Chapter 9: Highs and Lows
May Day morning I found myself outside a rugby club in Swansea, taking pictures of a rather unloved lump of concrete next to some railings beside the car park. S3544 Cefn Hengoed: the first name on my spreadsheet I have absolutely no idea how to pronounce… but by no means the last! Croeso y Abertawe…
Cefn Hengoed wasn’t exactly an example of the beautiful views I was anticipating, but at least the pillar was intact and vertical. A short drive later, and my second Welsh pillar made Cefn Hengoed look glamorous by comparison. S2064 Pen Lan Fach was beside a water tower in Swansea itself, but a very sorry sight greeted me when I arrived there – a scrubby patch of wasteland behind yet more railings was strewn with litter, and the pillar itself looked significantly battered, having been bashed about, uprooted, and robbed of all its metalwork. It barely resembled a trigpoint at all. And to add insult to injury, the thing was covered in broken beer bottles.
Fortunately, the day improved as it went on. S3545 Black Pill took less than five minutes to bag, sat on the edge of a golf course between the beach road and the beach itself, and enjoyed an unusually low-lying view out to sea. S2068 Mumbles Hill stood atop a cliff, accessible via a muddy path leading all the way up the cliffside from the car park below. Sadly, the trees on the edge of the cliff denied me a view of the beach. After a bit of a struggle finding an unobtrusive parking spot, S2063 Clyne Golf Course overlooked a gorse-speckled valley away from the golfers. 11122 Cefn Bryn then provided the first truly exceptional view of the day, sat in its hollow behind a reservoir on a rocky hilltop. A National Trust site, the route to this pillar is well served by a car park and a wide stony track uphill, and the sight of the bay below more than justifies the gentle incline to the top. On another day, Cefn Bryn would be a highlight, but it was followed by S2389 Oxwich (in a clifftop sheepfield, accessed by a woodland trail through carpets of wild garlic), and S2388 Rhossili Down (popular with tourists and hang gliders, as well as concrete-chasing idiots struggling breathlessly up the steep hillside path to see the cliffs and beaches giving way to the vast and empty sea all the way to the horizon), and S2384 Llanmadoc Hill (which shares an impressive view with the sheep and wild horses that inhabit its slopes), and S2383 Ryers Down (more sheep and more stunning views – well, this is Wales after all)… and so it went on.
The sun was on the verge of setting as I left S2072 Penclawdd, grateful that I encountered no other vehicles along a particularly narrow, steep and winding single track road with barely any passing places. I’d made the journey up the M4 in darkness pretty much until I reached the Swansea junction, and I was now faced with making that same journey back under cover of darkness, too. It had been a long day, but such a rewarding one which took in so many impressive coastal views along the way, and – incredibly – every pillar on my ambitiously-compiled list was ticked off. If ever I need to justify my hobby of looking-at near-identical-concrete-blocks, my roadtrip around the Gower Peninsula on a crisp and sunny May Day has left more than enough beautiful images in my brain to make it all worthwhile. This trigspedition will be difficult to top, and it was tempting to leave it all there and go out on a high… but my inner numbers geek piped up and reminded me I was only two trigs shy of 400 – I couldn’t not make that milestone, now. However, the wet summer of 2023 splattered along for a couple of months, and it was July before a break in the weather persuaded me to get back out there once again. I knew wherever I went, it wasn’t going to match the sheer beauty of south Wales. The bar had been raised. Still, I hadn’t quite anticipated how far short of it my next roadtrip would fall.
Lesson Eleven: It’s not just t-shirts you need to take spares of. No-one wants to see your arse hanging out of ripped trousers.
