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Dales Way - July 23rd-28th 2006

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DAY 1 - Ilkley to Grassington

We travelled up to Ilkley on the Saturday with the belief that the record temperatures of the previous week could not last. The weather on the Saturday was cooler with the possibility of rain later in the day - which was welcome relief to all.

We had lost Neil Scott to the geriatric wilderness that is the Isle of Wight but back came Mr Swarbrook after missing the previous year's Cumbria Way adventure.



Neil in holiday mood as he gets off his bus in Cowes - 'Ag-a-doo-doo-doo, push pineapple, shake the tree, Aga-doo-doo-doo, push pineapple, grind coffee'.

As the afternoon wore on the sky darkened and the rain came as expected. Gordon's sister, Judith, held an excellent barbecue at their Menston mansion but the rain forced us inside for the eating part of the barby. Luckily it cleared in time for us to teach an 8 year old a thing or two about football.

We travelled back to Ilkley later that night in readiness for the 16 mile walk to Grassington. Hugh (Gordon's brother-in-law) and Stuart (Hugh's dad) were to walk to Grassington with us and so we all met up at approx 9:45am on the Sunday morning. The weather was overcast but humid - there was even the odd drop of rain.



An early drink stop by the Wharfe.

This was it. The 2006 walk was underway. The going was easy along riverside paths and flat pastures with the dark clouds being replaced by bright sunshine which made for a thoroughly pleasant morning walk. The main object of attention for the day was Bolton Priory.



Approaching Bolton Priory. The priory was badly vandalised by rampaging Stoke City fans in 1974.

Bolton Priory was as busy as could be expected on the first Sunday of the school holidays. The queue for the stepping stones which cross the Wharfe had a 3 hour wait so we abandoned any hope of using this method of crossing over to the other bank. Ken used the new 'photo camera' technology to record the position of Fred Trueman's final resting place in the priory grounds.

Ken emitted a small tear and a sniffle, packed his camera back into the rucsac and bravely carried on.



A solemn looking Ken begins the search for his hero. Dave finds it all very funny.

The section between Bolton Priory and Barden Bridge consisted of excellent walking along wooded riverside paths. A lunch break was taken under the cooling protection of a gazebo (specially erected for ourselves no doubt) before venturing on past the Strid, a rocky gorged section of the Wharfe, and onto Barden Bridge itself.



Near to the Strid on the River Wharfe. What could possibly shatter such a peaceful moment?



The answer. Not much chance of seeing a Kingfisher with this around.

The next major place of interest on the route was Burnsall. We all prepared ourselves for a pleasant stroll though a quiet, sleepy, Dales hamlet but instead happened to walk straight into a crowd reminiscent of that for a Brazilian Rolling Stones concert. Again, the realisation that this was the first Sunday of the school holidays hit home.

The warm weather had made Burnsall 'the' place to go. We walked on without stopping.



Sleepy Burnsall - population 19338.



Navigation out of Burnsall was horrendous. We turned left by the silver Audi and towards the red Focus when we should have walked straight passed the silver Audi, left at the red Focus and then right at the blue Rover 45. Apparently it's a common mistake.

The temperature was now beginning to reach rather sweaty levels. If we could have found a stretch of the river which was devoid of humans we may have been tempted to go for a paddle but, alas, it was too busy. We walked past a section of the river which was obviously Yorkshire's favourite suicide spot - however, the deep pool of water below the 30ft jump made death very difficult to come by.

Everyone we saw jump survived.

All plans now revolved around hitting Grassington - the day's end and a chance to sample the local 'produce'. The increasing heat made the last couple of miles relatively hard going. Cue a picture of a hot sweaty Dave...



Nearly there....

We reached Grassington with little fuss. The locals were being entertained by a bunch of rather eccentric theatrical types and so we enjoyed a few beers whilst watching this bizarre event from the safety of the pub benches outside the Devonshire Arms. We said our goodbyes to Hugh and Stuart - bought more beer and then eventually booked into the Black Horse.



The Devonshire Arms, Grassington. Day 1 completed with minimum fuss - time for maximum beers!

Lock up yer wimmin - The limestone cowboys are in town

We ate in the Black Horse, had a few more beers then then moved back to the Devonshire Arms for a few more beers. The landlord warned us of thunderstorms which were coming in from the west.

The local farmers hadn't watered their crops due to this impending downpour of biblical proportions so we knew that we were heading for a soaking at some point during the next 48 hours. There's not a lot we can do about it - so next day: destination Cray.

