Dawn's pages

Cheviot winter walk

2012-02-08T17:43:00.000Z

After our last attempt at a winter wander,which failed to turnout as planned. Mike (northernpies.blogspot.com) hatched a plan, like a good boy scout, he is good at devising plans. It started with an e mail, Cheviots, Mike suggested. Gradually a plan was hatched and a date agreed upon. Thus it was that on the Wednesday the 1st of February I arrived at Durham station from 'that' London. The pack was heavy with five days food. Mike was waiting for me at the station. First things first, we went in to Durham for a late breakfast. Having spent time perusing the weather forecasts I suspected we could be in for some very cold weather. My old, heavy duty salopettes had been dug out of the cupboard and generally I had come prepared for cold conditions. Arriving at Alwinton it was obvious that indeed conditions where going to be cold. However, the day was dry and clear and after Mike had notified the local constabulary that his car had not been been abandoned. We set off up Clennel Street. The pair of us taking a slow easy pace, dictated by heavy packs.Galvanised by Mike,s regime of daily walks, I too had been attempting to put a few miles in to my legs, following a regime of two or three hours of walking most days of the week; including a few hills. Not an easy prospect in the 'that' London. We had set out in the early afternoon and the walking was pleasant with a few inches of snow underfoot and the ground mainly frozen. Turning off from the main bridleway we headed over towards a small hill marked as the Castles and then dropped down to camp beside the Usway beck. Already the temperature was dropping, with clear skies indicating a frosty night to come. Although we had only been walking a few hours it was pleasure to stop, set up camp and relax with a welcome hot drink.

Thursday 2nd February.
A frosty night with ice on the tents in the morning. A routine had already been established, with gas cylinders, cameras and any electronic devices going in to the sleeping bag to keep them from freezing overnight. It was a shivery start to the day and we where glad to get moving. Mike can be quite deceptive in his manner of walking; a slow, but steady pace that can eat up the miles. Our way led up the valley and we noted a few other possible camp spots. The path plunged in to the forestry and although it only followed the edge of the trees, in places it felt almost Stygian. It was a relief to break out in to the pale, winter sunlight once more. A check of the map at Fairhaugh and then a long steady haul up to the Border Ridge with a pause to admire the view and relish the wintry sunshine. Lunch on the border was a swift affair. The cold was seeping through all our layers, with a light breeze adding to the wind chill factor. However, the walking was magnificent as we headed over to Windy Gyle and then descended in to Scotland down Windy Rig. A great commotion as a mixture of quad bikes, someone on a trail bike and a horse rider, resplendent in a red coat poured over the opposite hillside. The bugling of hounds indicated it was a local hunt. In all probability they where following a pre laid scent trail?
Setting up camp by Back Burn, it became obvious that we where in for a very cold night. By four pm the water in my cooking pot had frozen and my water bladder was also going the same way. Both of us wasted little time in getting in to our sleeping bags. Once supper was cooked and hot drinks made, gas cylinders and cameras where placed in the sleeping bags to protect them from the cold. Winter nights are long and normally I read for an hour or two, retrieve the gas cylinder and make a final hot drink and then settle down for the night. One thing I dread is waking up late at night or in the wee small hours, with an need to go to the loo. As much as I try to ignore it, the pressure in my bladder leaves me with no option but to bow to the inevitable. It is a long process, unzip the sleeping bag, grope for the headtorch, fumble for my boots which are at the bottom of the tent and are stiff and icy. Bear feet jammed in boots, in a state of partial undress, unzip the tent, a deluge of ice crystals showering down adds to the gasp factor. Dive out of the tent with chattering teeth. By the time I get back in to the sleeping bag I feel half frozen and am shivering violently.

Friday 3rd.

Overnight the temperature had plummeted, despite bring the water bladder in to the tent, it had frozen. Later we where told temperatures down in the valleys had been recorded at around minus ten/twelve. Trying to clean my teeth, I found my tooth paste was partially frozen. A few baby wipes I had packed in my wash kit where absolutely frozen. The tents where totally sheathed in ice. The worst of the ice is shaken off but the tents are still awkward to.pack. A long pull back up to the Border Ridge at least got the circulation moving. Cold it certainly was, but the walking was splendid and the views of the snow covered surrounding hills was magnificent

.A delightful walk following the Pennine Way along to the Rescue hut. High moorland, wide open spaces and Mike and I had it all to ourselves. From there by devious routes, we negotiated our way through tussocks and rough ground, with Mike softly singing 'tiptoe through the tussocks', to arrive at Buckham's Wall Burn. Our chosen camping spot for the night. One downside was that the area was somewhat hemmed in by the low surrounding hills. Frozen ground indicated that it saw little sun. It was not a bad camp spot though. A thump with a lump of stone helped drive tent pegs in to frozen ground. Mike was busy attempting to shed weight from his rucksack and passed over to me a large portion of malt loaf and custard. It was delicious, a welcome treat to go with supper.

Saturday

It was another cold night. Condensation from ones breath freezes and causes ice crystal to form on the inner tent. Ice can form too around the opening of the sleeping bag. There was some strange beeps emanating from Mike's tent. He later informed me this was due to him cuddling up to his mobile phone!Tents are given a good shaking to remove the worst of the ice coating them. Despite that they remain stiff and awkward to pack. Once underway we followed the Buckham's Wall burn down the valley. In places the burn was sheeted over with a layering of ice. In places the path also was hazardous with thick water ice. It did not distract from the fact that it is a delightful walk following the burn down. At Buckham's bridge we joined the road that leads down the Upper Coquet valley. Road walking is not my forte and having problems with painful feet does make things a tad difficult. However, the walking was fine. We passed several farms on the way down. Notices where prominently displayed on sheds, outbuildings and gates, "Out of Bounds" This was a large military training area and it was easy to picture a group of cold and miserable squaddies sneaking in to some farmers barn for a comfy bit of warmth. At first I was unsure, however, Mike also had noted it. The first few flakes of snow drifting down. Small, featherly wisps drifting on the light wind. Gradually the snowfall increased. This at least made things a wee bit warmer. A noticeboard attracted our attention, 'Tea Room One Mile' We exchanged glances; surely not? It was, after all, the middle of winter? Despite a few doubts, our pace quickened. Another sign at Barrowburn raised our hopes even further. Mike tentatively approached the front door of the farmhouse. It was open and the farmers wife came bustling out to make us welcome. With an invitation to get out of our outer layers and make ourselves comfortable in front of the open fire. A pot of tea was brought. There was hot, thick, nutritious soup and we followed that with a large bacon roll each. Nirvana, an excellent tea room. F Eyeing the thick, swirling snow outside, we inquired about the bunkhouse. Sadly for us a group had booked it for their individual use. It was the same for a smaller hut as well. Fortunately for us, the snow had eased as we left the tea room. It was a straight forward walk from there, up and over the hill and down to Fairhaugh. Mike goes up hills better than I do. He plods on, slow and steady, whereas I am the sort that stops for the occasional breather. My legs where feeling a tad tired. Mike assured me though that it was good for me! From Fairhaug we had an easy walk through the forestry following the Usway burn. A large, stone built sheep pen offered plenty of room for our two tents. As we set up camp the clouds lowered and soon the snow was falling heavily. It had been an enjoyable day.
Sunday

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The snow fall ceased early in the evening and then the temperature plummeted once more. A dog fox barked close by and owls could be heard in the woods during the night. Once more I had to get up during the night and for some reason found it difficult to settle. Very early in the morning I got the stove out for a hot drink and had breakfast at the same time This morning the tents proved even more difficult to pack than normal. Mine was bundled unceremoniously under the rucksack lid. It was still caked in frozen snow and ice, despite much shaking. Mike had a visitor, a wee mouse and he left it an offering of crumbled oatcake. It was clear and still as we set off down the valley. The footprints of a fox where evident in several places. It was pleasant walking down the valley toward Upper Coquetdale. A check of the map and we swung off to follow the Path Peth up and over the hill. It was our last and really our only hill of the day, but I think we where both a wee bit tired. We where back in Alwinton by early afternoon. Our last night was to be one of sybarite luxury. We where booked in to the hostel at Byrness, where we where made welcome. The sheer bliss of a hot shower and clean clothes, wonderful. A special treat was a hot meal.
Overall a good trip. Thanks Mike.

The best laid schemes

2011-12-11T11:00:00.002Z

As Rabbie Burns announced, 'The best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley'In an unusual departure from my normal solitary wanderings I agreed to meet up with Mike, ( Mike Knipe northern pies). A flurry of messages and e mails saw a rough outline of a 'plan'. Mike spoke of snow on the tops? Cold weather kit duly packed and four days food in the rucksack made the pack feel weighty. At the early hour of five thirty am on the Monday morning; saw me heading to the station. Approaching Leeds I was surprised to actually see snow showers and the train station felt decidedly chilly. To my relief the trains where running to time, a delay would have meant Mike sitting around waiting for me.As is my usual habit, after Settle station I nipped in to the train loo to change in to my hill going gear.Looking up to the Mallerstang ridge just after Gargrave it appeared to be shrouded in cloud. It took a few moments for me to realise that it was actually snowing and heavy snow too. Mike was waiting for me at Kirkby Stephen station .A bit of tricky manoeuvering to get out of the car park and Mike drove gingerly in to Kirkby. The road surface was icy and the car was a tad skittish. A fancy Porsche coming the other way lost it and went to investigate the hedge; at one point I wondered if he was going to perform a rollover for a finale, thankfully he did not. Mind he had sustained damage and was looking rather nonplussed as we passed. Parking up in the town we shrugged in to waterproofs and headed out.We did not have that far to go but conditions underfoot where wet and muddy; as I found out doing a nice belly slide on a little bit of bank that posed no problem for Mike.For a short time the weather eased, however, as we set up camp by an old sheep pen and close to a wall for protection the snow started once more. For me it had been a long day, especially since breakfast had been at 0430am. A brew of tea and a meal and I was happy to snuggle down in the sleeping bag. The snow continued all night, nipping out in the early hours everything was a white swirling mass. Snow was banking up on the sides of the tent and it needed a few thumps to reduce the buildup. From the sound of things Mike too was having a few problems. By morning it was evident the overnight snowfall had been substantial. We both agreed that with the amount of snow that was blanketing the hills, progress in any direction would have a hard slog. This was born out when Mike headed off to find water; the snow was up to his knees and it was obviously laborious just plowing through the stuff. With full packs the going would have been even more difficult. While |Mike headed back to his sleeping bag to continue his research on snoozeology, I curled up with a book.. It was a day of sunshine and showers. The following morning more bad weather was rattling around the tents; sleet, snow, freezing rain and hail. A quick heads together as we discussed plans to head up the Eden valley and head up the old 'High Road' that climbs the hill above Mallerstang. The concern was that our proposed destination, Hell Gill, offered little protection from bad weather. As things turned out it was a fortuitous decision. It was a tad frustrating for both of us to spend another day tent bound. With a certain degree of lassitude creeping in on my part I broke a cardinal rule of camping.While brewing up late in the afternoon I noticed a tent peg was loose. By now the ground we where on was wet and boggy. Shoving the tent peg back in I remember thinking that if the wind got up that peg would come loose. It needed a rock placing on it which would have solved the problem. Putting off the task until I had drunk my tea, I promptly forgot about it. A bad mistake on my part, the price for negligence can sometimes be high. The night was a long one and I slept badly, feeling uneasy. By the wee small hours the wind had shifted direction and was rising rapidly. The dry stone wall was no longer offering us any protection from the wind. With the wind came rain, icy, freezing, mingled with hail and sleet. As a dark gray morning broke I noticed the front of the tent was flapping badly and remembered that tent peg. Too late, even as I made a move to rectify the problem the peg came away and the front of the tent now began to thrash wildly. Really I should have got out of the tent and sorted the problem. Instead I yelled for Mike. Poor guy, I just shoved a handful of tent material in to his hand with a "Hang on to this please." It was then a case of hurriedly dressing and rapidly bundling everything in to the rucksack. Amazingly everything remained dry, the rucksack liner proved its worth. Staggering out to face a howling maelstrom, the tents where rapidly taken down and unceremoniously bundled in to the packs. Ironically the rest of the tent pegs where embedded deep and pulling them out with numb fingers was non too pleasant. Looking up to the hillside above us tattered clouds and horizontal rain where scudding across the fells driven by the gale force wind. It was no place to be. As we headed down toward Hartley, gusts of wind broadsided us causing the pair of us to skitter sideways, crabbing against the relentless onslaught. Water was flowing everywhere and the river Eden was in full spate. Arriving in Kirkby Stephen we took the sensible option and headed in to the nearest cafe for breakfast.What the folk in the cafe thought as we bundled through the door dripping wet and rather wild looking, I have no idea? The lady rallied to the occasion though, promptly placing bin bags on the chairs for us to sit on. Mike, ever the gentleman took of his waterproofs and left them by the door. While Mike would be heading home on the A66, my aim now was to book in to the local independent hostel. Obviously it was closed but there was a phone number which we called on Mike's phone. It was on an answer phone. No real worry, there was a cycle shed where I could stay out of the worst of the weather. My concern was for Mike, he would be in for an interesting drive home! Fortunately the hostel owner called Mike back and he warned her that there may be a strange woman lurking in her cycle shed? The lady found me dancing slowly around my stove. In actual fact it was only my outer layers and boots that where wet, underneath I was quite dry and fairly warm. Oh my, the luxury of a hot shower and clean, dry clothes. Such simple pleasures are sometimes worth their weight in gold. Leaving next day the snow had returned and as I walked up to the station it was snowing heavily. An interesting few days, little mileage done, no goals realized. Sometimes though things turn out that way.

A wee rant

2011-11-10T13:33:00.002Z

It is rare for me to write up a rant, however, this is one of those occasions. So folks, please excuse me while I indulge in a bit of a grumble. For some time I have been experiencing foot problems. When travelling my feet and ankles swell. The main issue though is that both feet, in particular my right foot, have been growing increasingly painful. Wearing ordinary shoes now means pain. This is mainly around the big toe area which is also distorting and pushing my other toes out of line. After many months I finally saw a podiatry specialist, (re human farrier). He was concerned over the state of my feet, muttering something about metatarsus damage and promptly put me in line to see a surgeon. A few days back I saw said surgeon. After poking and prodding she said surgery was very much a necessity. My response was 'fine, let's get on with it, the sooner sorted, the quicker I can start recovering fitness and get back on the hill' There was one problem, I am a single person, living alone, managing my own affairs. There is no family and so forth. Due to this and not being able to put in place a care worker, someone to cook for me, help me to the loo and so on, collect me from hospital and take me to physio. Thus surgery has been cancelled. There was an offer of a short term solution, cortisone injections. Other people live in similar circumstances as me; it appears that single people living alone are being penalized in situations such as this. So, I am not a happy bunny. Will it stop me heading to the hills, doing bushcraft and the likes? Not ruddy likely.

Autumn amble

2011-11-02T11:56:00.000Z

Sometimes the urge to get away for a few days on the hill is like a continuous itch that refuses to go away. Cash wise it was hardly practical. Fitness wise probably I would be pushing things a tad?. However, the possibility of further surgery gave the need for a trip away a sense of urgency. Trouble too with a greedy, obstreperous, money grabbing internet server was getting to me as well. Their perfidious actions have left me angry and agitated. A few days afoot hopefully would help preserve what little sanity I may have?
A search of the long term weather forecast indicated mixed conditions; some sunshine and showers, more prolonged heavy rain, high winds and low visibility on the hills. Quite normal for the area and time of the year really! Ah well, am carrying my winter sleeping bag, a book and a good supply of tea bags.

Part of the South Tyne trail.
It was a a bit of a prolonged journey up; London to Leeds Leeds to Carlisle and from there on to Haltwhistle. Arrived in Haltwhistle early afternoon; there was a quick dash in to a shop for a soft drink and bar of chocolate for lunch.The trail was easy enough to find. It is the old railway bed that ran down to Alston. It has been described as boring, personally I would not go that far. It is one of those trails though that you can switch off and just bimble along, brain in neutral and your mind taking flights of fancy wheresoever it pleases you. The day was fairly mild and dry and I was content to just coast along.

Autumnal, views from Lambley viaduct.

There where lovely views from the Lambley viaduct; however, at the end of the viaduct a large barrier had been erected, denying access to the old station area. A set of steps led of to the right and descended below the viaduct. Rather than follow the steps down and being uncertain as to where they led I opted to clamber over the fence,scramble up a steep bit of bank and walk past the old station buildings. Further on all was made clear, the path had been diverted to stop people walking past the converted station, now obviously a private residence. A notice on the other side of the barriers would have been helpful.

After careful checking of the map, it was obvious wild camping in this area would not be easy. However, I had a couple of places in mind. my second choice turned out to be alright for a stealthy camp, close to a stream and on the edge of a wood. (OS map OL43 GR677556) It was just about last light when I stopped and I was discreetly tucked away

Overnight camp OS map OL31. GR674413.
Night noises in the woods, the bark of the dog fox, the scream of the vixen. Owls close by, the snort of roe deer; rustling in the leaf litter. Natural sounds and I am comfortable with them. The stream just behind me chuckles and gurgles, a splashing, tumbling baby riveret. The early morning calm and still, the tent has been left wide open overnight and in the first stirrings of the day the kettle is on. Tea brewed and I am content to savour the moment. Too soon though I must be on the move and by nine I am packed up and on my way.Once more it is easy walking. The track has been hard surfaced all the way to Slaggyford. Oddly, just beyond Slaggyford there is a very overgrown boggy stretch. That though is only a small section and it is not long before I am walking along side the narrow gauge railway that runs up from Alston. It is being extended another couple of miles and a diesel engine was bringing up equipment and workmen for another day's work.
Coming in to Alston I suffered a mental aberration and found myself sitting in a cafe with a plate of egg and chips and a pot of tea in front of me. Very enjoyable it was too and needed. Somewhere I had read that the distance from Haltwhistle to Alston via the track was fifteen miles. A guy in the cafe though had cycled it a few times and he said it measured nearer eighteen miles. Leaving town I was well aware that the day's easy walking was over. There was some uphill work ahead. Making my way up past 'The Raise', on to Nether Park. A track continued onward and up, following the contours of the hill. A study of the map indicated the possibility of another track leading of the one I was following. Sure enough, it was there. My hope was that I may find the footpath marked on the map, shown as part of the Maiden Way. Also, I was on the lookout for a possible camp spot. It was not to be, all I found was bog and all pervading wetness. To follow the general direction the foot path went would have involved some serious bog hopping, mucky and time consuming. It meant backtracking down to the original track way. Down to the main road, the A686. A dogleg detour at leadgate gill to cut out a small bit of main road.Eventually though I had to join it by little Dow hill. By now I was getting tired and cars whizzing close to my left ear as I clung to a very narrow grass verge made me a tad grumpy.It was on a a straight stretch that I saw a car speeding toward me hugging the verge.It was not his fault, another car was overtaking him at speed and leaving him nowhere to go.Unfortunately I too had nowhere to go and I could only flatten myself against the bank and hope for the best. The car missed me but oh my, it was close, too darned close for comfort.With my nerves somewhat rattled I pushed on at a quicker pace than was comfortable; anxious to be off this road as quickly as possible.Finally I found the turn off for the Maiden Way. The rapid yomp up the road had made my legs wobbly, like jelly. There was only one intention now and that was to find somewhere to camp. A drop down to the river and after a bit of faffing and casting around, the tent is up. A rising wind is chivying the tent but it is well pegged down. My fitness levels are awful and I am tired this evening. It is bliss to just lay back and sip at a mug of tea. The day has been quite mild but the evening temperatures drop quite rapidly.
Saturday. Camped OS Map OL31 GR 657372
The wind continued all night, a steady westerly.Nipping out in the early hours it was obvious the weather was on the change. Brewing up at first light I noticed the build up of banks of dark clouds scudding along driven before the wind. Not being in a hurry, I was taking my time in packing up. Just as I was lacing up my boots and noting the stiffness in my thighs, I heard engines close by. Horrors, there was a convoy of four wheel drive vehicles coming down the track from the road.They all stopped a short distance away as a quad was unloaded from a trailer. Lots of cheery chatter drifted across to me as I studiously pretended I was not there.Three of the off roaders forded the rivers; it was obviously a a group of guns out on a Saturday shoot somewhere on the moor. A friendly toot of the horn and a wave as they drove past. Amazing, I was quite expecting someone to come striding across and give me a ticking off for camping. The guy driving the quad also gave me a wave and yelled 'good morning' as he followed the vehicles up the track.Well, I was quite taken aback! Fantasmagorical, decent folk for a change!The first part of the track is all hard packed and obviously driveable. As it ascends the track veers off to the left and the MaidenWay continues onward and upward. It proved to be wet and boggy, also, possibly because I was tired and feeling the pace, it seemed a long plod up the hill. Soon I had to stop and hustle in to wet weather gear.Things where deteriorating rapidly. As I ascended so the cloud base was descending to meet me. Tendrils of rain sodden cloud swirled around me and the wind was on the rise, Coming up to the large cairn on the shoulder of the hill a large gust almost threw me off balance. The rain was now head on. My plan of using the dry stone wall as a hand rail, following it over Brown hill and around was scrapped. Noticing a patch of ground by the dry stone wall that looked sort of tent sized and offering a potential spot for the tent; decided me. Ok, it would be a fairly high camp, but the wall offered some protection from the rising gale. Bliss, tent up, wet gear hanging in the porch, a pot of tea, cosy sleeping bag and a book to read; contentment! By the late afternoon the wind was a steady roar, rain beat a relentless staccato tattoo on the taut fly which thrummed in the maelstrom.
Sunday, same spot.The storm eased overnight but looking out of the tent early, the morning was dreich, dank dripping, grayness was all that could be seen. It was an easy call and a day off was decided upon. Decision made, I did what most hill walkers would do, put the kettle on, have a brew and snuggle down in the sleeping bag. By late morning the weather had eased and there was even some visibility. Went for a stroll and pottered over toward Brown Hill. What intrigued me where the proliferation of cairns that where dotted all over the place. Not the ordinary pile of stones randomly piled up. Some of these cairn had been carefully constructed by someone who was familiar with the fine art of dry stone walling.Possibly they where a form of boundary markers? It is easy to think of these moorland places as empty and a wee bit isolated; however they have long been a working area. Old sheepfolds bear witness to the hill farmers who worked these high places. Industry too has been part of this environment. The remains of old quarries, mine workings and shafts are scattered far and wide. It begs the question of how men worked in these places? Little remains today, but it is obvious the work must have been extremely hard and dangerous. Once again the weather was closing in as the wind began to rise, dark clouds filled the horizon and tendrils of mist, like tattered lace curtains, began to swirl around me.

High moorland, five minutes later this had all vanished.

Weather closing in.
Monday. Another storm bringing a wet and windy night. Looking out this morning, everything was wet and dripping, no visibility and although the wind had eased it was still blustery.A little mind worm had been niggling at me, was it back the clocks where meant to go or forward? My watch had been put back and hour and I was certain this was right but there was a slight doubt! A cold, shivery strip wash in the tent and I was soon packing up and ready to get moving. With no visibility and thick wet cloud enveloping the hill, care and concentration where needed as I descended. Oh my though, the hill was running with water and conditions underfoot where greasy and I was slip sliding around like a skittish drunken ballerina trying to tap dance on ice! Odd as it may seem, despite the given conditions, there was something exhilarating about it all. Mad, utterly away with the fairies, I know, but still? Coming down out of the murk conditions where less wild, a spot of drizzly rain but nothing to worry about. Mind, trying to negotiate a footpath near Kirland had me muttering under my breath a tad. Cattle had poached the ground in to a quagmire. Some of it was just wet and sloppy stuff, a distinctive red colour. Some of the mud though was of a paler hue and had the consistency of well made, cold congealed porridge. In places I sank in deep and had to struggle a bit to get myself out. By the time I got across the field my over trousers where well slathered in mud. That cured me of any idea of trying any more footpaths. Road walking was now the order of the day.A signpost indicated Appleby was twelve miles away. A tidy step and a steady pace would be needed. The alternative that I had noticed on the map was Langwathby at six miles distance. That was the easiest option and that was the direction I would head for. Walking in waterproofs is never a favourite of mine and I was glad to get out of them. At this lower level the weather was not bad, a bit of drizzle, the odd spot of rain but nothing to worrage about. Fortunately the roads where quiet and I was able to shuffle along at a steady amble. As road walking goes it was not an unpleasant walk out and I arrived at the railway station in plenty of time for the train. Overall, to put it in the broad Scots vernacular, 'It wasnae a bad wee daunder!'

Gear

2011-10-02T11:00:00.000+01:00

A recent statement by a fellow blogger gave me pause for thought. (owdbum.com) He is a man who stands apart from the majority of folk who pursue all things related to outdoor activities. Sir, I stand in amazement! What is it that so fascinates many of us about gear?
My own interest stems from my studies in social history; plus which, it is interesting to hear of other peoples experience with outdoor equipment. One gentleman in London in the early 1900s spoke of having a tent made of Japanese silk and a bamboo pole, a meths stove and and a light cooking kit, his all up weight complete came in around six pounds in weight..
In the Victorian period though, there where few working class people involved in any form of climbing, hill walking and so forth. The reason was simple, they where too busy working, there where no paid holidays; they worked long hours on low pay. Equipment was largely specialised and designed for men. It was considered a man's domain, women where considered too delicate. Mind, even then some people where experimenting with ultra light gear. Women where supposed to remain at home, the ever faithful wife raising children while hubby went off to far flung climes to perform heroic deeds. What a shock to the system when a few brave women bucked the trend and decided they too wanted to participate in these activities. Society was scandalised, Opposition to their efforts was strong; but these pioneers went ahead breaking new ground for women in climbing and trekking activities. Often they climbed in the clothes they had, long skirts that iced up in the ice and snow; they proved more resilient than anyone could imagine. Women climbing in trousers was considered scandalous and for a women to do so caused outrage and at times met with great hostility.
In many respects it was not until after the second world war that the working classes began to take up climbing and hiking, cycling and a range of other activities. A shift in social conditions, where responsible for this. Not that they had money to spend on equipment. The Craig Dhu lads for example, Glasgow ship workers, had a fearsome reputation. They made do with army surplus or old clothes adapted to their needs. Some stuff they needed they made themselves in the shipyard workshops. They had no money but their passion for climbing was awesome.
Hiking and outdoor activities in general was not that well catered for by the retail trade. People adapted or made do with what they had. There was however, a large amount of army surplus equipment that was cheap and served the purpose. For a while I used an adapted combat jacket on the hill and my rucksack was a canvas ex army. Boots where leather, weighed an awful lot and took ages to break in. Items such as stoves where heavy duty; my first one was a Primus half pint paraffin, messy, paraffin had a habit of tainting everything. An alternative stove I had was an Optimus one third of a pint petrol. It self pressurised as it got hotter. There where reports of them blowing up, but I never had any problem. Mind, I can recall wandering in to a garage in the wilds of Scotland and asking if I could buy a pint of petrol. The chap who operated the pump never even blinked; it took a bit of juggling but we managed to fill the fuel bottle with hardly a drop spilled. Gas was starting to make an appearance but they where heavy and bulky. Nylon was starting to appear on the market in the shape of such items as as the cagjack. My first tent though was Egyptian cotton, a heavy brute when wet. Clothing was largely wool pullovers and ventile anoracks. Fantastic but one once again heavy and took ages to dry when soaked. One winter on Snowdon mine froze and it was like wearing a suit of armour.
As the leisure industry took off, so equipment became lighter. The first faltering steps where by individuals who experimented and adapted with new materials. Climbers and walkers, who could not find what they required on the high street, began to design and manufacture equipment specific to their requirements. It was the start of a new era.
Over the course of the twentieth century the outdoor industry has burgeoned in to a major industry. Kit has radically altered, as prices reflect. Walk down Keswick high street in the middle of the summer season and anoraks boots and rucksacks are de rigueur. How amazing it is to see folk with boots oh so clean, anoraks pristine and daysacks looking spotless!
Interestingly, as outdoor clothing and equipment has become readily available, churned out on a production line basis by business conglomerates; so a few folk have stepped aside from the main stream and setting up cottage industries and once again are producing specific equipment to specialised requirements. They have a dedicated following of people who prefer to purchase from them. It is hands on stuff, kit once again made by people who are know what they require, outdoor folk. Through the medium of the internet ideas can be shared world wide.
As for me, well, I am getting older, am no longer so capable of hauling around thirty or forty pounds on the hill. Having served my apprenticeship with a my fair share of leaky, heavyweight equipment, have tarped in the Scottish winter, froze in tiny tents on Snowden, bivi ied, survived an epic or two; possibly I have achieved a smidgen of knowledge. So, maybe I deserve a wee bit of comfort in my travels, gear reviews are of interest, they keep me in touch and though I cannot afford big money, I am always keen to see the latest developments in kit. Obsessional? Well maybe, but I am sure many folk will agree with me; it is part and parcel of being an outdoor enthusiast. Maybe, one day in the future, People will look at today's equipment and consider it heavy and obsolete?

