Martin had called me the evening before to
confirm that it was on and that he wanted to leave at about 8:30
if I could get there by that time. He advised that I should bring
my Wellington boots as well as a packed lunch. If he hadn't
dropped that into the conversation I would probably have
forgotten all about food for the day. A mad scrabble around the
fridge and cupboards saw me putting together a packed lunch of a
couple of bags of crisps, some mini packs of Maltesers and some
cheese sandwiches laced with whatever was left in the bottom of a
bottle of garlic and herb dressing left over from the summer.
The alarm woke me at 6:30 and I leapt into action stumbling
downstairs and slowly making a cup of coffee interrupted part way
through by the noise and having to look out of the window at the
torrential rain that was beating down. I drank my coffee while
searching the different teletext pages looking for the best
weather forecast I could find. They were pretty much all the same
and that wasn't good. The thought did cross my mind that I could
always phone Martin and say I wasn't able to go but figured that
wouldn't be right. I decided instead that I would take not only
my Wellingtons but also the bright green rubberized waterproofs
that I had stored away for a rainy day. I made my thermos of
coffee packed my rucksack and then returned to my bedroom for my
wardrobe crisis. I didn't know what to wear. Whatever I decided
on was probably going to end up being wrong so, since it was
going to be cold it seemed easiest to wear everything.
By half past seven I was out of the house and briskly marching up
to the bus stop feeling quite warm in the cold, damp morning air
but feeling a little silly carrying my Wellingtons, which
wouldn't fit in my rucksack and looking a bit fatter than normal.
The bus came by quarter to eight and having paid the £2.20
single fare I was soon seated and on my way. I spent at least the
first ten minutes of the journey convinced that a heinous mistake
had been made and that I had been overcharged. The stop after the
one I wanted was Cribbs Causeway where I had gone a couple of
days earlier from Kingswood and a return ticket had cost me
£2.10! I soon overheard some other passengers being charged
similar amounts and concluded it was just one of those crazy
public transport type things. That together with the rain water
sloshing backwards and forwards on the inside of the window
rubber threatening to drip all over me as the bus stopped and
started managed to take my mind off the conundrum. A strange
diversion around Queens Road was forced upon us because it seemed
that a giant crane was being put together by smaller ones like a
monster Meccano set down the middle of the road. The diversion
gave us all a glimpse of an unknown world as we passed a
launderette all packed with groups of chatting people. Would my
quality of life be better without a washing machine I wondered. I
imagined trying it out by pretending.... but what if they found
out I had one!!
Only a little wetter than when I set out it wasn't long before I
was getting off and heading off on the short walk to Martins
house. I arrived to find the front door ajar and everything
pretty much in hand. Martin had readied the Land Rover and was
more or less ready to leave. 
After a quick
coffee we were on our way past all the signs that warned that
later today the road would be shut for essential bridge works.
Passing under the M5 Avonmouth bridge towards the motorway it
became pretty clear that some work was most definitely essential
and as soon as possible. Two of the huge bridge supports were not
connected to the floor and were actually hanging in mid air! I
had done this sort of thing recently to a wall in my house. In a
desperate attempt to remedy a rising damp problem on a
load-bearing wall I had chiseled out a brick at a time and
inserted a damp proof membrane before re cementing each brick
back in place. It took me weeks and since the house is still
standing I suppose it was successful. Assuming the bridge to be
the same I wondered why the original builders hadn't thought of a
rising damp problem given after all that it does stand on the
banks of the tidal Severn estuary spanning the mouth of the river
Avon. A predominance of much dampness, generally rising.
We were soon on the motorway and roaring along in a deafening
noise at about 60mph heading toward the new Severn crossing. The
old bridge, which I have grown up with, seems to invite you to
cross it by sitting there large in the distance for some time as
you approach. The new one somehow hides and leaps out at you. All
of a sudden we were on it and heading out across the water toward
the opposite shore. The views all around were clear for miles and
some breaks in the cloud allowed shafts of sunlight through to
lay highlights as a draw to the eye.
