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A meeting near Cray, Upper Wharfedale.

I met this old chap as I was coming down off a waterlogged and mist-shrouded Buckden Pike a couple of days ago.
He was a retired sheep farmer, but he still kept a few sheep, about ten or so, "just to give me something to do", as he put it.
He'd just finished letting them out onto the open fell - I'd been watching him and the dog herding them up the hill towards me. When the sheep got close to the wall they stopped, waiting for the gate to be opened. The dog went to ground, the gate was opened, and they were through, out on the open fellside where they belong.
I talked with him for a while - he pointed out his old farm by the hamlet of Cray, just across the valley. He's retired now though, and lives in the village of Buckden, a couple of miles away.
He offered me a dead mole that he'd just collected from the traps, producing it from a plastic carrier bag that contained about a dozen more of the creatures. I told him I'd get a sandwich in the pub instead...