Day in the life of a surveyor
Oh, I think I forgot to mention. I surveyed a river the other day. Only a small river at that point, barely six foot wide and a foot deep. We needed to get across and survey the other bank too, so I decided I would jump across. The chap who owns the site offered to drive me round to the other side in his land rover, but my new climate conscious mind refused to countenance that, besides I could jump that easily.
It has a certain element of Greek tragedy already, doesn't it?
So I check the bed of the river... firm. I found a likely spot to jump, not too wide and then made a decision. Jumping all the way from top of bank to top of bank was possible, but most likely I would land in an undignified manner and pull a muscle and God know what, so I would jump onto the sand bar below it, much easier jump, and climb out with poise and dignity.
So a two step run up and a majestic launch in to the air ensued, and all was going well.
Then I landed.
At this point thing rapidly started to go wrong.
It took me a few nano seconds to come to terms with what was happening, which was this... My wellies, instead on making firm boot prints on the sand bar, sank about 18 inches into the porridge like mud, which was a surprise. The angle I had elected to land at meant that my legs were now stuck in the mud at about 15 degrees from the vertical... the wrong 15 degrees. I made a brief effort to stand up but had to give up on the idea rather rapidly and sat down instead. The water was lovely.
It took a couple of minutes to extricate my feet and wellies from the mud, during which I was able to contemplate how lucky it was that I had decided not to show off jumping to the top of the bank, but rather to maintain my dignity.