Over the bridge and funneled into one of the vast expanse of
tollbooths that stretched out like a net to catch the passing
flow. £4.20 of Martin's money paid and we were off again.
Roaring along as fast as the strong headwind would allow, Martin
chain-smoked his pre made roll your own cigarettes as we headed
for the agreed meeting place, .a lay-by I knew not where. Since I
was just along for the ride I had the luxury of really not caring
where and was happy to let my mind wander as the scenery rolled
by and Martin concentrated on the driving.
We were soon pulling off the road into the lay-by as I expressed
suitable admiration and as Martin congratulated himself on having
arrived within two minutes of the agreed rendezvous. As we drove
down the lay-by road between the lorries we came across a small
caravan type trailer that, as indicated by its brightly painted
sides, was used as a traveler and truckers snack bar. No one was
near it and yet it was wide open since the front serving hatch
door was lying in the road in front of it. As we passed we could
just make out trays of unbroken eggs on a counter inside together
with some other stock. We debated whether or not the wind could
have opened it up but soon came to the conclusion that someone
must have broken into it perhaps during the night. We ended up
debating capital punishment and whilst I thought that was a
little extreme for such a crime I appreciated the arguments.
Martin called Tony on his mobile phone to be told that they would
be there within a few minutes. True enough before Martin had even
finished his next cigarette, looking in his rear view mirror he
announced they were coming. Soon pulling up behind us was a
newish, left hand drive, green army camouflaged, short wheel base
land rover with white 'SFOR' lettering on the doors. The troops
had arrived! Tony got out with his friend Mick and cheery
introductions were done. Some bonding small talk mostly about off
road vehicles and how Mick had been in the army and driven lots
of them and then we were ready to go. Off we went in convoy with
Martins sand coloured land rover leading the way with something
like thirty five years age difference between the vehicles
although in those thirty five years it seemed as though little
change had been made to the design.
I busied myself daydreaming as Martin drove, idly watching fields
and villages pass by in a blur. In the middle of the countryside
a man was jogging around a field. Far from any civilization
another man was jogging down a country lane. Either these people
were very fit or there was no public transport to speak of at all
in this part of Wales.
We drove parallel with the river Usk, over to our right across
the field, fast flowing white water over brown not quite in
flood. And then to our left a canal with a bridge over it and
Martin saying see the tunnel and oh dear someone's gone over
there as we passed by the fenced off knocked down wall. The canal
ran under the hill over which we drove. Without a towpath this
was the real thing where boatmen once lay on their backs atop
their boat and walked the length of it as the horse was taken
round and over the top.
All of a sudden without hesitation displaying his familiarity
with the area Martin turned abruptly left and started to head off
up the narrow lane that climbed the hill. A quarter of a mile or
so ahead the old resident of an isolated house had decided to get
his car out of its awkward parking space and was reversing it
onto the road in front of us. We continued driving towards him
and slowed down only as we got closer. Obviously suddenly seeing
the intimidating sight of two Land Rovers filling his mirror he
quickly decided almost in a panic to put his car back in his
drive so that we could pass. I wanted to stop and agree that
isn't that always the way. No traffic for months and then the
minute you want to go somewhere you get stuck in a jam! Typical.
Carrying on up the road we were climbing at quite a rate. Before
long the lane degenerated into a heavily potholed farm track.
Views across to distant hills and the valley below began to open
up as the hedges disappeared and trees began to thin. Forking
right at a signpost indicating the left hand route to a
farmhouse, we soon came to a gate. Knowing my place I leapt out
undid the locking bar and flung it back so that the vehicles
could get through. I was relieved at my post by Mick who was
going to shut the gate behind us so as if in a relay race I ran
back to Martins Land Rover and got back in. Sheep were gathered
on either side of the track and watched us pass by seemingly
uninterested as they chomped on the hay that had obviously
recently been replenished and licked at the strange mineral balls
that had been placed in the specially designed plastic
dispensers. We soon saw not far away to our left what we assumed
was a farmer tending to the feed and doing the replenishing. It
seemed strange to see the vehicle he was using to do the job.
