By: Blonde Two
Our ever resourceful 55 Mile Ten Tors team appear to have invented a new (possible Dartmoor Olympics) sport. Before I explain, I would like to point out that I am in no way recommending their invention and have, indeed, now given them the “Don’t Get Stuck in a Bog” and the “Bogs are Precious Environments” talks. The stories of their antics did, however, make me laugh. Bog sprinting appears to involve finding a bog (specific navigation skills needed for this) and then attempting to run across it. Anyone who has ever had to pick their way across “quaking” or featherbed bogs will tell you that this approach is unlikely to get you safely to the other side. You would know, by the way, if you had tried it, it is a lot like walking on not-quite-set lime jelly.
I probably don’t need to tell you that this particular “athlete” didn’t make it safely across but instead needed help from his team-mates. They came back covered in dry bog and the aroma in the minibus on the way home was pungent enough to make even Blonde One (who is always cold) open the windows.
That’s very funny! The bog will always win every time!
Not a mention of laxatives in sight!
Bogs can be horrible places – the only time I got really scared on the moor was when walking alone I went across Avon Head Mire – it was very, very nasty.
Strongly recommend you read them the relevant passages from “Jamaica Inn” – I got stuck in a bog on one of my bird surveys. It was amusing – in retrospect. (Balance on one leg like a gawky stork, remove the other foot from welly, haul welly out before the bog closed in on it, put it back on, feel with stick for next place less than thigh deep, step forward, repeat process for rear foot. x3.) In rigid boots, I would have been there yet. Only the squashyness of wellies got me out.
Funny though their story of bog adventure was, I am definitely hoping that they don’t do it again!