Tuesday, November 28, 2006
REMEMBER, REMEMBER, THE WALKS OF NOVEMBER
What a difference a month makes…
I’ve always liked November. It is the start of the festive season with bonfires and fireworks, the burst of autumn colours in the hedgerows and trees and frosty nights. It’s a time when most people begin to draw within and retreat to the warmth and comfort of the indoor life but not for me! I’ve spent nearly every weekend out walking and guess what…I’m hooked. Over the past few weeks I’ve achieved so much and yet it still feels so little. I’ve reached my highest point, my furthest distance and walked in my most challenging weather conditions. And all with a smile on my face – well, most of the time.
Following on from my Kentish outing, I had a fantastic weekend in the Mendips walking around Cheddar Gorge. I first began walking in this area as a 5 year old and have always loved this part of the world. The weather was not great but the feral goats didn’t seem to mind sharing their shelter with me.
The high point for this month has to be my first visit to the Lake District. Although I only went out walking on one day it meant so much to me. The breathtaking beauty of the hills, the silence of walking in the clouds; where time and motion seem to stand still, and the warmth and friendliness of those I met out walking was overwhelming.
So, roll on December…mince pies, mulled wine and walking in a winter wonderland….
All for now.
SG
Monday, November 20, 2006
Mountain Madness
I wandered lonely as a cloud…
…when all at once my eyes beheld….
…..nothing – hill fog came in!!!
Wordsworth once wrote that rain in the Lake District was commonplace. Seems he was right. But he also wrote that nowhere else could compare with the vibrant colours, textures and breathtaking scenery of the mountain peaks and fells – seems he was right about this too. On Thursday of last week I took my first ever trip to Cumbria and planned to take my first steps upon the rugged landscape – two days walking, with a foray to the Mountain Festival at Kendal to keep me out of trouble in the evenings. So, on Friday morning I jumped on the bus to Ambleside and headed off towards the summit of Red Screes, just above the Kirkstone Pass. At first all seemed well – it was overcast with a threat of rain but generally O.K. Thing is, I wasn’t. It was one of those mornings when you just know you’re not on top form. Could have been the beer the night before, lack of sleep or anything but I knew I wasn’t 100%. Still, I had set my heart on walking to my highest point so far, challenging myself, improving my skills and experience and enjoying the scenery – after all, I’d travelled a long way to get there and didn’t want to waste the journey. As I struggled along the road the rain began to fall, and kept falling. Pulling on the waterproofs I pushed on and finally found the path that lead to the ridge – the ascent route I’d planned to take. Painfully and slowly I picked my way along the path. To be honest, I was exhausted when I shouldn’t have been. Still I continued convinced I’d be O.K and determined to get to the top. As I walked higher, the rain continued, then the sleet, then the wind began to build and by the time I’d reached just over 550m the hill fog came in and I was leaning against a boundary wall, being pelted with sleet, wind whipping at the waterproofs and visibility decreasing rapidly. The sheep stood staring at me as if to say, “Well, lass, what’s it to be?” I could push on to the summit but what would be the point? The chances of the weather improving nearer the top was minimal, I’d be exhausted by the time I got there and probably wouldn’t make it back down to get the bus home. I had nothing to prove to anybody but myself and, as I was rapidly learning, on the hills, there is little room for ego. So I called it and turned round. On the way down, across the valley the cloud cleared and the views were stunning. I wondered if I’d given up too soon, but looking behind me I could see that little had improved on my hilltop. Picking my way back down the water soaked paths, where mini-waterfalls cascaded across the rocks the wind eased, the rain became bearable and I decided to continue my walk along the valley, taking in Sweden Bridge and ending up at Scandale Fell. All along the route I seemed to find myself uttering words like “awesome” and “magnificent” as I savoured each new view. On the way I passed a small group who had reached the trig point on Red Screes and had an awful time – they advised not to try it and I was happy to take their advice and enjoyed the lower landscape instead. Tired, wet but happy, I took the bus back to Kendal after a spending an educational 5 hours walking.
I was staying at the beautiful Bridge House B&B in Kendal and my hosts were wonderful and between them had a wealth of experience as walkers, climbers and skiers and I felt better about myself when they agreed that I’d made a good judgement call by turning back and changing my route, after all, I was up there on my own, in the worst conditions I’d walked in so far and in an area I didn’t really know.