Difficult to see the exact make from a distance but it was
clearly a shiny newish four-wheel drive of the type more familiar
with a supermarket car park. Something of an unusual choice, I
thought, since surely a shiny paint job and body coloured plastic
bumpers wouldn't stand the harsh test of a farmer's time.
On up the track we climbed and soon we were starting to do the
'real thing'. Few people would describe what we were now driving
along as a road. Only seasoned off roaders perhaps. It was to me
simply a couple of ribbons of rubble scratched out of the course
grass around the side of the hill. Hundreds of feet below in the
distance a river snaked along the valley floor. There was
precious little between us and it and here and there the uneven
tracks would twist independently up and down making the car lean
tortuously over demanding that we look through the drivers door
window seemingly straight down to where we might stop if we did
actually tumble. Experience had given Martin a feel for what was
and what was not an acceptable lean but I was less sure. Every
now and then my stomach would clench in unison with other bits of
me, as I was sure my time had come. I wouldn't have been quite so
worried if the car had some form of roll cage but it was quite
clear that since it was little more than a glorified soft top,
save for a little glass, metal and fiberglass, if we did roll
over we would without doubt both be squished flat. Fantasies of
judging it perfectly and opening the door and leaping out at the
last moment were comforting but quite ridiculous. It occurred to
me that one of the least attractive parts of such an outcome
would be my embarrassment. Whoever had to clear up the mess would
find out that I was wearing a hat, boots, gloves, a coat, three
shirts, two pairs of socks, underwear AND Damart thermal long
johns!!! The humiliation.
Onwards and upwards the Land Rovers slowly scrabbled. Birds
circled below us as I bounced around on my seat, hanging onto the
steel bulkhead in front of me, my hands numb with the cold of the
metal or maybe with the anxious, vice like grip. With a little
relief we suddenly popped up over a slope and were presented with
a rolling grass covered hilltop over which the track was cut,
disappearing into the distance.
Here was a good place to
have a quick breather, take stock and enjoy the view. I had some
difficulty opening the door and soon found out it was because of
the wind blowing against it. It was blowing a gale up there and
yet the sun was out and it looked beautiful. Martin also got out
but didn't at first realise how windy it really was because he
was slightly sheltered by the Land Rover. As he walked out of its
protection the wind took it's chance and to his horror, stole his
hat from his head. Luckily it fell behind Tony's Land Rover and
Martin was able to catch up with it before it was lost to some
distant hungry sheep forever. We briefly chatted, the drivers
sharing notes on their ascent, and looked at the panoramic view
of the far off valley and the more distant hills, some wearing a
hint of snow glistening in the sun. Martin said he couldn't tell
how high we were because he couldn't get his mobile GPS device
working. Damn I thought. Damn, damn, damn!!!
Gosh it was cold. We all got back into the Land Rovers. It was
freezing up there. The terrible wind chill just tore away our
body heat in an instant. Sat inside in the relative warmth
feeling very cold I felt a quiet respect for the two walkers we
could see in the distance disappearing over the hill. One day I
will try walking over hills with a tent on my back but that day
will have to be a lot warmer than this.
We were soon on our way again this time over much muddier ground.
Now the trouble with muddy ground is that heavy vehicles with big
tires and careless drivers can make quite a groove in soft earth.
As soon as a muddy groove develops, water collects in the groove
and if that water can run off down a slope the erosive power of
water will make the groove much deeper. It doesn't take much for
such a groove to then become undriveable and a different way has
to be found around it. It is clear that given enough careless
traffic and the right circumstances, whole swathes of the
countryside can be turned into an unusable, impassable, furrowed
mess. I can well understand landowners' objections. Up on the top
of that hill this was starting to happen and the tracks of 'less
responsible' drivers who had made their own tracks off the main
track were pointed out to me.
