Out of the murk ahead of us emerged what looked disconcertingly like an orange snowman. It proved on closer inspection to be a high-tech hiker’s outfit. Somewhere inside it was a man. ‘Bit fresh,’ the bundle offered understatedly. John and David asked him if he’d come far. ‘Just from Blea Tarn.’ Blea Tarn was 10 miles away over taxing terrain. ‘Bad over there?’ John asked in what I had come to recognize was the abbreviated speech of fell walkers. ‘Hands-and-knees job,’ said the man. They nodded knowingly. ‘Be like that here soon.’ They nodded again. ‘Well, best be off,’ announced the man as if
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