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DAY 2 - Grassington to Cray

We awoke to glorious sunshine and even more glorious temperatures.

It was only 9am yet we were well into 22c territory. Ken had slept well considering the trauma of Bolton Priory and looked forward of a day devoid of ex-sportsmen. The closest we would get was a spot next to the Wharfe at Kettlewell where in 1982 Daley Thompson was caught short and had to shit in the river.

We told Ken that the evidence would no longer be visible so there was nothing to get upset about. An easy 12 miler along the banks of the River Wharfe to Cray was in store.



Getting ready for the off in the shade of the Black Horse hotel.

A short steady climb onto the escarpment above Wharedale followed. It was hot. The views were excellent, so good in fact that we accidentally ventured off route and had to regain the correct path after a short detour.

The latest PDA-GPS\Memory Map technology combination successfully pinpointed our incorrect position without having to use Macca's GPS which had been invented by Thomas Telford. The increasing temperature forced Gordon to change his top. A moment gloriously captured in technicolor below:



They don't make 'em like that any more.

We reached the rock formation that is Conistone Pie for a well earned drinks break. We drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.



A few of us on Coniston Pie. Can you spot who they are and therefore deduce who couldn't be arsed to climb up?

A pleasant descent into Wharfedale followed. A particularly pleasant stop in a shady glade was enjoyed which offered respite against the ever increasing heat.



The pleasant shady glade - at least 10c cooler than out in the open.

Kettlewell was next - the scene of the film 'Calendar Girls'. Lunch was taken at the Kings Head pub along with a chance to refill our water bottles. Life was good - Ann resisted the urge to go topless and it was only 5 miles to Cray.



Waiting to get going in Kettlewell.

The remaining 5 miles wasn't quite as easy as expected thanks to legions of every type of fly known to man. The river was never far away but the recent warm weather meant that there were few, if any, places to perform a 'hat dip' - the water wasn't the clear, bubbling, cascade we expected. It was now getting rather warm and a few of us were finding it difficult.

Eventually the river appeared clear enough to provide a welcome opportunity for a 'hat dip'. Hat dips are an amazingly effective way of cooling down - it involves submerging your hat in water until saturated and then quickly putting it back on. The feeling is one of heavenly bliss.



Macca finds one of Daley Thompson's batons near Starbotton.



Resting in the grass near Hubberholme. Alison pulling one of her 'how far now? You said it was 4 miles' faces.

A short stretch of road walking took us to Hubberholme but Nick was suffering with blisters and wasn't overly happy. The White Lion Inn at Cray was a mile away and a mile off-route but I had withheld a rather important fact from the team - the final mile was uphill, nearly 400 ft! This revelation went down as well as could be expected.

It was now exceptionally hot and the day's end was a tough mile ahead. I decided to kick on in order to a) see if the PH marked on the map was in fact the White Lion b) see if it was open and c) order industrial quantities of ale in order to save myself from a lynching. The climb by the side of Cray Gill was, for me anyway, very enjoyable.

The gill was relatively dry but very scenic with the odd section of tree cover providing welcome protection from the sun.



The climb up to the White Lion Inn. Not one of Nick's more enjoyable moments in life.

Luckily for me the White Lion did exist and was open. Luckily for the team 11 pints of ale and assorted non-alcoholic drinks were ordered in readiness for their arrival. After a long cold shower good food and ale was enjoyed by all. The evening temperature had plummeted to 25c and so we began to exhibit all the symptoms of hyperthermia.



Nick, Alison and Ken laughing about the climb up to the White Lion.

The next day, Cray - Cowgill was, on paper, the toughest of them all. Thunderstorms were still somewhere on the horizon so would the weather hold? - did we want it to hold or did we prefer a bloody good soaking? At this moment in time the thought of heavy rain filled us with joy.

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DAY 3 - Cray to Cowgill

We awoke yet again to searing heat.

During the previous evening a war committee had sat in order to decide whether or not we should set off at 6am and try to finish the walk to Cowgill before the earth melted. However, the fact that breakfast was available at 8:30am and a total of 102 pints had already been drunk before 10pm meant that we would set off as soon as possible.

Those who had them filled their hydration packs to capacity with those that didn't filling their rucsac with numerous bottles of water or Lucozade. We set off at just after 9am - the roads were already close to melting.



Izzy wizzy lets get busy!