The main track had become quite deep and in places was so full of
water that there was little indication of how deep it was. We
soon came to a huge sump of water, which only the brave or
foolish would drive into. Leaving the main track we took to the
virgin ground alongside and made our new route around the
obstacle rejoining the main track further along. At one point we
were stopped by what can only be described as a sinkhole that had
opened up in the right hand wheel furrow. We all got out and
wandered around the top of the hill looking for any rocks and
stones that we could find that would fill it up enough to drive
over. We were soon on our way again congratulating ourselves, as
though any damage we had done in passing was cancelled out by
this bit of repair work. It wasn't long before we were off the
hilltop and were starting to descend on the other side and were
back on more rocky surfaces. This was less comfortable with all
the jolting, but rather more predictably driven over, despite the
fact that there was so much water running through the rocks that
the track often looked more like a stream than any sort of
drivable route.
Seemingly in the middle of nowhere as the track went amongst a
stand of trees we came upon some walkers. There they were
presumably trying to get away from it all walking the hills out
amongst the peace and quiet of nature and what should happen? Up
there of all places. They had to stop and stand to one side as a
couple of Land Rovers roared and rattled by with the occupants
happily waving at them.
No wonder hill walkers and off roaders often don't get on. They
must have thought we were a bunch of crazies. Then again I guess
we were thinking the same about them.
As the rubble turned once more into something recogniseable as a
track we passed a ruined house and then entered what appeared to
be a tunnel of trees and hedges. Alongside the track the old
stone walls were heaped in a state of disrepair and between and
behind them grew the trees and bushes who's branches enclosed us
but it was the colour that was so beautiful. The most luscious
green that one could imagine. Everything was covered in bright
green mosses. Everything. Every stone, every trunk, every bough.
I was tempted to demand that we stop and take photos but we were
soon driving on and I wasn't too sure who else would share my
enthusiasm for moss.
We soon stopped at a convenient point to relieve ourselves and to
plot our next move since through the next gate we would be back
on 'iron' roads. It was agreed that Mick would map read and Tony
would lead the way past the Taf Fechan reservoir and on to the
start of the next route that we were going to follow which was to
be the Sarn Helen Roman road. This seemed quite reasonable to me
since I supposed that having driven in the army, Mick was an
expert at map reading. This turned out to be pretty much the case
and we were soon delivered to a lake near an old castle, actually
a featureless mound of earth, which was near where we could join
the track.
It was agreed that here was a good place
to stop and grab a sandwich and a coffee from our packed lunches
before continuing. The sun reappeared and at the same time in the
distance we were treated to the sight of light snow flurries
blowing in through the valleys and onto a white sprinkled
hilltop.
Suitably refreshed we pulled off the road and up onto Sarn Helen.
After a brief muddy start the track joined a farm track that was
in really quite good condition and safe so I asked Martin if I
could see what driving the Land Rover was like. Obviously
concerned for his pride and joy he nevertheless consented and I
was soon sat in the drivers seat looking embarrassed after having
stalled it trying to pull away. I had another go or two and
eventually managed to get moving. What a vehicle! I had never
before driven anything like it. Agricultural is the best
adjective I can think of for the foot pedals. The steering, which
gave me the biggest surprise, was not unlike that of a boat.
Eventually the car would follow whichever way you had turned the
steering wheel. Keeping it in a straight line was an art form as
it wandered from side to side. As the ground became a little
rougher I learned how if you take your feet off the pedals the
diesel and low range gearbox would happily climb up a rough rock
strewn slope almost effortlessly at tickover. As the ground grew
rougher still I learned that Martin had had enough of being a
passenger! I couldn't blame him. I really wasn't totally in
control. I happily swapped back over.
