<p><font size="3"> Before the advent of geocaching in he UK ... and the banning of blood sports...this story relates to our then interest in the sport of letterboxing.</font>
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<p><font size="3"> Not a single soul had we seen all day, having just finishing our lunch, sitting on a boundary hedge of a remote ruined farmstead high up in the hills of Exmoor, on a perfectly calm and peaceful day. taking in the beauty of the moorland ....<strong>when suddenly all hell let loose!</strong>... From literally nowhere...a highly charged Stag deer, clearly in great distress was bearing down on us at full speed!.....had we not taken avoiding action we would almost certainly have been bowled over .... the Stag missing us by inches... I still recall the rush of air past us as it went crashing through the heather and gorse beyond in full flight! ....if that wasn't surreal enough...after dusting ourself's down, a small group of hounds appeared followed some minutes later by the Master of the Hunt in a state of some embarrassment as he had lost his quarry ....and had we seen it?.... not that we told him you understand.... but no fooling the hounds as they picked up on the scent . The rest of the hound pack were called up ,and with (<em>I kid you not</em>) some 200 horses...... with a blast on the post horn they were off on the chase! .... within seconds we were again left in complete peace and solitude. This just had to be our most surreal....and scariest moment out on the hills.</font>
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<p><font size="3"> Later in the day we were made aware of the out come of the hunt ...I'll spare you the details!</font>
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