Of course we wouldn't have expected anything other of Herr Tony than a little bit different. The first trail, or what remained after the tide had run the route beforehand, had us through jetsam flotsam, saltsand, and worse. Our hare was not going to let his solitary falsie go to waste, trumpeting the entire hash along the wrong before allowing us to tackle the echt 2nd. Several buglers later we were enticed INSIDE the palatial fence and a challenge -or distance - to find the way in. At the outset the conundrum posed was there is a wetand a dry On In. And so it developed into an almighty sprint/swim finish, those opting for the longer, dry route getting overtaken by the following shortcutters plunging into the sea and In In first.
Biffo talked himself to the top of fat-boy slim's spy list, some personal 'souvenirs' were awarded and GPS got what he deserved for lacing the bucket with ice.
The public promontory was happy as the sun fell red into the ocean.