As we began to climb further it became very clear that this was
very much a different type of route than the one we had done
earlier. It was much more steep and rocky. Again with amazing
views all around and below, the photo opportunity was
irresistible. I leapt out and ran along in front trying to take
suitably impressive photos of extreme axle twists and the like
but all the while trying to include a view of a valley or a hill
or a stream as well. 
Before getting back in and on our way Martin
spotted a film of oil on the stream that was flowing past the
Land Rover. Something was leaking a little but investigations
confirmed it was nothing major. I took the opportunity to relieve
myself and made a mental note never to assume that the water in
mountain streams is as pure as it looks. Spotting the farm house
in the valley directly below I quickly got back in the Land Rover
and off we lurched and bounced. Eventually we seemed to be
following the course of a small hill stream in a high broad
valley, which stretched off into the distance, providing once
again quite beautiful scenery most familiar to the scattering of
resident sheep. Lurching and bumping along on the rocks, I
suddenly saw a car some little way off to the right overtake us.
Just there adjacent to the track we were following, was a proper
road. Not being a proper off roading fanatic, it is times like
this that make the whole thing seem a little strange to me. Why
on earth were we making such heavy going of it when there was a
proper road in exactly the same place? As if to agree with me the
two routes soon became one and we took to the tarmac. Only a mile
or so later we were turning off the road on the other side and
heading off through a gate and up what appeared to be a forestry
track. I couldn't help but wonder how many times Martin and Tony
had been here since they seemed to know the whole area like it
was home. Cresting the brow of a hill we passed a lone standing
stone and headed out over the hilltop past a father and his two
small children. It seemed strange that children of that tender
age (they looked like toddlers) should be out hill walking so far
from anywhere let alone out in such cold and windy weather at
all! I dared to think of the troubles he would reap when his
children reached their teens.
On and over the hilltop and at the next gate there was a crowd of
people. By the time I got to the gate one of them had started to
try and open it for us although he was having quite some
difficulty because of the missing lower hinge. I thanked him for
his efforts and took over. Having carried the gate open I stood
and had a look at the crowd as the Land Rover pulled through. It
appeared to be some sort of school trip or something similar
judging from their age and at least one of them would remember
this outing for some time to come. His shoe and sock had been
removed and some first aid was being done to what was obviously a
nasty blister. Wherever they were going it was a long way and
that was going to hurt like hell. I shut the gate and got back
into the comfort and warmth of the heated cab thinking that this
off roading lark wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Martin began muttering about rivers and how it was deep last time
and how I should maybe move all our stuff off the floor of the
Land Rover. With increasing apprehension I looked down the track
at the approaching river. We all got out to have a look and it
was decided that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was
fast flowing and at least a foot or so deep with a very steep
rocky slope on the other side but it didn't look too bad. Tony
went first as Martin and I prepared to take photos of any
possible disaster that may have occurred. As it turned out it was
very straightforward and he got through and up the slope with no
real problems at all. Now it was Martin's turn. I offered to take
photos if he wanted them but he thankfully declined. To get the
pictures I would have had to stay on the bank as he drove across
which would have meant I would have had to wade across to join
them. I would have been happy to do it but was probably happier
not to.
Carrying on and eventually back up on more level ground we seemed
to go through lots of standing water which seemed to clean both
Land Rovers off nicely. The track improved and joined some
forestry tracks as it began to rain. Once again displaying his
knowledge of the area Martin shouted to Tony asking if he wanted
to 'go and play'. Tony agreed and off we turned at speed into an
area of woodland criss crossed by gravel tracks, none of which
seemed to appeal to Martin who immediately drove into a shallow
river! Turning right he started driving down the river to see
where it went. Tony followed but it soon became clear, much to my
relief, that there was no way we could possibly drive any
further. We backed out and rejoined a track before parking up
next to each other for a rest, as a rainbow appeared arched above
us in the sunlit rain.
