I stop at the trig point. My anemometer, a licked finger held above my head, records not even a zephyr. I am well away from roads, so all is complete silence, absolute stillness—a rare occurrence in modern times. I absorb the experience and drift into another world, unaware of how time passes. The Bowland Fells look on impassively, and far away, Pen Y Ghent just nods to the occasion. This is somehow special; my regular walk transformed by the absence of sound.
I nearly didn’t make it. Halfway up after stopping for a drink, I became unsteady and started stumbling. Was this the start of a stroke? I thought, and I turned around to get back before anything worse happened. Nobody ever knows where I am. After a few more faltering steps, I realised one of my spectacle lenses had fallen out, and I was temporarily confused and disorientated. Calming down, I stopped, removed my useless glasses, and then retraced my last few metres. No sign of the missing lens, I had to repeat this course several times before I find it in the peat. No damage was done.
So I continued to the trig point. The going was boggy but nowhere near the Lincolnshire mud I experienced last week. However, I did notice a sign has appeared on the fenced-off private land that warns of sinking mud. I’m not sure who it is aimed at now that barbed wire prevents access. Possibly their workers. I see they are at work with diggers farther down the field; we still don’t know what transpires on that land.
Farther on, I found more trees down, probably Storm Darragh. It certainly wouldn’t have been quiet up here in that wind. It’s eery in the forest. Several of you have battled through the forests on Longridge Fell and realise that not a lot of clearance has occurred. I’m never sure which footpaths up here are rights of way or concessional paths, so don’t always complain to the authorities about blocked ways. In any case, would they have the funds to carry out remedial action during these austere times? So, for now, we can all have our own little adventure.
I passed the ‘Longridge Fell Christmas Tree’. I think it’s in a different position from last year. It looked a bit dishevelled, probably after a thrashing from Storm Darragh at the weekend. 
As I said all quiet.
I hope the unsteadiness was just a minor effect of losing your spectacle lens and nothing more serious – I’m glad you found it and it wasn’t lost forever in the peat. The Christmas tree looks nice but I think could do with a few more baubles – does someone decorate it or do various people just add their own bits? Someone asked me a while ago if I tell someone where I’m going when I’m out – well no, as (a) there’s no-one to tell and (b) I very often divert from any planned route if I find something of interest, so like you no-one ever knows where I am. Hopefully nothing untoward befalls either of us when we’re out 😊
I’m fine thanks.
Not sure about the tree decoration, it is some way up the fell but always a cheery sight at this time of year.
Stay safe.
I never used to think about the being out on my own issue, but since I had kids it does cross my mind for time to time. I sometimes leave an itinerary with my wife, but I’m not sure how much use that is because my plans are always so flexible anyway.
I like the fell side Christmas tree, very cheery!
Lots of my trips are spur of the moment. Would be impractical to inform the family every time.
Me too, though I can (and sometimes do) just leave a note written on our blackboard wall in the kitchen.
Thats enough.
The spectacle thing has happened to me. The lens didn’t fall out, but just tilted over at an angle and I had a complete wobble. Glad you found it – a pain to replace. I can never tell anyone where I’m going beyond a general idea, because my plans are likely to change on a whim. I suppose if I get to the point where I feel I’m becoming a liability, I’ll let my kids track my phone.
One never likes to think of oneself being a liability. I’m very independent and like my own space, having travelled widely over the years. By telling someone where you may or may not be puts a lot of responsibility upon them. Lots of uneccesary mountain rescue call outs occur because of mixed communications. Hence ‘The casualty was located in the local pub later that night’ scenario.
Local walks where there are hopefully plenty of people about I just do on impulse without telling anybody.
A few days away I let my sons know of the route but don’t have any planned call in points. I ring them when I’m back home. They are used to it.
A day out in the mountains or remoter solo walks I leave the itinerary on the kitchen table so they know where to find my body. Just trust in fate.