Northern perigrinations

2011-09-22T19:52:00.000+01:00

Originally I had been contemplating Scotland for my next trip, however, this would mean a twelve hour run on the night coach. That was something I felt unable to face and train fares are horrendous. Much time pouring over maps and I came up with the germ of an idea. It took a bit of juggling but I had a rough idea for an interesting, if different type of trek. At least, that was the general idea.

Autumn is most certainly upon us and I cannot but ponder as to where the summer went? the onset of the Autumnal season subsequently means a heavier pack weight. From what I could glean from the long term weather forecast it seemed that I was in for some unsettled weather. light, summer clothing is replaced by warmer wear. Gloves are added to spare clothing, a heavier soft shell replaces the light gilet used during the summer.

Thursday15th September.

Leaving first thing in the morning, I was in Carlisle by early afternoon. Fortunately it is an easy city to get out of, a quick walk through the town centre and down to the river to join the Hadrian's wall path. The day was dry and warm and I was anxious to push on. Sometimes it is not so easy to settle down to a decent walking pace. In the city my walking is often hurried, shuttling along at a rapid quickstep; whereas on the hill it is a slower but manageable pace that eats up the miles. The H.W.path is certainly well marked, every junction, stile or gate there is a marker.The way leads through paths, lanes and tracks and the walking is easy. Something I found rather unique was the self serve tea huts. One wandered in, looked at the prices on the wall and helped themselves to tea, coffee, soft drinks and snacks and popped their money in the honesty box. Some folk have described this section of the path as boring and bland. Personally I would not go that far, varied, yes, a different type of walking to my usual. Herons glided along the river edge, a flock of geese kicked up a noisy hullaboo in the distance, a water vole plopped in to the river. Having seen the river Eden as a young, fresh and joyful clamouring stream and seeing it now in its maturity. Broad and deep, more matronly; the water a dark muddy brown, heavy laden with silt washed from the land after the recent rains. Soon now nearing its journey's end. It was noticeable how up market the properties where in this area, garden, and lawns manicured just so; carefully clipped hedges, strategic signs announcing,'private', just to make sure the hoi polloi did not stray within.Crossing a bridge over the M6, oh my, what a clamorous, noisy din and I was glad to push swiftly on. A combine harvester droned in a field next to a track I was walking, a tractor with a large trailer pulled along side ready to receive the newly reaped golden harvest. My hope had been to find a campsite, I was aware wild camping on this stretch would be difficult. Not seeing anything I asked at couple of farms for permission to camp but was refused. Crossing a stile by Heads Wood I noticed a few Shetland ponies and a large mare grazing in the field. The path cut diagonally across the field, shortly after entering the field I heard the drumming of hooves behind me. Looking back I saw the horse was cantering toward me at a rapid rate. Coming to a stop it nuzzled at my rucksack, obviously looking for a handout. Horses are not stupid and it was obvious this horse had been fed tidbits from the many walkers crossing through the field. The problem was, the horse now expected it. The mare lunged at my rucksack again, almost knocking me off my feet. Tiring of the horse's persistence, and worried that the horse may damage the rucksack; I gently but firmly took hold of the halter it was wearing and led it across the field beside me. It tried to turn in to me a couple of times but quickly realised I was having none of it. Risky? Maybe, if the horse owner thought I was horse rustling? My advice to anyone who thinks of offering treats to horses, be aware, it can lead a horse in to bad ways. The edge of the field dropped steeply away down a bank with stone slab steps and I left a somewhat bemused horse at the top of the bank. Spotting a quite dense wood I checked it out, thinking it may offer somewhere for a wild camp. The many pheasants scattering in every which way and the feeders in the wood suggested that it would not be a good idea. Checking the map I noticed a bunkhouse or similar marked at Sandysike farm.It was a a rather upmarket camping barn. With some twelve miles walked it was time to stop; I was growing weary. Accepting the inevitable I booked into the camping barn, something I am not that keen on. If there is one thing I am extremely reluctant to do though is wild camp in agricultural areas. Having asked permission a few times and been refused, stopping at the camping barn was the easiest option. This could be an expensive trip!

Friday16th.

Left this morning around nine, feeling tired from yesterdays push, my decision was to take things a little easier. The morning started off better than forecast, dry and quite warm.There was a noticeable change in the type of countryside I was passing through. Rolling, hilly terrain, quite lush and verdant. It was surprising to see how the path is not only way marked at every conceivable point but also specially constructed in several places. Notices too instructed walkers to keep to the mown pathway! Another striking feature was the sheer amount of people walking the wall. Groups of folk from two up to twelve and more. Also noticeable was the amount of people travelling with just daysacks; their luggage being forwarded for them on a sherpa system. The legions are still marching, phalanxes of them, still coming from many points of the globe, only now they march only for the leisure of it. Many appear to travel using just the guide books. For me, personally, I find it too crowded and am rather uncomfortable with so many folk around. Heading up toward Birdoswald, a fine, thin mizzle began to make things wet.Nipping in to the fort, I stayed long enough to use the loo and get in to waterproofs and hurried away. Fine, maybe I am anti social but I do not do crowds. The path drops steeply down to the river Irthing and leads round to the remains of the Roman bridge. Now that is one impressive bit of building, it must have appeared spectacular when it was built. One thing the Romans where extremely good at was engineering.The labour involved must have been awesome! Certainly it would have kept the troops well occupied? Coming around by Gilsland I stopped for a break and mulled over my choices for the rest of the day. By now it was raining steadily, not driving rain and encased in waterproofs I was fairly comfortable. My main concern was that my legs felt heavy and leaden. There was no rush and deciding on a shortish day was an easy decision. Checking on the map there was a camp site marked at Greenhead and so I headed over only to find it closed. Someone suggested another campsite. However, it was another six to eight miles further on. With sense of resignation and with the rain now becoming heavy I finally opted to book into the Holmhead camping barn.

Saturday 17th camped, OS map43, gr,739673

An easy enough day, given over to just a gentle meander. Sticking to the path I just pootled along, past the bustling Walltown carpark and starting climbing; the path leading to a low crag. Awesome views to the north. What crosses my mind though is not the immense scale of construction but the men themselves. Auxiliary troops drafted in from far flung regions of the Roman empire. The sheer journey to get there, what where conditions like for them? The mile castles look tiny, life must have been quite basic for them.What where the thoughts of the men on duty looking out north at what must have seemed the end of the known world to them? It was enjoyable following the line of the crags; nothing strenuous, just the occasional short, sharp steep bit. Looking around Aesica Roman fort at Great Chesters, although little remains today, it is still an impressive piece of work. In winter though, conditions must have been pretty awful. Wanting a lazy day, I was keeping one eye open for a possible spot to camp.However, speaking to a couple of lads that where carrying camping gear, they had experienced problems every time they had tried to wild camp. Even when they got away from the wall and tried to stealth camp they had been moved on. Having heard that I detoured a few times checking out possible places to camp with no success. Picking up water was a problem too. Eventually I headed back to the wall and found a spot just about out of the way. However, I felt uneasy and although the rain was back again, I waited for a couple of hours before setting up camp. The rain currently is heavy, beating a steady tattoo on the tent.

Sunday 18th.

More rain during the night but this morning dawned calm and still with a heavy dew. This in turn meant a wet tent. Breakfast was a hurried affair, I was anxious to get the tent down, although soaking wet. Just as I was striking camp I could hear a quad bike in the distance and drawing nearer. Instinctively I hastily bundled the tent in to the rucksack and as the machine came in to view I was sitting perched on a boulder trying to look innocent. The farmer came to a stop. " Has't tha bin campin?" Hoping he had not spotted the flattened grass where the tent had been, I waved my camera at him. "Camping?" He growled something under his breath. And launched in to a tirade about folk who wild camped."It's against the law, so it is and strictly forbidden all along the wall. We have the law on our side so we do." He ranted on, telling me how local farmers like him had a living to make and folk should make use of his campsite and not deprive them of their hard earned income. Finally he ran out of steam, started up his machine and continued on his patrol. It was tempting to ask him how much it cost him in time and effort to patrol the area but I refrained. The rest of the day was spent wandering over Winshield crags and exploring some of the vellum and then meandering back to Walltown. There had been showers on and off all day but things had momentarily eased in the afternoon. Being a Sunday there where a lot of folk out and about. My immediate concern was where I was going to stop for the night. Exploring some nearby woods it would have feasible to camp but the thick, dense undergrowth would have meant a wet and uncomfortable night. Feeling a tad dispirited I bowed to the inevitable and headed back over to Holmhead camping barn. There goes next months house keeping money! Ah well, at least I can have a hot shower before changing into clean clothes.Will be catching the bus out to Carlisle in the morning.

Well, things turned out much different from what I expected. Probably some folk will think I am an old curmudgeonly grump. Maybe or maybe not? The H.W.path was something I had considered doing, this was a way of tipping a toe in the water, a taster of what to expect. Firstly, I have nothing against the path or the people who walk it.There is nothing really difficult along the route. It is well provided for in the way of public transport. The local tourist industry benefits from it and fair play to them. There is a plethora of differing forms of accommodation provided along the route. The one downside I see is the sheer volume of traffic. As a major archaeological site it takes an awful pounding. Wild camping is obviously out, unless one is prepared to travel light or use a bivi bag. The maxim of stopping late, re, last light and being away again at the crack of dawn would apply. That is the other downside, the sheer cost of using bunkhouses, camp sites or whatever. Costs which are beyond me.The bigger issue for me personally is the sheer number of folk, I am uncomfortable in large crowds. That is a personal issue though, part and parcel of me. Mind, I have the germ of an idea. There are some interesting routes from Haltwhistle?

Teesdale round

2011-08-10T19:44:00.000+01:00

Yes indeed, it is a return to the area I was in a few weeks back. With the weather against me at that time the route I had in mind had to be shortened. It left a feeling of incompleteness. One of the drawbacks of travelling on public transport is that having to book in advance means having little idea of the weather that far in advance. Mind, the northern pennines offer some superb walking.

Thursday 4th August. Camped OS map OL19 GR699284.
Once again the ticket machines at Kings Cross where not working properly, several folk had failed to get their tickets and the situation was not helped by a rather rude and abrupt gent at the ticket counter. Thankfully a few people had taken his name and where going to file a complaint.Thankfully my train was not cancelled, however, a points failure outside of Doncaster saw us running some twenty minutes late. Thus a later connection from Leeds and once more arriving at Appleby and hour behind my intended time. Heading over toward Dufton via footpaths was tedious. Mind, at one point, where the footpath crossed a small section of field where a mixed variety of horses, cattle, sheep and two donkeys where grazing, things proved interesting. They donkeys came galloping across as soon as they spotted me, braying loudly. Oh my, what a racket, by the looks of it they where hoping for hand outs, both of them nuzzling me gently. But the noise they made was amazing. Much of the footpaths though where heavily overgrown and also consisted of triffid like stinging nettles some six feet tall. Everything was wet too, waterproof trousers where essential. It was drizzling by the time I got to Dufton, but not cold. My intention was to follow my previous route up toward Green Fell and camp high. However, by the time I got as far as Swinbrook Beck it was raining quite steadily and a check of the time showed it was already close to four o clock. So, one again I camped close to the beck.It seemed the most sensible option given the weather conditions.

Trout Beck

Friday 5th. Camped OS map OL 31. GR 781329.
A fulfilling day, the rain eased off during the night and by this morning it was dry, if a little murky. A check of the map and a change to my intended route. Instead of following the Pennine way up and over I opted to take the path that led over to the bridleway that led up to Great Dun fell. The path soon went walkabout and became difficult to find on the ground. It made little difference. I actually headed up higher than the direction the path took. The ground underfoot was boggy, very, in some places I found myself teetering from tussock to tussock with the bog under me quivering like a giant jelly. It made sense to head for higher ground and I came around close to High Carle Band and then over to the bridleway, which is in fact a tarmac road. My aim was for the bridleway that ran down Trout Beck. It was obvious this at one time had been a substantial track serving the various mining activities that hat been carried out in the area. Now though nature is gradually reclaiming it and in some parts it was little more than a footpath. Lovely walking though, lapwings wheeled overhead piping loudly, saw a hare loping across the bogs. With the brook being fairly high it was not too easy crossing it as the path did a few times. At one point a small landslip had erased all semblance of even a path and care had to be taken crossing it. It was surprising how quickly the beck transformed from a small stream to quite a broad river. It is a tributary of the Tees though. Coming down by the river Tees I stopped at the old mine workings for a nibble and to take stock of my route. Initially I had the idea of heading around to Metal Band and then nipping straight across to Holdenhurth Band. Looking at the map though, indications where that it would mean some heavy bog trotting and across wet and saturated ground too. It was an easy decision, I wimped out and opted for the longer route. It was pleasant walking down toward Tyne Head, lapwings and curlews where in abundance and I even managed to shed my jacket and walk in my t shirt.

Followed the Tyne Trail down as far as Tyne Head and then turned off and on to the bridleway way, signposted as a bi road? Heavily used by farm traffic, it climbed steadily up the hill following the Clargill burn.Quite an enjoyable little plod really, fortified by snacks and a long drink form the water bottle, I was content to take it slow and easy. The track eventually came out high on the B6277 and then it was only a mile or so along to the next track I was aiming for. This one led around to Cow Green reservoir. Obviously this was grouse country and managed strictly for grouse shooting. Notices proclaiming, 'footpath only' 'no dogs,' 'ground nesting birds' and such. The birds being the many flocks of grouse that exploded off in all directions as I passed, disconcerting when they take off from almost under your feet! The so called path was in fact a well maintained track; mountain bikers would really enjoy following it. Time was running on and I began to look for somewhere to camp. Close to the track and near to an extensive set of long abandoned mine workings offered a suitable spot.

Cow Green reservoir.

A successful day's walking, quite a long one but enjoyable. A pleasure to sit here in the doorway of the tent, boots off, a mug of tea and the anticipation of supper with the added luxury of a few squares of chocolate.

Saturday 6th. Camped OS map OL 19 GR 818279.
Not the easiest of days, an old medical problem kept me awake on and off through the night. Early this morning, there had been a heavy overnight dew and the tent was soaked. The air was still, the sky dark and grey with dark, blue black clouds slowly building up on the horizon. Such conditions brought out the midges in their legions. A dense thick cloud of them besieged the tent. Midge repellent was liberally applied; normally I am tolerant of most bugs and beasties but midges are the one creature I sincerely loath. Making my mug of morning tea it was swamped by the little crittures. The majority where spooned out of the mug, the rest went down with the tea; it is best looked on as a spot of added protein! No time was wasted in packing up and getting underway. Some brisk walking soon found me down by the Cow Green parking area. It was obvious that bad weather was heading in and I had a little bit of tricky navigation I wanted to get out of the way before things got nasty. The information boards confirmed what I had been reading on the map, a bridleway that led around toward Holwick. The one difficulty was that it was the other side of Maize Beck and the river Tees and there was no ford or bridge indicated. Coming around by the dam I followed the track up to Birkdale farm and then cut directly over to the Maize Beck. The water was fairly high but looked doable. The tricky bit was whether I had to wade across or could make it dry shod? A bit of casting around and I found a spot where the beck braided in to three main channels. The first channel went quite well, the one downside was that the rocks where darned greasy. A long stretch out to a rock in the second channel, a shuffle to a second boulder and voila, two channels crossed. Oh my, that third channel looked tricky and the water was swift and deep. A bold move out to a partially submerged boulder; one foot on the greasy surface, trekking poles plunged deep in the water and supporting a lot of my weight; a sideways lurch, a deep breath and a heave saw me perched on another lump of rock. It was a precarious position, just a toe hold on a slippery surface, a lunge for the bank and I hit dry land in an undignified heap, fingers grabbing clumps of heather to stop myself sliding back in to the water. It was not easy but I had crossed with only a damp foot. Light rain had started to fall as I began to cross and now it was becoming progressively heavier. According to the map the bridleway terminated opposite the farm but I found no evidence of it on the ground. The next thirty minutes or so where spent cutting back and forward across the hill. Frustratingly the bridleway failed to come to light. Stopping to take stock of the situation there where two choices, either I pushed on, which had been my original aim. This possibly would mean heading in the general direction using the compass and across bog as well. The alternative was to stop, camp and rearrange plans. With the rain now sluicing down and thunder grumbling in the distance, it was an easy decision. Finding a good bit of ground near an old sheep fold, I grinned to myself as the thunder storm arrived overhead, a case of deja vue. After my last trip, which also had heavy rain with thunder and lightning! Mad, utterly mad, running around in a storm setting up camp, lightning streaking across the sky, great claps of thunder echoing around the hills. It is not an easy exercise, getting out of wet waterproofs in the porch of the tent without soaking everything else. Remembering there was a stray packet of cup a' soup in the bottom of the food bag; I was soon sitting sipping on said soup. Being a tad cold and shivery, it went down well. Thus a shorter day than intended, however, rigid timetables are not best suited to hill walking, there must be flexibility.

Sunday 7th. Camped OS map OL19 GR 768267
Rain for most of the night, heavy, squally showers where still chivying the tent this morning. Unfortunately it was, again, a night with a lot of broken sleep, frustrating! Scrapping my original plans I now had a new route worked out. It would mean a long loop but was the easiest option. Was away quite early, my first goal was to head down the Tees river to the nearest bridge close to Wat Garth; a good four miles. Despite the blustery wind and showers it was pleasant walking and I even found a delightful little footpath. There are some lovely spots for a wild camp along that stretch of the river. For anyone wanting to do an easy overnight camp there is a path that leads up towards Maize Beck. Obviously, with all the rain the small side streams that flow in to the Tees where running high. A bit of care needed but not overly difficult. The rain eased as I joined the Pennine Way down at the bridge. Now it was a case of following it back up the other side of the river. The P.W. does an odd loop here, following the Harwood Beck for a short distance before swinging back to the Tees. Got waylaid by a wet, soggy mut at Sayer Hill farm, she was delighted to see me, just begging for a bit of fuss and attention which was duly given. The farmer's wife was apologetic but I assured her it was no problem. Crossing a meadow heading toward Widdy Bank farm, I paused to watch a kestrel hovering on the wind. Several times it swooped and dived and rose to hover once more. Their alternative name of 'wind hover' is well deserved. The PW is easy to follow, however, rock falls from the nearby cliffs stretched all the way down to the river edge. Although I am unsure of what type of rock, I think they are largely dolerite. However, given the prevailing wet conditions, they where treacherously slippy and care had to be taken working my through the boulder fields. Cauldron spout looked magnificent, water thundering down the rocky defile in a great foaming torrent. Coming up the rocks beside the waterfall was a slippery scramble. Remembering the climbers adage of three points of contact it was still an undignified thrutch, with hands, knees and feet being used. An elderly couple in matching yellow wellie boots and oilskins looked at me wide eyed as I heaved up the last steep bit. The woman looked at her partner, "Eeeehhh lad, there's gooing to be noo gangin doon there!" They both said hello and then turned to head back up the dam road. Gosh, I hope I did not scare them; dressed in my waterproofs and looking scruffy and disheveled maybe I can appear a tad scary?

By now the weather had eased, a blustery wind with just enough drizzle to keep me in waterproofs. Walking up to the gate and cattle grid just a bit up the hill I just plonked myself down with my back against the wall. Energy levels where falling through the floor. There was a flattened and squashed mars bar in my nibbles pouch. It went down a treat as did a few other snacks, well washed down with plenty of fluids. Energy levels replenished, my aim now was to stick with the P.W. following it in the general direction of Dufton. It was pleasant walking, the path eases up the hill in a gentle climb and I was content to amble along. A plan was going through my mind. Although I could have pushed on to Dufton, I did not need to be in Appleby tomorrow much before two o clock at the earliest. Therefore I decided to stop somewhere where the PW follows the upper reaches of the Maize Beck. A steady wind was blowing down the valley. This at least was clearing away the last of the rain. The only slight problem was that I really wanted some protection from the wind. Reaching to the bridge that crosses the beck I stopped to look for a suitable spot. The bridge is raised high above the beck on two sturdy stone plinths. With the tent pitched in the lee of of one of the buttresses I had a ready windbreak. Not a bad day's walking, nothing really difficult but enjoyable.

Monday 8th
More rain on and off during the night. The temperature dropped quite low too. By this morning it was a thin drizzle driven by a blustery wind. Wispy clouds like torn remnants of lace where moving swiftly across the sky. Was in no big rush to get underway. Having a strip bath in the tent on a chilly morning is a tad masochistic but I prefer to be heading out with some semblance of cleanliness. An easy walk up to High Cup Nick. There are some lovely spots up there for a wild camp. The Nick is an impressive piece of geology; a mighty cleft cutting deep in to the surrounding high ground. Got a few odd looks from a couple passing by as I sat down in the drizzle, just happy to be drinking in the magnificent scenery. Thin misty clouds drifting through added to the atmosphere.

It was superb walking around the Narrow Gate path . It seemed a shame to be heading down but having sat up on the heights for an hour or so it was now time to be making tracks down to Dufton and on to Appleby.As I descended the weather finally cleared and I was finally able to take off my waterproofs. Rather than faff around with overgrown footpaths I chose to head straight down the road to Appleby. Despite my dislike of road pounding there was little traffic and the walking was not so bad. A mile or so out of town I noticed a figure in front of me. It was a little old lady shuffling down the road in a very shaky manner. More disconcerting was the fact she was using a white cane. Catching up with her I asked if she was ok? Grabbing my arm she asked me to help her down the road. It must of looked odd to car drivers; me complete with rucksack, boots and mud spattered trousers and a little lady who hardly came up to my shoulder, leaning heavily on my arm. It seemed that she was heading in to town for an OAP's social club. From what I could gather, someone normally gave her a lift but failed to turn up. It was amazing though, she chattered away non stop, giving me a lengthy run down of her varied medical history. From what I could gather she was registered as partially blind. "I keeps my head down 'cause I can just about see where ma feet is going." She chirpily told me. Further adding; " I canna see cars really, I can hear the buggers but sort of only see them when they near runs me over." Finally a car pulled up, it was the lady's daughter who thanked me profusely for helping her mum and offered me a lift. Being on the outskirts of Appleby I declined the offer, pointing to my muddy boots. Arrived at the station shortly after two. Unfortunately, unless I went in to town there was nowhere I could buy any fluids and I was feeling dehydrated. It was Leeds before I got a a bottle of pop.
Footnote. Arrived back in London and walked straight in to a riot, mayhem on the streets; fire and smoke and the sound of smashing glass.

Storm bound.

