The Mountain Hut Book. Kev Reynolds

Living among rock, snow or ice way above the valley can then be a lonely existence for wardens, marooned as they are, isolated far from company. So when I appeared dripping with rain at the Rothorn Hut one day, midway through a spell of grim weather, the warden greeted my arrival with surprise. Some 1600m above Zermatt, a casual visitor that summer was a rarity.

      ‘Where on earth have you come from?’ she asked, then apologised. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but I wasn’t expecting visitors. Haven’t seen anyone for a week and certainly didn’t imagine anyone would arrive today.’ What she failed to say was, ‘I didn’t imagine anyone would be foolish enough to come all this way to see nothing but rain and fog,’ and I didn’t bother to explain that I had a book to write and could not afford to sit around in Zermatt twiddling my thumbs until the sun shone.

      But imagine – living in the clouds at 3200m and seeing no one for a week! You need a focus to your days, and a lack of imagination, to put up with the isolation when storms explode all around your home.

      ‘Any chance of a bowl of soup?’ I asked. The smell coming from her kitchen was a reminder of just how long it had been since I’d eaten breakfast. In my rucksack I had a couple of cheese rolls, two bananas and some chocolate, but the prospect of soup had me salivating.

      It tasted as good as it smelled; a thick lentil and vegetable soup flavoured with garlic and spices hot enough to steam my glasses. She apologised for the age of the bread, so I told her I had my own and took out the food I’d brought with me. When she saw the two bananas, her eyes popped. She hadn’t seen fresh fruit all summer, so when I offered them to her I knew I’d made a friend for life.