Like a strung out line of pensioners we faltered down the icy path. Those without poles clinging to one another, fearing an embarrassing slide on their rear more than tumbling down the steep cliff edge. Half an hour earlier Dylan, on his morning jog, choose a more dignified glide down the trail, running shoes acting as skis.

Blue birds fluttered against a backdrop of pink rock, whilst the sun rose and turned paths, for a moment, into dripping streams. The cliffs echoed with shouts, squirrels gathered and contrails etched into a brilliant blue sky.