Logan Rock is a huge mass of rock jutting far out into the sea, made up of stone steps and honeycombed with chambers. The sheer size of it is amazing; climbers on Logan Rock look like ants crawling on its face. I had the rock to myself, and spent more than an hour exploring, scrambling up miniature chimneys and down rugged ravines, following narrow blind alleys, clawing my way up onto peaks overlooking the sea. Still there were many pieces of the rock I had not touched.
I never found the rocking stone, for all my searching, but I found the best hill-fort I had seen yet. Our distant ancestors at Logan Rock knew a good thing when they saw it. Their impressive gate to the castle still stands, with massive stones to guard the entrance. For the rest, they used the natural caves and chasms of the rock. It must have been a wonderful fort, with rooms and compartments, meeting halls and secret chambers, stones for sitting, stones for addressing an audience, stones for lying under in the cold, hidden chasms for quiet rendezvous.
In the unlikely event that it were to stop raining, I determined to return and to spend the night in that place, just as if I had lived in those long-ago days.
For now, I went back to the hotel for breakfast. It was to be a day of many wonders...
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