‘. . . I slept well but woke up every now and then to hear the rain pouring down on the tent and the wind flapping it, but while we were at breakfast (chocolate and cold bacon) it cleared up for a little and we got away dry: we skirted the plain still by the mountain slopes and saw presently Miodal and its little church, the stead we ought to have made last night; here the drizzling rain came down on us again and hid everything distant: it was charged too with fine dust that half blinded us and we seemed to be riding through a middling London fog’ (IJ p 191).
‘Thence we got into another bog and over a ridge into a long valley all pure bog between two straight hillsides, along one of which we floundered till Jon showed us a mound on the other hillside which was Scalhot, so thither we turned by the least impassable way across the bogs, when lo, when we were halfway across, it cleared a bit and we could see the stead clear, a blue mountain rising in the distance over it, and below it a great bight of White-water, with a fine swelling mountain on the other side of it’ (IJ p 192).