It started so well. After easing myself back into the routine with a quick roadside bag (S2201 West Hill, Wylye), I filmed a celebratory video as I sat among the corn at my 400th pillar, S2212 Fir Hill, gazing out across the golden fields towards the Fovant Badges carved into the chalky hillside on the horizon. I stretched my legs down the lengthy byway and overgrown footpath towards S2211 Sutton Down, and then made my way towards S2221 Castle Ditches, wondering how many more of today’s pillars would shun the numbers 3 through 9. Castle Ditches is a hillfort; I have since learned it is a privately owned one (it did look very neatly mown), but there were no Keep Out signs or other indications on my route from the fieldside footpath to the east. There was only the gate, but I’ve hopped gates before. It was at the end of the track that I believed was a PROW (I have since learned it wasn’t), and whilst there was nothing special about it, it was a particularly new and sturdy metal gate, which required a little more effort than usual to scale. But having scaled it, I nipped straight across the hillfort to the pillar on the far side, took my selfies, and made my way smartly back, to the mild alarm of a few early rising bunnies, who scampered away as I strode back to the gate. My usual trigpointing attire invariably includes a pair of sturdy cargo pants, with plenty of pockets to carry my glasses, car keys, phone, wallets, and so on. All of which weighs them down a bit, but I tie my belt nice and tight so they don’t slip. Usually. I was in mid-climb as I felt them loosen, but I already had the momentum needed to swing my leg over the top, so I carried on with the manoeuvre. Perhaps it was the peacefulness of the hour or the location, but I’ve never heard such a loud or long ripping noise before, and suddenly there was a draught. I landed on the other side of the gate and inspected the damage. I like to think I have a fairly wide vocabulary, and if that’s not evident here, it’s probably because a significant percentage of it is unprintable. But believe me, all of that percentage got aired in that moment as I horrified the ears of every rabbit in the vicinity with a loud and lengthy stream of filthy invective. My *best* pair of trigging trousers was torn asunder from zipper to back pocket. I had a safety pin in my wallet with which I attempted to lessen the exposure of my inner thighs – an exercise in utter futility. Fuming, I limped back along the field to my car, considering my options. I wanted to continue – it was still quite early in the morning and I had half a dozen or more pillars still to bag, and being some way out from home, I wanted to do as much as I could whilst I was out here. And trigpointing is very much a solitary pursuit after all – most days when I do this, I can count the number of people I see on the fingers of one hand. No-one’s going to see me in this state… And no sooner had I had that thought than a cyclist approached in the other direction, having got lost and somehow finding himself on this obscure and narrow path at the edge of a stubbly field. I pulled down my t-shirt as far as I could to hide the torn fabric, even though I wasn’t actually indecent – just embarrassed. He didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss, and after a brief chat, continued on his way. And I thought, you know what, sod it! I came to bag trigs, so bagging trigs is what I’ll do. But from my next trip, there’ll be a spare pair of strides in my car just in case.
And then came S2226 West Knoyle Tumulus. My mind reviewed my online preparations. Pillar sits in a secluded field, accessible from a track behind a wood. Not a PROW, but the chances of my being spotted here are zero. Ripped trousers will not be an issue. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how well you plan these things… to be fair, I was right that I wouldn’t be spotted. And the pillar itself, whilst having a surface layer riddled with tiny cracks, was intact, out in the open, easy to photograph, and had a reasonable view across the valley – nowt wrong with the pillar, and its bracket number made it a desirable one to find as it was part of a run of eight consecutrigs I was hoping to (and ultimately did) complete. But West Knoyle Tumulus is right down there among my least favourite trigging experiences. A normal person, should they have found themselves behind that wood looking at a sea of head height nettles where the path was meant to be, would have gone “Nope” and turned round. I, however, took one look and thought “Battledress”; returned to my car to don my trusty leather coat, and proceeded to hack my way through the nettles. I am an idiot. I figured there’d be a clear bit beyond the bit I was standing on. I figured that all the way. I figured wrong – there wasn’t. The nettles got denser and higher and springier, as they recoiled from the attack of my walking stick time and time again. It was a hot summer day. I was wearing a leather jacket. The sweat poured off me. It’s only a short path – this’ll be over in a minute or two. Nope. Or else there’ll be a spot where I can cut through the wood – it can’t all be that dense… Nope. It was a long, tiring thrash all the way. Occasionally a nettle would spring up where I stood and get the wrong side of my coat, but that didn’t bother me – I was wearing sturdy boots, two pairs of socks, and a tough pair of cargo pants which are more than enough to defend me from a bit of aggressive vegetation. Or at least, they are when they’re not ripped all the way across near the tenderest part of my anatomy. I got stung in places I’ve never been stung. And I wasn’t going to let that be for nothing, so I redoubled my efforts and carried on. It felt like an age before I finally hacked and slashed my way through to the barbed wire fence at the edge of the field. Another unforeseen obstacle, but it was a particularly tatty example, and crossing it was the least of my problems. I found the pillar, took my selfies, and had a quick recce to see if there was an easier way back out of the field. There wasn’t, so back I went, finding to my dismay that most of the nettles I thought I’d knocked down had got right back up again. I thought this would likely go down as my worst ever trigging experience. Turned out it wasn’t even the worst one of the day.
