A very cold night saw ten of us meet at Stoop Farm (450m) for a trip down Bottle Pot. Ann and I had been up to the farm the week before, and checked where the entrance was, and talked to the farmer's wife - so there wouldn't be any hunting about in the darkAs soon as folk were changed and ready, we made our way, in twos and threes, along the permissive path towards the sharp ridge of Chrome Hill, and, in the third field, veered right across to the shake-hole below the wall by Tor Rock, where a really ornate gate protects a fluted hole from falling woollies.