2011-07-21T09:58:00.003+01:00

A dry Swinbrook beck

Thursday 14th July. Camped OS map OL31 gr 698285.
It was not the best of starts to the day. When I got to the tube station this morning the Victoria line was closed, signal failure. A dash to catch a bus down to the next tube station and the Northern line which, although more roundabout also ran to Kings Cross. The one snag was that a lot of other folk where all doing the same; getting on a crowded bus with a heavy pack is not easy. These days purchasing tickets on line often requires you to collect your tickets from a machine. Well, the machine broke and refused to give me my tickets. Finally managed to get my tickets, from a human being over the ticket counter. Was just congratulating myself that I had managed to get to the station, obtain my tickets and still have almost ten minutes before the train left. Horrors, my train was cancelled. Fortunately I managed to get on the next train half an hour later. However, it would mean an hour's wait at Leeds due to missing my connection. Frustrating, but daft in a way, there was no appointment to keep or anything; all in all it just meant a later start than intended.
It was warm heading out from Appleby, shorts and tee shirt. My aim was to head over to Dufton and join the Pennine Way for a short distance. Sometimes one feels fated; heading over toward Blackhill I could hear the sharp crack of shotguns; folk where shooting ahead of me. This was annoying, the shots where very close and in the direction I wanted to go. Eventually I decided it prudent to detour over to Brackenthwaite and on to High Cup House and then take the lane down to Dufton. Not far but enough to add a few extra miles walking. From the village it was a steady uphill plod. Already I was tiring, however, the first few miles out went through farmland and I wanted to camp beyond that. Eventually I made it as far as Swindale beck and decided that was far enough. A nice spot to wild camp,lovely views and it felt good to on the hill once more. There was one slight problem and that was finding water. The beck was just a mass of tumbled boulders, testament to its fury when in flood. Following the beck down I eventually found a small, clear trickle of water issuing form between the rocks and forming a few pools. The end of a long day; it was after six thirty when I stopped, an early night is on the books.
Friday 15th July. Same map, GR 716363. (roughly)
Looking out of the tent this morning I noted the grey cloud shrouding the tops. It was noticeably cooler than yesterday, not a day for tee shirts. Packed up and was away quite early.Mulling over the map last night, I had decided to stay with the PW for a while. My progress uphill is somewhat slow and today I was content to plod. As I got higher tendrils of grey cloud began to envelope me and it was not long before I was enclosed in cloud. With little visibility the world takes on another dimension; hearing sharpens, the call of birds, water running in a gully off to my right. It was damp but not enough to need waterproofs; my windproof shirt was enough to keep the dampness at bay. Walking in dense cloud can make me a tad twitchy and I keep the compass to hand for reassurance. The piping of moorland birds, curlews added to the feeling of solitude. Probably in clear weather it would be a lovely walk up and over The Heights. Maybe next time I head this way I will camp high; that would be nice. A pause at the summit cairn for a drink and nibble, a check of the compass and I was soon on the move once more. Descending, I noticed a line of metal posts on my right and also found the way ahead paved with large slabs. Yes, I know it is a necessity due to the amount of traffic the PW generates, to pave parts of it but it is still ugly. Coming down out of the cloud level I was momentarily flummoxed when I encountered a tarmac road. A quick study of the map and I realised it was the track that led up to the giant golf ball that loomed on the hill ahead, Great Dun Fell. According to the map some form of radio mast? More of the yellow brick road but some pleasant walking over Little Dun Fell and then the long pull up to Cross Fell. Something that puzzles me is the plethora of cairns all over these tops and as I found coming over The Heights, more of an hindrance to navigation than an aid. Dark, ragged clouds where moving swiftly across the sky in a steadily rising wind. Looking at the darkening sky, I did not linger too long on Cross Fell, a bit of lunch, a photo or two and I was on my way. There is a regular track that comes around by Greg's Hut, a bothy that I am sure sees much usage. The bothy was clean and tidy though. It was tempting to stop but it being only early afternoon I wanted to push on a bit further. That was the general idea anyway but bad weather was closing in behind me. The sky was turning a bruised blue, black and the wind was getting stronger. A decision had to be made and soon; to push on regardless and possibly have to make camp in adverse conditions or to make camp before the storm hit? Finding somewhere to camp was not easy, a lot of the ground was bog. Eventually, coming down by some old mine workings, I found a couple of places and dithered over whether to opt for a damp but sheltered spot or a dry but exposed bit of ground? Opting for the dry ground I wasted no time in getting the tent up; the wind was now blowing hard. The Shangri La 2 tent can be pitched with six pegs but has an optional 6 extra peg points for storm conditions. This afternoon I pegged everything down snug and tight. This is where I am glad I have a few Easton alloy pins in the peg bag. Ok, they may be a wee bit bit heavier than some pegs but placed properly it takes an awful lot to dislodge them. Having experimented with titanium pegs I was not impressed, they ended up mangled very quickly. By the look of things I have timed it just about right; I had barely got the kettle on when the wind really began to pummel the tent, complete with driving rain. This is where I prefer the Shangri 2, it has a mass of space, which allows me to bring everything under the fly and more importantly I am able to cook even with the tent battened down. The tent is an old original, from what I have heard the newer models are actually lighter and come seam sealed. Certainly weight for weight tents like the Terra Novas come lighter or as light as but my personal preference is to opt for a bit more room.One suggestion I would make if anyone is looking at a Shangri 2, is to have a half nest specifically made for the inner. Look up www.oookworks.com, they will make one to a person's specific needs. At the moment I am using a Shanrgi 1 nest but it is a compromise.
Later that evening, I had managed to doze off, only to wake with a start, wondering what had woken me. It only took a moment or two to realise the tent was flapping in the wind's relentless onslaught. Immediately I knew what the problem was, my trekking poles also serve as tent poles. They are light, four section poles, but have a tendency at times not to lock as tight as they should.One of the pole sections had slipped a fraction. Grabbing the head torch, a few contortions and a wriggle and the rear pole was now firm once more. The flapping had stopped, replaced by a steady thrumming of the taut nylon. Outside it was now blowing a full gale, a mad symphony of wind and rain. Small tent, big storm, daunting, lying in the dark, not only listening to the roar of the wind and the rattle of the rain but also feeling the movement, the shifting and swaying of the tent.
By morning the wind had eased slightly but the rain had increased and outside was covered in a blanket of grey. It was quite an easy decision to sit the weather out; in fact there was little choice, heading up the hill in those conditions would have been a tad foolish. By early afternoon things appeared to be easing slightly and I considered possibly moving on. Just as I had made a brew there was blinding flash and an almighty blast of thunder, I swear the earth trembled; it certainly got the heart rate up a bit! Another flash but this time further away. The rain increased in intensity and suddenly it was coming down in a mighty deluge, with it came hail and even sleet accompanied by thunder and lightning; nature;s percussion side of the orchestra in full flow, awesome.
Sunday 18th. Alston.

The rain continued on through the night and it was still pouring down in the early hours. Needing to nip out to the loo, as I went to get out of the tent I encountered water. The ground had reached saturation point and water was now flowing every which way. A tent complete with running water!! Carefully packed most stuff up in the tent, the first priority was the sleeping bag, making sure it kept dry. Fortunately, despite the fact that the rucksack had been sitting in the flood a liner had ensured everything inside remained dry. A brew of tea, the gas canister actually sitting in water; before a final decision of what route I was going to take. Possibly I could have followed the track back past Greg's hut and back out that way, the downside though was a lot of mileage and some of it in bad conditions. My original intended route looked a no go as well. That would have involved dropping down to Garrigill and joining the South Tine Trail which would take me up to the Tees river. Looking at the map it seemed possible that the first part would be on a track. However, the second part, marked as bridleway, followed the Trout beck up and I was certain that would be in full spate and could prove difficult.The easiest option was to head over Alston, stop there for the night and try and catch a bus out in the morning. Route sorted I finished packing, wet tent rolled up and bundled under the rucksack lid. Grey mist and cloud swirled around me as I headed over to the track. Splashing through the water I noticed my first choice for a camp was now more like a large pond. As I descended down the track I finally popped out of the uniform grayness. Even the sheep looked sodden and grey, although the lanolin in their wool would keep them dry. Despite the continuous rain it was not that unpleasant walking. A local guy in Garrigill asked where on earth I had come from. His eyebrows where raised when I said I had been camped. At least he had heard the weather forecast; more of the same. That decided me and I headed in the direction of Alston. A nice, low level walk through rolling countryside. The green verdant countryside looked washed and clean. A spiders web adorned with glistening drops of water. It had a couple of surreal moments too, coming over a stile I encountered a herd of cows. As is my want, I spoke to them gently as I eased my way through them. Half way across the field I glanced back and there where the cows, all in line astern dutifully following me across the field, yikes!! The path led me through a small wood. Hens where busy scratching through the undergrowth; seeing me, the all came running, obviously looking for food. 'Cattle rustling hiker mobbed by chickens!'
The youth hostel at Alston was full, the warden rang a couple of b&b's that took folk when the hostel had no vacancies. Both where full and I was informed the campsite was flooded. A couple of hotels looked a tad too posh for me and probably where pricey. Eventually I came across a pub, come hotel, come takeaway. It was run by an Asian lady. She was immediately concerned "Oh lady, where you come from, you so wet, terrible!" I tried to assure her it was only my outer gear that was wet. She continued. " You want room? I have room, special deal, just room, no breakfast, all twenty pound, yes?" She led me up a couple of flights of stairs, still chattering away "Room all tidy, you leave room tidy for me, yes?" Finally I was able to get out of my waterproofs, have a hot shower and put on clean clothes. There was one small problem, emptying the rucksack to re-pack it, as is usual bits of grass and such end up on the floor. There was nowhere to hang the tent or air anything out, so the tent was packed at the bottom of the rucksack. After that time was spent on my hands and knees meticulously picking up bits of debris from the carpet.
Monday, having checked with the tourist information office I found that there is a summer service bus that goes to Keswick and passes through Langwathby, the next station up from Appleby.The rain had eased too, just heavy showers. Not the easiest of trips, however, that is the way things turn out sometimes. It has not been a bad trip. I have a few ideas for the next time I head up here. Food wise, I was experimenting with travel biscuits which I found on line;(Dried:2 Blazes.) Solid enough not to break up when packed in the food bag, they had a certain sweetness I was not too keen on though. Also I took some smoked cheese from Tesco, a bad mistake, rubbery and with little taste. The other place I purchase dried food from is, www.outdoorsgrub.co.uk. It is odd but I find it easier and a better range of food by ordering online.

The Heights

Cross Fell

Packing

2011-07-12T15:15:00.000+01:00

Determined to claw back a wee bit of fitness I determined to attempt at least one trip a month. This time around it is a tad further north, Appleby. Traveling up Thursday and returning on the Monday. In case folk wonder why I have yet again headed for this region, there is a simple reason, cash. Finances being tight, with a bit of juggling I can make the journey fairly cheaply and there is the added bonus that I can arrive by mid day and get a few miles in over the course of the afternoon. This also applies to the return journey; a mid afternoon train allows for a decent walk during the morning. The planning has proved a bit tricky, from Appleby over toward the Teesdale area and back over High cup Nick. Things went a little pear shaped after that. My original plan had been to come over Swindale Edge. That has been scuppered, it cuts across the army ranges and after checking it out I find there is live firing and the whole region is closed off.
Much head scratching long perusals of the maps, which where laid out all over the floor, I have come up with a rather convoluted plan. This will involve using two maps, both 1:25 000, double sided and making use of both sides of the two of them. Some complex map reading and a what may be some long days walking, interesting!
Kit wise, after looking at the long term weather forecast, which does not look too good, I am taking the bigger and more roomy tent. This is the Shangri La two, inside I am using a Shangri La 1 nest. Yes, it is a bit of a mix and match but it is a system I know works. Weight wise there is little difference, around the kilo mark; the trekking poles I use double as tent poles .

Howgill saunter

2011-06-15T20:02:00.002+01:00

Uldale wild camp

Thursday June 9th. Bents camping barn
An early start this morning; was underway by five thirty. Even at that hour the tube was comparatively busy, bleary eyed folk, cleaners, domestic staff, manual workers, all part of the essential side of keeping a big city running. Throngs of people milled around the concourse of Kings Cross, all catching early trains to a myriad of destinations. Fortunately my train, the 07 05hrs train to Leeds, was not overly busy. It was a quiet run up, a quick change at Leeds to the Settle and Carlisle train, arriving at Kirkby Stephen station just before twelve.
Wild camping is possible between KS and the Lune valley, but not easy; finding water and somewhere out of the way at the same time would be a little difficult. There is one spot I know of and even that is not the best of places. My option was for a lazy afternoon stroll over to Bents farm and the camping barn. As camping barns go, this one is quite comfy, with flush loo, an equipped kitchen and electricity on the meter; hot water bottles provided free! Did a loop around Smardale gill and the old viaduct. For June it was fairly chilly and I had my windproof smock on over my fleece.. Booked in early and settled down with a book to read. Later two guys staggered in looking for a phone. They had been doing the Coast to Coast and run into difficulties with blisters and sheer exhaustion. It was little wonder in some respects, one of the chaps admitted he was carrying around seventy pounds weight, that and his heavy duty leather boots would make most folk exhausted pretty quickly. The wanted a taxi to KS and I directed them up to the farm house; hopefully they could get themselves sorted out there?
Friday 10th. Camped OS map OL19 643003 (Approximately)
Surprisingly I had the whole camping barn to myself last night. This morning I was awake early and decided to make the most of it and was away around seven. The morning was dry and cool, almost chilly. My plan for the day was not that ambitious, but still providing a good walk. Basically I was heading down the Lune valley toward Tebay. An interesting walk too via a mixture of footpaths, bridleways and minor lanes.Coming through one farmyard, I paused to study the map. An elderly gent approached me "Where'st tha gooing?" A quick smile and I explained I was heading for a footpath the other side of the farm. "thee's ganning wrong way woman." Showing him the map I explained I knew where I was going. "Nah nah, Bowderdale is back that way." He points back to the way I had come. Gently I explain that I am actually heading the other way and was checking the map to make sure I was heading for the footpath. Realization dawns, he pushes his flat cap back and scratches his head. "Weel woman why did thee not say so?" A rather cautious dog slinks close, nervously approaches me with a cross between between a half hearted growl and a wuff. The old man growls at him, "Get thee down." I hunker down and allow the dog a sniff of my hand. Warily his tail gives a wave and he allows me to give him a stroke. The gent appears surprised. "does't thee like dogs then?" Another smile and I tell him that normally I get on fine with dogs. Heading over toward the stone steps I had spotted in the wall. The fellow calls after me. " Not many folk head that way woman; keep to bottom side of wall and thee'll be right." Coming by the next farm the path appears to lead through the main cattle yard, complete with a few cows milling around. Talking to them nicely I pass on through; the farmer sticks his head around the corner with a big grin and bids a cheery "Good morning" A very nice chappy. Further on I came to a rather well to do stables that, by the big signs, stabled Icelandic ponies. There was one slight problem, the footpath went through a paddock that was ringed by two electric fences. There was no way I was prepared to tackle those; instead I cut through an open barn that flanked one side of the field and had no fences. A stallion was grazing quiet contentedly as I passed by, no problem. The map had shown a track running up to the fells from Ellergill it was not marked as a public right of way but I decided to chance it. In fact it was quite a pleasant walk up past Low Shaw farm. Where the track petered out a footpath continued onward. The scenery took me by surprise. Off to my left was Langdale, quite a narrow valley with a fairly substantial beck flowing through. Straight ahead was Churn gill, another narrow cleft and swinging off to my right was Uldale and my intended route. Originally I had been thinking of heading up over Rispa pike but had opted for the easier option instead. Drizzly showers did nothing to dampen my enjoyment of a pleasant walk up through wonderful scenery. A more persistent shower had me thinking of an early stop. There is an abundance of places for a wild camp, especially higher up the valley. A nice comfy spot was found, tent up, water bladder filled, boots of and a brew on the go, luxury.
Saturday 11th; same map, GR 681982.
Packed up quite early and strolled up to Blakethwaite bottom, I was surprised to find instead of a narrow valley the area opened out into a wide amphitheater, rather unusual. There was a path, though rather indistinct at times and easy to confuse with the myriad of sheep trods. Climbing higher more surprises where revealed. Steep sided narrow rocky clefts, boulder strewn with tumbling torrents coursing their way downwards. The Spout, Force Brow, names that spoke for themselves but the scenery was startling; quite awesome. This area demands more exploring; maybe another trip with the intention of spending a day or two in the area?This was delightful walking, a narrow path wending its way around steep fell sides, views out over the valley and plain below with the motorway and beyond that, the lake district. Gradually I was climbing higher, a break for a drink and a handful of my trail mix; a mixture of nuts, raisins, pumpkin seeds and jelly babies. Soon I was on a steeper slope that led up to Fell Head. A slow, steady plod, with a few stops to 'admire the scenery' and I made the top. A cold, blustery wind discouraged lingering for too long. What followed was a lovely ridge walk, Breaks Head, Height of Bush Howe, a steepish drop and the a long slow plod up to the trig point at The Calf. Two guys coming the other way said the forecast was for showers in the later afternoon and another night of low temperatures. Coming around by Bowderdale head, I stopped for a break and a long peruse of the map. Something I had been considering was dropping down to the saddle and then heading up to Yarlside. Probably most fit and active folk would not hesitate; however, my legs where tiring.There was also the fact that from there I would have to continue on to Randygill and Green Bell and the descend to find a camp spot. Bowderdale is a popular route through and setting up camp meant I was not so discreetly tucked away as I would have preferred; however, it was not a bad little spot. Showers of rain passing through but nothing substantial.
Sunday 12th. GR752944, (roughly)
Much time was spent mulling over the map last night trying to decide on the best option for today. Eventually I plumped for a plan B. A fairly long route but with nothing strenuous. My first goal of the day was to nip over to Cautley spout, an impressive series of waterfalls set in a deep gulley. An added bonus was that being there quite early I had the place to myself. Once more, stunning views looking out over the valley far below. A steady descent towards said valley. A bridge provided an easy crossing over the river. Already the car park next to the Cross Keys pub was getting busy with people heading out for a days walk. Enticing smells of food cooking and a sign advertising full breakfasts, ham and eggs and tea or coffee, was tempting. Somewhat reluctantly I hurried on. Somehow, trail mix and jelly babies where a poor alternative! A short climb on a footpath that led up towards a well established track, somewhat churned up by tractor traffic. My legs protested a bit on the uphill walk, so probably I had taken the easier option. Following the track around to the bridleway that led off it and headed over to Uldale House. (another Uldale?) A well defined rolling path that meant some pleasant walking. From Uldale House it was a different proposition. From Blea Gill bridge farm traffic had left a confusing network of tracks and close attention had to be paid to the map. Fortunately I got across to Whin Stone Gill bridge without too much hassle. Basically from there track or footpath were hard to define on the ground. Also, I was rather concerned with the weather, the wind had been steadily rising and thick clouds where building up fairly quickly. At times a hint of a path but often it was a case of steering by direct reckoning across Holm Moss. What was annoying was that for once the OS map was none too accurate. Features that could have been used as hand rails, for example I crossed three or four stone walls, not marked. More substantial was a large field barn, now derelict but still a distinct feature and a copse of trees; none of these where shown on the map. A constant check of the map slowed me down a bit but with the sky turning a dark blue black, it was case of having to find a place to stop and soon. A nasty bit of bog was crossed in a hurry, no finesse and a few times it led to going in quite deep in quivering bog. Basically I knew where I was and where I was heading. Finding a spot for the tent before the heavens open was proving difficult. A jumble of rocks at a spot marked as ''cave' on the map was about the only option I had. Rain was starting to fall as I cast about for somewhere to get the tent up. Eventually I settled for a tiny platform just about big enough to accommodate the tent. Ironically finding water was also difficult. The trickle I found was not that healthy looking. It meant boiling it vigorously and then straining it through a small bit of fibre material that I normally use as a wash cloth. Mucky with sediment and some algae, interesting!. It was enough for some hot food and a drink. By the time I finished brewing up, the rain and wind was really pummeling the tent and the noise was deafening. It was case of curling up in the sleeping bag and trying to doze through the storm and this is summer? There was some clean water left in the water bottle but the best treat I had was some fruit and nut chocolate that I had been hoarding. Emergency rations and subsequently a state of emergency was declared and chocolate duly devoured.
Monday 13th.
Heavy rain and wind continued through the night. A stream bed below my ledge, which the night before had been almost dry was now a foaming torrent only a couple feet from the tent. What with the drumming of rain and wind and the increasing roar of the surging water, complete with the thudding rumble of boulders being carried down the turbulent maelstrom, made for an unsettled night. Things always sound horrendous in the dark. By morning the wind and rain had eased and it was now mainly low cloud laced with moisture, enough to keep everything wet. One added bonus was that by leaving my cooking pot under the edge of the fly I had plenty of fresh water for breakfast. A strip bath in a small tent is no easy matter but I wanted to freshen up and put on a change of clothes before heading out. There was no rush to get under way, it was only a short step down to Garsdale and the train was not until one o clock. Everything packed up within the tent, a few wriggles to get in to waterproofs and out to face the day. The rain and low cloud where still swirling around. The tent was dropped and soaking wet stowed under the lid of the rucksack. There was more of a path heading down toward Grisedale. Water was streaming off the hill and I could actually see it bubbling up out of the ground. Mud was in prominence too, thick gooey stuff. The valley was flooded, water flowing over the road in several places. Was at the station not long after twelve which allowed me to get out of wet and muddy togs and in to some more respectable travel clothing.

Not a bad trip all in all and am pleased that I managed things none too badly. Kit wise, I am going to have a serious rethink in regards to tent. Terra Nova usually turn out good quality tents, however, I think their standards fell a tad with particular model. The Solar Minor is an awkward tent, little space under the porch can make life difficult. Using a stove under the fly is risky and there is no room for error. With heavy weather it is awful sitting out in the rain cooking. Also it is not a straight forward in pitching; there is a certain amount of faffing needed to get it set right. Not an option when a tent needs to be thrown up in a hurry. So, if anyone wants a light tent, they can make me a silly offer of around £50. In the meantime I have to work out how to get something more suitable. Currently I am trying to track down my winter tent, a Hex Three that was borrowed by someone and has not returned it.

Force Brow

Uldale

View from Cautley spout

Cautley spout

Lower part of spout

Update

2011-05-30T10:31:00.000+01:00

Rather mystified about the occurrences of my last trip I finally decided it better to check with my GP. She has suggested that it is possible I may have had a very minor heart attack. A trip to hospital and an EEG has not shown any irregularities. There are a few other checks to be made, however I am hoping to be away for a trip sometime next week? In the mean time I have been working to try and raise my fitness levels a tad. Currently I am helping out in someones allotment. This means a walk of some forty five minutes, three or four miles, each way, on a regular basis of three times a week. To make things a bit more difficult, an old rucksack has been dug out of retirement and a bladder with four litres of water has been placed in the rucksack as a weight penalty in my walks to the allotment. There is also the added factor that my flat is on the sixth floor and I make an effort to not use the lift and stick to the stairs. There is an old adage that the only way to get hill fit is by being on the hill. However I am hoping to make a wee bit of difference. Possibly too I may try for a a night or two away in bushcraft mode, travelling quite light and not taking the tent. On E bay there is a Rab survival zone bivi bag in green that I have my eye on and if the bidding remains sensible I may have a try for it. My one is ancient and leaks and green ones are hard to come by. So, currently I am sorting kit and planning a return to the Howgills.

Jinxed ??

2011-04-28T15:31:00.000+01:00

Thursday April 21st 11. Camped OS map OL19 GR724065.

Sometimes I feel that way. Looking at the weather forecast for the Easter period, the indications where that it was going to remain dry and warm. A final re shuffle of the pack, a few items shed and the weight was down to just around twenty six pounds, (eleven kilo); that was inclusive of food and fuel to last over five days. The journey up to Kirkby Stephen was uneventful, connections at Leeds was fine and I arrived at eleven twenty five. Needing to top up on more fluids I nipped in to the newly added station cafe. Honestly, one pound fifty for a cuppa was steep. Road walking is not something I enjoy but the quick shuffle up the main A685 to Lane Head was quite painless. From there it was a quite pleasant amble down a minor road in warm sunshine. Obviously the sack felt heavy but not uncomfortable and I was taking my time, there was no rush. Joined up with the Coast to Coast path over limekiln hill and Smardale fell. A lot of the rock around here is red sandstone and the sheep have taken on a sort of red and off white hue. Skylarks where in abundance, insects and bees where all busy doing their own thing and the day felt pleasant. Dropping down to Smardale bridge I began to look for somewhere to camp, Although it was early there where two reasons I had decided to stop, one, I wanted a slack day just to ease in to things; secondly, there was the issue of water. Pushing on would mean a few more hours before another suitable place to camp could be found. Water was not going to be readily available either. The scandall beck was a good water source. Finding a spot out of the way for the tent took a bit more time. Smardale gill is a nature reserve and the viaduct was obviously a popular walk. There was a regular succession of folk walking up the old rail track bed. After much casting about I opted to pitch in the old quarry, discreet and out of the way. The only slight snag is that being a quarry floor, tent pegs are difficult to place, hence a rather slack looking tent. The warm weather had me wishing I had packed shorts, my arms where getting quite tanned. One slight worry, all afternoon I have had chronic heartburn; a couple of gaviscon tablets have eased it a little. My supper though was rather a wasted affair, I kept choking on the food and could not eat much of it..

Friday 22nd April, same map;GR 682996
An odd day, the morning was calm and still, after a restless night it was sheer bliss to sit outside the tent as the sun rose. The heartburn was as bad as ever and so it was more gaviscon. Breakfast was supposed to have been a sachet of porridge, still finding it difficult to get food down I added more water and milk powder and sort of drank it. Was underway by eight, although not indicated on the map, the old rail track bed is a regular bridleway up as far as |Newbiggin on Lune. Delightful walking too, a lovely amble with wonderful views, peaceful. A quick dash across the main road, past Betty Beck and Sandwath and the terrain began to head upwards. My aim was for Green Bell. Following the path across Pinksey, it went from clear and easy to see to something vague and indistinct. There is a clearly defined track leading in to Pinksey Bottom, but the track indicated on the map was further over to my left. Striking off at an angle up and across the hill I found it again higher up. My pace was slow, I was deliberately pacing myself, trying to stay within my comfort zone. However, the heartburn/indigestion was worse and my chest was hurting. The sun was hot but a strong north easterly breeze was keeping temperatures down. A pause for a think at Hunthoof pike; overall I was not doing too bad; if only this heartburn would ease up I would be fine. Made Green Bell ok, marvelous views in all directions. Sauntered on, had a look for Spengill well but saw no sign of it. Randygill Top was a long time coming, nice walking, the ridge a well rounded whaleback. Paused for a break by the cairn and had a ponder over what was best; to be honest I was a tad concerned over this indigestion, my chest was hurting and I did not feel my best..My intention had been been to carry on over Kensgriff and on to Yarlside. Studying the map it looked as if the easier option was to drop down off Randygill in to the upper reaches of Bowderdale and stop there. There was an actual path leading down. Never before have I ever really struggled with a steep descent, but for whatever reasons this one proved horrendous. It felt never ending and relentless in its steepness and I had to stop several times to give myself a break. Once down my legs where like jelly and I did not feel good; all I wanted to to was drop the sack and collapse and basically that is what |I did. A couple who had been walking up the track came hurrying across, they had been watching me coming down and where rather concerned; I assured them I was ok, just winded a bit. After that I just sat for half an hour or so before getting the tent up on the first available bit of ground. This is most frustrating and I am unsure what is happening here, certainly I feel I was moving well within my capabilities, have kept to a slow steady pace, kept my pack weight down etc; I am not happy over this. Supper was soup, I am not managing food as such and even find taking liquids a bit of a hassle. The evening is a wee bit blustery but the tent is well pegged down and I am curled up in my sleeping bag listening to the sounds of the dale in the fading evening light. Sheep close by, their munching of grass clearly audible; they have their own vocabulary too, not just snuffles and coughs, but low, soft murmurs. Later, a loud snort near to the tent, a gentle whicker, ponies grazing close by.
Saturday 23rd. Same map, GR678995.
A non day, packed up this morning but felt woozy and my breathing was a bit odd. Basically I moved the tent over to a more secluded spot in Hazel Gill and after some major faffing got the tent up, climbed in to the sleeping bag and remained there for the day.

Sunday 24th, same map, Bents camping barn.
Managed to get a brew of tea down this morning, gagged on the porridge though and gave up on it. Decisions had to be made, there was no point moping in the tent for another day. Mulling over the map, I formulated a rough plan of action. Packing up and getting the tent down was not easy; it took over an hour and I felt well out of sorts. Started off down the path that runs down through the fell; the pace was slow, very, shuffle, shuffle, pause, rest, move on. A small group of mountain bikers stopped and where rather concerned, one lad wanted to call the rescue team. To be honest, it was tempting but knowing the hassle it would cause I thanked the lads and assured them I would be fine. Gradually as I pushed on down I began to eventually perk up a bit and managed to get in to a steady pace. By the time I reached Bowderdale I felt more confident of things.A spot of road walking past Wath and on to Newbiggin on Lune. Needing fluids I strolled in to the tea room at Bessy Beck's fish farm. Managed a couple of glasses of squash, food was out of the question though. Feeling a bit more confident I began the uphill plod to the camping barn; was quite chuffed that I was doing ok even though it was all uphill. Was at the barn by around mid afternoon; not a soul in sight, no response when I knocked on the farmhouse door, nothing. The barn was unlocked and taking a chance I dumped the sack inside and got a brew on the go. What bliss to kick off one's footwear, to settle back against a dry stone wall and just enjoy the sunshine. An old sheep came wandering over, had a look at me and then headed over to the bunkhouse. Obviously she had the place well sussed out, first she checked the door, finding it closed she moved on for a mooch around the rubbish bins. It became obvious why the lids where strapped down, the sheep carefully and methodically gave each lid a nudge, hoping to dislodge the lid, her efforts to topple the bins also failed. With another hopeful glance at me, she finally ambled off. Speaking to the farmer later when I checked in, he was highly amused when I referred to the sheep as a 'canny yow'.He blinked and looked at me with a wide grin and asked if I understood what yows and tups where; I assured him I did; quite made his day. Fortunately the camping was quiet, two lads doing the coast to coast and |I had a dorm to myself. Eating is still problematical but I am managing plenty of fluids.

