way I attract mosquitoes.
What must it have been like half a millennium or so ago when the sky crackled and the clouds roared and the unlit tower you sheltered in shook to the thunder and exploded in the light of lightning? What could you do but tremble before the wrath of the gods and fervently pray you would be spared their tumultuous anger?
That or grab your Patagonia Torrentshell Jacket and make a run for the chair-lift.
(* These are approximate translations of the original Mandarin terms).
(**Actually, they're not. I just made them up).
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