After a brief foregathering in the drinking dens and pizza bars of Moffat the night before a bunch of nine Moffateers gathered once again on Saturday morning in Moffat high Street. Two cars were sufficient to take the hopefuls to Peebles where a short rest was called in the Bridge Inn.
Revd Albon and Big Jugs Monthly Bossman and Pie provider Humphrey Weightman joined the mildly excited throng for a pint. Humphrey donated some quality pies to the team’s resources. I regret to admit that I did, in fact, eat all the pies…… I am, of course, distraught and so is my cardiac nurse.
And then, after a brief press call in the car park during which Mr Sloman tempted fate by miming his fence climbing skills, nine of us plus Dave Albon invaded Glen Sax. Dave had to leave us after a mile or two as he had work to do.
We’d taken the lower route this time to ensure that we actually got somewhere before it went dark.
This seemed to work and ultimately, as the walls of Upper Glen sax closed in, we spotted the ideal site for Camp Alpha, on a little possibly natural grassy shelf amongst all the heather.
The night was moonlit (to such an extent that I thought it was dawn at about half one) and frosty.
Spirits were vaguely optimistic if a bit nervous. There were early nights and snoring.
Today’s walkers were me, Alan Sloman and Shirley (Peewiglet) Worral plus Piglet the Doglet, Mike (no not that Mike, the other Mike) Pope and his dad Martin (Phreerunner) Banfield, Tony (Pennine Ranger) Bennet and his handler Christine, Andrew (I can’t decide which decision to decide on) Walker and his miraculous underpants and and John (I wish I had Mike Harding’s Money) Jocys. I think that was it.
Anyway, I think we did six and a half miles and 1400 feet of uphill.
We were still OK. But much more excitements later…..
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