The most convivial of wartin' evenings under a black starry sky from the West End via Alport Trig, Ravens Clough sheepfold, Banktop Hey and a final plummet through the pine needles. Twenty six warts' head torches raking the precipitous sides of Ravens Clough is indeed a fine sight to behold. Not much else to add, other than to note the off-again-on-again diligence with which Cap'n Harmer oversaw the inscription of his little red book, and the fastidiousness with which the Safety Officer and Chairman Woe kept a check on our numbers. Very good, nevertheless, to have our beloved Chairman back in tow after injury, with a big healthy grin spreading across his chops.
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