A Night on Gibbet Hill

Today’s walking was surprisingly hard. The day started very cold; there was frost on the tent and my hands got very cold packing everything away. But the sun shone all day. This was perfect walking weather but it was the legacy of the recent rain that was the problem – mud and lots of it, trees down blocking paths, and broken styles. In the end I gave up on the footpaths that all resembled streams of mud and resorted to walking the tracks and minor roads.

At last I started making progress. I woke up to the sound of wood peckers and pheasants but it was the sound of new born lambs that accompanied me most of the day.

The high point of the day, metaphorically and literally, was the rather beautiful Brent Tor; another of the ancient sites that the early Christians plonked a church on top of. The earlier ramparts are still visible and impressive.

I have just been told by a friendly local that I am camped on Gibbet Hill. Apparently there was a local tribe of red-headed sheep rustlers known as the Gubinse’s – the last of this tribe met his demise on the contraption!

It should be an interesting night. It’s now 8 o’clock and getting too cold to type, time for a small whisky and an early night.


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