I headed down a very treacherous, muddy path to The River Dearne yet thankfully avoided falling on my arse (American: ass or butt). Crossing the babbling Dearne, the mapped path heading south did not seem to exist so I had to improvise.
There were some raggedy horses looking sorry for themselves. They are probably owned by travellers or gipsies who often claim that they love their animals. Lord knows how long those sad horses have been surviving by the river without proper husbandry or stabling.
Clint and I suffered traffic issues both on our way to the location and on the way back. We found ourselves stuck on the M1 motorway for a full hour in the morning and meeting Friday rush hour traffic both in Barnsley and Sheffield on the way back. Of course these matters were connected. The lost hour meant that I finished the walk later than I had expected.