My interest in this arcane 'sport' began many moons ago after a night in the pub, when I attempted
to walk home by the most direct route possible. The tarmac road almost never lies along the line -
so the concept would not appeal to the Dans among you. I subsequently attempted it from other pubs,
and discovered that the obstacles were many and various, and sometimes seasonal and tidal.
Negotiating thorny hedges is not a problem after a certain point has been reached on the path to
alcoholic oblivion, as a kind of anaesthesia takes hold, but fields of maize are an absolute bugger.
Oilseed rape can prove difficult too, and dyes you yellow when in flower. Barbed wire can be managed
with care; certain brooks can be forded or jumped when the moon allows. Potato fields should never
be traversed 'against the grain', so to speak. Other crops can be managed with little difficulty and
their contents used to appease the wife ('Oooh, they're nice sprouts!', or 'Wtf are these and how am
I supposed to cook them?', or 'What pretty blue flowers!'😉 Some farmers aid progress by fitting
their yards with ultra-bright floodlights that come on when you get within a couple of hundred yards
or so, which allows you to step over the rusty sharp things that all farms specialise in. Eggs are
occasionally found. On the fells the sport is equally challenging. Fences - not much difficulty
there. You can quickly assuage any brief feelings of guilt over unintended damage by reminding
yourself that these things are commercial litter. But damage is rare: though topped with barbed
wire, they usually have sufficient footholds in the lower part to let you leap the top gleefully.
Walls deserve more respect - dry stone walls are beautiful and need to be crossed with care, but
they are built to deter sheep, not men, and a way can always be found. Most pleasure can be had if
straightlining is confined to the downhill stretches - a steep uphill stretch through head-high
bracken is exhausting. On many routes a summit-to-valley line is possible, where crags are not too
severe. Scree, boulder fields and steep grass are the order of the day, and bilberries can be
snatched on the rapid slide over the slopes. Once you reach the beck you can generally leap from
boulder to boulder without much ado, or end the line there and adopt a more normal mode of travel.
Or where the line goes directly to the valley road, you may have to emerge, sweaty and grinning,
through someone's garden - the likelihood is increasing that it won't be a farmer's field, but some
holiday-maker's barbecue that you have to gatecrash, literally. Maintain speed and their shock will
too great for any meaningful opposition; they will be left with the impression that a demented local
has paid them a fleeting visit. Well, they might think that if you're not wearing gaiters or
carrying poles. And shout 'All right, la!' as you pass, for this will linger in their memory, and
add colour to their lives.
--
Paul
My Lake District walking site (updated 29th September 2003): paulrooney.netfirms.compaulrooney.netfirms.comOpen ↗