As I have mentioned in the Randos Photos thread, I have been talking about my walks with Jules and my inability to take any photos, so thought they might be getting fed up with me in there despite being kind and not saying so.
So this tale is purely descriptive, no pictures were involved at all, though if I could dig out my old headcam I am sure it would have been a lively exercise.
We set out on our usual walk north to the field before turning east up to the top and down through the forest. On entering the field Jules prefers to turn west down to the bottom border, almost impenetrable thicket of thorns of all kinds. I do know that a short way inside that growth there is a ledge and a drop of 12 feet or so but I am not worried for him because he refrains from entering and contents himself with sniffing along the border. Thus, as I keep straight across the field I have no qualms about him going down there and we meet up at the far side or down in the opposite bottom corner. Not today.
No sign of him at first at the other side so I walked down and along 'till I saw the telltale red line that he pulls behind him. But this was different, it disappeared into the brambles through a very low tunnel, probably a fox trail. On reaching the spot I peered in 'till I picked up a flash of orange, but below the bottom of the drop, I called him to me and he started to obey but soon stopped and stood still, not to sniff but I am well versed in his body language and this meant he was trapped.
How to get to him, certainly not through this foxhole, so I walked along about 30 metres to where there was a larger one. Still not easy but possible and once in I scrambled bit by bit over dead branches, through brambles and over moss covered boulders which I think were the original man made wall, probably an ancient attempt to extend the productivity of the field above. I called him and he saw me and stood still waiting patiently for rescue. When I got to him I realised the precarious nature of our predicament, we were both at the edge of the drop and could have sustained injury if we fell, so the first thing I did was to unclip his lead as I could see his track to get there and thought it safer to have full control of the line myself. I made him, firmly in both languages and with ‘local’ accents in both cases (he is fluent in both Occitan French and Notts English 
), to first sit and then lie down before a very firm ‘stay’.
At first, with line released from him now, I tried to pull it along the trail that he had made. He had gone down the bank, round a tree completely then left to walk along the bottom, in and out of various other bushes and roots before climbing the wall again to get to where I found him, locked solid by all the meanderings. But it was too much, the clip on the far end had got snagged in a cleft and would go no further, so I very carefully climbed down the slippery rocks making full use of my 2 Alpine sticks (thank you @DrMarkH 
) but soon discovered that even they can slip if you don’t test them at every step. Made it to the snag, easily freed but then had to coax it back towards the tree that he had encircled, all the time carefully picking my footsteps. Finally freed I then started the climb back up to Jules who was watching me intently from his couched position still.
Eventually got back to him and clipped him up again, then told him to go through the hole through which he had come. No problem for him, with his thick coat and low profile but much different for me. At first I battered outwards all the prickly spines I could and then made very careful low progress to freedom. The spines raked my head and arms and legs, good job I was not in shorts, and then raked down along the whole of my back to the extent that I was sure my shirt would be in shreds and soaked red with blood. Eventually I made it out, thanked him for waiting but told him firmly that this it for today, ‘home, Jules, home.’
Trying to look at my back in the bathroom mirror I was surprised and thankful to see no evidence of damage but that might change when I disrobe later for a swim. Just a few scratches on my hands and a very large 5x4 cm bruise on the left one.
Lucky as I said to be not wearing shorts but also a gifted very high quality shirt with long sleeves. I normally only wear short sleeves but half a dozen were given to me years ago by a neighbour whose Dad had died. I will remember to thank her again next time I see her. 
Jules? Not a mark, his thick coat served him well but I will keep a sharper eye on him at that point in the future. 
