The MAGNIFICENT SEVEN
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“AS SOON AS I SAW YOU, I knew a grand adventure was about to happen.” It’s a saccharine Disney quote from Winnie-the-Pooh, but it’s exactly how it feels as I spot my pals outside the café in Grange. Big smiles and hugs. Cheeky banter and fits of laughter. This is how our Lake District weekender starts.
After this isolated year, the buzz of friendship wraps around us like a blanket, and we taste again – almost like a sense of déjà vu – the camaraderie of an expedition shared. A year starved of social contact is behind us, and only the trail lies ahead. We’re four friends off an adventure, and I for one am as excited as Pooh Bear around a pot of honey.
“How many days have you packed for?” I ask Harrison, his tumescent backpack bulging at the seams. “It’s all the fresh ingredients for tonight’s gourmet camp meal,” he replies with a twinkle in his eye. “It better be good,” I counter, “because I only invited you for your cooking skills. Oh, and because I thought you’d be a useful pack mule.”
Harrison is six foot two and built as sturdily as the Borrowdale crags above us. “In that case, you won’t mind carrying this water
