I can't now quite remember how we came to join a group of volunteers repairing dry stone walls in Snowdonia. Erica and I were looking for something to do together. We had walked the Offa's Dyke Path but she is not really a walker. She had cycled from Land's End to John O' Groats but I am certainly not a cyclist. So the idea of spending a week learning how to do something new emerged a way of spending some time together which has become harder to do now that we don't work together any more and live at different ends of the country.
We whizzed in from our visit to the Hebrides, threw laundry into the machine and I whizzed out the next day, leaving Ian back in charge of FIL. What to expect? I had no idea.
First impressions of the bunkhouse were good. I am a bit old for communal sleeping and I wasn't looking forward to bunk beds in a dormitory so it was a relief to find comfortable single beds with a bit of privacy provided by wooden screening panels. I unpacked my rucksack, made up my bed and felt pleased that I had ignored the suggestion to bring a sleeping bag and had brought a quilt.
The second surprise was the age of the participants. There were only three of us over fifty, one in his forties I would guess and the vast majority thirtyish or younger. So the big question as I went to bed that night: had this fifty eight year old woman who has never been less fit bitten off more than she could chew?