Heat on the Open Hill
The southern tops have no trees. That is their appeal in April, when the wind strips the cloud off them and you can see the whole valley laid out, and it is their problem in July. I went up on a day the forecast called 27 °C and the hill called 29. By the time I reached the first summit at ten past eleven, there was no shade anywhere and the limestone was warm enough to feel through the boot.
I had two litres of water, which is my standard summer carry for a 16 km walk. It was gone by one. I had drunk more than usual because I had set off at nine, after the morning cool had already burned off, and because the climb up the dry valley is steep and sheltered and traps the heat. The sheep were lying in the shadow of every wall, flat out, and I did not blame them.
There is a spring marked on the map on the north side of the second top. I went to it. It was a damp patch of bright green moss and nothing else. In a wet year it runs; in a dry one it does not. So the last 5 km were done dry, walking slowly, hat soaked in the one stream I did cross, which was a trickle an inch deep. I was not in trouble, but I was closer to it than I like, and I had a mild headache for the rest of the evening that I put down to the sun rather than dehydration, though it was probably both.
Food was almost beside the point. I ate half a pork pie and two salted oatcakes and could not face the rest. Salt was the one thing I did right: I had packed a small bag of salted peanuts and finished them, and I think it helped.
Changes for next summer: three litres for anything over 12 km on the open tops, a start no later than seven so the climbing is done before the heat, and the southern ridge saved for spring and autumn, when it is at its best anyway. The view, for what it is worth, was hazy and flat. Heat gives you nothing.