A gentle shamble out from Fairholmes for my shiny new watch, in honour of which please find the track below.
Fourteen soon enough became thirteen as Clive retired for an early bath. Meanwhile, runners were scattered to the four corners of Abbey Brook, with Big Bob professing little interest in any meaningful order and the rest of us displaying none at all. Things got no better really on our return from Back Tor, a wide variety of lines seeing us all home in time, with your correspondent and Posh Dave fighting desperate rearguard actions, each having been caught short - on the moor and in the woods respectively.
© Dark Peak Fell Runners 2018
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