Frost still white on the grass at half nine, and the notebook calls it a hard, clear morning, which round Blackmoorfoot means you can see your breath and the water looks like slate. Right boot, brown leather, size nine or thereabouts, laces missing, on the conduit path. A solid boot, and I wrote at the time that somebody had cared for it once. You can tell by the stitching being fed, even when the laces have gone.
I sat a short while on the stool with the flask. Flask conditions very good — the cold does bring the best out of a flask, and I stand by that in 2026 as firmly as I did then. One photograph, come out dark. The old camera had about six weeks left in service at this point and it were coasting. The book doesn't say what the sandwiches were, which for January 2018 likely means I ate them in the car and forgot myself.
The conduit path has been good to the register over the years, and this year especially — there were another along it in September, forty yards off, which is dealt with under number 142. Blackmoorfoot has never let me down for long, and it still hasn't.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.