Nick's blisters had recovered sufficiently to allow him to walk but Dave Swarbs decided that the forthcoming 18 miles, heat and the crossing of the Pennines was going to be rather uncomfortable so decided to wait for the Brigantes' bus and take a break. We returned to the Dales Way at Hubberholme after descending using the Cray Gill path.

The walk alongside the Wharfe in Langstrothdale was as hot and sticky as could be expected. The river wasn't exactly a turbulent maelstrom but did provide ample hat dip opportunities - approximately one every 4 yards.



Hat dip stop number 1203. Even Ann, with her expensive hair do, decided to take the plunge.

The way past Deepdale and up to Beckermonds seemed to take an age.

The Royal Fly Force were yet again in action in an attempt to take our blood but we survived. A slight breeze meant that the heat was just about bearable. We hoped that the high ground in front of us would be harbouring a gale of arctic proportions - all we had to do was to get there.



Macca stepped into Neil Scott's shoes and became the official photo camera timer photographer. This shot of the bridge side with some people in the background is all his own work. Photo taken at Deep Dale.

On we went. A nasty uphill stretch of road after Beckermonds seemed as hot as ever as the river was left behind. We soon entered the confines of Oughtershaw Beck which gave us the first glimpse of the Pennine watershed and the highest part of the walk. Ingleborough peeped its head over the dale head - nearly there.

We stopped at Swarthgill farm for lunch and a drink but for Nick the day was over.

The blisters and heat had taken their toll so he decided that rather than continue into no-man's land he would abandon the day's walk and get a taxi to Cowgill while the option was still available. The owners of the farm kindly let us use their phone and a taxi was hailed. Nick would join Dave for an early drink at the Sportsman's Inn at Cowgill.

We were down to 8.



Climbing up to Cam Houses - the Pennine watershed is within our grasp.

The gradual climb up to the Pennine watershed seemed long but trouble free. The breeze was making life easier with one short stretch through a forest being very enjoyable.



Entering the forest shortly after Cam Houses.

On reaching the Pennine watershed the anticipated breeze washed over us. The Yorkshire three peaks were all in view and it was downhill from here. We had a good drink, took in the view and then set off with a spring on our step.



Descending to Cam End on the Pennine Way. Ingleborough is the hill directly ahead.

Shortly after leaving the Pennine Way we lost the breeze and the going underfoot became increasingly tricky. The path had been worn by the passage of countless 4-wheel drive vehicles which was an eyesore, footsore and kneesore.

After crossing the non-existent Gayle Beck we hit the B6255 Horton - Hawes road. Just a short moorland yomp and a stretch of road was all that separated us from Cowgill and journeys end.



Crossing Gayle Beck - the cool, clear, flowing water really helped to cool us down.

It's fair to say that the 3 mile route across Gayle Moor went on a bit. After navigating up and around little grassy banks, past a strange grave and then finally along the flat moor we finally reached the road that led to Dent Dale.

This was all downhill and with the road being flat tarmac it would be like walking on carpet. Unfortunately it was that hot the road had decided to melt.



Walking into Dent Dale. The viaduct can be seen to the left with Dent station in the middle distance. Gordon was physically glued to the road when he took this photo.

We walked under the impressive viaduct. It was so impressive that none of us could be arsed to get our cameras out to take a snap. It was during this section of the walk that the thermometer in my watch registered a high of 28.9c. The temperature in the sun would have been far higher.

Eventually, after much stickiness, we reached Cowgill and the end of an extremely hot day - or had we? Er, no. Cowgill, it seems, has a population of 83 but covers the same physical area as Detroit. The road sign welcoming you into Cowgill is approx 3 miles from Cowgill itself. Dent station is 4 miles from Dent. What is wrong with these people?



The long sticky descent into Dent Dale.

Princess Potty Mouth (© John Lloyd\Martin Dale) was in full flow. Every step resulted in a comical foul mouthed chunter as the road continued into Cowgill, or wherever Cowgill was.

The front runners stopped by a bridge as Mike was suffering and not walking at his usual pace. Gordon, Jane and Ann took a more relaxed pace into Cowgill in order to provide Mike with a bit of much needed company.



Princess Potty Fingers showing her feelings. Only a mile or two to go.

Suddenly the Sportsman's Inn was in sight - Hurrah!

We marched like madmen up to the pub and noticed that it was - shut! This wasn't good news. Dave and Nick had arrived, as expected, earlier in the day and kindly carried our bags upstairs.

