International man of mystery, David Peak McGuinness, performed a first for the warts last night, single-handedly searching and rescuing a frailish little old Stannington lady, found sheltering in a grouse butt, two thirds of the way up the track to Cartledge Flat. It appears she'd taken the bus out to Fairholmes and then become disoriented in the clag on the walk back over Lost Lad. By the time twenty-one thoroughbred warts happened upon her, she'd more or less resigned herself to what would have been a dangerously cold night on the hill.
Whilst Guy S, Penny and Sarah escorted David's most recent find off the hill, our eighteen remaining heroes struck out into the teeth of the gale, up and over Cartledge Flat, across an Abbey Brook in fair spate, and up to Berristers for a quick snifter. Though the good Cap'n questioned whether we were entitled to a nip whilst in full wart, the lure of the Bushmills, and warm glow of our previous heroics, soon ruled him out of court - and indeed it was Andy himself who battled headlong into the wind to retrieve our just desserts. A further headlong struggle into the wind to regain the Brook below, this time crossing in something approaching normal order (Young Betts and the Safety Officer would both have been horrified by the cavalier manner in which we negotiated the first crossing, in twos and threes, strung over 200 metres of white water, and with no-one counting), and thence home via Low Tor (in error).
Aside from David's new lady friend, the evening was otherwise most distinguished by the unnervingly low average age of those in attendance, with newbies (at least two) and old youngies (including the welcome return of Messrs Ashton, Cole and Piercey, and Ms Bryan-Jones) in abundance (still 5 bus passes - don't write us off just yet!) - and a pleasant couple of pints to round matters off in the Inn. Not bad at all for a blustery tussock fest.