The two stories below were the competition entrants for the sportsballshop.co.uk competition. Thank you guys!
The Cat, Clifford Dargonne.
With the smell of roast filling the winter kitchen, I headed out, to run over the Downs and enjoy the first snow fall of the year. A slow, steady warm up took me out onto the slopes rising towards Firle Beacon; the increase in slope meant that the cold, clean air was drawn down into my lungs, as my legs worked harder than usual; pushing through the frosted top layer of snow and sinking into the few inches of fresh snow that covered the familiar trail.
Having left the regular dog walking path meant that the hillside was mine alone, with just the sheep tracks disturbing the winter scene. The sheep were sheltering from the wind in the lea of the trees beside the dew pond on the next knoll some fifty yards off, when suddenly they started to race away and cluster in the next field. Surely I hadn’t disturbed them from this distance? And then there it was; a flash of black, too small and too fast for a cow, too early for a badger, no dog walkers on the ridge yet in the new snow.
A big cat. Often reported, but never confirmed just here.
I raced for the dew pond to see if I could get a clear view, but by the time I had made the distance, nothing. Just a confusion of prints in new snow, and a flock of disturbed sheep. The wind continued to blow from Caburn, and I was left to wonder.
Ready to run? Nigel Foster.
Running a Welsh mountain stream by kayak isn’t necessarily sedentary. From a trickle, winter rain created this monster. Next bend the torrent tore into a thicket with a thunder audible above the sound of driving rain. Falls? We dragged our kayaks up the steep bank to confer. If we couldn’t kayak the falls, we’d seek a place to re-launch.
We sauntered together across a fenced field, a bunch of rowdy kayakers in red, yellow and black. Then someone stopped abruptly and we all piled into him. “What’s that,” he pointed? A motionless bulk glared at us across the field. Judging from its undercarriage it was not a cow. As if to reinforce the point the beefy creature fidgeted and snorted steam from behind a sturdy ring. Oops!
Quickly taking charge of the situation I pointed out our best strategy. “Okay, get ready to run,” I pointed toward the far side of the field, “Get over that fence as quickly as possible!” Squinting eyes estimated just how far away the bull stood, how far and fast the sprint, the best way to negotiate the fence. Someone removed his spray-deck in readiness; a smart move, after all you don’t need to run faster than the bull, just faster than your friends.
Everyone was ready but Chris, more questioning than the others. “Why do you want to run over there specifically,” he asked?
“I don’t.” I pointed behind me, to a closer fence. “I’m going to walk over there!”
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