S1514 Bradley Knoll should have been the day’s highlight. My mind reviewed my online preparations. A concealed wooded path leads from a handy layby uphill to the top of a mile long ridge which should then provide an easy, scenic, and solitary walk to the far end, at which I will find a trig with an exceptional view. Again, the pillar itself, whilst having a surface layer riddled with bird poo, was intact, very much in the open, a delight to photograph, and did indeed have exceptional views – nowt wrong with the pillar, and its bracket number made it a desirable one to find as it is particularly low, and is in a range where I have bagged several other pillars, so may also be part of a chain of consecutrigs one day. But Bradley Knoll is also right down there among my least favourite trigging experiences, because about a quarter of the way along the top of the hill was a herd of cattle, many of them calves who were curious about the world around them, with a couple of parents who were very keen to protect the calves from the world around them. I approached them at my normal walking pace, as close to the fence at the side of the field as I could. The fence was surrounded by thick brambles, and unhoppable. I talked to the cows gently and in a calming manner as I approached them, rather too closely for my comfort, and allowed myself a sigh of relief after I’d passed them by. They’re not interested in me, any more than I am in them. They’ve got food in front of them which is far more fascinating. I continued on my way, looking back every few metres to reassure myself that they’d resumed their afternoon feed. One of them hadn’t. It kept staring at me as I walked – DO NOT RUN – calmly – I hope I look calm because I’m not – away. And then it followed me. Not quickly, but quite determinedly. Please let me find a gap in the brambles so I can hop this fence. I looked back. Still following. And now, so were the others. Keep walking; don’t run, but don’t stop, either. Come on, where does this fence end? I want to be on the other side of it, please. Keep going. Because I can’t go back – there’s only one way to go and that’s to the trig at the end. Which is still very far away. I’m tired, my legs are aching, and my thighs are still stinging. Look back – they’re still following, and at a bit of a trot now. Fence still solid behind the brambles – I’ve got no escape. KEEP CALM and carry on. I can’t be charged if my back is to the fence. I hope. Can I? Stay at the edge, and pray there’s a spot I can hop over soon. Still following – they don’t want to let me out of their sight. Damn the bloody trig, I just want a way out now. There’s a gate about a hundred metres up ahead, bisecting the field I’m in. Keep walking – not running – and soon you’ll be… there’s a gate, but the fence beside it is down. They can still follow me past it. Help. I have literally nowhere to go. Still following? Yep. Fence on my right has a wood behind it now. What’s that up ahead? It’s a break in the fence, and there’s a wide muddy path into the wood straight downhill… but the gap is easily big enough for a herd of cattle to follow if they want to. Which way do I go? Are they still behind me? Yes, and at a bit of a run now. If I go straight, they’ve got eyes on me. If I turn downhill, I’m out of view. I went through the gap, and tried to veer left to stay near the top of the hill, off the muddy path, and clinging to each tree trunk I passed. I can’t be charged if I’m up against a tree. I hope. Can I? How far can I go before I find a way out? I was slipping on the muddy earth, impossible to walk briskly in, and heading inevitably downhill. Careering from tree to tree, I was within sight of the bottom of the hill, and the muddy path below and to my right, which ended in an open gate into a grassy field with an overflowing water trough just inside it. From behind a particularly large tree with a low branch that I might be able to climb up if desperate, I paused to catch my breath. I was absolutely knackered. I looked round. There was a rumble of hooves, and a herd of stampeding cattle thundered past at full pelt, down the muddy track, through the gate and into the field, where they pulled up and proceeded to drink from the trough. I waited for a few stragglers to