A quick check of the exhaust confirmed
it was loose so Martin took the opportunity to get his tools out
and tighten things up. We sat and drank coffee for a while and
everyone seemed to agree that since it was still early we should
try and do another trail somewhere. Apparently the trouble was,
finding one that was still open and passable. Eventually they
decided that we would take the main roads back to the Talybont
track that we had started with and do the same one in reverse, so
off we set.
The country lane here was quite normal which was more than could
be said for the sheep in the adjacent fields. As we drove past
they all started running towards us and then ran along the fence
behind us until the extent of the field prevented them from doing
so. Sheep in two or three fields acted in the same way. I
presumed they thought we were the farmer but was a little
intrigued as to what it was that the farmer did that made them so
attracted toward him. I hoped it was perhaps that he fed them
well on hay. Further on near a farm house a small boy was playing
with a stick on his own near a barn next to the road. Just past
the barn was what I assumed was his brother on his own in a
field, playing with a rugby ball. I guess as a child growing up
in the isolation of the countryside can be real tough especially
if you don't get on with your brother.
Once again Martin seemed to know where he was and in spite of my
poor map reading we were soon driving along the banks of the Taf
Fechan reservoir and were almost back to the Talybont track when
we were obstructed by a group of teenagers, two girls and two
boys, pushing a car with its hazard warning lights flashing. As
we pulled out to try and pass, one of the boys came running up
asking if we could give them a tow to somewhere or another, I
couldn't make out where. Martin wasn't keen and started trying to
come up with reasons why we couldn't but did offer to let them
make a phone call to someone for help from his mobile. Apparently
that was no good because there was no one they could ring. As
this went on Tony pulled out round and in front and agreed to tow
them somewhere just up ahead so they would not be left in the
middle of nowhere as they were at present but he couldn't take
them far because we were going off road up the hill and had to
meet someone up the top. A bizarre excuse but the teenagers
seemed in a world of their own and didn't seem to doubt it. As
Tony and Mick started attaching the towrope to the car one of the
girls in the back was playing with a knife and was aimlessly
sticking it into the upholstery of the seat. Then a van came down
the road in the opposite direction driven quite slowly by a wild
eyed man with a German Shepherd dog running alongside the drivers
door. For a moment it seemed that we really had slipped into the
twilight zone. Tony towed the car the short distance to the car
park where it was possible to turn round but the car driver
seemed unversed in how to be towed and drove up onto and over the
towrope. They were temporarily unhitched and Mick single handedly
manhandled the car around by pulling on the towrope so that it
could be hitched back up again. It didn't seem to cross any of
their minds to get out and help as Mick pulled them round. Martin
said we would wait where we were while they were gone on the
short tow to nearby houses where Tony felt it was ok to leave
them. Within ten minutes Tony had returned and we all agreed that
something was very strange about the group. The driver never
spoke once, the car was untaxed and unroadworthy, they knew no
one who could help them and they didn't seem to know where they
wanted to go. Happy to leave that strange place we headed back up
the lanes and onto the track.
This time I decided I would try and get
a photo so I asked Martin to drop me off and keep going so I
could get one of the green moss covered lane without a Land Rover
in the middle of it.
I said I would run up behind and catch him up. On
the second press of the shutter release the film was finished so
that was a wasted effort. I started running up the mud covered
lane to catch Martin up and was horrified when turning a bend to
find that he had kept on going and kept on going! By the time I
caught him up I was gasping for breath and was starting to feel
the weakness in my poor old knees. To cap it all he had stopped
in the middle of a puddle larger than the entire Land Rover.
Thankfully as I approached he seemed to realise and inched
forward so I wouldn't run the risk of drowning as well as
collapsing with exhaustion. Round the next bend we were greeted
with the site of Tony's Land Rover parked up, perched on the top
of a large grassy bank in front of the derelict house we had
passed earlier. Why there? Because he could would seem to be as
reasonable an answer as any. Martin drove up the bank nearby and
parked in a stream that was running down next to the house.
Because he could! I climbed out carefully having to straddle the
stream and went for a look at the house as we all took a break.
