9th July My Own Private Hell I Know

After a 6 mile walk-in to the foot of the hill, I could have just eaten my Tesco mackerel in tomato sauce and gone home, but now the slow climb to pointlessness had to begin. One Gortexed soon-to-be-father-for-the-second-time above me in the mist and driving rain, and two non-descript figures below, each lost in their own private world of sweat and muscular pain. The trudging upwards in mud followed the seemingly endless line of a rusting fence long since useless as a barrier for sheep.

It's difficult to explain the motivation behind hillwalking to oneself on a day such as this, especially if one knew what to expect. Two questions plague the mind; why am I doing this, and how much further can it possibly be now? Or rather when is this going to end?

After what seemed like the best part of a day the gradient plateaued near the summit and we were rewarded with a stronger wind in which to crouch down and eat.

On the descent the sun did come out for a while and everything looked about as green as things could ever be...

"Nothing fades faster than the memory of physical pain." This explains not only why hillwalking can seem enjoyable in retrospect but also why women would choose to give birth more than once...