make it into the field, and I broke cover slowly, and slunk off into the wood round the base of the hill. I don’t think they’ve seen me, but how do I get out of here? I don’t mind admitting I could feel my heart beating in my chest, fit to burst with exhaustion and, frankly, terror. The wood gave way to a grassy hillside beside a very sturdy section of that barbed wire fence I’d been the other side of. It led up the hill at oh, so steep an angle. I clung onto it for support, mindful of the spikes, and hauled myself back up the hill, step by tiring step, all the while looking round to see if the herd had followed me again. No sign of them. I was sweating, shaking, breathless, and scared, but KEEP GOING because the only way out now is the way you came in, at the other end of the ridge… at the top of this very steep hill. I damn near crawled up that final section, before the hill levelled out at the summit, at which point there was a gap in the fence I could cross through, and just the other side of that gap… oh yes, I’d almost forgotten, there’s a reason I’m in this pickle, isn’t there? I sat at the base of the trig long enough to recover my breath and get my heart rate back down. And if the cows showed up? I can’t be charged if I’m backed up against the pillar. I hope. Etc. The view was incredible – there was a twinkling in the valley below where someone had hung up rows of CDs on washing lines across their allotment, presumably to scare off the birds. It must have worked, because the trig was covered in evidence of scared birds. Eventually, I took my selfies and set off back across the ridge, with the thought at the back of my mind that the herd might have returned up the muddy track to continue feeding on the hilltop. Mercifully, they hadn’t, and the long walk back was slow and incident-free. I limped back to my car and collapsed in the driver’s seat, shaking uncontrollably. Rips and stings and cattle… I’ve had more than enough for one day. There were other pillars on my list, but frankly, screw you guys, I’m going home. But, like Arnie, I’ll Be Back.
Cefn Hengoed wasn’t exactly an example of the beautiful views I was anticipating, but at least the pillar was intact and vertical. A short drive later, and my second Welsh pillar made Cefn Hengoed look glamorous by comparison. S2064 Pen Lan Fach was beside a water tower in Swansea itself, but a very sorry sight greeted me when I arrived there – a scrubby patch of wasteland behind yet more railings was strewn with litter, and the pillar itself looked significantly battered, having been bashed about, uprooted, and robbed of all its metalwork. It barely resembled a trigpoint at all. And to add insult to injury, the thing was covered in broken beer bottles.
Fortunately, the day improved as it went on. S3545 Black Pill took less than five minutes to bag, sat on the edge of a golf course between the beach road and the beach itself, and enjoyed an unusually low-lying view out to sea. S2068 Mumbles Hill stood atop a cliff, accessible via a muddy path leading all the way up the cliffside from the car park below. Sadly, the trees on the edge of the cliff denied me a view of the beach. After a bit of a struggle finding an unobtrusive parking spot, S2063 Clyne Golf Course overlooked a gorse-speckled valley away from the golfers. 11122 Cefn Bryn then provided the first truly exceptional view of the day, sat in its hollow behind a reservoir on a rocky hilltop. A National Trust site, the route to this pillar is well served by a car park and a wide stony track uphill, and the sight of the bay below more than justifies the gentle incline to the top. On another day, Cefn Bryn would be a highlight, but it was followed by S2389 Oxwich (in a clifftop sheepfield, accessed by a woodland trail through carpets of wild garlic), and S2388 Rhossili Down (popular with tourists and hang gliders, as well as concrete-chasing idiots struggling breathlessly up the steep hillside path to see the cliffs and beaches giving way to the vast and empty sea all the way to the horizon), and S2384 Llanmadoc Hill (which shares an impressive view with the sheep and wild horses that inhabit its slopes), and S2383 Ryers Down (more sheep and more stunning views – well, this is Wales after all)… and so it went on.