The next morning I rang the weather line for an up-to-date forecast to learn that strong to gale force winds were predicted with snow/sleet showers, low visibility, hill fog and a wind chill of between –4 and –15 depending upon height. I’d spent most of the previous day with soaking wet feet as I discovered that my new boots are not up to harsh winter walking conditions and offered little grip on wet rocks (yes, I did slip over once – nothing injured but pride!) I decided to spend the day taking in the lectures and films at the festival instead. Was feeling good about the decision until a fellow house guest seemed to imply that I was being a bit feeble as enduring the bad weather and “..having wet feet are part and parcel of walking around here – you just put up with it and get on with it.” I felt duly ashamed of myself until his friend quipped, “Yes, but you spent all day yesterday moaning about your wet feet!” I smiled quietly to myself behind my coffee mug as ice-cold eyes glared across the table. Like I said, no room for egos on the hills!
At the festival, not only did I manage to catch some great films, meet some outstanding authors and buy lots of books, I also met some wonderful fellow walkers who were happy to share their local knowledge and walking experiences with me and some of whom I hope to walk with in the near future.
All in all, it was an enlightening weekend. Although I didn’t get in the walks I had hoped to do, I had learnt a lot, had fun and widened my experience. After all, hill walking isn’t about reaching summits….is it? I’d love to know your thoughts on this – feel free to comment.
All for now.
SG
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
'Gorge'ous Walking
Looking for Fork Lifts? No... Fore Cliffs!
Spent the weekend in Somerset walking on the Mendips. On Saturday headed out on my own and walked from Cheddar town, up over the north side of the gorge, through Velvet Bottom and Charterhouse, up to the top of Burrington Combe, back through Long Wood and over the south side of the gorge before ending up back in the town, slightly muddier and pleasantly tired. Great walk with fantastic views, especially watching the rain bouncing off the rock face whilst taking shelter with some feral goats!
Total distance, approximately 9 miles give or take a slip or two.
On Sunday, persuaded my good friend Pat to come out with me. Starting from Cheddar again we headed over the north side, through Black Rock and Longwood then along the West Mendip Way before heading back to a hilly area known as Fore Cliffs. Neither of us could resisit the compulsory Two-Ronnies style wise-cracks and we spent most of the walk in fits of giggles. Pat put her faith in my navigation which all seemed to work out O.K. Seems my stamina is improving as well as for the first time ever I was asked to slow down. As I've always considered Pat to be increadibly fit I took this as a compliment and a sign that I'm improving!
Distance: 7.5 miles.
Off to Kendal on Thursday. Using up my last two days holiday to take my first steps in Cumbria and check out the Mountain Festival - see what all the fuss is about!
SG
Friday, November 10, 2006
Would you like fries with that....
Made a classic faux pax last night that I'm probably never going to live down! Was buying a new windjammer type fleece thing and was trying to sound like I knew what a I talking about. Hmm. The eager young sales chap had to hold back his amusement when I casually asked; "and how does this item compare to the Burgerhouse one over there?". "That would be the Berghaus then would it?" he replied! The blush of embarrassment swept over me like the rising sun on the desert. I've obviously got a lot to learn, including not to try and kid a kidder!
Monday, November 06, 2006
Exmoor. Camping.
Am I being too ambititous?
Had an opportunity to spend some time with my lovely dog, Buster, so headed down to Somerset ready to whisk him away for a couple of days. With tent in the boot and walking boots ready, I bundled the poor unsuspecting bundle of fluff into the car and off we went to Exmoor.
Fired up by my recent navigation course [See ‘Previously’, left] I had planned a route taking me along and into the moors from the base of the Dunkery Beacon, taking in some cairns and a disused quarry before ending up at the trig point. Car parked, I set the map, took a bearing to make sure I was on the right path and off we went. First attack point reached, no problem. Timing, pacing – perfect. Second attack point – perfect. Now, for the cairns and time to head off the path. I knew where I was on the map, took a bearing to the cairn and off we marched, bouncing our way across the heather. Well, Buster bounced, I kind of stumbled, wobbled and muttered under my breath as I soon realised that short legs and heather don’t necessarily get on well together. I eventually reached my target but was disappointed to find I was out by about 50m. Doubled checked I was at the right point, took a bearing for the next Cairn and off we went again. Reached the Cairn on time/distance but what’s this – it’s the wrong Cairn! Had ended up at the neighbour of the one I thought I was heading to. Undeterred I took another bearing to find the next Cairn, which was over a convex summit and off we went. And went, and went, and went… No Cairn, or at least not on the route I was taking. More to the point, no reference points either. I knew how far I thought I’d travelled and checking the map could see there should be a path not far away so took a bearing, measured distance and sure enough hit the target spot on. So what had happened with the Cairn?
