It all began on the
afternoon of Friday the 23rd of October, at the base of the breath-taking
Upper Wharfedale valley deep in the Yorkshire Dales. We all pitched camp in the
usual scout fashion, pitching tents, brewing tea, sparking a cosy campfire and
huddling up for the cold night ahead. What happened the next morning however
was where things got interesting, because,
beforehand we had been told that this was in fact not a generic, cook,
hike, sleep, repeat scout camp; but that it was in fact a horse riding / fish murdering scout camp. SO we rolled up
our sleeves in preparation for our first morning’s horse riding.
At ten o’clock sharp
Saturday morning we were all ready to meet the horses, and after we’d actually
shown the horses that in fact we were not their food, we got stuck in with
grooming and saddling up the steeds we’d be riding for the rest of camp. We
learnt how to approach our horses safely, how to clean their hooves and bodies
of dirt and stones, and most importantly, how to fit their saddles and bridles,
and eventually how to mount them. With all that sorted, we set out for our
first proper ride of the camp, a pleasant gander along the bank of the River Wharfe.
It wasn’t the particularly fast and
arduous trek that we were expecting, but it was a nice way to start. After a
swift picnic lunch, for the second part of our horse-riding morning we were
ushered to the trekking club’s horse arena for some basic skills (some handled
it better than others) involving trying to wrestle ourselves and respective
ponies round and round the circuit, whilst simultaneously trying not to fall
off. 
For our afternoon
entertainment, (so the leaders said) we were to do fishing, and most of us
managed to catch some fine, shiny trout. Despite the popular opinion of fishing
being boring, in practice, it was surprisingly challenging and altogether very
satisfying when you hauled in your catch. Although, the “humane” killing and
gutting of our soon-to-be dinner, wasn’t, to say the least everyone’s cup of
tea. Next, we came to the cooking of the fish, and following some professional
preparation masterchef would have been proud to judge, we grilled our juicy
meat to culinary perfection, and treated ourselves to a warm campfire dinner.
Then, we fell asleep, believe it or not.
When the next morning
arose, we briskly returned to the trekking centre for our second day’s riding,
and, having said our hello’s and prepared our ponies for the second time, we
set out on what would become our camp’s equivalent to the traditional scout
stroll across the hills, a graceful saunter through some majestic views from
the hills. And after another picnic lunch, we were again taken up to the arena,
for some more advanced riding skills, including slaloms, mounting and
dismounting, and trotting (to the obvious amusement of our leaders). 
With the end of camp
fast approaching, we returned to our deserted campsite for the traditional task
of striking camp. And, when all was said and done, all the tents pulled down,
all the food packed away, all the questionably edible fish digested, and every
last trace of horsehair brushed from our clothes, we returned home in good
spirits, and in no doubt why we had sore stomachs weeks later.
Blog by
Guy, Falcon Patrol Leader