Monday 25th. Kirkby Stephen
A quiet night, the coast to coast guys where away quite early and I had the place to myself. Plenty cups of tea and a cereal bar and I was ready to go. The morning was overcast with a chilly wind. My plan was simple, to follow the coast to coast route in to Kirkby Stephen and possibly check in somewhere.It is only a few miles from the camping barn to town and I found it a pleasant stroll. Kirkby was heaving, wall to wall with people and traffic. Checked out the local hostel and bumped in to the warden. The place was almost empty and she booked me in on the spot. Given the key code to all me entry during the day allowed me to come and go as I wanted. Got some chips from the local chippy, a mistake, managed about half the portion with plenty of fluids but that was my limit. For the rest of the day I was content to curl up on my bunk with a book. A few folk booked in early evening; all coast to coast. What struck me though was the cliquishness of the those people. In the kitchen making a brew and several folk asked the same question, 'doing the coast to coast?' As soon as I said no, they turned away; obviously, I was not one of them. Fortunately the hostel was not busy and I had a dorm to myself and I just kept out of the way. Mixed loos and showers where a tad disconcerting.
Tuesday 26th.
Waited until the majority of folk had left and headed out myself. With the train south not until twelve forty six it was just a case of killing time. Went for a walk over and around Hartley and back across toward the station. Making my over past Half Penny house I was shocked to see what had been a pleasant footpath that avoided the main road was now a hideous scar, a track had been bulldozed right the way up to the station, ugly and brutal, nasty. Things certainly have not turned out as planned and certainly, in some respects I do feel jinxed. However, I do have a few ideas for another trip in to the Howgill fells. Possibly using the Bents farm camping barn as a first night stopover and then heading more toward Tebay and then camping high for a night or two.

Packing

2011-04-18T14:01:00.002+01:00

Having not been away for many months my fitness levels had fallen through the floor. With medical problems currently more or less under control the decision was made; time for a few days away. Decisions, where to? The Howgills are an area of Yorkshire that I have had my eye on for sometime, it is fairly accessible and away from the busier areas of Yorkshire. A trawl through the net and to my surprise I was able to purchase cheap train tickets for over the Easter period.The one downside of this is being tied to a fixed period of travel. This involves an early start; the 07 10am from Kings Cross. It will mean me being up and away from the flat before the sparrows are out of their pyjamas. There is a routine to packing my rucksack, different items paced in certain parts of the bag and so forth. Also I tend to pack differently when heading out than when returning; for example, tent ready and accessible, ditto water bag and so forth on the journey out.. When coming back it is my clean change of clothes, wash gear and the likes. Routine though does not prevent the faffing around, stuff gets packed, unpacked, weight is considered, is this item too heavy, do I really need that item? April can be a tricky month weather wise; I have experienced both warm and balmy days and freezing temperatures with snow and ice. Thus clothing has to be carefully considered. Taking a risk I am packing my lighter sleeping bag rather than my winter one. A pair of leggings can double as sleeping gear or thermal bottoms.The overall weight of my rucksack comes in at roughly 28 pounds or 12 kilo; that is with five days food and fuel on board. To be honest I am apprehensive, not having been away for so long, carrying a weighty rucksack is going to be interesting! yikes!! Mind, this is going to more of a wander than anything serious, a slack packing trip.

Uncertainty

2011-04-03T13:31:00.000+01:00

Many months have passed since I last posted; medical problems curtailed much of my wanderings. A couple of minor ops, more tests and changes of medication seem to have eased the problems. Offered a chance of a place to stay for a couple of nights in the New forest, I accepted. In many respects I have doubts and uncertainties concerning my outdoor activities. Questions constantly buzzed around my mind, did I have the same abilities, was I still capable, was the old enjoyment and thrill still there? My time in the New Forest was split over two day walks and travelling light with just a daysack. When I first arrived in Brockenhurst early afternoon I nipped down to the local bakers to get some rolls for packed lunches. A couple of folk where queuing in front of me and so I tagged on the end of the line. A heavy nudge from behind took me by surprise, slightly annoyed I turned around to remonstrate with the person who had pushed me only to come face to face with a donkey who had nonchalantly tagged on to the end of the queue. Poor lad, he was unceremoniously shooed away. On my first walkout I followed bridleways over toward Roydon manor and Dilton farm. A light rain had changed to a steady downpour and the woods smelt fresh and pungent with the scent of wild garlic. It was surprising to see a few caravans on the campsite at Lodge heath; mind, a couple looked as if they had been there for a while. Heading over toward Ladycross Lodge the rain got heavier. Made my way over toward Stubby Copse enclosure and then swung back down through Pignal hill and back.

The following day saw me heading back and around Pignal hill. This part of the forest is bisected with hard dirt tracks, long straight avenues; ideal traffic free cycling routes, but sore on the feet and a tad monotonous for the pedestrian. The secret is to study the map closely and follow footpaths that cut through the trees. Often muddy, however, these less used routes are often byways for the deer and is possible to see where they have been wandering. Tiny, delicate prints of muntjac deer, larger prints of roe deer and occasionally hooves prints of the ponies.The morning had started off dank and drizzly but the day had gradually improved. My main problem was trying to settle down and relax; a bad habit of mine is to keep pushing on. Picking a route around Denny wood I took stock of my route and decided to make my way back through Parkhill inclosure and then back toward Brockenhurst. Just a few miles of fairly gentle walking; it was difficult to slow down and enjoy my walking. Probably I will not really know how things are until I head out with a full pack and spend a few days on the hill.

Dirt under my fingernails

2010-10-21T12:21:00.001+01:00

Folks may wonder what I have been up to recently? However, an ongoing medical problem is causing some difficulties which reflects on my lack of trips. Of late I find I am becoming more reclusive, to try and prevent myself going totally stir crazy I have been doing a few bits of wood carving, as illustrated in the photos and have a couple of other pieces I am working on. Back in the summer I was asked if I would help somebody out with their allotment; recently I have been mainly working there on my own. Some people have the idea that once the summer harvesting is over that there is little to do in the allotment. How wrong they are, recently I have been pruning back fruit canes, there are vegetable beds to clear, grass to cut, compost bins to turn and new ones started, It is a busy time prior to the onset of winter and of course through the winter months there will be plots to add compost to and dig, tools to sort and thoughts will be turning to the spring planting. This morning I was expecting something in the post and decided to walk up to the allotment early and spend a couple of hours working before heading back for the postie. It was early when I left, earlier than I actually intended at around six o clock. There had been a heavy overnight frost and the morning felt quite chilly and I found myself walking along the early morning streets at a brisk pace to warm up, car roofs glistening in the light of the street lamps. The early morning light was just breaking when I arrived at the allotment, the ground was white with frost and everything was still, my breath steaming in the cold air. Soon the distant horizon was a fiery blaze of crimson as the early morning sun heralded a new day. Birds gradually became more active, a woodpecker close by chattered loudly, pigeons where busy scavenging the plots for food, parakeets, birds which are becoming common in London, screeched harshly.Noisy beasts but colourful; a fox ambled by, looked at me, yawned and continued on his way.A robin hopped around following me as I worked, I forked over a bit of ground to allow him to search for his breakfast. This morning I was working in the fruit cage cutting grass with long handled shears. Much of the grass was heaped up to be added to the compost heap in stages; too much at once and it can compact and become slimy. Potato haulms,, some runner bean plants that had to cleared, a few handfuls of horse manure and and a barrowful of clippings where added to the compost heap and that was my time up.Normally I scrub my hands in the water but, however, seeing the layer of ice on the surface I decided I would wait until I got back to the flat before washing them.

Wood carving

2010-08-26T19:34:00.001+01:00

One of these days I will put up a complete album of my carving work. These are a few pictures of a piece of work I was asked to do. The wood is elm, with a burr, the bowl is hand carved and measures roughly two foot long, three and a half inches deep and ten inches wide. Just as a matter of interest, my flat is tiny, which makes my wood carving difficult; also, living in a block of flats I have to consider the neighbours. Recently though I have been assisting someone with their allotment and a lot of work on this latest bowl was done there. Carrying tools back and forward each day was not too bad but working in the small potting shed when it rained was not so easy!

A baby dish from a goldfield burr

Yorkshire circuit

2010-08-11T13:37:00.069+01:00

Before anyone says it, yes, I know, it is Yorkshire again; well for me it is fairly accessible and Kirkby provides a handy jumping off point. Much more importantly though is that I can get fairly cheap rail tickets with careful advance booking. Mind, that does commit me because cheap tickets are non refundable, so if the weather is bad so be it. Also, of course, Yorkshire does provide some fine walking.

Thus it was on the Thursday that I was heading north, arriving at Kirkby Stephen at twelve thirty. By the time I had wandered down to the town and picked up a few bits and treated myself to a packet of chips it was early afternoon when I headed out. On my last trip I had noticed the old railway track and wondered if it was feasible to follow part of its route. From what little information I could gather, it seemed there was a footpath along the old trackbed as far as Hartley, what lay beyond that I was unable to find out. Making my way over to Hartley was quite straight forward and I was encouraged to find that there was permitted access beyond there. This provided some fine fairly easy walking, the one downside was the myriad of flies that where most bothersome whenever I stopped. Unfortunately my hopes where dashed when I got as far as Rookby Scarth, Private, keep out, no access, notices where predominantly displayed. A quick check of the map and I decided to skirt around the area by following the line of the fell by Howgill. A bad mistake as it turned out, I would have done better following another track up the fell and then cutting across country. As it was I came down toward Howgill Foot which meant crossing some rough pasture on the way through; I noticed the cattle grazing in the field and saw that there was a bull with them. He was perfectly happy about me passing by and posed no problem. The trouble arose as I came in to sight of the farm, it had been extensively modernised and done up, none of the usual farmyard clutter, everything just so. My heart sank, I could sense trouble and so it proved, a woman came dashing out of the house all in a fluster. "Excuse me, where do you think you are going, you are on private land?" Her voice was modulated and bristled with indignation and hostility, no broad Yorkshire accent here. Quickly I apologised and explained that I had just come down off the fell etc. She was not mollified one bit, and proceeded to give me a lecture about trespassing and wandering through fields where there where dangerous bulls and so forth. My thought was, give me the bull any day in preference to this woman. she then escorted my through her pristine garden out to her drive, (I could just as easy have walked around the farm buildings) with instructions to proceed down her drive to Heggerscales and not to deviate off the road. So folks, if wandering anywhere near Howgill Foot, be warned, there be dragons roaming loose!. With my rough plan now thrown out of the window I still Had several miles to cover. It meant a longish walk, mainly by road, around to Wrenside farm and then around by the river Bolah and up to Fell Intake where I finally have managed to stop. That has been a long afternoon of walking and I am glad to have finally stopped.

Friday 6th August

Have stopped early because of the weather. The weather was dry this morning but a heavy dew had soaked the tent and so I had dawdled a bit to allow the worst of the wet to dry off. Following the path, which was faint at times, I made my way around by Woofer gill, Greenhope Howe and up Potter side to cross the road and then continued up and across to High Greygrits. Although not cold, a blustery wind made it feel quite chilly sitting by the trig point. Also I knew a weather front was due to come through and the thickening cloud and dark, blue black bruised sky off to the west indicated it was fast approaching. The quarry, marked as disused on the OS map, is in fact still in use for stone extraction; thankfully no one was working there today. Walked up to the track that leads up to Kettlepot Gill. The track looked newly laid and I suspected it was not the original track to the old mine workings further up. In fact I had a little difficulty in actually finding the old track and passed it before I realised , only after some careful study of the map was I able to figure out where it descended to cross the gill. In several places the old line of track is now washed away. By then thin drizzle that had started as I walked up the hill was now turning to heavier rain. Not seeing the point of continuing in worsening weather I found a spot for the tent and camped. By late afternoon the weather had briefly eased and I went off to explore the area but saw little indication of the old workings but did manage to find a rough indication of where the old path ascended the hill on the other side. The rain now is sluicing down, a pity, I wanted to photo the traps put out by keepers, poles laid out across the beck offering a bridge for any small creatures, in the middle though was an open cage, with, I suspect, some form of bait and a snap trap to catch what some game keepers consider 'vermin'; one trap had a stoat in it, dead. Why? all to do with the grouse shooting, old habits die hard and the grouse is considered the golden bird, grouse shooting being big business. It is not a case of sentimentality but it angers me.

Saturday 7th August

An odd start to the day, the rain had mainly passed, leaving only a slight drizzle. Last night I had gone over my route, there was nothing difficult in it, just a matter of heading up the hill to Cocklake Rigg and across to the path that comes around by Robert's Seat. For reasons I cannot explain, I hit a block, just did not want to do it, started up the hill, stopped, dithered but did not feel comfortable at all, totally illogical and to add to the irrationality of it all I ended up going back down to the road and followed it up to Tan Hill, very strange! Mind, it was not a bad walk, as road walks go, the drizzle had passed through and it became dry and quite pleasant. From Tan Hill I turned on to the path I originally had planned on taking, it was a lovely bit of walking too, up over Robert's Seat, with fine views and open, airy spaces. Dropped down to Ravenseat in Whitsun Dale, a farmhouse that offers coffee and scones and has a small campsite. Resisting the temptation of coffee I pushed on; the coast to coast route comes through here and is sign posted but is not marked on the OS map thus care is needed otherwise one is following the route that leads to Nine Standards. The direction I wanted was over to Birkdale, a less trodden path although easy enough to pick up. A heavy shower had me back in waterproofs; the shooting hut looked tempting and not being locked I nipped in for a quick break and to allow the rain to pass. Following the contour of the hill around above the road I made my way down the valley, the plan was to take the track that heads up through Little Sled Dale and camp high and continue on up to the ridge in the morning. So much for plans, 'Private, no access, no footpath' signs where predominantly displayed; a vehicle higher up the track dissuaded me from tresspassing. This is open fell side not agricultural land, the grouse shooting season is due to start shortly and the keepers obviously did not want folk disturbing the birds. It is not that I am anti hunting, per se, however this is not hunting but slaughter of thousands of dumb birds that are pampered exclusively for this moment. Hunting to put food on the table is another matter, as long as the animal/bird is killed cleanly, swiftly and humanely; it is a case of kill it, cook it, eat it; grouse shooting by the favoured few falls far short of that. Harbouring dark thoughts about fancy folk who take delight in such activities, I turned and headed up the hill toward Birkdale tarn. Someone by now will possibly suggest I am an inverted snob, so be it, I am working class, what you see is what you get, a peasant of the soil. Found an ideal spot to camp by the tarn, it has actually been dammed at one end and I pitched the tent close to some old workings. Looking about the workings they suggest more of mining activities than quarrying, there are some indications of at least one filled in shaft. Ambled off to wander around the tarn, not too bad close to the shore but some very boggy ground. Saw curlews, a hawk hunting overhead, raucous ducks where kicking up a rumpus out on the water, otherwise it was a tranquil spot. The area is also a favourite spot for the grouse, they have quite a wide ranging vocabulary, not just their crazy 'go back, go back' alarm calls, but a variety of soft bubbling murmurings too, at times almost cooing somewhat like wood pigeons. Came out of the tent and the demented birds exploded in all directions, total pandemonium.

Sunday 8th August.

Today was quite a long one, a heavy dew had soaked the tent overnight and the morning had dawned calm and still; this in turn meant the midges where out. Followed a track made by a farmer's buggy around the contour of the hill to the old quarry, once more marked on the map as disused, but actually still in use. Dropped down to the river Swale and followed the footpath to High bridge, another small campsite which I skirted. From there another footpath over Clumperstone Hill and down to Angram, passing through a field of frisky heifers. It had been tempting to walk in to Keld but I felt that may have meant too long a day. A strange occurrence at Angram, the footpath come out at a fork in the road with a house being extensively rebuilt, right on the junction; a guy stared at me as I stepped out on to the road, being polite I said 'good morning' to him, he just glared at me, turned around and stalked back in to the house heavily slamming the door behind him. Gosh, I know I can look a bit wild after a few days on the hill but not that bad as to scare folks, most odd! From Angram it was a quick shuffle down to Thwaite and then back up to join the Pennine Way that leads over Great Shunner Fell. Much of the route has been paved with great stone slabs, it detracts a bit from the walk, although it is understandable, the heavy usage the Way gets obviously leads to erosion. The wizard of oz kept going through my mind, follow the yellow brick road. Despite it being a long pull up it was good walking but it was good to get to the top . There is a stone built windbreak on the top, no trig point but a survey marker thingy; I was glad to take a break and have a study of the map. After some pondering it was an easy decision to follow the path and then turn off down East Side and find somewhere to camp. The pit and tips marked on the map look as if they where relics of coal mining activities; finding somewhere to pitch the tent looked problematical, I prefer to be out of sight and out of mind as it where, with forestry operation close by I was reluctant to set up camp. There are some amazing sink holes in the region, a couple looked as if they may have cave systems, it would be interesting to find out if there are any caves, certainly there must at least be water carved passageways? Finally, after a certain amount of faffing around, I came back up the hill to Humesett Crags and have found a nice little spot. Water was a bit of a problem but I found a trickle and am now a happy camper, glad to get my boots off and sit down with a cuppa. Part of my route for tomorrow has been scuppered, my intention had been to take the bridleway down to Cotterdale, however, the forestry works have closed the bridleway. Must admit, I am wearied this evening.

Monday August 9th.

Another short day, my route was a tad circuitous, first following the PW down Wensleydale toward Hardraw and then taking the path back along to Cotterdale, a lovely path providing a pleasant low level walk. From there it was a case of back along the river, the other side though and following the path across to Thwaite Bridge House. It was tempting to follow the higher old road but I do not think my body would accept it, I was running on a flat battery and felt tired and my legs where protesting a bit. There was bad weather brewing over Wild Boar Fell and it was heading my way. Reaching Yore House farm, I noticed they did camping, checked it out, very basic, a strip of grass by the river and a loo back up the drive; one camper van and tent on site. Heavy rain scudding across decided me and I opted to stay put, very unusual for me but seeing I am heading out tomorrow it is the easiest option.The farmer's wife is a nice friendly lady, which is always a bonus. Passed two bulls today and five rams no problem.

Tuesday.

Rain on and off during yesterday afternoon and through the night so I probably made the right choice. Dawdled this morning, the train from Garsdale is not until 1300hrs and it is only a quick walk up the road. Was entertained by some very low level flying both by the RAF and army helicopters. The people in the campervan where quite amused this morning to see me heading up the drive to the loo with my cook pot full of hot water for a strip wash; there is a sink in the loo but no hot water. A good scrub down and clean clothes, joy. Possibly if I head this way again it could well be the Howgill Fells?

Bushcraft saunter

2010-07-02T16:43:00.008+01:00

A flurry of messages hurrying north and south and Rachel arranged to pick me up in Chesterfield on the Monday. We headed over to the Peak district in the Hathersage area; the day was hot and we where a tad lethargic. Rachel had an area in mind for an overnight stop, a peaceful, wooded area. In fact it was at one time the scene of a massive industry, a quarry that covered many acres, now quietly returning to nature. Evidence of quarrying was everywhere, gigantic millstones lay half buried in the undergrowth, scattered wily nilly like giant quoits; man made terraces and old tramways, rock faces gouged and blasted. Finding an idyllic grassy spot among the prolific silver birches, we pitched the tarps. Casting about we found a large boulder that, when moved aside and checked to make sure no wildlife was being disturbed made for the basis of a fireplace. Before anyone screams irresponsibility, fire risk was foremost in our minds, the fire pit that was created was on a part of an old stone laid trackway, the surrounding grass was carefully peeled back and there was water on hand at all times when the fire was lit, the fire itself was kept small and when finished with was thoroughly doused, the boulder and grass replaced leaving no trace. Rachel is an excellent bushcraft cook and dinner, note, dinner not supper, was fresh fish baked in hot embers, roast vegetables and baked potatoes, a sumptuous meal. It rained during the night but we where snug under our tarps.The early morning was surprisingly a tad chilly but the day soon warmed. A cup of tea and a breakfast of Dundee cake, it was meant for the previous evening but we both had eaten enough; it made for a good breakfast. A stroll back to the car and then off for a short walk across the moors rewarded with the treat of an ice cream. A wander around a local gear shop, gear porn is addictive and many items where ogled and fondled and then it was back to Chesterfield. A short but good trip out with an enjoyable overnight stop.

Update on the tent front

2010-06-20T11:13:00.003+01:00

One of my niggles with the small tent I use, the Shangri La 1, is the pole in the front. This tent is designed to erect using trekking poles, however, I find a pole slap bang in the middle of the tent front restricting and annoying. Having an old nesting pole A pole lying about I tried it on the Shangri, it works well but is heavy. Now I am trying just the A pole apex, which is still quite heavy for its size, despite being alloy, in conjunction with the trekking poles and it seems to work fine. Presently I have been attempting to form an A pole apex from fibre glass, so far, two lumpy prototypes. Ideally I would get one moulded in carbon fibre, if anyone has any suggestions please give a shout. Before anyone asks, the rear pole is also being experimented on, having an old carbon fibre pole lying around which has lost its bottom section, I butchered the remaining two sections, removing the handle completely the end section now fastened on the extending pole as a foot. This has bumped up the weight of the overall tent slightly but has provided more comfort and adaptability. By the by, any stove enthusiasts out there in the London region, I have an old Optimus 80, a strange Stesco possibly an MSR, all working, there is also a bialladin lamp for restoration or spares, interested? Send me an e mail.