Feeling a bit confused as to why I had missed my mark I headed back up the path to a known point, took another bearing to the elusive Cairn and headed off. I’d estimated the time and distance and so was horrified to realise that I was nowhere near the target but had somehow ended up way up the hill in some very boggy, tufty grass and with no recognisable features to boot! What on earth was going wrong? At this point I was tired, confused and wanted to stomp my feet like a big kid but Buster kept on smiling and wagging his tail at me – at least he was having fun! I didn’t seem to be having any problems finding out where I was or escape routes back to main paths but I just couldn’t hit those *** Cairns. After 4 hours of wandering around in almost circles we’d both had enough and decided to head off to the campsite before the rain set in.
I didn’t have a good night – torrential rain, thunder, lightning, getting spooked by my reading material (Joe Simpson’s ‘Water People’!) - Buster and I finally abandoned the tent and book for the safety of the car. As the rain eventually eased off we packed up camp and headed back to Dunkery.
I was determined to figure out what had gone wrong the day before. As time passed by the weather began to close in, the winds picked up and finally, after we had been roaming around for 2 hours I’d had enough. I just couldn’t figure it out. The day had started well, hitting targets and finding my way around and then it all went pear-shaped again. Then, as I walked back to the car, Buster pulling at the lead and map flapping under my arm I wondered what could be causing the problem. I had a lovely new map, laminated of course, and had folded it over to show my target area. Folded it over. Hmm. Could that be the problem? On Preseli, there had been lots of stones and rocks to rest the map on to take readings, on Exmoor there is mainly heather so I’d been holding a heavily folded map with one hand (dog lead in the other) – could this be where the problem lay? If the map wasn’t flat could I be veering off due to creases, dips etc in the surface? It’s a possibility I suppose, that and being in a more complex terrain. Think I’ll section out the map, keep practising at home with a local site and then come back in a few weeks time to give it another go. Will follow the same route and see how I go.
The adventure has begun!
Who am I and where did it all begin?
This is me. Sturdy Girl. Lovingly named by my big brother many years ago…
It all started with a broken ankle. For the first time in many years I was housebound, trapped in a non-supporting cast, looking longingly at the outside world and yearning to be out there. But it was winter, wet and cold and apart from an occasional hobble around the cul-de-sac where I lived in Somerset I was stuck.
Now I’m not grumbling. During my enforced retreat I had a choice – fight it or accept it – so I did the latter and took the time out as a much needed retreat in which to reassess life. I was in a failing relationship, a dead-end job and, as I discovered at the hospital, surprisingly overweight. So I took stock, learnt to meditate and listened to my heart. And all the time it was telling me what I already knew – I loved to walk. I loved to be outside in the open air, discovering new places to venture and to bond with my natural surroundings. Only now, the feelings were intensified ten-fold. And no, it wasn’t just because I couldn’t do it – it was the message I’d been ignoring for some time. It had taken many years to realise that when I was out walking, with my beloved dog, Buster, by my side, that I was happy –truly happy! As soon as the cast came off I persuaded my partner to take me to the nearby beach at Berrow. With its wide expanse of hard sand it was the perfect playground for re-training my foot. It felt so good to be moving again and to feel the fresh breeze on my face and to cast my eyes across the open landscape. A priority was to make sure the foot began moving naturally again and regained its strength and flexibility, and what better than soft sand dunes to aid that very purpose? Combined with swimming and a conscious effort to be out and about again it wasn’t long before I started taking regular walks around Cheddar, Priddy and Glastonbury with a couple of good friends and my faithful dog.
“Great!” I hear you say, and so I thought. But here I am, a year later, facing a greater challenge – that of an aspiring hill walker, eager to learn but seemingly isolated. “Why is this?” you ask. Well..it goes something like this.
