So we gathered once again at the Marton Arms.  Like coming home really, champing at the bit (or at the nosebag) to get to the end of the run and that delectable food that we know the MA to offer and which the hare was determined to keep reminding us of.; I say us, meaning our cosy 4-pack plus solitary hare.  Still, a pleasant, damp evening promised a likeable trail with plenty of smelly shiggy following the afternoon downpour. The dire warnings from the hare about the deadly conditions underfoot on the rambo split got our juices flowing.

An easy run out downhill soon gave us false security as we lurched off the tarmac and up into sheep country.  Up was the word as we took in widening panoramas over the Ingleton environs. Well-met by the hare at the resumption of tarmac we all four opted to brave the treacherous rambo option as we bade a last farewell to the hare with grim countenance. Peril came soon enough in the form of a bit of slippery trail by a beck, but we miraculously survived.

Well-met by the hare again as the rain started to fall and darkness threatened. The hare's description of the last part of the trail ahead and the likelihood of rapidly vanishing flour forced us to abandon and take the short cut back to our waiting beer.

The even heavier rain in the pub car park convinced us to abandon any idea of a circle and after a complete change of clothing the veggy curry turned out to have Cyberseptic written all over it, while Upperskirt, Antiseptic and Feels on Wheels settled for milder fare. The Timothy Taylor's went down very well too.

Great trail, thank you Sir Tom Tom, but the full moon was conspicuously absent and rain stopped play.