The sun was on the verge of setting as I left S2072 Penclawdd, grateful that I encountered no other vehicles along a particularly narrow, steep and winding single track road with barely any passing places. I’d made the journey up the M4 in darkness pretty much until I reached the Swansea junction, and I was now faced with making that same journey back under cover of darkness, too. It had been a long day, but such a rewarding one which took in so many impressive coastal views along the way, and – incredibly – every pillar on my ambitiously-compiled list was ticked off. If ever I need to justify my hobby of looking-at near-identical-concrete-blocks, my roadtrip around the Gower Peninsula on a crisp and sunny May Day has left more than enough beautiful images in my brain to make it all worthwhile. This trigspedition will be difficult to top, and it was tempting to leave it all there and go out on a high… but my inner numbers geek piped up and reminded me I was only two trigs shy of 400 – I couldn’t not make that milestone, now. However, the wet summer of 2023 splattered along for a couple of months, and it was July before a break in the weather persuaded me to get back out there once again. I knew wherever I went, it wasn’t going to match the sheer beauty of south Wales. The bar had been raised. Still, I hadn’t quite anticipated how far short of it my next roadtrip would fall.
Lesson Eleven: It’s not just t-shirts you need to take spares of. No-one wants to see your arse hanging out of ripped trousers.
It started so well. After easing myself back into the routine with a quick roadside bag (S2201 West Hill, Wylye), I filmed a celebratory video as I sat among the corn at my 400th pillar, S2212 Fir Hill, gazing out across the golden fields towards the Fovant Badges carved into the chalky hillside on the horizon. I stretched my legs down the lengthy byway and overgrown footpath towards S2211 Sutton Down, and then made my way towards S2221 Castle Ditches, wondering how many more of today’s pillars would shun the numbers 3 through 9. Castle Ditches is a hillfort; I have since learned it is a privately owned one (it did look very neatly mown), but there were no Keep Out signs or other indications on my route from the fieldside footpath to the east. There was only the gate, but I’ve hopped gates before. It was at the end of the track that I believed was a PROW (I have since learned it wasn’t), and whilst there was nothing special about it, it was a particularly new and sturdy metal gate, which required a little more effort than usual to scale. But having scaled it, I nipped straight across the hillfort to the pillar on the far side, took my selfies, and made my way smartly back, to the mild alarm of a few early rising bunnies, who scampered away as I strode back to the gate. My usual trigpointing attire invariably includes a pair of sturdy cargo pants, with plenty of pockets to carry my glasses, car keys, phone, wallets, and so on. All of which weighs them down a bit, but I tie my belt nice and tight so they don’t slip. Usually. I was in mid-climb as I felt them loosen, but I already had the momentum needed to swing my leg over the top, so I carried on with the manoeuvre. Perhaps it was the peacefulness of the hour or the location, but I’ve never heard such a loud or long ripping noise before, and suddenly there was a draught. I landed on the other side of the gate and inspected the damage. I like to think I have a fairly wide vocabulary, and if that’s not evident here, it’s probably because a significant percentage of it is unprintable. But believe me, all of that percentage got aired in that moment as I horrified the ears of every rabbit in the vicinity with a loud and lengthy stream of filthy invective. My *best* pair of trigging trousers was torn asunder from zipper to back pocket. I had a safety pin in my wallet with which I attempted to lessen the exposure of my inner thighs – an exercise in utter futility. Fuming, I limped back along the field to my car, considering my options. I wanted to continue – it was still quite early in the morning and I had half a dozen or more pillars still to bag, and being some way out from home, I wanted to do as much as I could whilst I was out here. And trigpointing is very much a solitary pursuit after all – most days when I do this, I can count the number of people I see on the fingers of one hand. No-one’s going to see me in this state… And no sooner had I had that thought than a cyclist approached in the other direction, having got lost and somehow finding himself on this obscure and narrow path at the edge of a stubbly field. I pulled down my t-shirt as far as I could to hide the torn fabric, even though I wasn’t actually indecent – just embarrassed. He didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss, and after a brief chat, continued on his way. And I thought, you know what, sod it! I came to bag trigs, so bagging trigs is what I’ll do. But from my next trip, there’ll be a spare pair of strides in my car just in case.
