To‘bottom’ing, at Caer* Caradoc (23:3:13)

[*Ki.r]
Plunging, crunching through the deep, crisp snow –
what fun, but, oh, so slow!
then up the hill we go
(the sky a-mist with floating drift),
but when we reach the steeper bit
we meet the scouring wind,
the slope swept clear of snow, the grass
a sheet of icy glass,
and without crampons we’re not fit
to climb, and so retreat
bent, using hands and feet,
and soon enjoy envigorating slide instead,
as wearing waterproofs transforms
my seat into a sled!