I had attempted a Denis Rankin Round last autumn, but I lost.
I lost: a contact lens going up Donard, the sole of my shoe coming off Wee Binnian, my sense of direction approaching Tievedockaragh, the will to go-on, when I found myself at the top of Hen, not Cock.
By bailing at that point, I also lost the potential to do the round unsighted, but had a great day out in cracking hills.
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