Rain runs quickly off the hills in Wales but, in the lower ground,where the water gets away much slower, there are many bog holes and depressions filled with weed and moss. One gets to know these places in the course of journeys to the higher ground. Not long ago I went up to look at a particular lake, crossing ground I know quite well, when all at once I found myself thigh deep in a sort of funnel in the peat. Fortunately I was able to extricate myself because my other foot was on firm ground. Long ago .1 was warned of the danger by an old quarryman who advised me never to short-cut on a sheep track, particularly in the fading light. I remembered his warning as I squelched along, thankful that I had stepped into a small hole. There are others on the mountain- side that could take a man to the crown of his head, and how he would get out I do not know.