The relationship which was failing, well, failed. The job which was dead-end – ended and my beautiful Mendips were replaced with the flatlands of Essex. In a space of a few months my whole life had been turned upside down. I lost my home, my job, my hills and my best friend – my mad mutt, Buster. But what I did find was that my passion for walking, my dreams of reaching the summits of Snowdon, Ben Nevis, the High Atlas and countless other places were still as strong as ever. But how does a suddenly single, 30-something, aspiring hill walker get her first foot on the ladder, or, should I say, ascent?
Now, I could book onto a holiday, but as you will all know, independent living is not cheap and limited leave time from work means that many of the trips I would like to join are not within my budget or time-scale. I will, I am sure, be able to join one such group a year and although I’m sure it will be great fun and beneficial, much like fast food, it will only fill a temporary gap and leave me wanting more.
I’ve checked out the local ramblers, but sadly many of their walks are on weekdays, and the occasional weekend walk always seems to clash with something else, and previous experience of other ramblers groups seems to suggest a ‘full steam ahead’ approach with little time for enjoying the surroundings. I contacted the local hill walking group but received a less than motivational response which was kind of along the lines of ‘we are for serious long distance walkers’ – i.e. not overweight novices.
So, what to do? Like so many aspects of my life so far, I am faced with a choice. I can either ignore my passion and wait until I find someone/a group which will take me along and have the patience and understanding to help a novice or I can take the plunge and go out there and do it anyway.
And guess what – that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Over the next few months I am embarking upon a journey of discovery, experience and fun. I’ll be building up my walking experience, increasing distance, traversing different terrain and taking appropriate courses to ensure that I remain safe and healthy.
Each week I’ll post a brief update on progress including a look at related books I might have bought/read, exhibitions or lectures attended and maybe even TV programmes which may have inspired me or thrown up questions. Each month I’ll give a full update of my adventures as I move closer to my dreams.
I’m out there now – will you join me?
First solo walk
4.5 miles that felt like a million
I’ve added an additional feature to my rucksack. A personal alarm. A bit like a girlie hand grenade, pull the pin and it emits a deafeningly high pitched siren. I kind of figured if I ever had to use it, the best that can happen is any potential unpleasant sort would leg it or, at worst, they’d be deafened for a brief moment allowing me an opportunity to hobble off at great speed. I also figured it might be handy at deterring any unwanted attention from my least favourite animals – cows! I’ve already had a few close encounters with obviously niggly bovines in Somerset and can’t say I enjoyed the experience!
At the perimeter of Hadleigh Country Park (Essex) I had my first sense of anxiety. Suddenly, I had moved away from the open path, where I had passed fellow walkers, joggers, cyclists etc, to a wooded area where visibility was obstructed. I took a breath, focused and stepped over the hurdle into the country park. I felt like queen of the woods. All that stood between me and my target now was a field and…..cows! The notice pinned to the fence warned that not only were there cows, but a welcoming bull, who might just want to say hello. I could feel the blood drain from my face and my pulse quickened as I stared at the beasts that lay before me.
After a time I eased myself over the stile, and slowly began to edge my way along the path, trying to appear confident, alarm grasped firmly in my hands. The castle ruins were now within easy reach and I began to relax. With each step I took felt my confidence in my own ability growing. And then I was there, standing atop the hill, gazing down at the Essex coastline and enjoying a much needed drink of cool water. I felt…elated. It was only a small triumph, but I’d done it.
Walking back down I thought about the beautiful painting Constable made of Hadleigh Castle, my destination on this walk. Wonder what he would have made of the views today?
Motivated by this little venture I have upgraded some of my basic kit, to include a high visibility, light weight backpack and integral drinking system (being slightly overweight means drinking more which also, unfortunately, means having to find a few more bushes), and the staff at Blacks, Fenchurch Street must be thanked for their help and patience in choosing my pack. Greater thanks must also go to the helpful staff at Field and Trek in Covent Garden who took the time to explain different walking boots to me, measured me up, talked about my ankle and muscular injury and ensured I had suitable boots and insoles to fit my needs. I guess the old boots from Lidl’s can now be relegated to the bin (or the charity shop) and I can put my best foot forward (literally).
Up to 6 miles!
