Summit Troops

Cath had lots of work to do today, so I cleared off to the BurtonDassett Hills. I had intended to wander over Edge Hill, what with all the mist around, but after I'd left the M40 the sun peeped through to coincide with the turn off for the hills and I instinctively indicated left. The sun was never seen again.

The view from the hills was blah. Edge Hill couldn't be seen at all even though it was just the other side of the motorway. So from here I headed down and took a path leading to Burton Dassett church, and from there, a route passing Church Hill and Bitham Hill until I reached Avon Dassett.

The Church of St John the Baptist at Avon Dassett is owned by the Churches Conservation Trust. So I cleaned my boots on the boot scrapers outside and ventured in for a brief look-see.

From here the path skirts to the north of the churchyard above which is a short lane of mature leylandi at the junction with the road. At the gate to the next field was a sign warning of a bull with cows and calves. I couldn't see a bull, so entered, only to find the bull, a great white thing, had been out of sight all along. I didn't like the look of him and he didn't like the look of me too. So I gave him a wide berth and dropped down the field as far away as possible.

From where I would begin climb to Shooter's Hill there was what seemed to be a bag of bright gleeming white, just dumped by the step over the stile. Turned out it was a dead swan.

From Shooter's Hill I descended, then climbed again to reach a farm on the outskirts of Fenny Compton. On entering the village I took a short cut through to meet the path headingsouth-west to Gredenton Hill.

Gredenton Hill rises to 203m above sea level, so is rather high by Warwickian standards. The path however, runs along the foot of the hill. So needless to say I marched true south and clambered to the top in the hope of seeing something splendid. What I saw was a bloke on a quad bike. And he saw me.

With an eye to an adventure, I thought to hide among the gorse bushes on top. But as I heard the bike get ever nearer, it occured to me the adventure was pure childishness, and managed to get myself to my feet just in time to hear him yell to me that I was not supposed to be up there. I dreamt up some rubbish about how I climbed to get my bearings and was I meant to be going some such way, which I am positive he treated as guff of the first order. Still, I thanked him for his assistasnce and carried on my way. I can't bear to think how differently the conversation would have been had he seen me (as he would have done) crouching in a patch of gorse bushes.

At the top of Gredenton Hill I had seen the familiar look out tower at Burton Dassett and thankfully, knew there was not much further to go.

On reaching the hills once more, I was about to leave when I heard this man frantically calling out. His dog had chased a flock of sheep who had run to higher ground. With thanks to the dog, I zeroed in.