In article <[email hidden]>, Paul Rooney <[email hidden]> writes
Quoted message said:My interest in this arcane 'sport' began many moons ago after a night in the pub, when I attempted
to walk home by the most direct route possible. The tarmac road almost never lies along the line -
so the concept would not appeal to the Dans among you. I subsequently attempted it from other pubs,
and discovered that the obstacles were many and various, and sometimes seasonal and tidal.
Negotiating thorny hedges is not a problem after a certain point has been reached on the path to
alcoholic oblivion, as a kind of anaesthesia takes hold, but fields of maize are an absolute
bugger. Oilseed rape can prove difficult too, and dyes you yellow when in flower. Barbed wire can
be managed with care; certain brooks can be forded or jumped when the moon allows. Potato fields
should never be traversed 'against the grain', so to speak. Other crops can be managed with little
difficulty and their contents used to appease the wife ('Oooh, they're nice sprouts!', or 'Wtf are
these and how am I supposed to cook them?', or 'What pretty blue flowers!'😉 Some farmers aid
progress by fitting their yards with ultra-bright floodlights that come on when you get within a
couple of hundred yards or so, which allows you to step over the rusty sharp things that all farms
specialise in. Eggs are occasionally found. On the fells the sport is equally challenging. Fences -
not much difficulty there. You can quickly assuage any brief feelings of guilt over unintended
damage by reminding yourself that these things are commercial litter. But damage is rare: though
topped with barbed wire, they usually have sufficient footholds in the lower part to let you leap
the top gleefully. Walls deserve more respect - dry stone walls are beautiful and need to be
crossed with care, but they are built to deter sheep, not men, and a way can always be found. Most
pleasure can be had if straightlining is confined to the downhill stretches - a steep uphill
stretch through head-high bracken is exhausting. On many routes a summit-to-valley line is
possible, where crags are not too severe. Scree, boulder fields and steep grass are the order of
the day, and bilberries can be snatched on the rapid slide over the slopes. Once you reach the beck
you can generally leap from boulder to boulder without much ado, or end the line there and adopt a
more normal mode of travel. Or where the line goes directly to the valley road, you may have to
emerge, sweaty and grinning, through someone's garden - the likelihood is increasing that it won't
be a farmer's field, but some holiday-maker's barbecue that you have to gatecrash, literally.
Maintain speed and their shock will too great for any meaningful opposition; they will be left with
the impression that a demented local has paid them a fleeting visit. Well, they might think that if
you're not wearing gaiters or carrying poles. And shout 'All right, la!' as you pass, for this will
linger in their memory, and add colour to their lives.
LOL
BTW Are there no pubs nearer home?
I admire your superior night vision especially leaping from boulder to boulder crossing a beck :-)
--
Bill Grey billboy.co.ukbillboy.co.ukOpen ↗