Hard travelling

2010-06-14T11:59:00.050+01:00

Dramatic sculptor

Ribblehead viaduct

Arten Gill viaduct

Yorkshire is one of those areas, where, if I juggle things carefully, I can purchase cheap train tickets; beside which, it offers some good walking county with with high open rolling moors. Having done little in the way of walking of late and with motivation at a low ebb there was a need just to get out and see if I could still hack it? Thus it was I travelled up on the Monday.
7th June, camped OS map OL19 GR 808070
Changing trains at Leeds I linked up with Rachel to hand over a few bits and received a large portion of cake in return. Arrived Kirkyby Stephen station at 14 30; the station is a mile and a half outside Kirkby and walking in on footpaths probably adds another half mile or so. However, I wanted to pick up a few last minute snacks and nibbles and possibly get something to eat before heading out. A cafe had delicious foody smells wafting from it but it looked busy and looking at the weather I did not want to linger; instead I settled for a limp and indifferent cold pasty and a soft drink, a poor substitute. A bit of careful navigation was needed to follow footpaths that came around by Ladthwaite, including a lovely path that wound through woods by Ewbank Scar; the undergrowth thick with lush, verdant plant life, clumps of wild garlic infused the air with pungent odour. From ladthwaite it was easier navigation on bridleways to come around to Hartley Fell. My main concern was finding water, there was little of it and the trickle I have resorted to using looks a tad suspect, the rocks around are stained a rusty colour and the water itself has an oily sheen; however, needs must. My timing in getting the tent up was spot on, I had been watching a steady build up of thick dark clouds, bruised and pregnant with moisture, the first heavy drops of rain began to fall as I scrambled inside. A mug of soup and a nibble of Rachel's delicious cake and I was fine as the rain pattered down.
Tuesday8th June. Same map, GR825 043, approximately!
Steady rain through the night and with no sign of a let up this morning; a long, hard perusal of the map had me working out a plan B., However, as is my want I do not always work to sane and sensible ideas. Packed up and walked back over to the track and started heading back down to walk a low level route, paused, looked up at the scudding mist and cloud on the tops and for reasons unknown, through plan B out of the window and decided I could at least head up to Nine Standards. The rain got heavier and the murk thicker as I slowly headed up. Passing the old spoil heaps and disused shafts it is thought provoking to consider how men once laboured on these high fell sides using the most basic of tools, picks, shovels and wheelbarrows and often wet and cold, their clothing rough and inadequate to protect them from bad weather. To see Nine Standards suddenly looming out of the clag was spooky, huge stone cairns with their original purpose uncertain; certainly they are no modern folly, there are apparently records of them going back as far as the sixteenth century and at one time they where even larger. Having made the top I decided to amble on a bit further; the viewpoint at Nine Standards rig was out of service in the swirling cloud, was surprised to see that the trig point was a humble little stone built affair that needed a bit of repair. Although not marked on the map, this is part of the coast to coast route from Kirkby through to Keld. Not feeling too bad I continued onward with the path; a check of the compass assured me that it was heading roughly in the direction I wanted to go and sure enough my wandering led me around by White Mossy Hill and Lady Dike Head. Despite the conditions I was content to just amble along, the air around me was vibrant with the strange, haunting cries of ground nesting birds, curlews and lapwings where all around me. Coming down by Millstones the visibility improved and I could actually see where I was heading and soon joined the bridleway that led around to Whitsun Dale; I went in the other direction, down to the road in Birk Dale. Risking the water from Rowantree Gill, I settled down with my back resting on a sign post and dug the rest of Rachel's cake out of the pack. In the prevailing conditions that slab of cake was the most delicious thing imaginable, thanks Rachel, much appreciated. It was obvious that the weather was deteriorating, the rain was now steady, plus, not having done much walking recently, my thighs where aching a bit. Following the road up a bit higher I swung off toward Coldbergh Side, picking my way around some nasty bog and after a bit of faffing about found somewhere to pitch the tent. As I was casting about finding a camp spot a pheasant took off in front of me, which was surprising, even more remarkable there where several in the area. Pheasants are not normally high upland birds, they are more associated to woodland areas that offer them cover; most peculiar! Water was once more a problem, there where several trickles of water forming small streams but the rocks where deeply stained an orange rust colour and yet again the water had that oily sheen to it. Obviously there must be some form of mineral content that is leeching in to the water system! As I filled up the water bladder I noticed the rain increasing and as I struggled out of waterproofs before getting in to the tent, the rain began to deluge down, solid great walls of water battered the tent; there was little option but to brew up with the tent battened down. The wind has been north east all day, pushing the temperature down and now it was growing even more chilly.
Wednesday 9th June, same map, camped GR 808938, approx.
Rain continued all night, getting in and out of the tent for the loo several times in the night can be difficult in such conditions. By early morning the tent was enveloped in thick grey, dense cloud with the rain continuing unabated and a blustery north east wind was steadily buffeting the tent. on such occasions getting packed up and underway takes that much longer; everything is carefully packed in the rucksack from within in the tent, then it is a case of boots on, get dressed in all the foul weather gear; once that is completed the inner tent is taken down and packed, tent unzipped and a scramble out to face the elements. The outer tent is swiftly taken down, given a shake to get some of the water off and unceremoniously bundled up and stowed under the rucksack lid; despite the conditions a check is still made to ensure nothing is left behind, it would be too easy to overlook something like a tent peg. With no visibility it meant having to rely on the compass to make my way out to the road; having already taken a bearing before leaving the tent. There was one downside to this though, thick, deep bog; forget the concept of doing a dog leg or two and coming back on course, what had just been boggy ground was now deep quagmire. Often the ground swayed like a water bed when it was stepped on, scary but doable if crossed with care, a couple of times though I went in deep, the bog monster can be a voracious beast! It was exhausting work but eventually I hit the rough track I had noted yesterday, made by an off road quad machine, once that was found I knew it would lead me down to the road. All previous plans where now scrapped; it was not a day for the high tops. An alternative day was now put in to action, this meant a few miles of road walking down to Nateby. The summit of that road was a wide open, bleak place to be, with tendrils of thick cloud coiling around me and rain beating a staccato tattoo off my waterproofs, I pushed on at a steady pace. Once the road descended a bit though, rifts began to appear in the dense greyness, ragged tatters of rain sodden cloud torn aside to reveal the steep slopes of the fells, blobs of off white where sheep hunkered down seeking what shelter the could. The calls of curlews pierced the air, like ghostly spectres they appeared and disappeared around me. A car slowed down, the driver checking me over, I gave him a wave and a grin to let him know I was ok. once down by Nateby the weather had moderated, the wind had eased and the rain was now more drizzle than anything else. Followed footpaths and bridleways over to Mire Close Bridge. The river Eden was at least running clear and I took a chance on topping up with water; yes, I know I ought to have filtered it but filter systems cost money I cannot afford. There are quite a few inter connecting bridleways and footpaths in the area and it requires regular map reading to stay on course . It was pleasant walking, the lowland pastures lush and verdant, hay meadows thick with clover, buttercups adding a splash of vibrant colour. My lack of fitness was making itself felt, thighs ,knees and ankles where protesting. Possibly I could have snuck in somewhere out of the way, however, I prefer not to camp in lowland farm areas unless really stuck. Coming around by Mallerstang I could see the bridleway snaking away up the side of the hill opposite and inwardly groaned. A pause for a quick drink and nibble at Thrang Bridge and then on to the bridleway. In fact the climb up was not that bad, a slow, steady plod. A large upright object on the brow of the hill beckoned me on; I was puzzled as to what it was, it was not marked on the map. Finally all was revealed, the object was in fact a large sculptor standing proud and tall, (see photo); a very prominent landmark. What had been just a gentle drizzle down in the valley was now a wind blown wetness, however, I was still below the cloud base that covered the tops. The old trackway was delightful walking, wide open limestone country, lovely vistas despite the weather. With time getting on and the fact that I had been on the go for some eight hours meant that I was on the lookout for somewhere to camp; it was case of marrying up a source of water with a place firm enough to take the tent and hopefully providing a little shelter from the rising wind. A limestone outcrop offered a little protection but not much, in fact I have rigged the tent fore and aft with extra guying for extra protection:the wind is now shaking the tent violently. Water was from a nearby gill that had several pools of fairly clear water. Using my baby cup, I gently scooped up the water to fill the water bag, taking care not to disturb the sediment at the bottom of the pool. Oh my, what sheer and utter bliss to be out of the waterproofs, boots and socks off and laying back with a hot drink.
Thursday 10th June, camped OS map OL2 GR 791860.
A blustery and cold night, had to throw my jacket over the sleeping bag in the early hours. Once more it was a case of changed plans; my original idea had been to head down toward Wensleydale and then cut off up and over toward Dent. However, the high tops where still wearing a dark grey bonnet of thick cloud and my route would have needed careful map and compass work across open country, doable but I did not feel up for it. The morning was not actually wet, at least it was not raining but just a damp mizzle. Resorting to plan C; I headed back up the track to High Dyke: now a series of sheep pens but at one time had obviously been a farmstead. In theory there where a couple of footpaths here and indeed there was footpath sign and that was about it. As I headed down through a couple of fields ,a group of young cattle came lolloping across, milling around me; no problem, just typical bovine curiosity, they readily parted as I pushed through them. Further down I picked up a rough track where the farmer had been up and down a few times. This led me around to Blades farmstead, another haphazard footpath sign pointed vaguely across boggy marshland, had me pausing to configure the map to the ground. A bit of careful navigation and I found the bridge marked on the map and continued on to another farm, across the road, through another field, across the railway and more fields to Garsdale. With the weather still murky higher up I stuck to the road up past the station; a nasty little climb out of the valley and soon I was back in drifting mist and general dampness, not unpleasant walking though, despite the fact I do not enjoy road yomping. This was different country in some respects, the road was flanked by drystone walls, gates had 'private land' signs on them. Even when I turned off on the bridleway that ran around by Crosshills Wold and Greenbank, there was a sign up about permitted path to Great knoutberry Hill and so forth. It was pleasant walking though and I was content to just amble. My aim was to camp before descending in to the Dent valley. Finding an idyllic spot, I was tempted but it was on view from the track and I had visions of some farmer spotting me and having words. Indeed, as I sat there a couple of farm vehicles trundled through, my preference is for 'out of sight, out of mind'. Ambled around to Dent Fell and descended out of the mist and managed to find a nice little spot out of the way by Arten Gill. An early enough stop but camping lower down would be difficult and as a bonus, the weather appears to be clearing up. Generally speaking I am not feeling too bad but my knees and ankles are painful, so it is good idea to settle back with the book and not do too much.
Friday, Ribblehead bunkhouse.
Woke this morning to thick mist in the Gill, however the wind had finally changed and a breeze was coming in from a westerly direction. Dawdled a bit this morning before packing up, a heavy dew had soaked the tent but I managed to get the worst of the water off. Amazingly I did not need foul weather gear and could get underway in trousers and jacket; the mist lifted too. It was pleasant walking down to Arten Gill viaduct and the upper Dent valley was beautiful in the morning light, peaceful and tranquil, lovely just to potter along. Following the footpath from Bridge End and along to Dent Head farm, there is a rucksack hating turkey there, so be warned! The path continues up over the Bleamoor tunnel, it is only a short uphill section really, but I almost ground to a standstill, my knees went all wobbly, had to dig deep just to keep them moving; was glad to sit down at the first air shaft. Actually the three air shafts that now remain where three of seven excavation shafts worked by sixteen gangs of navvies, using explosives, picks and shovels to excavate the tunnel; the spoil was raised to the surface by steam powered winches; great spoil heaps of the hewed rock bear mute testimony to the labour involved. Folk often remark on the engineering marvel of the Ribblehead viaduct, I wonder how many consider the labour involved, some two thousand navvies, an army, men who where housed in shanty towns on sight and they had to be fed too and provided for. Also workshops had to be built, tramways too to transport the bricks which where also made on sight, stone was brought in from nearby quarries. There was no health end safety in the eighteen hundreds, labour was cheap and men died. Also, the rail company put different sections of the whole rail build out to tender, the contractors who where accepted worked to a fixed price and there was no payment until the job was done. The contractor who took on the viaduct and tunnel section lost everything, he went bankrupt. It was tempting to camp but the thought of a shower and clean clothes made the idea of the bunkhouse an attractive one. In some respects possibly a mistake, there was large marquee in the car park of the pub but I paid little mind to it. Booking in and grabbing a pint of lemonade the lady mentioned that the bunkhouse had been fully booked for Saturday because there was a scooter rally taking place, hence the marquee. Fortunately I had a section of the bunkhouse to myself but it was a long night. The scooter folk who had arrived on the Friday afternoon and evening where nice enough people but I preferred to keep out of the way and the music went on until around 2am.
Saturday. The train was not until early afternoon so went out for a stroll this morning; it was unbelievable, it was like something out of a horror film. The whole area was heaving with people, great phalanxes of bodies streaming up the road and heading upwards on the Blea Moor bridleway; the herd instinct in overdrive. Groups of guys, all muscle, bronzed, tight shorts and t shirts, very macho; what made me laugh though was that the majority all had big boots to match, Scarpa mantas and even several pairs of La Sportiva's, amazing! At the other extreme where several pairs of light trainers and even a couple of lasses in flip flops. It was the stuff of nightmares and I wandered off across country to join the sheep by an outcrop of limestone.

Pottering

2010-05-09T14:23:00.022+01:00

Hull Pot

Cam Beck

Wild camp
WednesdayMay 5th. Camped OS map OL2. GR815772.

Travelled up from London, arriving in Horton in Ribblesdale by mid afternoon, had a cuppa and a nibble in the cafe, good cafe but oh, the prices. Headed out on the Pennine/Ribble way, making my way up toward high Birkwith moor. This, in many respects, was an experimental trip, niggling, ongoing health problems have caused a few difficulties and have ruined any fitness I had; plus a minor op last week, have made me cautious. However, cabin fever was settling in and no matter what I had to head for the hills. Thus it was I settled in to a slow but steady pace, just enjoying the views and the fact that the weather was not bad.Being limestone country I was aware that water could be a tad difficult but I was surprised just how dry things where. Coming across Low Birkwith Moor I saw a meander of slow moving water; it was the first trickle that looked half decent, earlier water sources had been quite disgusting, oily, stagnant and slimy looking. By now it was around five, (1700hrs) and wanting to have a faff around with the tent
to try out a slightly different configuration I stopped. Finding a suitable spot to pitch was not that easy and I was fairly close in to the forest when I found a place. Tent up, faffing over with, brew on, wonderful, or so I thought! Had heard a vehicle on the track but I was just out of sight as intended. To my surprise a figure all dressed so fine in camo and cradling a rather large, high power rifle, came bursting out of the trees demanding to know what I was doing? That seemed rather obvious, however, before I got a word in he he gave me quite a tirade, was camping illegally, all wild camping is illegal etc and warned me that if I remained where I was I could be hit by stray bullets because they where shooting in the woods. There was no point in arguing with the chappie and I was quite prepared to move on. He asked where I was actually heading for and seemed a little non plussed that I had no fixed destination in mind. When I said that I would push on down the track to High Greenfield the guy got very irate, stating that I would be trespassing due to the fact the forest and track where private and also that I stood a very high chance of being shot. There was no way I was going to argue with him but I firmly pointed out he was in the wrong and there was a sign posted and defined public bridleway through the wood and also there was no warning signs or anything and that in turn is surely illegal. He was having none of it though and gave me a few more warnings and dire threats before stalking off to skulk in his little spot in the wood, but I had marked his position and gave him a little wave when I left; little boys and their toys! As I packed up I wondered if if he had bothered to warn the local farmer as there where sheep grazing close by. Strange thoughts where going through my mind as I moved off, of sheep wearing tin hats and wearing flack jackets, dodging all those stray bullets; it would make a great sketch on Shaun the Sheep. It crossed my mind too that if I had got shot folk could say I went out with a bang??What puzzles me though, over the years I have met a number of stalkers and keepers, the majority have been professional, skilled people who know their trade and even if I have not always seen eye to eye with some they have never resorted to acting like a spoiled schoolboy throwing a wobbly. Listening to the fusillade of shots later in the evening I would question if the shooters where indeed professional at all; the first shot would send any self respecting beastie running for cover; maybe it was a new way of tree pruning????????? An official complaint has now been made to the national Park authorities.

Thursday. Camped same map GR 805795

Rain by early morning, cold rain driven by an east north east blustery wind, lingered for a time in the tent before packing up and moving on. Once out and moving the rain was fairly light but the driving wind made it a tad unpleasant. Made my way over to Ling Gill, a deep, fascinating gorge, tried to find a way down in to the gorge but it really is not accessible from the top end. Checking the map at the bridge I could see I was in for a rather long plod over the moor; instead I turned off and picked my way up Cam Beck. Finding a suitable spot for the tent I pitched camp and the went for a wander up along the beck and around Cam Fell. By early afternoon the rain had eased to just a few showers. It is surprising how little water is actually flowing down the beck, I can only assume the majority is underground due to it being limestone country. A lazy sort of day but my intentions for this trip had never been ambitious. It may be cold and a wee bit wet but there are a plethora of plovers, curlews and other birds in the area; also saw a couple of voles.

Friday, same map GR 824747.

A cold night, my baby thermometer was hovering at around+1, making me glad I had brought my down vest, my jacket thrown over the sleeping bag gave me a bit of extra warmth too. With the ongoing niggly problem I am having, it means having to get up several times during the night to go to the loo; thus I get snugged down all cosy in the sleeping bag only to lose that warmth every time I have to get up, it gets tedious. The rain had returned overnight but showed signs of clearing by morning. Being in no hurry I was content to dawdle and was chuffed when the rain did stop and allow me to set off in the dry. Not wanting to do too much I backtracked over to Birkwith moor. From there it was an amble over Burnrigg and Black Dubb Moss. it was amazing how dry the ground was and walking was made easy, even over the boggy bits. The blustery wind continued, pushing the temperatures well down. Bird life was abundant all around me and a couple of grouse almost gave me a heart attack when they exploded from under my feet, stubby wings whirring like crazy and their manic cries of 'go back, go back'. Pen-y-ghent loomed large on the horizon, a large hump back hill; however, I was not heading for it. Instead I swung off to follow Hull Pot Beck down to where it disappears underground and found a suitable place to pitch the tent. The beck is strange in a way, one moment there is a steady flow of water, the next all that remains is dry river bed, the water just ups and vanishes underground. It is odd walking down the water worn rock that consists of the dry bed; Hull pot is a humungous hole in the ground. To be honest I expected a cave or some form of opening in the side of the hill instead, as I wandered along suddenly there is this great gash, the very hillside rent asunder, a yawning chasm below one's feet. There must be an amazing cave system under there somewhere! After pitching the tent and making sure it was snugged down against the buffeting wind, I went for wander up Whitber hill, on the way looking for the caves marked on the map. No sign of them though a jumble of rock may indicate blocked entrances. Sell Gill beck was bone dry; it was just a gentle stroll and a lazy wander back to the tent for a cuppa.

Saturday. Was awake early and sat nursing a cup of tea gazing at Pen-Y-Ghent; it was so tempting to head up there, certainly I had the time, probably I would have had to take it easy on the steep bit, uphill on steep bits I currently struggle a bit; however, I had been warned to take it easy. (You see Rachel I do listen, sometimes!) Instead I just lingered for a while longer before packing up. The morning was dry but the wind had again pushed temperatures down enough to warrant hat and gloves. It was only a couple of miles at most down to Horton in Ribblesdale and my train was not until early afternoon. Wanting to have at least a small walk I headed back up Whitber hill on the footpath and then headed across diagonally toward Blackber moss and down towards the footpath I came up yesterday. From there it was down to the bridleway and an amble back to civilisation.

On this trip I had taken a chance on my choice of gas cylinders and had opted for the smallest one available; it was enough, just, i ran out just as my morning cuppa came to the boil. This time around I was using theGolite Shangri La1. Golite have gone back to basics with this tent, at one time ridge tents where the norm and several designs had the tapering rear; Saunders still make their own version. Also, modern day ultra light folk are not the first, back in the early part of the 1900 hundreds, 1910 for example, people where experimenting with tents made from silk and they proved strong and weatherproof and weighed ounces rather pounds. Size wise it is a roomy tent for one with a good porch area, the downside of this tent, apart from it being single skin, is that it is designed to be pitched using trekking poles. The concept is ok but in reality a pole slap bang in the middle of the front of the tent is not that good. Having faffed around with quite a few ideas and configurations, including using the poles externally and suspending the whole tent from a taught line between the two; my conclusion is that if you want a go fast, ultra light tent with no frills just for overnight stops and little else then this would suit fine, however, if you start adding an inner midge net and such the weight is instantly doubled; unless of course if you use one of the small ultra light midge nets. The Shangri 2 is an ideal tent in many respects but its baby sibling is not quite there. At present I am working on an idea to modify this tent and may also be putting the sewing machine to work by making an inner for the winter.

Bushcraft and trig

2010-03-28T15:34:00.030+01:00

A windswept Rachel, glad to find a trig point where it should be. The rope was for the dog, (honest!)

Yorkshire moors

Hobo stove with brew on, Rachel will be making a 'proper' fire to cook on, the camouflage sheet is a poncho over the kitchen area

Rachel having fun with her lines

Setting up bushcraft camp There is a certain frisson of excitement to be stepping out of the door with a rucksack and having no certainty as to where the day will end and shelter for the night be found. Rush hour was just getting underway as I headed across town on the underground.The tube, a mass of humanity, heading for offices, another day of toil at their city desks; more hours of the same, repetitive tedium. People, blank faced mutely suffering the crowding of personal space, jostling, shuffling to board the packed compartment. Many hide behind the freebie newspapers that abound; women hastily applying their makeup; I have never managed to make a decent job of doing my makeup on public transport and yet many women deftly apply mascara and eyeshadow with casual dexterity as the train sways and shudders through the tunnels. With my travel stained clothing and scruffy rucksack, I stand out as something different, an oddity in the days humdrum existence; eyes scan me from head to toe and then dismiss me.

St Pancras has recently had a massive rebuild and the connecting tunnels from Kings Cross a veritable rabbit warren. St Pancras station has a very long central concourse and great throngs of humanity where sweeping through. A virtual tidal wave of literally hundreds of people where relentlessly all heading in the one direction. Swimming against that mighty host was a daunting prospect, hesitate and you would be swept away and it took steely determination to plough on through. Standing by the barriers waiting for the message board to announce which platform my train would be at, I watched as more trains disgorged yet more people; all of them, as if by some primal homing instinct, heading in to the city, an ants nest, a mighty organism, man, the herd animal.
After a flurry of messages back and forward Rachel and myself had agreed to meet up in Nottingham. Rachel has, among her range of outdoor activities, a hobby of collecting trig points, what she does with them I dare not ask? A good enough reason to get out and explore and it certainly enhances the map reading skills. However, the plan was for Rachel to pick me up in Nottingham and from there we would head out, find a couple of trig points and then find a place to set up camp in a certain area of woodland.Having duly met up by late morning as planned, we set out. The afternoon was spent travelling to a variety of locations with some interesting walks through woods and fields, seeking out illusive trig points. With two trig points duly recorded we discreetly took to the woods for an overnight bushcraft camp. Bushcraft camping carries much the same ethos as any form of wild camping, leave no trace,be discreet and cause no damage. There are differences though; often a tarp of some form is used in place of a tent; these can be slightly heavier than the ultra light tarps and and much larger. The benefits are many though, the volume of space under a large tarp is immense, my tarp is 3metre by 3 and Rachel's is even larger; they offer full protection from any weather, making them ideal for winter and at the same time offer all round vision of the surrounding woods and I have often seen deer close by. In summer a lighter and smaller tarp and bivi bag often suffice.

As soon as camp was set up my small hobo stove put to use for a brew of tea while Rachel bustled around gathering wood for what she considers 'a proper fire'. Open fires are not for summer in the woods, with all the risks of a potential forest fire; at this time of the year there was no real risk and all traces would be removed the following morning. Heavy, blustery showers where sweeping through, the wind roaring in the tree tops but we where snug. When travelling solo my food is basic, lightweight dried rations; Rachel though likes to cook and prepared a sumptuous and delicious supper with caramelised prawns and baked potatoes. As is the norm. with me at the moment I had a broken nights sleep, having to get up eight or nine times during the night; at least I had time to listen the noises of the night, the call of owls, the bark of a fox, night creatures scurrying and scuffling through the leaf litter.

The following morning, after a leisurely start, Rachel introduced me to yet more joys and also the headaches of trig hunting. At one point we found ourselves revolving in circles in a brand new housing estate not even yet marked on any map. We could only surmise that the trig point, if it still existed, must be at the edge of someones back garden? It would seem trig points are illusive animals, two at least on Rachel's list had been removed by local farmers. Some lurked in the depths of hedgerows, as found out when we sought one in the middle of a pristine looking golf course. In all due respect to the golfers, no one raised an eyebrow or challenged us as we cast about, map in hand seeking the skulking trig. At another point, wandering along bridleways Rachel's keen eyes spotted a stoat, we also managed to spot a baby one too. Muddy fields where carefully negotiated, up bridleways, down paths and even roadside trig points, we sought them all at points, north, south, east and west, Rachel is a determined lass and was a sight to behold as she pored over the map, muttering incantations under her breath and having some strong words concerning farmers who remove her sought after object.

Rachel was tired after a long session working nights and we retired to her place that night. The Saturday morning saw us out once more on the hunt. Rachel had hijacked ( borrowed) a dog to accompany us during the course of our days rambling. This time we where heading for the moors above Keighley. Some fine moorland walking, wide open spaces, the dog though was not versed in the ways of hill walking and was a little flummoxed when confronted with a high dry stone wall. He accepted though, with great equanimity, the indignity of being scooped up and passed over the wall. A lovely walk with fine views, blustery but dry. After a quick lunch we where soon heading rapidly up another hill to bag yet another trig; well at least the dog was, closely followed by Rachel, with me in the rear doing the granny shuffle, huffing and puffing. It was good to be out though and an enjoyable few days where had.

Flame and fumes

2010-02-11T15:21:00.005Z

Vapalux Bialladin

Quite a while back for some unknown reason I purchased a couple of paraffin pressure lanterns; well the seller wanted to get rid of them and I made a ridiculous offer which, to my surprise was accepted. One turned out to be a fairly modern vapalux and the other was an ancient bialladin in very poor condition. Both where put away in the back of the cupboard as something to be worked on at a later date. Recently I dug them out and began some work on them. The old bialladin has had new washers fitted and a replacement hood but I am a tad hesitant in actually lighting it. The vapalux looks almost new and after checking the washers, testing for pressure in the tank, I fitted a new mantle. To be honest, I rather think the person who sold it had little idea of how these beasts actually work. Finding nothing outwardly wrong with it apart from a broken mantle, which I replaced there was only one option, actually firing it up. A quick trip to the local diy shop, unfortunately I could only buy paraffin in 4litre containers, some meths and I was ready. Lighting these pressure lanterns does involve a certain procedure; firstly, the new mantle has to be set fire to; a nice bit of smoke and scorched sort of smell wafted around the flat, next came the priming, air release valve open, meths poured in to priming cup and lit, leave well alone until almost all flame has gone, screw shut air valve and a few tentative pumps, splutter, splutter, more flame, a bit of smoke, some fumes and the lamp purred into life. After that it was case of bringing it up to full pressure and seeing what would happen, the lamp ran excellently, chucking out loads of light and heat and that slightly pungent odour that the lanterns give off. Whew! when I get up courage the ancient lamp will be worked on too, doing these sort of things on the draining board is possibly not the best way however, I have little option.

Wild women

2010-02-02T08:36:00.028Z

Rachel and I had agreed to meet up for a few days over her birthday. Rachel, being in nursing, which can mean long hours and low pay, had asked that I arrive on the Wednesday late afternoon, which I duly did, stopping over at her place that night. It can be fair to say that Rachel is an enthusiastic outdoor woman, ever keen to learn new skills; thus it was that on the Thursday, after picking up essential bush craft supplies of eggs, bacon, sausages and other items of food, we headed for a wood not far from leeds. It was to be Rachel's first experience of a night out, bush craft mode, under a tarp and in a bivi bag. It was cold as we made our way through the woods, being unsure of what equipment Rachel had, meant that I had packed a extra gear and some of it did come in useful but it meant extra weight. A river threatened to bar our way but the lass was having none of it and swiftly picked her way across, whereas I struggled a tad, my old leaky boots swiftly filling up with icy water. Another river crossing and then a quick heads together to decide where to pitch; the original choice was a mite exposed to the rising wind that was sweeping down the valley; finally we opted for a fairly level space tucked in close to the wood. With the light fading fast, we divided duties and while I erected the tarps using a network of guy lines, Rachel bustled around swiftly bustled around gathering firewood. With impressive skill, using her little tinder bag and steel striker, no matches here if you please, she soon had a fire blazing merrily; equally noteworthy was the fact that she did not make a common mistake and produce too large a fire. With a compact but hot fire burning well, glowing coals where soon produced and Rachel popped in tin foil wrapped chicken and potatoes. An excellent supper of crispy chicken and baked potatoes washed down by a mug of hot chocolate. Sleet and rain, driven by the rising wind scudded down the valley but we remained comfortable. As yet the medical problems I have been experiencing made things a tad tedious during the night. Pheasants clattered off in the dark protesting loudly, something had obviously disturbed their roosting spot; owls called to one another and a dog fox barked close by, possibly he had been after the pheasants? We where awake early and did not have time to linger, Rachel's car had a hot date with the garage for it's mot before we headed up in to the Dales. We had to hustle a bit but still had time for sausages and mugs of tea before moving on. Mot over and we took to the road once more; our destination was Malham. Unable to book in to a bunkhouse or camping barn we opted for the luxury of the youth hostel and we managed a room to ourselves. Having booked in we headed around to the pub for a meal; a very rare thing for me. The night was clear and frosty with the full moon riding high; being a practical lass, Rachel made sure a few lengths of climbing rope where to hand and she kept a wary eye on me!!?? There was a heavy frost overnight, however the morning was bright and crystal clear, the clarity was amazing with stunning views of the Dales in all directions. Our first goal was Fountains Fell, the initial start from the car was a chilly one with a biting northerly wind, but the ascent up the fell side soon warmed us. The ground was heavily frozen and many areas still had quite a quantity of snow which meant some marvellous walking as we made our way upward plodding on a long avenue of hard packed nieve that would have made an excellent ski run. We joked about having failed to think about hijacking the hostel metal tea tray, it would have made an ideal sledge. Despite the cold and piercing wind, temperatures where well below zero, we where loath to leave. The panoramic views from the top where breath taking; it has been a long while since I last experienced such a mix of awesome weather and grand scenery. Our next objective was a nearby trig point, a strangely addictive pastime, akin to bagging tops but somehow different. On our way across we spent time deciphering tracks in the snow, a fox, the outline of where his tail had brushed in the snow, quite distinctive, also the spot where he had pounced searching for some unsuspecting creature below the snow cover. The spot where a hare had diagonally crossed a bank of snow and over a wall; the prints of a largish bird, quite probably a grouse and strange little runs of earth where moles had tunnelled very close to the surface. From the trig we descended to a bridleway that would lead us back to the car. Gates through the dry stone walls where heavily banked with snow which made for some interesting manoeuvring to cross them. A good day out in superb conditions. The following day was a short walk to bag another trig point and then journey back. Altogether a good couple of days out, varied and interesting and with some good company too.

