Fear and Boating in the Wolds

Following report is assembled from what is left of notes on Regan interview/journey.
Originals have been lost/disappeared, anything not retained on reporter's body has been *compromised*. Laptop frozen and pens hard to find.
Strange. The reporter when writing this selection is not aware of the ongoing investigations on the part of The Three.

Fear and Boating in the Wolds.

Following the botched attempt to find Regan's abode, I'm stuck in Wolds village Inn trying to plan for the next two days. After soft drink option was followed in trying to fall in to locals favour Hexx was sought from bar...duly rendered much of the afternoon/evening incomprehensible. Did manage to drop into semi-understandable conversation with a man name Nelson Parks. He has was of an inditerminate age, somewhere beyond middle age, but unable to ascertain fully due to the obvious ravages of drink and time. Older than seemed, the eyes and faculties seemed to be pin sharp. Insistent. Conversation rambled, but some nuggets did appear, though veiled by the fog of Hexx and locally micro-brewed ales, things didn't take much shape. [at this stage notes were taken and during one extended toilet break, Mr Parks filled a notebook with complex diagrams and maps with statements, all seemed interlinked, but protracted discussion failed to illuminate further. this notebook is now disappeared/lost presumed destroyed - more info to follow].

Suffice, the journey looked doomed to nothing. However, through Parks there were two strong leads.

1. The second day of the Wolds stay coincided with the Open Gardens of the village. Mainly the opportunity to view a series of disgustingly rich people opulent rear vistas. Koi ponds, faux stone minarets, formal hedge work and electronically rotated summer houses synced to the rotation of the sun. However, after garden 'J', Parks suggested a detour. Across the main street lay a stile and narrow grassed area sandwiched between two high sandstone walls, leading toward seemingly solid hedge and bracken. Once the 50 yards of long grass had been traversed it became clear there was a small route through the overgrowth. Pushing through led to a small gravel path that led a short way toward a clump of trees - mainly Ash and silver Birch - the high stone walls ran along to the trees ahead and overgrown foliage seemed wild and free to block light [almost like the 'wild' climbers and been encouraged up the walls] nothing looked to have disturbed the area in a while, but the path seemed maintained. Once we arrived at the trees the path abruptly ended with no suggested path, but there seemed to be the remains of a series of paths through the knotty grass and weed. With an approximate left or right choice I looked at Parks and he shrugged, 'You pick' he offered. I went right and headed toward what seemed the most easily reachable route around the trees. 'This is the only thing Regan left...they won't want you to see this...it won't make any sense though.' Parks was being wilfully confusing, but at the same time shed enough light on where we were. At least there seemed to be a point to it.

Either direction led to freedom from the walls and foliage, but imminent daylight seemed likely on my desired route. Eventually I found myself with Parks some several wheezy steps behind, at the top of a slight incline toward a relatively sized field. The wind blew patterns across the grass and the vague signs of paths through the grass led toward a series of structures. Small and almost lost in the grass, there seemed to be around 8 or 9 of them arranged in what looked like 5 'areas' - delineated by shakily constructed stone boundaries. I could swear it looked familiar...like a scale model of the Great Lakes. I trudged through the grass to each structure and found them to be either old bee hives or what looked like the homes for pigs you see on farms along the roads in this part of yorkshire. all where empty and seemed to have been emptied with the intention of something to be eventually housed in them. One had a rough construction that looked to be intended to use water to power a turntable [this is my assumption]. In the grass it was hard to discern whether the grass had originally been kept short to go with the landscaping. But it does seem that whoever was meant to be here had to choose there own path, their own 'path of desire'. Before wandering back to the path and the village I tried one last hive, it had the phrase 'This is what you look for' scrawled on the side, but inside there was nothing.

2. Nelson Parks had further revelations on the final evening of my stay, as he revealed more on Regan's whereabouts. The village line seems to be that Regan has a residence - alluded to as Woolly Knoll - and is rarely here. Parks has a different take, and though this is his own version, there seems to be a veracity to his information. The sharpness of his presence and the insistence of his discussion...seems trustworthy. Either that, or he's looking for a juicy kickback...not sure how. The tale is that Regan did indeed have a getaway in the village, well, on the outskirts, but was regularly in residence. Until 5 maybe 6 years ago, when his crashed car was discovered on one of the lanes. Regan was never found. He disappeared... Additionally Parks seems to spell it Reagon. He never explained why. He also referred to Reagon/Regan as 'Surly Early' due to his demeanour... Draw your conclusions.

>> Current status of Lone wolf: trying to get re-sketches of remembered visuals of reporters notebook. It seems Hexx has blanked his recollections of the specifics <<