And then came S2226 West Knoyle Tumulus. My mind reviewed my online preparations. Pillar sits in a secluded field, accessible from a track behind a wood. Not a PROW, but the chances of my being spotted here are zero. Ripped trousers will not be an issue. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how well you plan these things… to be fair, I was right that I wouldn’t be spotted. And the pillar itself, whilst having a surface layer riddled with tiny cracks, was intact, out in the open, easy to photograph, and had a reasonable view across the valley – nowt wrong with the pillar, and its bracket number made it a desirable one to find as it was part of a run of eight consecutrigs I was hoping to (and ultimately did) complete. But West Knoyle Tumulus is right down there among my least favourite trigging experiences. A normal person, should they have found themselves behind that wood looking at a sea of head height nettles where the path was meant to be, would have gone “Nope” and turned round. I, however, took one look and thought “Battledress”; returned to my car to don my trusty leather coat, and proceeded to hack my way through the nettles. I am an idiot. I figured there’d be a clear bit beyond the bit I was standing on. I figured that all the way. I figured wrong – there wasn’t. The nettles got denser and higher and springier, as they recoiled from the attack of my walking stick time and time again. It was a hot summer day. I was wearing a leather jacket. The sweat poured off me. It’s only a short path – this’ll be over in a minute or two. Nope. Or else there’ll be a spot where I can cut through the wood – it can’t all be that dense… Nope. It was a long, tiring thrash all the way. Occasionally a nettle would spring up where I stood and get the wrong side of my coat, but that didn’t bother me – I was wearing sturdy boots, two pairs of socks, and a tough pair of cargo pants which are more than enough to defend me from a bit of aggressive vegetation. Or at least, they are when they’re not ripped all the way across near the tenderest part of my anatomy. I got stung in places I’ve never been stung. And I wasn’t going to let that be for nothing, so I redoubled my efforts and carried on. It felt like an age before I finally hacked and slashed my way through to the barbed wire fence at the edge of the field. Another unforeseen obstacle, but it was a particularly tatty example, and crossing it was the least of my problems. I found the pillar, took my selfies, and had a quick recce to see if there was an easier way back out of the field. There wasn’t, so back I went, finding to my dismay that most of the nettles I thought I’d knocked down had got right back up again. I thought this would likely go down as my worst ever trigging experience. Turned out it wasn’t even the worst one of the day.
S1514 Bradley Knoll should have been the day’s highlight. My mind reviewed my online preparations. A concealed wooded path leads from a handy layby uphill to the top of a mile long ridge which should then provide an easy, scenic, and solitary walk to the far end, at which I will find a trig with an exceptional view. Again, the pillar itself, whilst having a surface layer riddled with bird poo, was intact, very much in the open, a delight to photograph, and did indeed have exceptional views – nowt wrong with the pillar, and its bracket number made it a desirable one to find as it is particularly low, and is in a range where I have bagged several other pillars, so may also be part of a chain of consecutrigs one day. But Bradley Knoll is also right down there among my least favourite trigging experiences, because about a quarter of the way along the top of the hill was a herd of cattle, many of them calves who were curious about the world around them, with a couple of parents who were very keen to protect the calves from the world around them. I approached them at my normal walking pace, as close to the fence at the side of the field as I could. The fence was surrounded by thick brambles, and unhoppable. I talked to the cows gently and in a calming manner as I approached them, rather too closely for my comfort, and allowed myself a sigh of relief after I’d passed them by. They’re not interested in me, any more than I am in them. They’ve got food in front of them which is far more fascinating. I continued on my way, looking back every few metres to reassure myself that they’d resumed their afternoon feed. One of them hadn’t. It kept staring at me as I walked – DO NOT RUN – calmly – I hope I look calm because I’m not – away. And then it followed me. Not