Ignomious retreat

2010-01-11T12:49:00.012Z

My attempt to get away over the Christmas period had been thwarted by inclement weather; National express had been apologetic but the A9 being blocked by snow and ice had meant service cancellations. Finally, in the first week of January, I managed to get away; once more heading north towards Aviemore. This was the first time in two years that I had packed my full winter kit and I was excited at the prospect of some decent winter weather. However, on the run up I was experiencing problems. For the last couple of years I have been experiencing an on going bladder problem; despite two operations things have still not been resolved and I have to yet again go back to see the surgeon. Travelling overnight on the coach I made several trips to the loo and was a tad concerned. In Aviemore I made sure I drank fluids before heading out, as per usual I really did not feel like eating, just managing a bun out of necessity. The weather was amazing, Aviemore was snow bound with over a foot of snow, great banks of snow on each side of the road which had been cleared by snowplough; pavements, forget it, it was a case of legging it down the road and jumping in to the snow bank when traffic approached. Normally I have a quite regular route when heading through the Rothiemurchas; this time though I had no option but to follow a more circuitous route. Had a look at one path, or at least where the path would have been; I could see where deer had been floundering around belly deep, tentatively tried it but with snow over three foot deep in places it was no go. It was an awesome walk through the forest; a clear sky overhead with a pale, late afternoon sun, deep snow blanketing everything and not a breath of wind meant a cathedral like hush to everything, silence utter silence, wonderful. What would normally take me a couple of hours to walk took more than twice as long. That is normal in the depths of winter; everything takes that much longer. Stopping a few times for the loo did not help matters; not easy in sub zero temperatures and wearing salopettes over my paramo trousers.It was obvious I was not going to make much distance and with time getting on and temperatures dropping, I stopped before I even made the Rothiemurchas bridge. Setting up camp in deep snow can be interesting, a flat area has to stamped down to allow a level area for the tent; by the time I got that sorted, got the tent up and some blocks of snow ready to melt for a drink, my baby thermometer was reading almost minus ten. Thermarests do not work well on ice and I find it essential to pack spare jackets and so on under the sleeping bag for insulation. My hopes that drinking plenty of fluids may have eased the bladder problem, it sounds an anomaly but lack of fluids actually acerbate the situation. Unfortunately it was not to be, the whole night was spent in and out of the tent, the problem was heightened by the fact that I was getting severe cramp each time I tried to get dressed and ram my feet in to half frozen boots. Often I ended bare footed and just dressed in a pair of thermal bottoms that I use as pyjamas in cold weather; each time meant a return to the sleeping back and trying to rearrange my insulation layers while shivering violently. Temperatures by early morning where hitting minus twenty three on average and I was getting numb, somewhere I had stepped beyond the shivering stage to the early stages of hypothermia. Dug the gas cylinder out of the sleeping bag and started melting snow to get some hot fluids down me. My first inclination was to pack up and move on, get thawed out, set up camp and rest up a bit. However, I was having difficulty co ordinating as I packed up and it was soon obvious I had little choice but to head out. That was a bitter pill to swallow. A couple of cross country skiers that I met on the way back where very concerned because they thought I was a tad wobbly and suggested calling the mrt; however I felt I was in control of things and assured them night was okay. Once back in Aviemore it was a case of a bus to Inverness and fortunately the ticket office there very kindly changed my ticket to allow me to travel that same night. To be honest I am worried, my winter trips have always been special and I love getting away but if this problem is not sorted, well, life is going to be difficult

Dales Ramble

2009-12-04T11:46:00.005Z

Having been invited up to the Dales by a friend, I travelled up to Leeds on the coach where she picked me up. On our first night we stayed over at Grinton lodge YH, having the whole place to ourselves was novel experience and rather nice. The moon was riding high and shining bright tempting us out for a short walk, the night was frosty and ice covered much of the road and due to the fact we had little cold weather clothes on meant we did not linger for too long; if we had been dressed more appropriately it would have been a good night for a walk. When we returned Rachel made hot chocolate which was most welcome, especially being drunk in front of an open fire.
After a sumptuous breakfast the following morning we headed over to Garsdale, stopping at Hawes on the way. The small road leading up the valley was icy and the car struggled to get any grip. After some tricky juggling we eased the car back down to park at the side of the road and decided to walk up the valley instead of driving. Ice on the road further up made the decision a wise one. Several houses are still in use high up the fell, unfortunately most are now holiday lets. One such, now being refurbished was at one time occupied by relatives of Rachel's; so it was a nostalgic moment for her and possibly in some ways a sad one too. Beyond the last of the buildings an indistinct path led us higher up the hill to a saddle; Rachel proved very adept at finding the way ahead. By now the best of the day was gone and the light was starting to fade; also, it was obvious the weather was on the change. After some casting around we got the tents up and the stoves on for a brew. This was Rachel's first winter wild camp and later that evening, in increasingly bad weather with snow now being driven by strong winds, Rachel admitted her growing apprehension. Sitting with hot drinks and a snack in my tent we discussed the matter; I admired Rachel for her honesty; there is no point in false bravado and silently suffering. After talking things through we unanimously decided it better to pack and head back down the valley. Working swiftly by head torch we packed up camp and began to head back out. After a momentary few minutes of indecision we steered on a direct compass bearing; unfortunately directly in to the driving wind and snow, our head torches illuminating the swirling snow, lonely islands of light in the darkness. Keeping to a simple navigation technique I stayed at the rear with the compass with Rachel ahead of me. With great fortitude and patience she accepted my brief and somewhat terse commands; 'left Rachel, left, left, bear left, right a fraction, right, slow down a tad lass'. If anyone had been able to see and hear us they may well have thought I was teaching her to herd sheep, 'come by, come by, away, away, steady now, easssy'??? The one downside with steering on a direct bearing was the fact that we where negotiating some horrendous ground, bog, tussock, thick reed and small, meandering streams. A few time I plunged in to unseen bits of bog; at one point I slipped and went in to a stream. To cap it though I suddenly felt the ground quake beneath me and before I could react I sank rapidly up to my waist, yet more cold water finding its way down my trousers, struggling and unable to get a decent purchase of anything, I finally belly flopped out of the clutching ooze on to firmer ground, the bog reluctant to release its grip to the last. Staggering to my feet, Rachel and I exchanged wild and somewhat manic grins and after a couple of reassuring hugs we lurched onward. The bog monster had been deprived of its supper and we had now done the bog swim and dance, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Finally, a group of trees and the ruins of a building loomed out of the darkness confirming our position; even more important a footpath sign showed that our navigation had been correct. Shortly beyond the sign we stumbled on to a snow covered track which, although a slightly route led back down the valley and eventually back to the car. As we descended lower the snow turned to sleet and eventually driving, icy rain. Despite the late hour we knew of a pub not far back down the road and we headed straight for it. We had been thinking of trying to get a bed for the night there. The landlord though was away at a darts match and the lady behind the bar was unable to contact him. Despite our wet and disheveled appearance a somewhat inebriated local farmer propositioned us to a threesome if we went back to his farm. Rachel, with admirable aplomb, politely declined the offer; after all, this was hardly the time or the place for such things! Directed to a b&b next door we hesitantly knocked on the door and where promptly issued in and showered with kindness, mugs of hot tea being rapidly produced, no complaints as we struggled out of wet and muddy boots and foul weather gear, leaving pools of water all over the floor. A room was rapidly made ready for us and eventually, warm and dry we where able to relax and laugh and joke about the events of the day, an interesting and somewhat eventful one it had been too.

Dawn's carving

2009-11-23T13:02:00.011Z

Something else I do is wood carving. Although really a novice, there is something enjoyable in shaping and working wood. Often it is a case of trial and error. Working in the confines of a small flat bring added problems, fortunately I have no carpets, however, keeping on top of the dust and wood shavings and chippings involves a daily wash down of the flat. In the picture are a variety of Australian goldfield burls, very hard wood to work with, cutting out the actual bowl has seen wood chips flying in all directions. The chips are extremely hard and often draw blood, finding them in my mug of tea is another hazard. The large bowl was done for an acquaintance down in South Wales; she is doing a pre Christmas stall and I have provided a few bits. Getting it all down to Wales was interesting, involving a light sack barrow and a large holdall and lugging it on and off public transport. The spoons are treated with a food safe vegetable oil, mainly olive or walnut oil. The burls are treated with Danish oil to feed and enhance the wood, and given a final polish. The next project in the wings is another burl, possibly a red malee burl. These things are not cheap to produce, the wood itself is costly and because I carve by hand they involve many hours of labour. If anyone is interested they can drop me an e mail.

Gangrel on the Minigaig

2009-11-04T09:20:00.022Z

Allt Mharcaidh

Heading up the Minigaig

Looking down Glen Bruar

Scheicheachan bothy

Thursday 28th October. OS Explorer map 394 835737 Allt Scheicheachan bothy.

Did the usual shuffle up last night; this time around though there was an extra twist. My intention was to head for Blair Athol, the one problem is that there is little in the way of direct public transport in. A local bus service runs from Pitlochry and a few trains stop there. Thus I got off the coach in Aviemore with the intention of heading back to Blair on the train. With some two hours to kill for my train connection I sauntered around Aviemore, had a couple cups of coffee and wandered in to Tesco for a few nibbles and lunch break food. It is peculiar and I wonder if others do the same sort of thing? After picking up a few bread rolls and some fillings, threw a couple bars of chocolate in the basket, then though things get silly, the 'just in case' bits that get picked up as well, that extra bar of chocolate, or, in my case a Selkirk bannock that weighed a ton; odd little snack things to stow away in obscure corners of the rucksack, just in case they may be needed? Train back down to Blair Athol and by now time was getting late; it being near three o clock when I left there. However, being very aware that my intended route for the following day was a long one I wanted to push on. The day was damp and grey but mild. Working my way around to Old Blair I found the track I wanted that would lead to the bothy It climbed up through the woods and everything was dank and dripping and my enthusiasm fizzled away like a damp squib. Once clear of the woods and on to open moorland things picked up as I settled in to a steady, slow plod following the track higher and higher up the rolling moor. Stags where roaring on the hill and I smiled to myself; it was good to hear their gutteral bellowing. A black grouse gave me momentary start as it as it exploded from almost under my feet, clattering away on stubby wings with it's manic 'go back, go back' cry; saw snipe as well. This, way back in the 18th century had been the route of a military road heading for Ruthven barracks before the lower Drumochter, which is now the main A9 road, came in to being. Today, this section is just an estate track. Darkness was coming in rapidly and the cloud base was settling lower and lower, sort of spooky! At first I resisted using the head torch in the growing murk and stuck with focusing on the outline of the track. Eventually though there was little option and the beam of light stabbed out in to the inky blackness. Drizzle and light rain was falling, rain drops glistening in the glare of the torch; wisps and tendrils of thick mist swirled around me, all very atmospheric. The track began to descend and eventually the outline of the tiny bothy loomed hazily ahead, a welcome haven on a dreich night and I was thrilled to find it. With a great sigh of relief I thrust open the door and stumbled wearily inside, letting the rucksack fall to the floor with a thud. A long haul of some eight to ten miles and after a night of travelling and a late start not an easy one; however, my intended route for the morrow dictated I needed to get these few miles out of the way first. No camping tonight, soup, supper and the sleeping bag.

Friday 29th October. Glen Feshie. OS map Explorer 403. Camped GR 848941.

A very hard and difficult day, certainly I was aware that with my lack of fitness that the day would not be easy but it proved more difficult than I wanted. Was away from the bothy before nine. The morning had a dampness to it but it was not raining. Underfoot though things where very wet and in many places greasy. Followed the path that contours around Druim Dubh and dropped down to Bruar lodge. Met a lady out walking from the lodge; she invited me in for tea and toast. Oh sacrilege, shame upon me, I had to refuse, time was against me, rain was forecast for early evening and I hoped to be in glen Feshie by then. Following the track up glen Bruar was a plod and I found it a tad uninspiring. Stopping for a quick break at the head of the glen where the track ended, I was well aware of the dark, bruised, blue, black clouds ominously building up from the west and edging ever closer. A stiffish climb up the hill by Uchd na h-Analach following a fairly discernible path; care map reading was still required and the white quartzite markers where an added aid to navigation. Obviously at one time there must have a well defined track, troop movement across such open moor would have demanded it. It is hard to imagine how it must have been for those soldiers laden with all their gear, intimidating at least. The question then arises as to who first began using this high level way across the hills? Glen Feshie was one of the old drove route through the hills, this route though went up and over, shorter, but a lot more exposed to bad weather. Possibly ancient tribes and local people used it as summer route? These regions, now a lot less populated, where home to many tribes and peoples and would have been very familiar to them. The wind was beginning to rise and the rain came with it. By the time I got to the Minigaig the wind was buffeting me and the rain was sluicing down. Estate buggies had been operating in the area and they had churned the ground to a muddy mess in places. What there was left of the path was a slick, slippery morass; and it became increasingly clear that much of the actual path had disappeared. Trying to follow the buggy tracks was not a real option as they ran every which way possible. With no certainty of where the actual path was the best option was to follow its rough line by map and compass. As I descended the hill the rougher the ground became, quaking bog, peat hags, hidden hollows full of water; awful stuff to navigate through. my intention was to follow a path across and up to Cnapan Cuilce. If there was a path I never found it, the Alt na Cuilce was well up, its dark water swirling ominously. After much scouting back and forward I found a likely spot that might not be too difficult to get across, easing across to a few submerged boulders, I paused for a moment and then using the trekking poles to stabilise me I lunged for the far bank. Fortunately the water was only just above knee deep and the current not too strong, but oh my, it was cold. Following deer trails I headed up the hill and around the edge of the forestry, putting up a large stag and a few hinds that ambled off as I approached them. At least the track marked on the map above the forestry was there, however, there was no immediate sign of the lower path that led down through the forestry. By now it was getting late and darkness was not far away, the weather too was quite bad with driving rain and a strong wind. Taking stock of the situation I decided it would be quicker and easier to stick with the main track although it was longer, higher and more exposed. Following what may have been a fire break down through what looked a tangled mass of undergrowth was not really a viable option. Put up a mountain hare on the way down, it appeared to be in the transitional stage of changing from summer coat to winter; not yet white but a mottled grey. It was pitch black by the time I got down to glen Feshie; the beam of my head torch, a tiny shaft of light stabbing the darkness of the rain lashed night. By now I was running on auto pilot, one weary foot placed in front of the other, just plodding on. With the Carnachuin bridge gone it was obvious that there was no way I was going to make it down to the other bridge and back up the other side. In my mind I had a plan, being fairly familiar with the area, I had mentally marked an area suitable for an emergency camping place. Now was the time to make use of it; although not far below the houses, it was close down by the river and hidden by the trees. The tent was thrown up with no finesse and everything thrown inside. Wet gear off and in to a dry sleeping bag; just as I was about to light the stove though my legs severely cramped up. In agony I got back out of the tent and in a state of semi undress and shivering violently, I tried to ease the cramp out of my hurting legs. Tentatively easing bag in to the sleeping bag, still shivering, it is not easy to strike a match when one is shaking so; however, finally got the stove going, hot fluids, food and more hot fluids. Wearied, that is the hardest thing I have done for a while.
Saturday 30th October, camped OS explorer map 403 GR849019.

Not wanting to be hanging around too late in the morning, tiptoed quietly away from my overnight camp spot. The rain had stopped and the weather was not too bad but I was undecided as to what to do of the day. it had been in my mind to make my way back up toward the bothy and camp, allowing myself a rest day. Mulling it over I decided against it, with the amount of recent rain the possibility of yet more coming back out may have proven interesting getting out. Instead I wandered on down the glen. Followed a path around toward Allt Ruadh, everything very wet. With the rain starting again and wearied from yesterdays long day, it was an easy decision to stop early. This is not the best of places to stop, however, it will suffice for tonight. Rain is still falling, trousers and footwear still wet, wringing out wet socks and putting on wet trousers is never pleasant.

Sunday 1st November. Camped, OS explorer map 403. GR 878053.

Woke to thin, drizzly rain, insidious stuff that seems to creep in everywhere, one feels there is hardly any need for full waterproofs and yet and yet without them clothes would be soon soaked. Even though I had camped in a clear area, camping in forestry is not me favourite ideal and I was glad to be up and away. Once more a fairly easy day was in mind, making my way over to glen Mharcaidh, setting up camp and heading up Geall Charn. That had been the original plan anyway. By the time I got over to glen Mharcaidh the rain was getting steadily heavier; higher up the glen the hillside was running with water. Coming back down to the footbridge I decided to continue on lower down the glen. Although there is a path marked on the map I have never found it in the lower part of the glen. Normally I can pick my way down fairly ok, this time though the whole area was totally saturated and in places flooded. Trying to make my way over toward the trees meant wading knee deep through bog and it was actually easier to stick closer to the river, the water there only came up over my ankles and lower legs and also was not as boggy. As I was heading out in the morning I did not want to get too far in towards Aviemore. My coach was not until the early evening and I did not want to be in Aviemore much before mid afternoon. Despite all the bog and water I had a plan in mind, the big old Scots pines normally offer a haven of firm dry ground and so it proved this time. This afternoon I am comfortably camped on an island surrounded by bog and water with the rain now hammering down, curtains of it. It is colder too, I was glad to put on an extra layer when I stopped.

Monday.
Was in Aviemore by mid afternoon, managed a hot shower in the public loo, oh my, the luxury of a hot shower and clean dry clothes, putting on saturated boots and trousers this morning was unpleasant. Now the long wait for the coach. One can only drink so many cups of coffee and spend so much time in the coffee shops. As it is I have snuck in to the rail station waiting room and hoping no one pays me any mind.

A gentle stroll.

2009-09-30T13:53:00.029+01:00

Wednesday Sept. 23rd.

It is 2100hrs, 9pm and the long wait begins. All around me is hustle and bustle; voices, excited, sad, resigned and in many tongues. We are all fellow travellers congregating in that great temple of travel, Victoria coach station; a hub that reaches out to the far corners of the UK and Europe. It always the same, I arrive early, my journey does not begin for another two hours and there are seats for everyone on the coach. Like many who travel on a regular basis, there is that regular seat one always aims for. A strange foible maybe but for me I prefer travelling towards the front of the coach; not the very front seats, there is often little leg room in them, the next seat back on the left hand side is good. The back seats are anathema to me, more bumpy and the swaying motion of the coach is more accentuated. It is over two months since I was away and the pack feels heavy although I know that I will once more become accustomed to carrying it. Being Autumn means carrying more weight, my winter sleeping bag, an extra layer of clothing, gloves, woolly hat and so forth. A sudden burst of activity as a group of people make a frantic dash for a coach that is about to pull out. The driver just gives a wry grin and a shake of his head as he ushers them on board; he has seen it all before. A young couple hug and kiss in an amorous embrace, oblivious to folk around them. It is time for her to board though and she enters the coach brushing away tears; the sadness of parting shows on the young lads face as he turns away. Tonight we are lucky, the coach pulls in at 22 30hrs and the drivers promptly let us on board. Occasionally passengers have to wait until ten minutes or so before departure time. One of the drivers, a regular on this particular route, recognises me and friendly banter is exchanged. Early, 02 35am and we have stopped at one of the motorway service stations for our designated break and we stumble bleary eyed off the coach to shamble off to the loos or visit the restaurant or shop. Amazingly the coach is not full and somehow I have managed a seat to myself. Usually I manage to doze a little on the night runs but even that has proved illusive so far. Much of the journey up has been watching the endless succession of lorries that travel the motorway at night. A recent craze that seems to have swept the haulage companies are the many and varied lights that decorate the trucks. it is quite amazing and some resemble gaudy Christmas trees trundling through the night. Attempting to doze I reverted to counting Eddie Stobart lorries, after twenty or so the mind just shuts down.

Thursday 24th Sept. Camped GR OS Explorer map 386, 946628.Loch a' Choice.

Not having been away for a while and knowing that my levels of fitness where minimal my preference was for an easy trip. My first choice had been Wales but it was cheaper to travel direct to Scotland. Pitlochry was a designated National Express coach stop and there was a wide range of easy walking in the area. Hence this morning I arrived at 0945am. My first priority was breakfast; overnight travel usually leaves me a wee bit dehydrated and in the need of substance. Finding the public loo allowed me to change in to my hill going gear. Sadly though breakfast was not to be. Oh there where establishments serving breakfast; scary places though. I tentatively wandered in to one, set menu, luxurious padded chairs, pristine white linen tablecloths and matching serviettes. Equally scary where the elderly couple partaking of coffee; dressed in matching tweeds, she with carefully blue rinse coiffured hair do, make up laid on somewhat heavily; he wearing brogues to match his tweeds. Honestly I swear his military, toothbrush white moustache bristled as the pair paused, mid sip of daintily help cups and two pairs of glazed eyes at the apparition at the door. Sorry folks I am not keen on doing battle with dragons and I may be an inverted snob but I do not do posh either. Taking to the hills after picking up a few bits. Breakfast was taken just outside of Pitlochry, bread and cheese and water, sustaining enough but poor fair when one fancies bacon and eggs and mugs of tea. It was leisurely stroll up to where I am now camped. Although still early this is just a trip to get out of doors and do nothing in particular.

Friday 25th. Camped same location a yesterday.
A blustery night but dry; time was spent busy doing little over a mug of tea and a bite of breakfast sat in the doorway of the tent. Finally stirring myself, I took the path up to Ben Vackrie. A steady plod up a well manicured path, pausing every so often, just to admire the view of course! The hill is obviously a popular walk, two groups of people in front of me touched the top and fled because of the strong wind that was blowing. Lingered for a short time but noticing more people heading up and not feeling that sociable, headed back down. A brew and spot of lunch back at the tent and I set off for a wander. Keeping fairly high I picked my way over toward Creag Oisinnidh. My meandering led me up and down and around little rocky outcrops, hidden hollows and little secret places. There was no goal or specific purpose and that is what made it fun, an enjoyable explore. The wind is buffeting the tent a tad but it is no problem. Evening early this evening people are still heading up the ben; tomorrow I am out of here.Sat.26th. Camped, same map GR 937634

Was woken early by the bark of a deer feeding close by. Dozed off again for a while and then put a brew on while I dithered over the map. Something I had been contemplating was to drop down to Killieckrankie and then make my way over towards Loch Tummel. Route finding though looked problematical and getting back to Pitlochry for early next week might be awkward. Instead in a bout of laziness I packed up and wandered over to the track that leads down toward Killieckrankie and then turned off. On the map there is a track that leads up and around by Meall na Moine. Fantastic, the track is very indistinct and has fallen out of use which suited me just fine. Following a spur of this old track it led me around the back of Meall na Moine and to the most lovely camp spot. It was early but that was of little consequence. Have spent the afternoon just wandering willy nilly around the area, exploring around the rocky outcrops and doing little. Having managed to pick up the local hill forecast the weather does not look too bad at all, wind speeds of thirty to forty miles an hour, stronger on the tops, overcast but remaining dry. Well the tent is tucked is out of the way and well snugged down and I am comfy.

Sunday 27th. Same spot as last night.

An easy day once more. When I nipped out in the grey light of early morning, the sky appeared dark and ominous with the cloud down low and scudding across the tops. However, by the time I had a brew and some breakfast things had brightened up.Yesterday, in my meanderings I had noticed a faint path that went over the bealach close to where I am camped.Today I went back across, skirting around two tiny lochans and decided to follow the path. It soon became apparent though that it angled across the hill below the ridge line and headed up toward Ben Vackrie. Instead I turned off and picked my way up the hill heading more directly for the ridge. Deer and sheep have a habit of contouring diagonally across hill sides as they graze. Over time they leave tiny trails which can make life easier when picking ones way up steep ground. Surprisingly up on the ridge I noticed substantial mole hills; hardy, hill going moles, interesting! Made my way over to Meall an' Daimh and hunkered down out of the wind. Further north the Cairngorms where shrouded in dark storm clouds, but here it was not too bad at all. Originally my intention had been to do the whole ridge line. Ben Vackrie had fairly large crowds milling around its top which I wanted to avoid. Instead I dropped off the northern side of of the hill aiming for the line of the old track. It was a steep descent but once more I made use of sheep and deer trails. Close up the old trail is now nothing more than a well worn sheep trod but makes for good walking and it had obviously been finely engineered following the lie of the land. Once more I was back quite early, the sun had made a brief appearance but the weather soon turned overcast once more. It was not cold though and I was content to spend to spend and hour with a mug of tea and a book reclining on a soft mossy couch outside the tent.Have quite a selection of beasties wandering through the tent. Various types of spiders; it is amazing to watch a spider nonchalantly picking its way across the midge netting totally unfazed as the tent shifts and billows in the rising wind. Have managed to pick up the hill forecast for tomorrow and it is not so good. Further north it going to be stormy with high winds and heavy rain; in this area wind speeds are set to rise to around forty to fifty miles an hour. The tent is well snugged down and I am heading out tomorrow.

Monday 28th. Pitlochry

The end of a few lazy days in the hills, mainly just to shake the cobwebs away. Niggling health problems have continued as have a few bad migraines. This morning saw me heading for the heady delights of Pitlochry? Woke to a blustery with lowering dark skies and low cloud scudding across the tops. Looking at the weather prospects was the clincher; I had been contemplating the idea of stopping just outside of Pitlochry and heading down early to catch the morning bus. However, the prospects of a bath in the tent and an early morning start in the dark with the possibility of rain was daunting. What I craved was a hot shower and clean clothes. B&b would have been darned pricey but there was a backpackers hostel which would be much cheaper. Thus packed up this morning and headed over towards the track leading up to Bealach na Searmoin. Swung off to pick my way up to Meall na h-Aodainn Moire and Stac an Fheidh . Thin wisps of cloud drifted around me and the ben opposite looked dark and brooding. Skeins of geese flying overhead, heading north; their cries haunting, evocative, goose talk. Picked my way down off the hill to pick up the bealach path again and then meandered on down to Pitlochry. Managed to book in to the backpackers hostel; an old hotel that has seen better times, it is cheap and cheerful though. Am lucky in having a small dorm to myself by the looks of it. The sheer bliss of a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes, wonderful. Tomorrow morning I am catching the eight twenty am bus south. Not a bad trip, even if it was a lazy one.

Finally

2009-09-22T08:45:00.011+01:00

workshop corner

Ok, just a brief write up. Recently, due to a variety of reasons I have not managed to get away. More minor surgery, the sheer cost of travelling and a few other things have seen me somewhat hampered. With cabin fever setting in I began perusing the maps; with my fitness levels low I wanted to just get away and potter. Wales was my first choice but in fact it turned out more expensive and meant more hassle than a straight forward run up to Scotland. It was the same with the lake district. Now though I am travelling tomorrow night, heading north once more; so, watch this space.

On a totally different theme, someone that I know down in South Wales is putting up a craft stall and I am contributing wooden spoons, pendants and bowls. Hand carving bowls was a new venture for me but it has turned out to be an interesting idea. A couple of bowls are shown above, the latest one, which is special; a goldfield burl, I will post up after I return from Scotland.

Pottering

2009-07-22T13:58:00.009+01:00

My tiny balcony, yes, Iam on the 6th floor but it still floods.

Spoons, the one on the left has yet to be oiled, usually with olive oil. Left hand one cherry, the other two olive.

It has been over a week now since surgery. only a fairly minor op but it took a while to settle down. Knowing I was going to be stuck in the flat for a week or two,I went on the net to search for some cheap wood suitable for spoon carving. Found a couple of nice bits going cheap; however, the sizes where in metric which I did not really take in. Poor postie, he was a bit out of breath when he called with the package. It was little wonder really, the wood was a tad bigger than I realised; a piece of rough cut lime board, some three foot long and over a foot wide, plus an inch and a half thick; the other bit was smaller, a piece of cherry. Working in my tiny flat presents a few difficulties, I have no other work space apart from a small balcony, which floods when wet . The first job, after cutting a length of wood to the appropriate size, is roughing it out, hewing it somewhere close to the shape I want. This is done sitting on the floor with the wood on a chopping board and using an axe to shape the wood. To be honest, I am not too happy using an axe for this; it gets kind of close to the fingers at times. What I want is an adze, a short handled small one; so folks here is quick appeal, if anyone knows of a fairly decent adze that needs a new home and is willing to let it go fairly cheap, please contact me, I would really appreciate it. After the rough work comes hours of work with the knives, shaping, cutting, shaving until finally a spoon takes shape. This is carried out either with the rough work clamped to a shelf, for example when I am using a draw knife, or sitting on a chair with wood chipping piling up around my feet. Finally the wood is ready to be oiled, sanded again and oiled once more. All this work is done by hand, I have a variety of knives, again I need a special spoon knife, a left handed one because I work left handed mainly and also because it easier to work with both left handed a right handed knives. An added headache is that I am constantly having to clean the flat; it is just as well I have no carpets. These spoons are quirky, working spoons, nothing fancy.