Frantic investigation revealed that the pub didn't open until 7pm - nearly TWO HOURS away. We all took either a shower or bath and then marched about, rather angrily in some cases, awaiting the creaking of the pub door.



The resident's lounge. Only 76 minutes to go until the pub opens.

At bang on 7 the pub finally opened. We burst into the bar in a scene similar to that of a Harrod's Boxing Day sale. The beer came, went, came, went, came, went and came and went many more times.

The food was great and the barman kept us amused with his wry wit. The local bobby popped in later to give us a taste of local life and all was well with the world - a special mention must be made of the Skipton Brewery Copper Dragon ale which was rather exceptional.



I had so much fun I dribbled. The joys of going 'commando'.



Cheers Ken...

An easy stroll along Dent Dale was on the cards for the next day and maybe, just maybe, a cooling thunderstorm?

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DAY 4 - Cowgill to Sedbergh

Cowgill - Sedbergh was welcome relief after the trials and tribulations of the previous day.

We were back to a full complement of 10 as Nick had, amazingly, passed himself fit and Dave Swarbs passed himself unfit. This was to be an easy stroll along Dent Dale, through the beautiful village of Dent and along the banks of the River Dee into Sedbergh.



Oh how we laughed.

The first few miles was simple walking through farmland, crossing fields and stiles and passing through farm yards until we eventually reached a small plantation - the grim portals of the forest proved to be quite pleasant until Alison decided to investigate the innards of a dark, spooky, Blair Witch type stone building.

Her initial foray into the building produced an inconclusive verdict but she was convinced that there was something moving around. She retreated out of the building and then, suddenly, two large sheep bolted out of the door and sped into the forest - various bansheesque shreeks filled the forest. The commotion could be heard in Sedbergh.

With the forest of doom out of the way we continued along the river and into Dent.



Just a coincidence - Surely?



Leaving the Sun Inn after drinking water and eating tuna sandwiches - no, really.

We walked off route in order to visit Dent. The weather was again, very hot, so we decided to find a suitable place for a drink and lunch. The Sun Inn was nice and empty but we resisted the temptation of the best that the Dent Brewery could offer and decided that mineral water and a healthy sandwich was the right thing to do.

We rejoined the Dales Way by the river and enjoyed a peaceful walk along the banks of the Dee. Various drink stops were enjoyed as we knew that Sedbergh was just around the corner.



A field on Moser Hill. One dropped match and the place would have gone up quicker than Dave on Kinder Scout.

On rounding Long Rigg we were greeted by the sight of the town of Sedbergh nestling pleasantly below the Howgill Fells. A steady downhill stretch pushed Nick's blisters to the limit but, even with a boot full of foot goo, he managed to reach the Bull Hotel.



From left to right - Mike Riley, Winder and Sedbergh. Oh, and some downhill.

We checked into the Bull Hotel and prepared for the evening meal and maybe, just maybe, a small drink or two. After eating in the Bull Hotel we moved onto the Red Lion where an evening of merriment ensued despite the fact that Nick had lost half of his foot due to blisters and that Gordon was harbouring a nasty, painful, secret.



The ravaged foot of Nick Barber. Still hungry?



Gordon looking at peace with himself - unfortunately thinks were cooking 'downstairs'.

We retired to our rooms after failing to find a nightclub and prepared for the next days 17 miler to Burneside whilst Macca and Dave resorted to a night of candid erotic photography.

It was generally accepted that the predicted thunderstorms were not going to hit this part of Cumbria but, just for a moment, the sky did darken over Sedbergh which gave us some hope that the following day might be that little bit cooler.

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DAY 5 - Sedbergh to Burneside

We all met for breakfast at approx 8:30 but this time there were to be a few surprises.

It was generally accepted that Nick would be unable to complete 17 miles due to the condition of his foot but nobody had envisaged that Mike and Gordon would also be joining the 'crocked' list. Mike's foot didn't feel up to the task and Gordon hadn't been able to ease a painful bout of panty-rub after multiple applications of anti-panty-rub cream (I'm sure that isn't its real name). We started day 5 with only 7 people.

The official Dales Way guide mentioned that the first few miles of the day's walk gave the impression that you were going nowhere. The path made every effort to stay off the road but Winder, the hill that towers above Sedbergh, was always in sight. The first 3 miles were of little scenic value and it could be argued that the official route should be changed to provide a more direct route, heading north-west, to hit the Lune and remove the initial loop.