Never climb up anything you can’t get down…
Rang my route and estimated return time through to my backup team (Mum!) and then prepared to head off. Just before leaving I thought I’d check that the new hydration system was working and spent the next 10 minutes battling with the drinking tube trying to figure out how the blessed thing worked. I was fast beginning to wish I’d stuck to my bottle when I gave the stopper a final tug and was rewarded by an unexpected shower of cold water as I hit gold and water gushed everywhere! Had to laugh – and dry myself down, then finally closed the door and hit the road.
Was nearing the halfway point of my walk when I had a battle with a steep incline of muddy clay and sand which was preventing me from reaching my ‘summit’. Pondering over the dilemma of how to get back down from the top I learned two valuable lessons.
Lesson one – never climb up anything if you don’t know how to get back down!
Lesson two – its not how far you walk (or climb), it’s the experience you have on the way. And if you get to a certain point where you know you’ve pushed yourself to your current ability, but to continue forwards would be to put yourself into a situation for which are not prepared, then why bother? If you don’t reach that summit, marker etc does it really matter if you’ve had a great time on the way, seeing, experiencing and feeling as you go. So, unless it’s going to kill you, learn to say ‘enough’ and enjoy what you’ve already had and know when to turn back. If I had been content to do the same today I would have left that hilltop with thoughts of the view on my mind and not the difficulties I endured by pushing myself unnecessarily, suffering slippery slopes and muddy bottoms in my obsession to reach the top. I know I have already shared with you my dream of walking up Ben Nevis and this is still my goal, but I’d like to think that when I do get there, reaching the summit will not be the be-all-and-end-all, but enjoying its ragged beauty as I try.
Returning home, I was glad to kick off my very muddy boots – but at least they now look like walking boots – and deal with aching feet. The Lowa TC boots are great; lightweight, breathable and offering just the right amount of ankle support, and teamed with the Superfeet insoles my feet were supported and cushioned well on the mud, grass and concrete. The water system was a welcome addition to the backpack. I know I don’t normally drink anywhere near enough water (which I’m working on) and so being able to take small sips regularly without effort meant that I found it easy to maintain fluid levels.
I’ve done a navigation course!
Wow! What a fantastic couple of days …
I had booked my navigation course after spotting an advertisement in the mag and, assured by some friendly emails I’d received from the training centre, felt certain of an interesting time.
Bright and early, well, about 10am actually, Wil from Hillwalking Wales (www.hillwalking-wales.com), was smiling his way towards me outside the onsite classroom. Warm and welcoming, I felt immediately at ease, which is just as well when you’re about to head off into unknown territory with a complete stranger! We started by spending time discussing contours, attack points, handrails, ticks (not the bloodsucking kind!), true north, magnetic north, grid north…phew! The old brain was spinning faster than a compass near a mobile phone. Actually, everything was explained clearly, slowly and in easy to digest pieces and before we set off for the hills – sorry – mountains – I felt I had a good grasp of what lay ahead – literally.
Backpack and gaiters on and it was no rest for the wicked – let’s get down to navigation. For the next 4 hours I was set a series of tasks using only an Ordnance Survey Map, a compass, some toggles, a stopwatch and a speed chart – oh, and a blade of grass or two! Wil patiently waited for me whilst I set the map (got it the right way round), took a bearing (which way to go), estimated how long it should take and finally headed off to the various ‘targets’. There is a cunning system called ‘aiming off’ which comes in handy if you happen to miss your mark – honest, Wil, it was deliberate! No, seriously, throughout the day I received what can only be described as top-notch instruction which was also fun and insightful, just how training should be. It was great fun working our way towards the summit, taking time out to watch skylarks, admire the dramatic, rolling landscape littered with ancient cairns and burial mounds, and even do some scrambling until we reached the trig point at the top of Foeldrygon.
Although we joked about it being the top of the world – to me it was just that. I’d just walked and navigated my way through my first real hillwalk and it was great. Windswept and sun kissed, it was fantastic. Could have stayed up there for hours, but after a few compulsory tourist-type photos we had to head down and back to the van.
On the second day we headed off to Foel Cwmcerywn, Preseli’s highest summit. From the start I was given targets to navigate towards as we worked our way up towards the trig point. It was another bright warm day, and after spending the previous evening with a storming headache due to excessive grinning and a spot of squinting, I donned the sunglasses, grabbed the compass and set off. We double checked our pacing and timing as well as strategies as we meandered up the grassy slopes, taking in the majestic skyline – dark shadows of the hills silhouetted against the low autumn sun. Lunch was taken at a disused quarry and the beauty of the landscape was so overpowering that we sat, for the most, in silence gazing at the peaks, watching kestrels riding the thermals and wild horses running free in the distance. Wasn’t often that we were silent throughout the course, but at this moment, in this place, the hills almost demanded it.
