10 of the Swinton Hardy Intrepid Trecking Society (SHITS) once more made their annual pilgramage across the Pennines to convert the ungodly heathen. Our base this year was the Golden Lion at Horton-in-Ribblesdale. A bunk room was to be had at a very reasonable price and this was attached to the pub which sold a range of good beers and fine food.
Fridays festivities had already begun when I arrived. Sounds of masterful guitar playing and melodic voices rang from the stone flagged front room. This was of course followed by intelectual discussion and a healthy repast before retiring to the well appointed accomodation.
Then the farting began...
And the snoring...
And the Onion bargees and liquorice allsorts...
I believe I awoke at some point in time with a certian member of the legal profession attempting to force a pork pie up my nose. Th eless said the better.
Anyhow. Saturday came soon enough and with enough bacon, sausage, egg, coffee, black pudding, beans, toast, tomatoes, brown sauce, coffee, tea and paracetamol we managed to make our way onto the eastern flanks of Ingleborough.
What a glorious day (Seriously this time!) The sky was the brightest of azure with tinges of purple and orange of the crystal clear horizon. It was so clear you felt you could reach out and touch both Ingleborough and Pen-y-gent. The whole day was filled with delights. A terrier pretending to limp so it could cadge food. A kingfisher speeding under Helwith Bridge. A spetacular sunset. An hours trek under the light of the full moon to reach our base. 14 miles and 7 hours of sheer enjoyment.
Followed by more carousing, carroling and jollities in the bar. What more could a soul hope for.
Except an extra two hours sleep whan I got back on Sunday;-)