the last gauntlet of a shaman to finishing his spiritual quest, the end of his journey but the start of his advnture.
Shamanic ritual always looked to nature for strength. In the days of our elders the shamans were wise man, the respected aged of the community who had a benevolent link able to translate the change of clouds in the stratosphere or the curl of snow on arctic winds. This power was never fully understood in those days of fledgling spirits. But since the time of the Inuit’s reading the tundra, the Egyptians translating the Nile and the Rapanui watching the ebb of the Pacific, many shamans had earned the respect of the land; though few were close to conquering every earthly element that roamed feral.
Tomas Henry has always had a fixation on the Alps. Though hardly far from his home in Woking (United Kingdom), his love of them pushed him to visiting the area many times, trekking, climbing, rafting and skiing below striking spires of rock and ice, earthly daggers driving into the sky; bleeding from it glaciers and ice flows and swelling bruised blizzard clouds. This was the only place in the world that he felt alien, the only soil that electrified his body with a sense of adventure; and he was about to learn just why.