enjoy this kind of rugged solitude from the comfort of a warm, inviting seventeenth century lodge. warm one's legs by the fire, play a little snooker, enjoy a fine single malt or two, a substantial game meal, maybe another whiskey, perhaps. contemplate the mysteries of the universe under a starry sky. then, to sleep into the arms of morpheus, to rise in the morning as bringer of death. ♪ >> anthony: stephen and adrian keep calling it "the hill." but that ain't no hill i ever seen. it's a behemoth. an endless range of behemoths. one mountain giving way to a moor, giving way to another mountain, then more, then more. there might be a hill somewhere in there, but it's probably between mountains. after a five-mile uphill walk.