This is something that happened to me recently. There are some pictures from the early part, but the really sticky bit happened in the dark, so I'm going to have to do it as a blog.

I'd decided to take an evening walk in the woods. I wasn't expecting too much to happen - it had been a dry couple of weeks so there probably wouldn't be much mud - but I changed into my usual WAMming gear just in case: a rugby shirt, some maroon skinny jeans, and my trusty blue wellies.

At first it was all as dry as I'd expected. But I took a back path and after a bit came to an area where it looked like machinery had been working. The path had been churned up into sludge, and the smart thing to do was try and get round the edge or turn back.

Of course I waded in. I had wellies, I'd be fine, right?

Wrong. In three steps it was up to the top of my wellies. The next step I put my boot down awkwardly, lost my balance, and sat down hard in the muck. As well as instantly plastering the back of my jeans, it splashed up in front, splattering my rugby shirt and even my face.

I was already muckier than I'd thought I might get that evening, so I decided what the hell and pressed on. There were several more places where the path was churned up, and I squelched through them. With any step my welly might suddenly disappear into the goo and throw me off balance. I fell on my arse again at one point trying to get across a stream, but it didn't make a lot of difference to how wet and muddy I was.

Then I saw the main path up ahead. But between me and it was the worst churned-up area yet. This wasn't just a puddle, it was a full-on mud lagoon. I'd ventured into it a few months back, but hadn't expected it to still be there now.

Well, it was. And easily deeper than my boots, it came well over my knees. The dry weather hadn't dried it up, but it had made it thicker. The smell wasn't too nice either. Underneath it all, the ground was quite rough and it was hard to keep my footing. At what felt like the deepest point I slipped and ended up almost crotch-deep in the sludge, but I managed to get back up and made it to the other side.

I carried on with my walk. Fortunately I didn't meet anyone, because it would've been quite hard to explain why my jeans were so covered in stinking mud, particularly when the weather had been so dry. Anyway, I kept walking, and by the time I'd looped around and was heading back, it was getting dark. I was in that WAMmer's state of mind where I knew everything I was wearing would have to go through the wash, so there was no point keeping out of the mud.

So on my way back, I decided to check out a mud pit I knew. It's at the bottom of a slope. I went down the slope a bit too fast and ended up thigh-deep in sticky clay. It took me a bit of time to get myself out and by the time I'd managed it, it was completely dark and what I should have done was stay on the main path on the way back.

Instead, when I got to the mud lagoon, I tried to go back through it. I'd got through it once and my jeans and wellies were already filthy, so no problem, right?

The mud seemed even stickier this time as I waded in. Forcing my legs through the thigh-deep ooze was a real struggle. And it was just as difficult to keep my footing. Before long, I was down. This time I fell forward, the front of my rugby shirt disappearing into the mud. And I realised I was badly stuck.

Like I said, the dry weather had made the mud stickier, and it was clinging to my legs like glue. If I tried to push myself up with my hands they just sank in. They say if you get stuck in mud you should try to lie down and spread your weight, but I was already down in the mud, and while it was spreading my weight it also meant the stickiness was gripping more and more of me.

I stopped struggling for a bit to try and make myself lighter by getting my backpack off. And while I was doing that, I heard footsteps and saw a light coming up the path. I froze, wondering if whoever it was would see me. It wasn't so much about coming up with an excuse, I could just have said that I wandered off the path in the dark and fell in the mud, but it could still have been an awkward situation. Luckily the person a jogger wearing a head torch didn't seem to notice me and just jogged on.

Once the coast was clear, I concentrated on getting out of the mud. I had to roll around in it to free my legs, and then drag myself out, or crawl, or wade, or whatever got me moving through the sludge. I fell back in the mud a couple more times before I finally made it back to the path. I was completely coated up to my armpits in the thick, sticky, stinky ooze, and there were smears and globs of it all the way up to my shoulders. My jeans were completely obliterated with the stuff, and it had oozed inside and soaked my briefs too. Of course my wellies were full to the brim with sludge.

I cleaned up as best I could in a stream, but I was still brown from the chest down (and soaking wet and squelching) as I walked back through the streets. At one point a light picked me out,, and I looked round to see a woman riding a bike looking my way. Goodness knows what she made of me. Amusingly, when I did make it back, I got stuck in my jeans in a different way - the fastener was clogged with mud and I was struggling with it for ages before I could finally get out of them.

I've showered and put my gear through the wash, but the smell of the mud still seems to be hanging around me as I type this. Certainly one of my more intense WAM experiences.