Flight

So there we were, Roger Turner and I, up at 3000 feet after a nice climb from the bowl, with Gandhi there to lead us on an enormous cross-country. And what does the master do? He flies back to the hill, leaving Roger and me to plough on like headless chickens through massive sink to a nice-looking cloud -- whose reasons for not working Gandhi would no doubt have known. Gandhi, what do you think we're paying you for? (I'm referring here to the coffee and biscuit back at the Dyke.)

Thanks to Terry Clark for the retrieve. I last saw Roger heading over the back again on his second go, doing well.