[Pic 4]
Lunch done we pushed on to the summit and that was almost it for me and my navigation this time around. The rest of the route was walking along the ridge path (sorry, ‘hand railing’) and although we took bearings and worked out timings, it was plain sailing all the way back. It was strange to be walking without having to think about how many steps I’d done, had I re-set the watch, were we about to walk over a ledge….? The views were spectacular and we even had the good fortune to walk near a herd of wild ponies, grazing on the heather and mosses. Although we’d been on the move for hours, I still didn’t want to come off of that mountain, it just felt so good.
Before I started on this course I knew very little about navigation and how to read a map. At the end of the second day I felt confident that I could successfully and safely plan routes, find bearings, reach targets and work out where I am on a map in emergencies. I could estimate the distance I wished to travel, how to take in to account variations to pace and timings due to ascents/descents but more importantly, I’d learned that the best way to reach a summit (or a target point!) isn’t always by taking the most direct route. If we had done that heading out to Foel Cwmerwyn I would never had experienced the beauty and tranquillity of the quarry. So, when I’m planning future routes, I’ll be looking out for those features in the landscape and taking time to visit them. After all, it’s not just all about reaching summits now – is it?
Alone in the Preselis
Trying to remember my new nav skills
Despite aching legs, I headed off onto the Preseli’s on my own. It had been great having Wil’s company, as well as tuition, for the past couple of days but now I was back to being on my own and time to find out if I really had taken in as much as I thought I had on the course. My route was circular and would begin where I had started out on Saturday, near the approach to Foeldrygon. Taking the bridleway I headed off towards Carn Gyfrwy and Carn Menyn, legendary source of the world-famous Bluestones, as used at Stonehenge. This first leg of the route was very straight and uncomplicated so I practised my timing and target setting whilst ‘hand railing’ (following) the boundary wall. As I moved closer to my first ‘attack point’ I had to take a few steps backwards in awe of the landscape that was unravelling around me. Dark fingers of rock stretched into the skyline like a starburst of granite as the valley below stretched out under their silent gaze. To the right of the bridleway, ancient cairns watched me pass as I picked my way through the moss to the sacred stones. Wil had told me about a special stone, known as ‘Aslan’s Table’ which could be found nestling among the boulders, if you took the time to find it - and find it I certainly did. There was something about it that I felt quite drawn to and felt happy to spend time just sitting in its presence, soaking up the atmosphere of the place and enjoying the sense of space and tranquillity.
But there was so much more to come as I took in Bwlch Ungwr, Carn Bica, Carn Goedog, Carn Breseb, Carnalw, Carn Ddafad-las and then back towards the original start point. I was out and about for 5 hours and applied everything I had learnt over the past couple of days, including relocating when I became so absorbed by the surroundings I lost track of where I was, and when the dark rain clouds rolled across the rocky outcrops I knew I’d be O.K. The only mistake I made was not taking enough fluids and, probably, food at my stops because when the rain did arrive I was feeling tired and a little wobbly which did result in one brief encounter with the ground as a heather root got the better of me. It wasn’t serious and I had to laugh at myself, but it could have been. I should have recognised my own signals earlier on and drunk a little more water or eaten another goodie from the fantastic lunch Jim at Clynfyw had provided. As it was, I’d pushed myself and that was the result. Diagnosis made, I took shelter in an ancient cairn, pulled on the waterproofs, tucked into sandwich and some dried fruits and had a rest until the heaviest rain had passed. Feeling revived I checked my location, took a bearing and headed back to the bluestones. I had planned on finishing my route via the summit of Foeldrygarn but knew I was tired, had had a great walk and had nothing to prove by forcing myself up a final summit just to say I’d done it. By my calculations (I’m sure you’ll tell me if I’ve got it wrong, Wil!) I had walked 9.3km, had taken in around 405m of ascent and the highest point was Carn Bica. More importantly I had enjoyed every minute of it. So enough was enough and I happily bounced along the wet grass all the way back to the car as the rain began to fall again and a rainbow reached across the hill fort as I walked away from one of the most magical places I have ever been.