Excuse the ridiculous heading, but one tries to be creative; likewise a hare, but, as we gathered at the riverside in Crestuma, with the hills of the Douro valley looming behind us, it seemed that Boozy-Woozy and Mrs Slocombe would have to be very creative to avoid a steep climb. Sadly, creativity appears not to be their strength, so up we trudged, and up, and up, running, clambering, scrambling, and - let's be honest - staggering towards a summit that seemed to be moving as we did. Squirrel rather magnificently gave up the ghost about a quarter of a mile from the top and scrambled back down again, possibly a more perilous task than ascending.
There was a good variety of terrain and the fifteen remaining maintained a reasonable pace, albeit drawing into two groups towards the end. In the end, a small group splintered off for a short cut, whilst the rest of us meandred round Crestuma, most spectacularly passing through the abandoned carcass of a huge old, brick-built, factory perched above a rattling stream like something drawn straight from an old school textbook or the pages of a nineteenth century realist novel. The finish came between an hour fifty-five and two hours five (pit-stop-free) and was followed by a bash at the local watersports club.
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