Subterfuge On A Sylvan Rally

"I know where Turn in Track is," she said, "you passed it."

"Do you mind if I...?" I said.

"Not at all," she said. I took another sandwich. I was sorry now that I'd left her hanging on the wire.

"Wait a minute," I said, "I'll just nip up and stamp my card." This heavy, kindly girl raised no objection to a clear breach of the orienteering code. In a moment I rejoined her, rubbing my hands briskly. "Rock Outcrop. That's the last one, isn't it? You got a course on it?"

I could see my way clearly to winning the junior ladies' trophy now. Home on the last control point with Russet Pants' aid, then make a break for the finish. She was too big a girl to be able to run fast and, besides, her glasses would probably steam up. She wrapped up her sandwiches and came slowly to her feet. "I suppose we'd better get on with it," she said. I was beginning to suspect that here also was a first-and-last-time orienteer.

Control Point 5 was easy, actually. It was open ground, and there was only one limestone crag in the general area. We got there together and searched around it. "Here it is," she called out trustingly.

In the last resort I just couldn't do it to her. I was going to have to throw the fight. "You go ahead," I said, and sat on the rock for a quiet Gauloise. I didn't stamp my card, but I walked easily back to Santon Bridge Village Hall—you could see it from Checkpoint 5—and conceded. Which is why, on the official results of the West Cumberland Orienteering Club, published later, you will see the entry: C. Gammon; unattached; retired. That was one way of putting it.