Her first stop was the to grab a drink. The woman at the desk pointed north. “The bike shed is behind the café, not next to it,” she warned. Sarah nodded, making a mental note.

Suddenly, she heard a splash. “The !” she exclaimed, checking her map. “And the bird hide should be on the western side, near the woodland trail .”

Sarah had been looking forward to the outdoor education trip for weeks. Her instructor, Mr. Evans, handed her a map of the and said, “Don’t lose this. You’ll need to find the bird hide before noon.”

The map was a mess of dotted lines. “First,” Sarah muttered, “I’m at the . To my left is the car park .” She started walking, the crunch of pine needles under her feet.

She passed the , which was full of grunting adults on treadmills, and then the changing rooms , which smelled of chlorine from the pool she couldn't find.

“Excuse me!” she called to a gardener. “Where’s the bird hide?” “You’ve passed it,” he laughed. “Go back past the and turn left at the first aid station . You can’t miss it.”

But she took a wrong turn and ended up facing the . A group of kids were screaming on the zip line. Frustrated, she checked the map again. The picnic area was circled in red—her group’s meeting point.

Just as panic set in, she saw a wooden signpost. It read: To the , turn right. To the Caravan park , go straight. She needed neither.