For a lengthy and completely accurate account (including bits I can't really narrate since I wasn't actually present at the time) of the story I'm about to touch on see C's
post. Really, it's a bloody good story, so go on and read it. I really wish you would.

First off, sheep poo is smelly. You can take my word for it because I have a first hand account of traversing open fields surrounded (and I mean this literally) by hundreds of sheep. D almost collided head on with one that was running down a hill as he was running up it. Quite unsettling. But how did we end up in said fields surrounded by said sheep? Well, D, C, L, and I decided to go off in search of adventure in the peak district national park.
This was our first "great idea."
We caught a train (well, in fact first we
missed a train and then bought tickets for the next one) Friday night up to Derby (pronounced DARby), and as the train was extremely crowded we got to ride up north standing up in the compartment between cars where the toilets are. (Un)fortunately, we were not alone and shared our close quarters with a bunch of raucous and rowdy guys who were enjoying themselves drinking and using excessive expletives. This is where we learned that America is the land of Barbecues and Bikinis. Oh, and Disney World.

Without any further complications, mishaps, or difficulties, we managed to reach our hostel, the East Midlands Guesthouse, for the night in Derby (remember, NOT like a horse derby) and check in. The guy gave us a key to the front door warning us of a past "accident" about the complicated process entailed in getting in and out of said door that was enough to prevent us from endeavoring any further outings for the night. There was also free tea and TVs in our rooms.
Next day, we were awake bright and early to begin our adventure into the PEAK DISTRICT. With the aid of the first of many helpful hikers we were to meet throughout our trip, we managed to catch the transpeak bus up to Bakewell, home of the original
Bakewell pudding (don't worry, I'd never heard of it before either). The Warren will be happy to know that unlike the deep-fried Mars Bars in Edinburgh, I actually ate one of these puddings before the day was out and can attest to its right to fame.
Upon reaching Bakewell, we decided to hit up the visitor center and purchase maps for hikes before embarking on our journies. D and I opted for trail running, while C and L decided to hike, but we both ended up picking the same 8 mile hike up to Chatsworth Park. The hike was GORGEOUS and took hikers through fields, "woody bits," golf courses (Davis and I ducked as we popped out into one field only to see a man swing his club and yell "FORE!" at us), mud, mud, mud, sheep pastures, estates, and mud. Our directions were written like a scavenger hunt including instructions such as "the path where the grass is greener than the rest," "the steeple a quarter of a mile away," and over stiles and past "ancient barrows." Yeah, we didn't know what an "ancient barrow" was either.

So, this is where the fog really descended. Our Tufts in Oxford Adviser had actually warned us before our trip about the quick fogs in the Peak District. Apparently, the army sends recruits to the area for basic training and they end up having to be rescued all the time. Davis and I got stumped searching for those "ancient barrows" for close to two hours, back tracking to a cottage that we knew we had passed an hour ago, until we were able to find enough hikers to find our way back to Bakewell through the muddiest downhill stretch of woods imaginable. We made a pact to eat at the first restaurant we found in town, as it was close to 2:30pm and we'd been out running in cold, mist, and mud for four hours at this point (a promise which we kept and to our delight discovered a wonderful tea room where we stuffed ourselves shamelessly). C and L were still making their way back to town, but they had cell service and all seemed to be going well.

But the fog only seemed to be getting worse. Shortly after finishing our meal, we received a phone call from C declaring that she and L were LOST. They were only about a mile away from town but were going in circles. They were going to look for other hikers but they hadn't seen anyone for the past hour. D and I noticed that it was now past three and going to get dark soon. We decided to go to the visitor centre and find a better map in case C and L found some sort of landmark that we could them locate them by. We hadn't been there for two minutes when we heard reception talking to "two lost girls" not from the area who were walking in circles somewhere. Our first thoughts were about how this must be a regular occurrence until we heard the receptionist advise the girls to call Mountain Rescue because it would be dark soon and then it would get really cold. This is when we realized that they were talking to C and L.
I'll fast forward here a bit through all the awful suspense (heightened by impending darkness, frantic phone calls, and the prospect of missing more trains and finding another place to stay) to the conclusion. After talking to Mountain Rescue and trying to locate themselves, C and L managed to find two seasoned hikers who rescued them and walked them back to Bakewell. At this time, they had been wandering in circles for several hours and added even more mileage to their trip, but made it back safe and sound. We even managed to catch our train on time and arrive back at Oxford, muddy, worn, and with huge smiles on our faces. Crazy trip? You betcha. Do it again? In a heartbeat.
But we'll use better maps next time.