Tom recounted a disturbing nighttime experience he had on the Ramsey Round when he was faced with a large number of torch lights. This may have been the effect of a long time on the hill or, as Tom worked out, the reflection of his torch from sheep’s eyes. It was no coincidence that the lights moved strictly around in pairs.
Such was my experience in the depths of upper Abbey Brook on our outing from the gas station on Mortimer Road. We ten (including a guest appearance of Penny), paddled (it was very wet underfoot, to say the least) our way up to the cabins where our paths parted, eight up the shooting track and two, directly or was it? From the quad bike turn around, the vague ridge line was followed by the eight to reach “remains of” (New Cross). But, where were the remaining two Slow Warts? Our most experienced Dark Peaker and our World Champion Orienteer had, to put it into strict technical terms, gone a bit too far left and arrived from the opposite direction to the eight.
A westerly bearing was needed for the planned visit to Tom’s waterfall in Abbey Brook, which was expected to be in spectacular full flow. Having collected our thoughts (waited for the slower ones, me included) at a group of rocks on the way, our well spread-out group arrived at the formidable looking edge of the Brook. Were we intimidated? Some were, some weren’t. There were attempts to descend into the chasm, at least one being successful, Tom who was obliged to go, and Tim. The rest of us hovered a bit, descended part way and then came back up to the narrow edge path. By this time, I had lost sight of the others, but continued on the path looking for sightings of head torches. I did see some near the stream and set off towards them only to realise, of course, they were the green eyes of sheep. So back up to the edge and a new personal “rescue” plan was made to return to the gas station. I left the edge path and headed towards Cartledge Flat and after a while, another host of sheep’s eyes were seen, except they were torch lights. In the time I was on the Brook edge, the plan to go to the waterfall had been abandoned for the return journey. Many thanks for the group to be so patient in waiting for me.
After this adventure, we left the luxurious soft Cartledge ground where our World Champion misplaced his compass (it’s a rare sight to see him without one), for the slippery slabs of the Dukes Road to join the sloppy track marked with many white bags (for restoration work?) over Wet Slack Ridge and down to the cabins where Chris maintained tradition by handing out the whisky. A Slow Warts’ outing would not be complete without a health discussion which cheered us, particularly Penny who is free of such ailments, on our way back along the tedious stretch to the car park.
The Plough at Low Bradfield was, again, a warm, welcome retreat from the wet moors and provided the necessary victuals for some recovery from our adventure. We are now getting to the stage where we’re spending almost as long in the pub as we do running; perhaps we’re becoming the Slow Warts’ Social Club. Long may it last and thanks to all for a memorable and tough outing.
Graham
