The cool breeze strengthened to a squall, pressing clothes close and tight. A light drizzle flurried in the air making it a woollen-hat-over-the-ears day. Mother Nature had called to say “hello” and give us a gentle reminder that the Pennine Hills could be a changeable, bleak and dangerous place to be. A cantankerous Texel ram froze Peter and I with a challenging Catalan stare that proclaimed, ‘This is my patch and don’t you forget it’. Not before the ram was sure we’d got the message,...