February’s French Fluke

Sunday 26th February it’s drizzling with high winds forecast and we’re planning to camp on the top of ridge in a clump of pine trees.

Walking in to the pub where we planned to meet there’s no one at the bar, not surprising for a Sunday evening but the restaurant area was packed and everyone was speaking French, loudly. It was like having been transported to an apr├Ęs-ski bar in the Alps. Before long I’m joined by Blakey for a few pints, before long I’ve been mistaken for one of the French women’s mates and then treated to drunkenly related potted life story.  Time to drink up and escape to the hills.

 

Packing up

Outside it’s still drizzling but after couple of miles walking by head torch we reach the top of the ridge. We  find a couple of suitable pine trees in the lee of the wind put the tarps up quickly followed by the hammocks and we’re set for the night. Quite an uneventful one at that except for the noise of some heavy showers.

 

Before sunrise the first dog walker passes by without noticing we’re there, but by the time it’s light it proves quite a popular spot probably due to the car park nearby at the bottom of the hill. Most pass either not noticing us or taking no interest. So time to pack up, whilst doing so we get a quick brew on before heading back to the pub to pick up the cars and get on with the rest of the day.
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