Without the cloud, we would probably see it from where we stand. The frustration is palpable. At some point it dawns on our by now befuddled minds that, even if we find each of the remaining controls in record time, we cannot possibly reach the overnight camp before midnight. As this would disqualify us if not kill us we opt instead to quit which, miles from anywhere as we are, proves easier said than done. We are not alone.
Teams stream off the hills like the rain.
The mystery, to us, is that 120 finish. Back home, with core temperature restored, I seek out Mike Bowyer s Ocean Navigator Guide on the bookshelf. I look over at my wet and muddy rucksack, lying forlornly in a spreading pool of Lakeland water on the kitchen floor, and consign my Boston medal haul to the bottom of the sock drawer.