A Witch of a Hill

Over the years I have climbed most every Fell in the Lake District, quite a number of mountains in Scotland and Wales and walked every predominant long distant footpath in the British Isles and Ireland. But alas the years have taken their toll on my on my weary limbs. Things now have to be planed in short stages, preferably flat stages.
Therefore an attack on Pendle Hill a mere 1800 ft above sea level becomes a major expedition. Should I make the assent in two or three stages setting up camps along the way, indeed, would I need to bivouac overnight? - then their would be supplies, Sherpas, Yaks - Oh my God I'm going to need sponsorship!!!
Well I exaggerate of course, but I would have to psyche myself up no end, take my time and make many stops on the way up to catch my breath.
The decision made, "I went for it" on Friday. I parked up beside the colossus, put on my boots, slung on my rucksack and with the sun on my back I boldly strode forth. I was transported back in time and suddenly remembered what pleasure this trekking business gave me, but it was short lived. My knees and ankles ached and my lungs felt as they were going to bust, but with measured pace "dead slow" I made it to the top. What a feeling, body and soul rejuvenated, it was almost as good as topping out on Ben Nevis - well almost!!!
And what was all this endeavour for?
To get a snap of this Dotterel.