Trundling down the track in the truck, I was in that photographer’s classic conundrum. Do I take the bleedin’ heavy camera bag or do I jettison all weight and just enjoy the ride? With a thuggish evening mugginess in the air and a blanket of impenetrable cloud looming over the peak, this was starting to look like an easy decision. “Ah screw it, the winds picking up a tad, maybe it’ll blow over… at the very least its ‘training’!” An hour and a half later, camera pack on back, sodden with sweat and firmly in the hallowed realms of ‘Type 2’ fun, we flopped up on to the ridge. As if on cue, a tear appeared in the clouds. Through it beamed the smirking face of mighty Thor himself and with a grin n’ a giggle, he drenched the area in a swathe of succulently saturated light. “Go, go, go!”