It was while we lounged thoughtfully around Sittaford, envisaging the check-in tent and the dunny and our own Icelandic on the other side of the wall, that two thoughts occurred. The first was that we ought to do this again and moreover, give the event a name. The second was that it was very quiet without Keith. Perhaps it was the junction of these considerations that led one of us to propose the title OTT for the exercise. It could mean officially the Other Ten Tors but might equally be anything else such as Only The Team, Otiose Tufty Tarts or Our Turn Tchaps.

Despite Keith's dire warnings the previous day that we should go over to top to Wattern, we followed the wall below Quintin's Man. Though it was a tad upsydownsy, we suffered no regrets. At the end, we turned left and arrived pretty soon at Wattern, number ten and a moment for great celebrations. This was a mistake which is doubtless made by many shagged competitors. It was a good three miles to the Battle Camp, partly over tussocks but mostly over army tracks, which whether compacted stone or tarmacadam were merciless on bashed feet and aching knee joints. We all of us suffered on this final leg, evidenced by the regular stops as we caught up with each other and quaffed water beneath an unremitting sun. Perhaps for most of us, this was the toughest part of the whole walk. There was simply not enough trackside grass to stride on to ease the agonising surface impact. In the end the unspoken consensus was to stick it out and charge. But it did hurt.

However balm of a most unexpected and most sensationally welcome kind was waiting us on the run down to the Battle Camp. Fionn and Keith were set up by his 4x4 with an eski groaning with ice and deeply chilled bottles of beer. It was an inspired kindness which enabled us to toast each other in style and soak away the memory of the final three mile leg ,which had taken us not much short of two hours.

Reflections and calculations came in over the following days. Measured carefully we had covered going on 42 miles. Since there were so many tyros present, our navigation had been faultless. Had we avoided the bog on the way to Great Staple the distance would have been a little greater. We finished at around 1600 hrs. For the event itself, the official cut off is 1700 hrs. If we had not dawdled and reached Beardown Tor (No 7) on the Saturday night and set off at 0700 hrs instead of 0730 on the Sunday, we would probably have come in nearer 1400 hrs.

Though it was tiring walking in the sun, the going was good. Had the moor been soaked and we had spent time walking into howling gales, our progress would probably have been slower and we would certainly have been a lot more tired. Ten Tors participants have the strength of youth but often lack the personal organisation and mental lock-in that comes with experience and years. Tim H , Dave U and Craig had done the Ten Tors at least once in their earlier youth, so knew what to expect. For the rest of us however, there was a general respect for what 35 miler participants, who can be as young as 13, achieve every year. On our own timings, it seems possible that we could have managed a 45 miler - whatever final distance that might prove to be - but it seems highly unlikely that many of us would even contemplate the 55 miler, which is a real test of both strength and focus.

But 35 miles carrying kit, such as single skin shelters that would not pass the scrutineers and leaving out a rope and much of the obligatory clothing, is eminently do-able , so do-able indeed that Tim G is already casting around for a date next June so the team can do it again.

.......continued