I read a newspaper article many years ago, back when I was a teenager. It was about a plane crash. The accident occurred somewhere in South America I think, perhaps it was in New Zealand. Anyway, somewhere that seemed very exotic to me at the time. And still does I suppose.
It was a light aircraft and everyone survived as I recall, though they had to wait several days for the weather to clear and rescue to arrive. The only reason I remember it is because of a quote attributed to the pilot. ‘Everything was going fine,’ he said, ‘until we hit the mountain.’ It was such an odd thing to say. I cut the article out and kept it with all the other papers clippings I had taken.
It is long gone now, along with most of my early things. My mother cleared them all out when I left home. However it still comes into my head from time to time.
What brought it to mind today was that I am feeling exactly like that. Like I have hit the mountain.
And I don’t think anyone is coming to rescue me however long I wait.