A disused viaduct crossing the River Lune. It was beginning to get very warm - again!

The scenery improved on reaching the banks of the River Lune. The Howgills filled the view to the north-east and the river itself was a joy to walk beside. The weather was very warm but beautifully clear.



Looking upstream towards the Howgills - very pleasant.

After a few miles of walking alongside the Lune we crossed the river and headed east towards the M6. Alison found a shady spot to lunch and so we all took a break in order to charge our batteries in preparation for the next sweltering 8-9 miles.



The shady lunch spot near Beck Foot - hang on, why has Ann taken her boot and sock off?

Lunch over. We could now head on to the M6 which was approximately half way. The temperature seemed to rise dramatically as we headed towards the motorway and we noticed that Ann's pace had slowed considerably - she was now walking at snails Dave's pace.



Crossing the M6 - the end of the day for some.

We crossed the motorway and immediately came across a farm at Lambrigg Head. As Ken and I tried to locate the point where the Dales Way left the road in order to head west we were called back - Ann's foot had began to swell up and so she couldn't walk any further.

We wondered if Ann could try and walk the pain away but Macca sensibly informed us that you can't expect old people to ignore such injuries. Alison asked Dave if he was OK to carry on and pointed out that we were only half way, had 8+ miles to go and it was very hot. Dave considered his options for around 2 milliseconds and decided to call it a day - he would assist Ann in getting to the hotel in Kendal.

Ann and Dave walked the short distance to Lambrigg Head and managed to get a lift into Kendal by the farmer, or somebody who smelt like the farmer.

We were down to 5.

The next 8+ miles took a convoluted route through rolling farmland. As the heat reached what appeared to be the day's peak we came across a cottage near Moresdale Hall that offered cold refreshments. What a good idea we thought - two jugs of iced barley water and a Lilt were ordered. The peace was shattered only the once as a 'vampire fly' of some description decided to land on my face and extract blood from my cheek.



Time for a refreshment stop - shade and iced barley water!

The hills of the Lake District came into view which meant that not only the day's end, but the walks end, was not far away. At one point, just after Black Moss tarn, a little girl dressed as a fairy skipped into our path and tried to sell us a cold drink - she was playing an harmonica which added to the strangeness of it all.

Ken asked her for the price to which he replied that the same drink could be purchased for 3 pence less in Burneside - we carried on. The rob-dogging cow! We continued heading west, oe'r hill n' dale, until eventually Burneside itself could be seen nestling in the valley.

For some reason the gradual descent into Burneside seemed to take forever even though we were walking at a much improved pace.



Confirming our location. Near Patton Bridge on the way to Burneside.

We eventually reached Burneside.

A couple of taxis were ordered to ferry us to Kendal and our posh hotel. The original plan, when planning the walk, was to walk the 2 miles into Kendal but I believe most of us would have preferred to lick Nick's feet than walk any further in the blistering heat. We arrived at the Riverside hotel, Kendal, at around 6:30pm.



Waiting for the taxis at Burneside Post Office.

The Riverside hotel was excellent. Big rooms, a swimming pool, real ale and a bath - which made Alison's day. We met up with Nick, Mike, Gordon, Ann and Dave and booked into an excellent Italian restaurant where the lager and wine flowed. After all, some of us had a lot of re-hydrating to do.

Tomorrow was the final day - 10 miles into Bowness.

As we enjoyed a night cap back in the hotel it appeared that many of the injuries had healed enough for all but Ann to finish the walk.

Tomorrow there would be 9 of us.

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DAY 6 - Burneside to Bowness

As expected 9 of us turned up to walk the final stretch.

Ann's foot was still very swollen so she decided to catch the bus into Bowness and find a massage parlour of ill repute. The temperature was reaching record levels yet again so for some the prospect of another 10 miles was hard to take. We ordered taxis to take us back into Burneside where we gathered and prepared for the off at the Post Office.

Shortly after leaving Burneside we hit the banks of the River Kent. This was much appreciated as there appears to be a definite psychological advantage to walking in hot weather when running water is nearby.



Having a drink stop at Sandyhill nr Staveley. Dave is popping off for a 'penelope'.

The river scenery was again very pleasing to the eye and a surprisingly good walking pace was kept up for the first 4 miles. Nick, Mike and Gordon were showing no signs of any injuries and Dave was showing no signs of not sweating.

