Crisp, my aged companion, surveyed the map and pointed out the place we were looking for was down the hill.
“You sure we should go down there?’ I asked.
“Yes, it’s the only way and what we are looking for will be worth it,” she replied enthusiastically.
“But what about your arthritis?” I pleaded, knowing how the last time we attempted a similar descent, there was no end of problem getting her back up again.
“Piffle,” she said, “you’re such a wuss.”
Going down was no problem, nor was the two hundred metre walk to the old sawmill.
Coming back saw Crisp struggle. Her determination flagging as we reached the stairway.
Some hours later, much to her embarrassment, the rescue team after a lot of huffing and puffing, managed to get her to the top. Once there she shook them off, announcing she would walk home under her own steam.