Slow walks, mountain weather, and whatever the shortwave brings in.
The maples turned a week early this year. I took the long way up before sunrise, mostly to have the ridge to myself, and was rewarded with a sea of cloud sitting in the valley until almost nine. Thermos tea tastes better at altitude; this is not science, but I will keep testing it.
Notes on keeping a simple weather log: a plastic rain gauge, a max-min thermometer, and a notebook that survives being dropped in wet grass. Three weeks of entries so far, and the pattern is already more interesting than the forecast app.
Shortwave after midnight is a different country. Broadcasts fade in from three continents, argue with static, and vanish mid-sentence. A short log of what was heard, and a reminder that patience is most of the hobby.