On the hill

2009-07-10T14:11:00.003+01:00

Recently I have been watching the hooha over the Ramblers Association and find it in many ways sad but also an indication of the times in which we live. The RA's roots where working class and was considered quite radical for its time. Folks did not have money in the years it was formed; rambling was cheap and there was fairly extensive public transport system, also many people hitched, it was an accepted norm and lifts where often readily available. Remember too, many people still worked five and half day weeks and the annual holidays where the statuary two weeks. Kit was makeshift, there was none of the high tech stuff we have today. A lot was army surplus or old clothing modified for use on the hill; old gabardine macs cut down, suit trousers long past their prime; heavy woolen pullovers, getting wet was the norm, many women still wore skirts, there was no special women's clothing, they had to adapt. Boots where heavy leather and nailed, again, often army surplus because they where reasonably cheap; decent mountain boots where astronomical in price. Tents where canvas and normally leaked, for many, tents where beyond their price range. That is where the close companion to the RA came in, the YHA, basic, simple cheap accommodation. Probably I am showing my age here, however, I can still remember being on the fringes of those times. My first ever boots where a pair of hand me downs and had nails and weighed a ton; when I up graded to vibrams it was something special, my first anorak was a ventile one bought cheap because it was shop soiled; it was murder when it froze, I had an awful job taking it off. The hostels themselves although often basic, sometimes very, where welcomed and well used by the rambling classes. The wardens where often eccentric, a few draconian and one or two mad. Certainly I have encountered a few peculiar ones such as one kilted, heavily bearded guy, complete with dirk and a broadsword that he kept in his office and well remember the Scottish hostels, all self catering, and one provided their own cutlery plate and mug.
In many respects the RA has lost touch with its roots and has become soft and genteel, everything it seems, boils down to being cost effective. Possibly we could argue for a new movement, more radical and out spoken and willing to fight for the rights of outdoor folk. but; cynic that I am, I cannot see it happening. As for me, well, I will wander and ramble as and where my feet may take me, will camp in wild and out of the way spots, leaving no trace of my passing and defy any who may challenge me.

Scuppered

2009-07-06T15:30:00.002+01:00

Well, the best laid plans etc,as Rabbie Burns would say. Originally I had plans for an extended trip over July; however, after another trip to see the surgeon those have been scrapped. basically I have to go back in to hospital for yet another fairly minor op next Monday. However, I have been warned that for three or four weeks afterwards things can get rather unpleasant. So thus, July is a no go month for getting away. Hopefully I may get a few days in August, it will be a case of wait and see. Provisionally I did consider a trip this week but with the weather non too good I decided against it.

Night on a bare plateau

2009-06-26T09:21:00.047+01:00

upper glen Feshie

Lochan nam Bo

Hare

hare, is there somewhere

above river Eidart

view from camp, river Eidart

cloud inversion

promise of a hot day

sunrise

plateau weather

showers

high level camp

mist on the plateau

A stony place

Cairngorm plateau

Looking toward Braeriach

Looking down from Sgor Gaoith

Glen Mharcaidh

Thursday 18th June. Camped GR OS explorer map 403 884043, roughly.

Well, what a day, managed to excel myself totally. After the normal night run up and getting off at Aviemore feeling a Little green around the gills; nipped in to the public loo and did a quick change in to my hill going gear. Needing fluids, it was a case of a cup of coffee and a scone, which was a rip off at some £4. Picked up a few nibbles in Tesco and headed out. Before I started I had been feeling sick and had a pounding headache; just to cap things off an on going bladder problem also flared up. Walked up to Inverdruie in a very heavy rain squall which eased for a short time as I entered the woods. Managed to be sick as I headed over to Loch an Eilein and then got severe stomach cramps as well. By the time I reached the tiny Inshriach bothy I had had to dive in to the woods twice; not a pleasant or easy experience in waterproofs. Took some medication at the bothy and downed plenty of fluids and carried on. My goal was upper Glen Mharcaidh. In theory there is a path all the way up, however, when I have attempted it before I find the first and upper sections but never the bit that cuts around the lower rough ground. This was the case once more and I pushed on more or less direct through thick heather, occasionally following meandering deer tracks and avoiding the worst of the boggy bits. Once up by the bridge I kept to the left hand path knowing of a spot that would give me enough space to camp just before the last of the trees. However, that plan was dashed when I found the spot was now dominated by large a fallen tree. There is little in the way of places to camp on that side of the glen. Finally, needing to stop and knowing that the path is not that often used I pitched on a more or less level, grassy spot right on the path itself. Being tired it will suffice for the night, I am sure no one will fall over me! As yet it is steadily raining; although not the heavy, driving squalls experienced earlier and I am much wearied.

Friday 19th June. Same map. GR 886037.

Today turned out to be a mixed sort of day. The overnight rain eased off early this morning. It was not the earliest of starts but I was in no rush. The ongoing path can be a tad indistinct in one or two places. There are two that head off up the hill, the one that continues on across the hill needs a careful eye kept on it. There is in fact a couple of paths and the lower of the two leads in to bog which I found out the first time I ever came this way. The path proper is in fact higher up the hill. Coming across one of the burns which was fairly high with all the earlier rain, I managed to slip and fall in. No injuries except for scrapes and bruises; however, I did lose my glasses, fortunately I carry spares. Higher up I crossed over to join the other path which leads up to the bealach below Meall Buidhe. Wandered up towards the top but showers of sleet and hail harried me and rather than press on I turned back although there are a few spots to camp once over the hill and down to the next bealach. However, having run out of steam and feeling a little chilly my footsteps led me back down the hill. There is place by the remains of the old hut just below the bealach that offers a nice spot but water is only available further down the hill. Another spot a bit lower is by a small pool, however the area is tiny and the ground was saturated. Following the other, more defined path, I came down lower to the spot where I am now camped. A lovely place for a wild camp with a few old pine trees for company; who could ask for more? The wind has picked up a bit and is driving showers from the west before it. To be honest I am a little concerned, much of last night was spent popping in out of the tent answering the call of nature; tedious and annoying. As yet the problem continues despite of the fact that I am continually drinking water, which is a necessity.

Saturday 20th June. Same place.

woke early to the gentle patter of light rain on the tent; when I nipped out thick, dark blue/black clouds where covering the tops. It was an easy call really and I snuggled back down in the sleeping bag deciding to rest up for a day. Most of the day was spent pottering. By early afternoon the sun had come out and a breeze was keeping the midges at bay. It was an opportunity to get things dry as well; even my boots are almost dry, yeeha!

Sunday. 21stJune. Same map, camped GR 910959.

A much better day, what little cloud there was brushed only the highest tops. The early hours of the morning had been chilly enough for me to throw my jacket over the sleeping bag. There was promise of a good day though and I was eager to be on my way. One more following the path up to Meall Buidhe the initial pull up the path up was warm enough to see me walking in just my light thermal base layer. This time I carried on over the two bare, rocky tops, dropped to the bealach and then climbed directly up to the main ridge. That was a fairly hard push up and I took it slow. One on the ridge though, it is an easy stroll up to Sgor Gaoith with spectacular views down into Loch Eanaich.. There is little to hinder the wind on the high tops and it sweeps across unchecked, making things feel distinctly chilly. My maternity smock in the guise of light windproof was rapidly donned. Lunch was a hurried affair, huddled low behind a small rock for a smidgen of shelter. Passing over Carn Ban Mor, I barely paused, the top has little to offer as such, a cairn and a vista of rock. Although still quite early, my intention was not to camp late, having it in mind to take things fairly easy. Also, the plateau is not a place to be hurried through, it needs to savoured and explored, time is required to get the full flavour of these high places. Showers of rain, wet enough to warrant the waterproofs, scudded across in the afternoon. Coming down to the track I swung left and followed it to its end and then wandered a bit further up the hill. Finding a pleasant little spot with panoramic views and a busy, bustling burn what more could a body ask for?

Monday 22nd June. Camped.same map, GR 908929

As normal I woke early and had to nip out which was chilly and damp; Thick cloud and drizzle swirled around the tent. Took the hill walkers normal and standard procedure of making a brew and returning to the sleeping bag for another hour's doze. Gradually the clag lifted, originally I had been considering nipping over to Beinn Bhrottain, but I dithered a bit and eventually decided on an easier option. Mullach Clach a Bhlair was a Munro that I had never bothered with before and so I opted for a wander in that direction. Walked over to a small top only marked as 937 on the map and then back to the track for a short spell and then back on to the moss. Keeping to a general direction and avoiding the boggy bits and gullies where possible I fetched up on Mullach Clach a Bhlair. It was an uninspiring little lump although I suppose for the ardent Munro bagger it must be one of the easiest. Heading easterly and generally following the line of the track I meandered over Diollaid Coire Eindert and back across a cairn only marked as such on the map and a spot height of 974. On the plateau height has little significance as such; it is a wide open place riven in places by deep gullies and corries. Bands of thick clouds had been moving across all day; occasionally they had brought a smattering of rain but had posed no real problem. Coming over to Cluas na Creige I found the most awesome place for a wild camp. Rain was falling heavy enough for me to need the waterproofs as I put the tent up, but I did not care, the views where stunning , the pitch was comfy and I was content to laze in the front of the tent in peace and quiet. The showers that where passing through where not heavy driving rain and it was fine to leave the whole of the front of the tent open. One thing that strikes me and that is the clarity of the water, normally the water from burns up on the hill is often brown with peat, high up here though there is no peat and the water filters through the granite leaving it clear.

Tuesday June 24th. Ruig Aiteachain Bothy in upper Glen Feshie.

Something woke me during the night, it took a moment to realise what had made me wake with a start. Silence, utter quietude, there was not a sound accept for the pounding of my own heartbeat. No deer talk, no wind or breeze, no tinkling of water, absolutely nothing and I lay still hardly daring to breath; it may sound strange but there was something that was near deafening in that silence, it almost spooked me and I lay still rather awestruck and feeling quite emotional, eventually I drifted back in to sleep.When I woke again, the early dawn light was just brushing the eastern horizon and it was something special to to lay in the sleeping bag with the whole of the tent wide open and watch the birth of a new day. Reaching for the camera I attempted to photo the fiery sunrise as the sun rose framed beautifully by two tops over towards Cairn Toul; photos though do very little justice to the beauty of that moment. A cloud inversion had me reaching for the camera yet again. Unable to settle back to sleep, I stretched out in front of the tent for a mug of tea and an early breakfast. One advantage of being up high is that it appears to be above the midge line. There was a strong temptation to remain up there for another night, however, it would entail a long push out tomorrow. Taking my time I wandered around the rocks of Cluas na Creige, gazing down at the river Eidart far below; even from up high the noise of the river was quite audible. Packing up I walked around the rim of Coire Mharconaich, a great scoop out of the hillside. Went as far as Cnap nan Laogh and then turned west once more. Deer grazed all around, moving off in a that brown, fluid, flowing movement that deer have when on the move. Coming by a small rocky outcrop, I was content to sit down for a while and just gaze about me. Yet another group of hinds had seen me, the matriarch giving her warning bark; heads came up, wary, however, as I settled back against a rock they cautiously began grazing once more, content to allow me to remain close by. Although the day was still quite early, already a heat haze was shimmering off the ground; it was obvious that the day was going to be hot. The chink of stones being disturbed on the other side of the rocks alerted me to the presence of something. Freezing, I tried to just swivel my head to see what it was, at the same moment a hind peered around the corner. She gave a startled bark as our eyes met and then sprang away, pausing for a moment to look back at me. Sitting absolutely still I waited to see what she would do. Obviously curious, she took a few tentative steps back toward me and then ambled off. Surprisingly the group of deer close by had observed this interchange but remained unfazed. With the heat of the day steadily building I knew I had to move on and reluctantly got to my feet and once more made my way across the plateau. There is no heather up in those regions, only mosses, tundra and rock. Ptarmigan where numerous , scuttling off whenever I approached too close; their long necks give them an almost reptilian look. Large numbers of dotterel where present too and snow buntings; very trusting busy hopping around my feet when I stopped for a quick break. Coming back over Bhlair I headed down over Druim nam Bo. A slight movement by a cairn caught my eye, a rock with pointy ears? It was a hare and I was surprised to to see how close it allowed me to approach. Black grouse startled me as they exploded from almost under my feet; taking off with their mad cackling and cries of 'go back, go back', crazy birds. The surrounding scenery was stunning but by the time I reached Lochan nam Bo I was feeling a tad dwam and was glad to rest for a few moments and replenish much needed water. A lovely spot for a wild camp, something I have filed away in the back of my mind. According to the map there is a regular stalkers path a little further down. My advice would be to forget it and stick to a track made by the estate's all terrain buggies. The zig zags where obscure in places and once in the trees it was a wearisome task attempting to find the faint semblance of any path. It was still quite early in the afternoon when I reached the bothy but I was glad to stop. Wandering over to the river, I slipped my boots off and still dressed in shorts and top, sat down in the cool water; the heat of the sun soon had me dry again.The upper glen is showing signs of good regeneration many young trees, especially Scots pine and juniper are much in evidence. Bird life is much more prominent, crested tit, wrens, finches and so on. Bumble bees droned their way from plant to plant, ants scurried in frenetic haste among the fallen needles. There was no one else in the bothy, my worry was that it may have been taken over by one of the many groups that frequent the area. My preference would have been for the tent but because I am heading out in the morning I opted for the bothy for convenience.

Wednesday 25th June.

Woke this morning to some thick cloud drifting over the tops but it was still warm. Someone had come in late yesterday evening and had slept in the other room. Sleep had been difficult for me, I had felt shut in by the bothy and the hard platform was not that comfortable. Managed to make a pint of tea and cook a bit of porridge on the last of the gas, also made sure I drank a couple pints of water before starting out. It was a case of having to head for Aviemore to catch the night bus back south. As I headed down the glen the cloud cleared and it was obvious the day was going to become a hot one. With a good few miles to cover and the heat it was a case of picking the simplest route. Thus I headed down toward Achlean and continued on toward Feshie Bridge before heading off through the forestry to Loch Gamhna. The heat was relentless and there was little shade from it on my route. Wherever possible I continually topped up my water supply and kept drinking. Stopping for a break on the way under a nice shady tree, I found that a kit kat I had been carrying had totally melted. Do not carry chocolate in hot weather, it is messy, very. By the time I was over by Loch an Eilein I was running on auto pilot metronome like, placing one foot in front of the other and keeping on the move. Nipping in to the visitor centre at Inverdruie for a couple of cold drinks,tired, sweaty and a tad dishevelled, I overheard a small girl saying to her mum, "Wow mummy, look at that lady, she looks like a really wild woman!" Yep, that is me, mad, bad and dangerous. It was noticeable as I walked in to Aviemore that the tarmac on the road was very soft from the heat. The day had not been the easiest with a distance covered of some fifteen miles. A few more cold drinks in Aviemore and deep joy, the shower in the public loo was open. Utter bliss, a refreshing shower and clean clothes to put on. Once I had recovered a bit I wandered in to the local chippie for fish and chips. Noticing someone buying a a glass of something very cold looking I asked the chap serving me, "What is that?" He grinned, "Ice crush ma'am." So I asked him for one. "Blue or red?" "Oh I'll have one of each please." it is now the long haul back south.

Gear carried. Osprey Atmos 50 ltre. Tent Golite Shangri 1 and inner nest and tent pegs. Western mountaineering light sleeping bag and a four and half ounce Bozeman bivi bag.. Thermarest prolite three. trekking poles Varga gas stove and primus windshield. One 350 gas cylinder, it was enough, just. Food for six days, heat in the bag main meals. Some where awful, especially a chicken and veg mix. Tea bags, powdered milk, drinking chocolate sachets and cup a soups, porridge mix, mainly the sachet type, all thrown in to one poly bag, a spoon and pot grab. A one pint titanium mug which I used as my main mug for boiling water in, a titanium dish for cooking porridge and occasionally washing in. Matches and in my emergency kit I carry a striker in case the matches get damp. Nibbles, kit kats, a block of cheese, I should have grabbed some pitta bread but for reasons unknown I picked up tortilla wraps, they are non too good uncooked. Water, picked up when I stopped for the day was in a 3ltre ortleb water bag. Slightly heavier than the platty but have a couple of them leak I prefer the ruggedness of the ortleb. First aid kit and small emergency kit, which includes the striker and 2 tampons which make excellent fire starters, saftey pins, button compass and some basic sewing stuff and duct tape and spare dyneema cord. Clothing wise, I travel in summer in a very light travel skirt, for on the hill I have an old pair of craghoppers very trousers, they are now becoming a little frayed at the edges and travel stained. Also carried are my shorts. A very light smartwool t shirt, a tank top and light t shirt for travelling back in. Spare pair of socks and light travel shoes, boots where my old scarpa midis, they need to be replaced but it a question of cost, smart wool socks on my feet. 2 sets of underwear, in winter I use a couple of sports bras but find them too warm in summer. This time I used 2 Sloggi very light, non wired bras. Undies, 2 pairs of light Rohans, easy to rinse out and rapidly drying. Wash kit and another kit of personal bits I need to carry, which, because I need to spend the best part of an hour doing nothing, warrants carrying a book. Camera, Nikon Coolpix, I want to upgrade but it is cost. Map, compass and whistle, knife, my old Opinel, slightly heavier than some but it has travelled many miles with me over the years. jacket, a paramo soft shell reversible,a Montane wind shirt which I liken to a maternity top, it is too big for me but tucks in nicely under the hip belt, also carried a light mountain Hardware fleece waistcoat, not really needed. Waterproofs, Berghaus paclite trousers, excellent, they have been much used and abused, Rab Neutrino jacket, and ankle gaiters to keep trouser bottoms from the mud etc. Buff and sun hat. Spare gloves and glasses, petzel head torch.Small toilet kit, trowel, plastic, cut down, hand gel, paper and lighter All the usual assortment of poli bags, essential equipment. An intial overall weight of roughly 27/28lb, 11 kilo

tinkering

2009-05-06T14:33:00.007+01:00

With medical problems, hospital appointments etc, time on the hill has been a little bit absent. Thus out of sheer boredom I have been rummaging through kit, sorting out, cleaning and ear marking a couple of bits to pass on to some lucky person.

One of the odd bits of my variety of kit are a couple of antique stoves. Petrol ones, the Optimus one third of a pint jobby is an old favourite. Ok, I know I am showing my age but at one time small petrol and paraffin stoves where de rigour for all serious hill going folk. The paraffin stoves needed priming, the fuel got everywhere and stank and could be a faff. The upside was that they where safe to use; or at least, safer, they did flare up and singed eyebrows at least where not too uncommon The petrol, at least the Optimus models, where a lot simpler to use, fill the tank, open the valve and after a few splutters the beast began to roar. petrol is a volatile liquid though, although I never had any problems stories abounded of folk who had stoves blow up. Getting fuel could be interesting. Nowadays it may prove difficult to walk in to a garage and buy a pint of petrol. However, at one time it was quite normal and I have done it a few times. The other stove is an oddity and not something I have used much. It goes by the name of Stesco, (no, not Tesco,) it is an American make and is another petrol burner. Anyway, I have had them out on the draining board and fired them both up and they still work just as efficiently as ever. Maybe I will start collecting a few of these beasts; as it is, I am thinking of adding a paraffin one to the collection. Anyone out there who has any old stoves, I would be interested.

Cairngorm return

2009-04-16T12:10:00.032+01:00

Cairngorms
Looking toward Braeriac

Thursday 9th April. Camped OS map Explorer 403 GR 929061.

Travelled up on the night coach trying to be ahead of the Easter rush. As it was things where still busy with the service I was travelling having two extra duplicate buses. Road works, accidents and diversions saw us arriving in Aviemore some three quarters of an hour late. Tired from lack of sleep, stiff from the long hours of travelling, I was not feeling my best. Medical problems probably where not helping either. Nipped in to the local chippy, (the half decent one) for a bite to eat and a cuppa or two. Not that I was hungry, it was more a case of needing to get some fluids and food in me before starting out; it sounds awful when eating and drinking is just a mechanical affair, out of necessity rather than enjoyment. The rucksack felt heavy and lumpen as I headed out of Aviemore. My route was an old familiar one and I was content to just shuffle along with the brain half in neutral. My goal was an easy one, Glen Eanaich; there are one or two lovely places among the trees which are splendid for wild camping. Pick the right spot and one can be discreetly hidden away out of sight of the track that heads up through glen. At the moment a strong wind is creating an almighty rumpus among the trees. There is a great roaring, trees bending and swaying, creaking and groaning; twigs and bits of debris being hurled in all directions; nature creating a right rumpus.. This meant I had to be a bit circumspect in where I pitched; it would not be good to have a lump of branch fall on top of me.

Friday 10th April. Same spot as previous night.

Strong winds and rain during the night, quite a few substantial sized branches brought down too. By morning all was calming down. Woke late and still felt off colour and therefore declared a rest day. Thick cloud was scudding across the higher tops and I was content to just to have a wander. heavy rain at one point drove me back to the tent but it was only passing showers.

Saturday11th April camped GR 930058

Sometimes the best laid plans go askew and things turn pear shape. My original intention had been to head up Glen Eanaich and then swing off up to Coire Dhondail.The morning was not too bad, chilly but dry. There are few suitable places to camp in the upper reaches of the glen; hence my intention of going higher. A stalkers path winds its way up through to the corry. In many places though it was deeply buried under substantial snow banks that remained on the steep hillside. Not really difficult to cross, just needing a bit of care and concentration. Just before the corry I suddenly realised that I was moving very slowly, really sluggish. Odd really, one moment I was plodding along fine and then suddenly I hit the wall, my legs just not wanting function. Following doctors orders I had been drinking plenty and had been snacking as normal but for whatever reasons my energy levels went through the floor. Finding a sheltered spot among the boulders that litter the whole of the corry, I settled down and had a twenty minute break. Coire Dhondail is an impressive place; a great glacial scoop gouged out of the side of the surrounding hills. Steep and stern rock walls, boulders littering the corry floor; a great tumbling waterfall. My original intention had been to camp up there and continue over the plateau and drop down to the Lairig the following day. What was not boulder covered was running with rivulets of melt water. Getting a place to put the tent would have been difficult. After getting myself together I explored among the boulder field and under the great head walls and inched up and across a massive snow bank towards the actual top. With no real option of keeping to my earlier plan there was little choice but to head down again; a very frustrating and difficult decision. The problem being acerbated by the fact that I would have to return a fair way back down Glen Eanaich to find a spot to camp. The walk down the glen track can be a long and wearisome plod of a few miles. By the time I found somewhere to camp and got myself sorted it was almost five and I felt exhausted.

Sunday, 12th April, camped same spot.

An easy day, a roe deer barking outside the tent woke me in the early hours of the morning. There is a regular series of deer tracks all around. Dozed off again and after yesterday I decided to do something easy today. Heading back up the glen I turned off and walked up to Carn a' Phris-ghiubhais. Ok, it is only a tiny little hill but it was pleasant walking; the sun was warm even if the breeze was cold. Saw some little lizards, possibly skinks, they scuttled off too quickly though to have a decent look at them. Sat for a while in a tiny little wall of rock on the top just admiring the surrounding views. Given the right weather conditions there is some lovely walking to be had up there.It also offers some great alternative ways up on to the Braeriach plateau and also a different way of walking over to the Lairig. Good too for some high level wild camping. Clouds drifting lazily across the sky, some a dirty grey but the majority great white fluffy balls of cotton wool type clouds. Dropping off the back of the hill I ambled over toward Coire Beanaidh and then followed the burn down. Much snow lingered in the high corries and drifts still clung to the sides of the burn. Heading back to the tent I saw a frog in the middle of the track; wanting a closer at her I got down on my hands and knees and attempted a couple of photos. it was as I was doing this that a couple came strolling along the track. Pointing the frog out to them they too where soon down on their hands and knees. Worried for the frogs welfare I removed it to a nice shady damp spot. A pleasant, lazy day. There was frost on the tent this morning and the temperature is dropping this evening.

Monday 13th April. Same camp.

A heavier frost this morning. It is surprising how quickly wildlife seem to accept your presence; the roe deer where once more grazing close to the tent early this morning. Instead of the barking and foot stamping of the previous morning there was just a half hearted bark. The sky was clear and the sun was shining. Whatever happened I was determined to get out there and something on the hill. Followed the broad shoulder up to Cadha Mor and on up to Creag Dhubh and across to the Argyle stone. The sun was shining but the wind was bitter; extra layers, hats and gloves. Not moving too badly I pushed on following the ridge line up toward Sgoran Dhubh Mor. Stunning views in all directions; a time to linger and soak it all in. Crossing a couple of wide snow banks not far from the top I knew my energy levels where starting to seriously flag. Just about by the summit cairn I called it quits and fled back down to the rocks by Sgorran Dhubh Beag. Out of the wind I stretched on a nice soft mossy patch for a break. A small group of people coming down came over to see if I was ok. They where a little non plussed that I was not going to push on and bag Sgor Gaoith, which is a munro. Why though? I had had a good day out, done a non too bad a walk, why push myself to extremes just to do a munro? As it was there was still a fairish walk back to the tent. As I was heading back I saw my second eagle of the day. Like the first one, this one was also quartering the high tops. They make their flight seem so effortless, riding gracefully on the air currents. Saw ptarmigan too, they where predominantly still in winter plumage. Once back by the Argyle stone I dropped off the ridge to head back down in to the glen. It is a long and fairly steep descent through tangled heather hidden boulders; made longer to me angling across the hill as I descended. That was quite deliberate, the floor of the glen is a wet and boggy place and my aim was to miss the worst of it. Today has been long and a tad difficult. What concerns me is my hill going ability; on this trip it has been sadly lacking. Tomorrow I shall be heading out to the flesh pots of Aviemore. At least there is a public loo where I can get a shower and change in to fresh, clean clothes. After that it will be the heady, exotic delight of a fish supper in the local chippy. In all probability I shall just potter about and then head out in the early afternoon.

Tuesday 14 April.

Well Aviemore has done it once more. As intended just pottered in the morning, allowing the ice on the tent to dry off. Packed up and took a gentle stroll out in the afternoon in glorious sunshine. Horrors, the one and only public loo in Aviemore was closed. This saw me heading in to Tesco and using the loo there to get cleaned up a wee bit and changed; it was just as well I had a few baby wipes with me. They are a poor substitute for a shower though.

Easter

2009-04-05T11:54:00.004+01:00

With Easter looming large on the horizon my one aim is to decamp and head for the hills. With yet another hike in rail fares there was no way I could afford train travel. To my annoyance and surprise even coach fares have substantially risen. My coach ticket has cost me an extra four pounds in comparison to the same journey I did earlier in the year.
For convenience it will be the Cairngorms once more. My aim is to avoid the main routes and head in to some of the more obscure corries and explore some of the hidden gems of the Cairngorm area. April in those regions can still be in the grip of winter. Looking at the current mountain weather information, there is still snow high up with snow showers possible. Over the easter week thing are looking unsettled so I shall just have to play it by ear. My light ice axe will be taken, even if it looks daft carrying it. Also, rather than take full crampons, my little used Katoolas will be in the rucksack.
On a slightly different note, I have bookmarked an interesting website. Trail Testers, http://www.trailtesters.co.uk/. They actually have nothing to do with with trail magazine. They are a small, independant group of people who trial gear and film it in action, as it where, which is then posted out on U tube. From the information I have picked up they will be going live on the 20th of April. Currently I have heard they have been trialling the new SATMAP gps system, the New Zealand based Aarn Natural Balance pack, the spot system and several other goodies. One of the North Face tents is also featured. Http://www.trailtesters.co.uk/tnffortess23.htms. Outdoor Magic mentioned the Aarn pack a while back and then everything went silent. It is an intersting concept and I shall be watching with interest. It makes a change for a small independant group to be gear testing so all you gear freaks out there you have yet another slant on all those shiny goodies that we regularly drool over.