quickly, but quite determinedly. Please let me find a gap in the brambles so I can hop this fence. I looked back. Still following. And now, so were the others. Keep walking; don’t run, but don’t stop, either. Come on, where does this fence end? I want to be on the other side of it, please. Keep going. Because I can’t go back – there’s only one way to go and that’s to the trig at the end. Which is still very far away. I’m tired, my legs are aching, and my thighs are still stinging. Look back – they’re still following, and at a bit of a trot now. Fence still solid behind the brambles – I’ve got no escape. KEEP CALM and carry on. I can’t be charged if my back is to the fence. I hope. Can I? Stay at the edge, and pray there’s a spot I can hop over soon. Still following – they don’t want to let me out of their sight. Damn the bloody trig, I just want a way out now. There’s a gate about a hundred metres up ahead, bisecting the field I’m in. Keep walking – not running – and soon you’ll be… there’s a gate, but the fence beside it is down. They can still follow me past it. Help. I have literally nowhere to go. Still following? Yep. Fence on my right has a wood behind it now. What’s that up ahead? It’s a break in the fence, and there’s a wide muddy path into the wood straight downhill… but the gap is easily big enough for a herd of cattle to follow if they want to. Which way do I go? Are they still behind me? Yes, and at a bit of a run now. If I go straight, they’ve got eyes on me. If I turn downhill, I’m out of view. I went through the gap, and tried to veer left to stay near the top of the hill, off the muddy path, and clinging to each tree trunk I passed. I can’t be charged if I’m up against a tree. I hope. Can I? How far can I go before I find a way out? I was slipping on the muddy earth, impossible to walk briskly in, and heading inevitably downhill. Careering from tree to tree, I was within sight of the bottom of the hill, and the muddy path below and to my right, which ended in an open gate into a grassy field with an overflowing water trough just inside it. From behind a particularly large tree with a low branch that I might be able to climb up if desperate, I paused to catch my breath. I was absolutely knackered. I looked round. There was a rumble of hooves, and a herd of stampeding cattle thundered past at full pelt, down the muddy track, through the gate and into the field, where they pulled up and proceeded to drink from the trough. I waited for a few stragglers to make it into the field, and I broke cover slowly, and slunk off into the wood round the base of the hill. I don’t think they’ve seen me, but how do I get out of here? I don’t mind admitting I could feel my heart beating in my chest, fit to burst with exhaustion and, frankly, terror. The wood gave way to a grassy hillside beside a very sturdy section of that barbed wire fence I’d been the other side of. It led up the hill at oh, so steep an angle. I clung onto it for support, mindful of the spikes, and hauled myself back up the hill, step by tiring step, all the while looking round to see if the herd had followed me again. No sign of them. I was sweating, shaking, breathless, and scared, but KEEP GOING because the only way out now is the way you came in, at the other end of the ridge… at the top of this very steep hill. I damn near crawled up that final section, before the hill levelled out at the summit, at which point there was a gap in the fence I could cross through, and just the other side of that gap… oh yes, I’d almost forgotten, there’s a reason I’m in this pickle, isn’t there? I sat at the base of the trig long enough to recover my breath and get my heart rate back down. And if the cows showed up? I can’t be charged if I’m backed up against the pillar. I hope. Etc. The view was incredible – there was a twinkling in the valley below where someone had hung up rows of CDs on washing lines across their allotment, presumably to scare off the birds. It must have worked, because the trig was covered in evidence of scared birds. Eventually, I took my selfies and set off back across the ridge, with the thought at the back of my mind that the herd might have returned up the muddy track to continue feeding on the hilltop. Mercifully, they hadn’t, and the long walk back was slow and incident-free. I limped back to my car and collapsed in the driver’s seat, shaking uncontrollably. Rips and stings and cattle… I’ve had more than enough for one day. There were other pillars on my list, but frankly, screw you guys, I’m going home. But, like Arnie, I’ll Be Back.
Comments
Post a Comment