We hit the outskirts and Staveley and left the river in order to head west and to Bowness - journey's end.



Alison dies on the ascent to New Hall.

A longish section of road walking ensued - the first part downhill, the second part uphill. The reward for reaching the highest point of the uphill section was the view back to the Howgills but more rewardingly to the hills of the Lake District which were now almost touchable. At one point a large fly flew up my right nostril.

This proved to be a rather uncomfortable experience as it took nearly 5 minutes of spitting, coughing and choking in order to get rid of the shit covered beastie.



The end of the road walking. Lunch was taken in the shade at the top of the track.



This man has killed over 130 greyhounds.

The route swerved between bracken clad hillocks which were kind to both the eyes and feet. The Lake District was getting nearer by the minute and the views became increasingly impressive.



The hills of Lakeland - Coniston Old Man, Wetherlam, Crinkle Crags, Bowfell, the Langdale Pikes.

We were heading towards Bowness at a rate of knots that, considering the various ailments, was unimaginable at breakfast time.

There was a noticeably improved atmosphere as we ventured on in the searing heat but the mood soon darkened as we reminded ourselves of Ann's misfortune. The mood soon improved as we remembered that Ann was probably already quaffing creamy Lake District beer.

We eventually began the descent into Bowness and before too long reached the Dales Way seat and journeys end.



Descending into Bowness. The Dales Way seat can be seen in shadow to the left with Lake Windermere and the Fairfield horseshoe in the distance.

We posed for the obligatory photo session. Unfortunately there was nobody around to take a group shot and no convenient location for a timed photo shoot. The best of the bunch are shown below....



Ken, Macca, Dave, MikeNick, Gordon, Jane, Alison




Nick, Macca, Mike, DaveAlison, Jane, Sean, Gordon



And finally the 'Dales Way 5' - the walkers who completed the entire walk.Alison, Ken, Jane, Macca and Sean

We descended steeply down the road into Bowness where we came across the Royal Oak public house. We don't know who Alistair Wallace is but we couldn't care less if it wasn't the 'official finishing pub for the Dalesway' - this is where WE were finishing.



'Enjoy our fine ales' - OK then, if we must.

Job done.

We contacted Ann who had arrived safely in Bowness and informed her of our cunning plan to drink kegfulls of Coniston Bluebird bitter. A rather enjoyable couple of hours commenced before we decided to check into our accommodation for the weekend, the Laurel Cottage, and enjoy a long cool shower.

The evening meal had been arranged the week before, just to be sure, so beforehand we met in the local Belgian beer bar for a cheeky half-dozen.



Mission accomplished - red faces all round (and in Gordon's case a red arse too!). Notice Macca's sensible apparel.

We shopped, ate, drank, sailed and even took a ride in a Eurofighter simulator! Macca, however, made a bit of a mess of his shopping...



Macca's comedy suit - he doesn't look at all embarrassed.(The website author would like to apologize for any distress caused by the above photo)

It had been a hard but highly enjoyable week. The scorching temperature had been responsible for the higher than expected number of injuries and ailments - it had been the hottest July since records began.

The total mileage was 85.1 miles (as measured by the Macca machine) but the effort required to cover the distance was far greater than that of previous walks.

Where to next year? Will Scotty make a return? Will Terry make a return? Will Ann ever walk again? Will Macca stop buying ridiculous clothing? The now customary injury table is provided below...

Walker	Blisters	Sweat blindness	W'ankles'	Fashion Failure	Fly bites	Downstairs distemper
Sean		X			X
Alison	X	X			X
Ken		X
Mike	X	X			X
Nick	X	X
Ann		X	X
Gordon		X			X	X
Dave	X	X
Jane	X	X
Macca		X		X

Leek Post and Times 11/10/2006

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The Stile Project

As the walk progressed a few of the team began to notice strange behaviour on the part of Mr Macca. For some reason he had become addicted to taking photographs of people traversing stiles.

Is this some strange fetish raising its ugly head? - you decide.



Cor! - look at those hot sweaty bodies traversing that stile.



Ooooh! there's a bull in the field over this stile. That's dangerous but oh so sexy.



Look at Mikes calf muscles - gggrrrrrrr!



Jane made it look so easy - she just slipped over, oo er missus!



Whereas Dave didn't - oooh he's using both hands on his wood.



Oh this is just too much. Stretch big boy!



At this point Macca's hands were shaking so much that the image became blurred.