in the fog

Some sun in the morning heats the tent cosily warm. We divide ourselves into groups according to plans for the day. I go together with Magnús, Erling and Karlheinz towards the south in order to climb something called the hollow tooth. Wind wants to blow my eyes off. From the mountain there's a view as is normal with mountains and more wind.
We split up. Magnús slides down a steep hillside screaming with joy and I venture off over green hills looking for better weather. Here some of the moss looks like stone and some of the mud looks like stone and some of the stone looks like moss so you never know if the ground under next step will be hard or soft.
Skuas protect the hilltop I was aiming at but next to it are only fulmars. They don't spit on me but let me lie on moss in the sunshine, eat a sandwich and look towards the north pole. Bird colony is screaming somewhere below. Two long driftwood covered beaches are further to the south. Smells of fresh water.
Start heading back. Fog. The world is suddenly tiny, reaching only about 30 meters each side. Skuas appear from the thick whitness like evil spirits. I throw stones at them, thinking about Fred's story of a hiker who was found on some beach, unconcious, next to a dead skua. At times the sea is faintly visible so I have an idea which way to go. Trying not to fall into the sea. Sometimes Kvalross or the  boat appear, only to disappear again. And a bunch of fulmars, totally silent, hovering around me.
The usual cookie-eating and jokes in the kitchen tent.
My boots are finally dry. Outside the trolls are redecorating the island.