We had passed many derelict buildings throughout the coarse of
our day and I found it fascinating that people once lived and
worked in these places in simpler, harder times. Having always
lived in a town with all modern conveniences I find it impossible
to comprehend what sort of a life such people had. This house was
nothing but a ruin and yet there was still enough of the ground
floor left to glimpse an imagined world. The three-foot thick
walls. The old entrance porch with it's stone seating perhaps for
removing mud-covered boots. The small windows and low doorway
through which the shepherd's wife may have watched for her
husband to return on a stormy night at lambing time. The great
old fireplace that would have warmed them against the bitter
chill. But there inside all covered in green moss were the
remains of the burned roof timbers. That was how this house had
seen its end.
We were soon back on the track and on our way with Tony leading
the way back up onto the hilltop. A bit of a gap opened between
us as we steadily took our time but then we could see from the
clouds of steam in the distance that Tony had a problem. As we
got closer it was confirmed he was stuck in the mud. No matter
how much he gunned the engine and spun the wheels he wasn't going
to get out of the muddy, watery hole he had driven himself into.
Martin was able to reverse and find a spot where it was possible
to drive out of the deep ruts that we were in and so was able to
drive up past him with the intention of attaching a tow rope and
pulling him on through the hole. Mick managed to climb out of the
window and so was the first on the bonnet of Tony's Land Rover.
Since where he had been sat inside was slowly starting to fill
with muddy water I don't blame him. We got the towrope attached
and the task of lots of revving, pulling, wheel spinning and
splashing began. Unfortunately as Tony started to move forward
the rope began to pull the hitch pin out because we had not re
attached the safety pin so lots of shouting managed to call a
temporary halt to the pull. Unfortunately the tow hitch was now
actually under the water and was not visible so we had to get our
arms into the water and sort it out by feel. The water was
absolutely freezing!! Nevertheless it was soon pinned back in
place and with one good strong pull and a roar of both engines
Tony was out of the water. It was decided that now was a good
time to leave the tracks and go around the upcoming obstacles as
we had on the way down. We all soon stopped to examine a hole in
the tracks we had avoided and congratulate ourselves on the
wisdom of the decision. The hole was so large and the sides so
steep that it seemed quite possible that somewhere at the bottom
of it was an abandoned Land Rover. The day would have been a very
different experience had one us stumbled into that.
We carried on and this time it was my turn to be on the side of
the Land Rover that was leaning over towards the bottom of the
valley with almost all of my weight resting on the door. I was
most happy to soon be back amongst the sheep and on a
comparatively flat piece of track. A few crows were flapping
overhead and then suddenly up ahead a huge bird of prey took to
the air and with one flap of its enormous wings was souring up
over the fir trees and gone. There on the muddy bank ahead was
the carcass of a sheep. Now I hadn't noticed it on the way
through earlier but couldn't believe that it had just happened. I
presumed that it had died of natural causes and the carrion was
fair game for anything that wanted a peck. The prospect of sheep
being plucked off the hills by some huge bird of prey was more
than I could cope with. Surely that couldn't happen! Keeping one
eye skyward just in case and desperately trying to remember how
Alfred Hitchcock's film ended, I shut the last gate, quickly got
back in the Land Rover and we were back on the road and gone. A
few miles down the road at a small lay-by we stopped to say our
goodbyes and then headed off back towards the motorway. At some
roundabout or other Tony turned right and with a wave and a honk
on the horn was gone to drop Mick off.
I felt exhausted and had little conversation on the drive back. I
was aware that my throat was sore either through passive smoking
of all Martins cigarettes or perhaps through trying to shout
above the noise of the Land Rover as we were driving along. It
seemed to have developed several different rhythms all playing in
tune or several different tunes all playing in rhythm but
whichever, it seemed to be rattling along quite happily, as was
I, content with the day.
Thank you Martin.
If you've somewhere to go you'll want a road that'll go there,
but if you want to go nowhere then off road is best!
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