Questions and answers

2009-03-24T08:59:00.011Z

Over the last week I was in the depths of Wales.There are a few folk I know in various parts of Wales, these people though wish to remain anonymous and in respect of their privacy I remain vague as to where I actually was and with some details. It was a chance to pick up again on some of my old gardening skills, doing a spot of digging, weeding and helping set up a poly tunnel. If I am to do more of the same I really must invest in gardening gloves, having broken three finger nails. It was a welcome change to be out in the country once again. Lambing time was in full swing, the cry of young lambs echoing across the fields. Trees where in bud, as where the daffodils. Birds clustered around bird feeders, feeding hungrily building up strength before starting rearing their young. Early bumble bees where out and about too.

It was a pleasure too to be allowed to feed the horses and livestock. A heavily pregnant mare having a mad canter across the field, hooves drumming, tail and head high, just for the joy of it, spring fever.

We went for walks around the local area enjoying some unusually warm spring weather. over the week I was staying in a caravan and sharing delicious meals in the main house. In my attempts to move from the London area, caravans have been one alternative I have considered. At least now I have some idea of the size I would require. Insulating and providing heating could pose problems; although with heating a wood burning stove could be the answer there. The cost of actually siting a caravan could prove expensive. Electricity is not a worry, enough could be provided from a small wind turbine. As someone who uses the net quite frequently I could foresee problems in that direction. yes, I know there are wi fi connections and the like but they are not available in all areas; satellite hook ups are prohibitively expensive and beyond my price range. it has been surprising how difficult it is to actually rent a cheap property in rural areas. Predominately though I have been focusing on Scotland.

We managed to get out and head up to the Berwyns and have a walk up and around the Pistyll Rhaeadr falls. Good weather had brought scores of people out for the day and the footpaths where busy. The weather through the week had been very good and it was not until Monday that it changed to colder, wet and blustery conditions.

A few days of not a lot

2009-02-23T12:57:00.040Z

snow bank, Lairig ghru

heading in to the Lairig Ghru

Snow banks Cairngorms

Heading up toward the Lairig Ghru wild camp Cairngorm

Landslip, Cairngorms

looking up the lairig path cairngorms

Loch an Eilein

Cairngorms

looking down at Gleann Enich, Cairngorms

Tuesday 16th Feb. Camped. OS map LR36 GR 883o55

Did the night run up on the coach last night. Normally I at least manage to doze for an hour or so. This time around though I was awake the whole night. Fortunately we made good time and arrived Aviemore just about on time, at 11am; twelve hours of travelling. Leg muscles had almost totally locked up and I was stiff and aching. Wanting a quick bite before setting out I looked at the chippies. Disaster, both where closed; the coffee shops looked busy, predominantly with folks in ski clothing and funny boots. Thus grabbed a few nibbles, a pretty abysmal meat pie and a sandwich for lunch tomorrow and fled. Headed over to Loch an Eilein and then around to pick up the path that heads south by Loch Gamhna. Started looking for a place to camp close to Inshriach bothy; one of the very few bothies in the Cairngorm region. The problem I had was that I wanted to camp out of sight of the main paths. For the best part of an hour I cast about looking for a spot before finally setting up camp out of sight of the bothy but still closer than I wished for. The main difficulty was that a thaw had set in and everything was running with melt water.The recent snow had taken its toll on the trees, especially the pines; many had broken limbs from the sheer weight of heavy snowfall. This evening is very mild, which does not bode well for tomorrow.

Wednesday. Camped as previous evening.

Took the small path that follows the Allt Corrie Fallais up through the forestry and then slanted off toward Creag Follais. The going was tiring with a combination of wet snow and bog. Swinging roughly south east I picked my way over to Clach Choutsaich. The idea had been to follow the ridge line directly up to Sgor Gaoith. Deep wet snow banks that had the consistency of porridge defeated me. It was tedious and hard constantly breaking through rotten snow. My feet where wet and cold from being submersed in deep bog. Finally conceding defeat I abruptly about turned down the ridge and walked over to the Argyle Stone and on to Creag Dhubh. Picking a meandering route to weave around snow patches my way led down to pick up the right hand path that leads back down the Coirre Follais. This path traverses a very steep section of hillside and unfortunately sections of it where snow covered with melt water running in channels beneath. It made for some precarious maneuvering to teeter around or across these banks. It felt rather unhealthy in one or two spots. As I got lower and as soon as I was able to, I crossed the burn to the other bank and scrambled up on to the broad shoulder of the hill and eventually regained the path lower down.
Thursday. camped OS map LR36 GR949059

A very easy day, just a stroll over to where I am now camped. Packed up in a leisurely fashion this morning and retraced my footsteps back along to Loch an Eilein and then picked up the trail that leads around to the Cairngorm club footbridge and then over to the path that climbs above the Allt Druich. A pleasant, steady and easy ascent up the path until finally I came out of the tree line. Once more there where problems finding places to pitch and I came a little higher than intended. Most of the ground is all humps and bumps and areas of dense sphagnum moss. Found a spot just about big enough to squeeze the tent on to; probably more exposed than is advisable for winter. Opposite, where the burn runs down from Lochan Odhar a great section of hillside has very recently slid down the hill in a massive landslip. The scar is is fresh and the corry bottom is littered in a mass of rock. Temperature is down tonight and the wind has swung to north west. Hopefully this is the cold spell forecast early this week.

Friday, camped at same location as previous evening.

A frustrating and disappointing day. A great rumble and crash in the night as the landslip shed yet more debris. Nature rearranging the scenery a bit. Woke this morning to find that the wind had swung back and was now blowing from a southerly direction; that was not previously forecast.. Followed the Lairig Ghru path up with rain and sleet drifting down the glen. Higher up where previous traffic had compressed the snow banks the surface was slick and greasy in places. Turned off to head up on to the the shoulder of the hill that marks the ascent upward toward Braeriach. Spoke to a guy who was coming up behind me and he was non too happy with conditions either. It was a case of plod, plod, plod, slip, slither, kick boots in, lurch and fall forward, mutter, mutter as the snow crust gave way yet again. Stopped and undid the ice axe slipping it down the side of the rucksack for easy access. Mainly as a precaution, there was no real call for it. Visibility was not too bad but with water sluicing over soft snow, I was finding it difficult; in the end I reluctantly wimped out. Turning back I swung around and headed up further up the Lairig. My idea was to try and get in to the Pools of Dee. Soon I was floundering in soft snow drifts. The brooding splendour and grandeur of the high, rocky crags was awesome, especially as they closed in. Avalanche debris made things even more difficult. When I sank in up to my waist for a second time I just got the giggles. There was something so surreal and ridiculous about the whole situation as struggled my way out; mad, totally mad. Yet again I chickened out and turned back when I found myself lurching over buried boulders; leg breaking territory. Steady rain and a rising wind accompanied me back to the tent; by now it had swung back to the west. The problem now was that the tent was facing in to the wind; this meant lighting the stove would be a problem. There was no option but to swing the tent completely around. Just as well that I did, later the wind was gusting strongly but the tent sits more snuggly with its back end to it; also, I can nip out for the loo in more comfort.

Saturday. Aviemore bunkhouse.By the this morning a full gale was blowing; later I learned that the ski runs, funicular railway and everything where closed due to weather conditions. The tent shifted and shuddered as gust after gust drove relentlessly in to the tent rear. Fortunately I had weighted the pegs down with heavy rocks. A great roaring rumble, like a goods train on the move as the gale blew unhindered across the high tops; awesome. Dawdled for a while but eventually packing up everything in the tent and then dropping the tent itself at the last minute, rapidly bundling it in to the rucksack. A gentle stroll back the way I had walked in and then detoured back around the far side of Loch an Eilein just to put an extra mile or two in. Everyone and their great granny seemed to be out doing the forestry walk. This meant a few startled looks from folks just out for a gentle stroll; seeing me with a full sack and probably looking scruffy and a tad dishevelled. People walking in spotless clothing; anoraks that would not go amiss strolling down Oxford Street. Couples strolling hand in hand, excited toddlers and young kids. Women in makeup and reeking of perfume. Maybe I ought to apologise to my fellow women, however, such artificial scents, even after just a few days on the hill, really hit me between the eyes. My senses seem to attune to natural smells, sounds and movements and this type of smell is a jolt to my senses. It was amazing too to see people in heavy duty boots, including such four season types as a pair of Scarpa manta's. Four gps systems and a hand held sat.nav. system added to the oddities of the day. With time in hand I found a convenient bench and sat and watched the world go by. Mountain bikers by the dozen, families and dog walkers. As I sat quietly musing a little lad all of six or seven, came stomping up the path with his mum in tow. On seeing me, he paused and turned to his mum. "Mummy, what are those funny things on that lady's bag?" Mum sighed with resignation. "I don't know dear!" Not to be thwarted the little boy made a beeline for me, ignoring his mother's instructions to 'not go bothering the lady' Standing four square in front of me, he posed the question. "Please miss, what are those things for?"trying to put it in to a simple context, I explained about the ice axe and crampons. Looking at me in astonishment, he piped up. "Do you like playing in the snow?" When I confirmed that was the case he gave a great beaming grin. This was something new to him, a grownup who actually went out and played in the snow. Dragged off by his aspirated mum, he was still chattering away. "Wow mummy, a lady who likes playing in the snow and has special toys to play with in the snow too!"
Checked in to the bunk house in Aviemore. In retrospect it was a bad mistake; the small kitchen had to serve as a common room and got vastly overcrowded. Worse still, it was mixed dorms and the final straw was the late night revellers screaming and shouting in the kitchen at well past midnight. To make things even worse,I looked in to the rather up market looking pub next door. The thought had crossed my mind that it would be nice to have a special treat of a cooked meal. The sight of white linen table cloths, candles and silver cutlery was enough to see me getting out of there fast. Nipped up to the local chippy, it was just another factor of things going badly wrong. The fish, when it was eventually found under layers of vulcanised batter, had obviously died of a very old age many years ago; the chips were barely warm and had the consistency of recycled cardboard. The Sunday was spent trying to make a cup of coffee last as long as possible in a coffee shop and then sitting curled up in a bus shelter for several hours with a book. In hindsight I ought to have camped and spent another day on the hill.

All in all, not a bad few days away, just a tad frustrating at times and a mental note made to avoid Aviemore as much as possible in the future. Ok to pass through, not so good to spend any length of time there.

Took a liquid fuel stove mainly because I was hoping for low temperatures; the early weather forecast had been for a return to cold conditions in the latter part of the week. It was unfortunate that the forecast was wrong. The MSR Simmerlite is a smaller version of the whisperlite. It is one of the lightest liquid fuel stoves available. A downside is that it is not multi fuel. Also it is not available in the Uk. Mine was purchased via a retailer from Europe. Liquid fuel has its place in certain conditions, priming and using demands more care and attention though. Gas is a much simpler option and with proper care, can be used in the tent.

Dilemma

2009-02-11T09:53:00.006Z

Looking at the latest copy of TGO I noticed that a small publishing company were seeking submissions of literary non fiction. In particular they required work relating to the relationship between people and the wild places of Britain. Looked at the article, considered it, placed it to one side and thought some more about it. In all honesty I thought it was a bit pretentious, me, being an author? However, it kept niggling away in the back of my mind and so finally I began work. My spell check and I exchanged many cross words, it does not recognise Gaelic, or at least anglicised, Gaelic, place names. It took some coaxing for it to include such words as bothy and lochan in to its dictionary. Maps flew in all directions as I cherry picked pieces from my blogs and from notes. Correct spelling of place names is essential, thus much time cross checking on various maps. After a few days of typing and polishing up my work, the required manuscript of just over seven thousand words was submitted last night. An e mail this morning has confirmed the work has been received. Now I have to wait until April before I receive any further news.
My other dilemma is my attempts at getting away for another trip. Currently snow conditions in Scotland are excellent.However, my first choice was a bit of a logistical nightmare. My second choice became a no go after that wonderful Scottish source of information aka Duncan, informed the way out of Aberdeen toward Braemar was almost impassible. The third choice was Aviemore; not my favourite area, however it was easier for access. My main problem after that was the thought of the twelve hour coach journey each way. I baulked at the idea of it. The journey itself is bad enough, on a more personal level, being cramped in next a total stranger is an ordeal for me.Tentatively I looked at the night sleeper. Feasible and with the added bonus of arriving in Aviemore not long after 7 am. The cost was scary at £124, it would blow my budget to smithereens. Despite that it looked the better option. That was until I studied the journey information a tad closer. All they where offering was a reclining seat, not even a bunk for the night. In desperation I am now going to check out flights. This poses new problems, in the form of stoves. Airlines have strict policies over them. All this makes me one desperate bunny, all that lovely weather out there and I am confined in london.

Lots of Snow.

2009-02-02T14:27:00.003Z

It snowed most of last night here in London and is still snowing now. Fantasmagorical. The one problem is that I am stuck here in London. Currently public transport is at a standstill. Few roads gritted, no pavements gritted, at least in my area. This despite the fact that the met office have been warning of heavy snow conditions since last week. Have been ill, (again) and am itching just to get out and stretch my legs. The doctor is arranging for me to see an ologist of some sort. Hopefully, if public transport is running? I may be able to nip down to the New Forest for at least an overnight stay. For just one night I shall take the minimum and bivi. Hopefully the snow may linger for a few days yet? John, please keep me posted.

Mud and flood

2009-01-22T15:03:00.017Z

Flooded New Forest track

New Forest camp

Having new toys to play with and suffering from a dose of itchy feet I headed off to the New Forest for a couple of days. My plan was to travel down on the Monday morning and return Wednesday afternoon. After some time spent rootling around the net I found that I could travel down by train for around five pounds more than if I went by coach. It meant a single ticket each way. No problem. A coach run would have meant changing at Southampton and travelling on by local transport. The train would take me direct to Brockenhurst. An added bonus was that I would gain some three hours of time. Monday morning was stressful. A problem on the tube meant that the buses where all full. Standing at the bus stop watching bus after bus go past totally full meant my stress levels where hitting the red line. A normal bus journey of fifteen minutes maximum took an hour. A frantic dash on to the platform just as the train was about to leave. Fortunately the conductor saw me and I piled in through his door just as the train got under way. Close, too close for comfort. Was in Brockenhurst by late morning. Originally I had been planning on nipping down through the village and having a cup of coffee on the way. Instead I headed straight out. From the station I made my way down Mill Lane. Ominously it was flooded in places. A couple of times I had to scramble up the bank as traffic inched their way through pushing bow waves of water before them. A van driver apologised as water lapped over my boots. Crossing the road I found the wood partially flooded. The path I was following was muddy, very. Coming around by Perrywood Ivy enclosure it was a matter of keeping to the main gravelled tracks leading through New Copse and Frame Heath enclosures and on to Rowbarrow. Halfpenny Green was practically impassible. A chap on a mountain bike tried it and went in deep. Poor chap, he almost fell off his bike. As it was he had to get off and with water swirling around his knees he pushed his bike back to slightly less flooded ground. That decided me. A quick check of the map and I headed over to Woodfidley. Once again I hit floods and had to do some tricky manoeuvring to get through them. Time was getting on and I stopped in Denny Lodge enclosure. This time around I was trying out a new system. For many long years I have been a ground dweller. Suddenly I had the mad idea of trying out tree dwelling. Thanks to some generous help from one of the bushcraft community, (P. I am most grateful.) I had acquired a hammock and after a bit of financial juggling also managed a tarp. It takes time to pick up on new skills and setting up camp on the Monday evening was quite an experience. The tarp is some nine foot square and just getting that up, faffing around with lengths of cord and so on was an experience on its own. The hammock was to prove a little more difficult. By the time I finished it was almost totally dark. Quickly I got the stove burning. Damp wood meant a tad smoky fire to start with but it was soon blazing away. There had been a few showers during the day but nothing much. Supper over, it was time to experiment with the hammock. When I had first, gingerly sat on it, I was unceremoniously pitched on to the ground. After that I was more careful on how I sat down. For insulation I slipped my coat, waterproof trousers and sit mat in to the sleeve provided in the base of the hammock. Getting in to the hammock was not that difficult. Initially it swayed a bit and I reached out with one hand pressing down on the rucksack to steady things up. The problems occurred when I attempted to shimmy in to the sleeping bag. The hammock quivered like an over excited jelly. A short, rapid sort of swinging movement. Something I had never considered was motion sickness. However, I felt very nauseous, queasy, quite a nasty experience. Having to get up during the night for the loo was a repeat performance. Thinking it over my solution would be to get a sleeping bag with a full length zip. The up side of things was that once I had settled down it was comfortable and cozy. A dog fox barked close by, owls hooted back and forward, the forest night shift coming on duty. The only discordant note was the train horn sounding on the railway close by.Tuesday morning I headed back down and over the railway by railway cottages and then over to Rans wood and Furzey Lodge. From there down to Beaulieu. Fortunately there was a few footpaths that where not marked on the map. It saved a bit of road walking. Treated myself to a coffee and baked potato and studied the map. It would have been nice to continue on down to Bucklers Hard. However, to head back from there would have involved to much road walking and also it probably would have meant a long day. In the end I headed up to Hill Top and by dint of some muddy tracks and careful map reading I came around by Hartford House and then through the woods to North Gate. A bit of road walking brought me down to Wood Lane, a track. A four four was coming out of the gate and the driver waved me through and climbed out of his vehicle and locked the gate after me. Thinking no more of it I ambled on my way. Part way up the lane though I found there had been recent logging operations. Oh my, mud! The track was churned in to a quagmire. Thick, glutinous, cloying, clinging clay. It was a total morass. Briefly I tried walking through the wood, more mud, and water logged. It was truly a land of mud and flood. Yikes, by the time I got through to Furzey Lodge I was slathered well and truly in muck. It was as I was coming through the gate at the lodge that I saw a notice on the gate. Briefly it stated that the lane was private and there was no public access. Ah well, no harm done. Briefly I followed the track I had come down in the morning. At Moon Hill though I headed on through Frame wood and down to Rowbarrow where I set up camp for the night. Setting up camp was easier the second time around. This time I also cut a stick and rammed it in to the ground so that I could grab it and use it as a stabilizer if the motion got too much. Settling down for the night, I was just dozing off, when a high pitched cry momentarily startled me. Trying a slightly different configuration with the tarp I had strung it with the back down fairly low and the front raised. another cry, a sharp high pitched whistling bark is maybe the best way to describe it, almost a scream. A muntjac deer and very close as well. Suddenly I realised, he was actually standing at the front edge of the tarp staring at me. Oh my, for such a tiny deer, much the same size as a large dog, he was extremely vocal. Unusual for a muntjac, they are normally shy retiring and solitary creatures. Mind, they can be very territorial. Maybe he was uncertain as to what I was, or was just establishing his territorial rights but he barked at me again and stamped his foot. Hardly breathing, I lay still, watching him, his small frame clearly silhouetted against the clear night sky. Finally he moved away giving a few more of those high pitched cries. It is easy to see how stories of haunted woods can come about. It is moments like that that makes things worth while. A privilege. By morning there had been a light frost, everything calm and still. With time in hand, it was only about four miles directly back to Brockenhurst and my train was not until 14 45, I took a more circuitous route. Firstly back through Frame Heath enclosure and then up to Stubby Copse enclosure. Fine moderate walking. Forestry work in Parkhill enclosure saw me having to deviate a few times. If nothing else it was handy to help brush up on map reading skills. Ramnor and Pignal Inclosures came and went. The buzz of a chain saw echoing through the trees. Unfortunately there was little in the way of wild life to be seen. The only signs I had seen where a few fresh deer tracks and their droppings. Finally I exited the forest at Standing Hat and headed over to Brockenhurst. My first priority was to nip in the public loo and change out of my mud covered trousers and boots. People had already given me few second glances as I entered the village. Being so self conscious and knowing that I probably looked as wild and disheveled as I felt meant that I was eager to get out of my filthy gear. Mind, my rucksack also had its share of mud on it too. A cup of coffee and a leisurely stroll up through the village and around to the railway station. Overall a pleasant couple of days out. Checking out a few ideas on the net in regard to sleeping bags. One had been to upgrade my summer bag by having a baffle fitted and a full length zip. The quotes I got where for well over a hundred pounds. Quilts where something else that crossed my mind. Some people, rather than use sleeping bags use specially adapted quilts. This struck me as a viable option until I started looking at prices. Two to three hundred pounds plus. Army surplus sleeping bags? Big, bulky, heavy and only with short zips. Finally I returned to looking at sleeping bags. Bearing in mind that I was considering more in the way of winter usage. There is one bag that really fits the bill. An Alpkit. Their price is good at a hundred pounds. The problem now is, how on earth do I raise that sort of cash? At present I have a 60 ltr Osprey rucksack up for sale at twenty pounds. No interest as of yet. Does anyone out there want any odd jobs done? My proposed Scottish trip next week is on hold until February. These will be lean times.

Wales

2009-01-06T13:31:00.018Z

New years eve saw me heading across country to North Wales. Once again it was a meet up with a small group of people. This time I had even managed a lift. The idea was for a few of us to meet at the Minnffordd car park and head up the path to see the new year in by Llyn Cau. Five of us met at the car park at around seven in the evening. It was cold and little time was wasted in shouldering rucksacks and putting on head torches. The initial start up the path up to the Llyn was steep and then settled down to a steady plod. As we cleared the tree line the headlights of cars stabbed the darkness in the valley bottom far below. Pausing for breath I briefly wondered if anyone saw the beam of our head torches as we contoured the hillside. It would have been fun to walk in darkness, however, care was needed, water ice lay thick on parts of the path. The sky was clear with myriads of stars shining brightly. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when we finally arrived. Tents went up swiftly on an area of fairly flat ground right next to the llyn. With the ground frozen tent pegs where a tad difficult to place. Down jackets where the order of the evening. Also, I had been requested to bring one of the wood burning stoves. There is something magical about sitting under a clear star lit moonlit sky, warmed by the flame of a real fire. At midnight Auld lang syne was duly sung, voices echoing around the rocky cym. Shortly after folk headed for bed. It was bliss to snuggle deep in to the warm cocoon of my sleeping bag. Thursday morning was a chilly start with a digital temperature read out of minus twelve. The Llyn had a layer of ice on its surface. Later there was mention of the temperature dropping even further. The plan was to leave the tents where they where and head up to Cadair Idris and then collect them on the way back. The morning was still and calm and as we progressed up through a break in the rocky crags to the ridge above the Llyn We broke out of the drifting mist and cloud cover to a wonderful cloud inversion. The scenery was awesome. Unfortunately my camera refused to work due to the cold conditions. We had a brief break on Craig Cym Amarch. Despite my water bottle being in the rucksack the water had semi frozen. Several groups of people all had the same idea of heading up to the summit of Cadair Idris. The views were spectacular. However, time was pressing. We had to return to Llyn Cau to pick up the tents and time was pressing. Heading down I began to develop a severe headache, something I am prone to. probably a combination of the flue I had the previous week and a touch of dehydration. All of us had problems with water freezing. Back at the tents I managed to thaw a little water and took some medication. Taking the tents down was interesting, they where well frozen. However, as we headed down towards the car park, I began to feel progressively worse.. Several times I had to stop and have a break. Possibly at one point I passed out. The others came back to see where I was and found me weaving slowly towards the car park. My original intention had been to get dropped off on the way across to Llanberis where the others where heading for. There was little option though but to join them at the climbing hut. Despite managing to down fluids I was still violently sick on the way. A couple mugs of tea and a seat by a hot coal fire saw me partially recovered. On the Friday I decided to rest and just potter, taking a walk from the climbers hut at Deiniolen. headed across toward Dinorwig and around to Llanberis. Picked up a few supplies I had been asked to get, had a mug of tea and a bite to eat in Pete's Eats. Deciding the seven miles or so that I had walked was enough, I opted for the lazy option of catching a local bus back toward the village. On the Saturday a few people had decided to go for the north ridge of Tryfan. a classified rock scramble and quite a strenuous one too. Feeling better, I thought I would give it a go. A good breakfast and copious amounts of tea seemed to be the order of the day. From the A5 by Llyn Ogwen The north face of Tryfan looks intimidating. There is no easy, warm up start. From the road it a case of heading straight up. The cold had us moving swiftly up the flight of large steps that lead to the first section of ascent. Breath rasping in the cold air, lungs heaving, limbs protesting at this assault. There is no one direct route up the ridge. It is a case of picking the best line and following it. often it was a case of directissimo.. Hands and feet working in unison. The route is a classified grade one scramble, in places though it is rated as grade two, depending on which way one goes. In all probability we did some of the grade two bits. An hour passes, two, three, time is of no concern at the moment. Arms reach high, hands searching for holds, bare fingers curl over a lovely jug handle of rock, knee raises high, toe of boot placed delicately on a nobble of rock, a heave and a pull, other foot searches for a purchase, pause, eyes searching for the next hold and the movement is repeated. A slow but steady rhythm leads ever on upwards. Picking a way up a steep rock chimney, glancing back down and wishing I had not. There is no actual ground, just a void. The exposure can be daunting. As we gain height so the rocks become even colder. My fingers grow cold but I am reluctant to put on my gloves, preferring to actually feel the rock beneath bare fingers. In that way I can feel the hand holds. The others where somewhere ahead of me but I was content to pick my own way up. A last steep piece up a narrow rock chimney and I was on North top. Some delicate shuffling over ice covered boulders to Far South top. A low, pale wintry sun in my eyes made things a little tricky. We had started late and now time was pressing, we wanted to be down before dark. After a short break we descended easy slopes to the Heather Terrace. A broad curving ledge that descends the side of the hill. Care had to be taken, in places the path was covered in thick layers of water ice. Crampons would have been no good, it would necessitate putting them on, cross the ice, stop remove them and continue to the next patch and repeat the process. Instead it just meant some delicate maneuvering to shuffle around them. Finally the valley floor was reached just as darkness fell. A weary walk back to the cars in the cold evening air and back to the hut for a welcome hot shower, a meal and loads of fluids. The others where indulging in mulled wine and and various other such beverages, being teetotal I stayed on soft drinks. Sunday morning and temperatures where still way down. Unfortunately we where heading back. It was tempting to fore go my lift and stay for another few days. Conditions where excellent, cold and clear, rivers and lakes totally frozen. The landscape white and pristine in the grip of the winter freeze. However, the sheer cost of coming back on public transport was far too expensive. it was a pity to have to leave.
Kit wise, I was using my heaviest rucksack, a macpac and in the event of things I was glad I did. It stands up to abuse well. Stove was an msr simmerlite, lighter than the whisperlite, a half litre fuel bottle. it proved beneficial, a few folk where struggling with gas and I brewed for them as well.My heavier valandre sleeping bag and boseman light cover. prolite three quarter sleeping mat. it is not best suited for cold conditions and I used newspaper underneath it. A Montane down jacket, a Patagonia thermal vest, Mountain equipment soft shell and a Montane waterproof. Paramo cascada trousers, also carried a berghaus soft shell pullover. Two pairs of gloves, two wooly hats, spare socks and one change of clothing, wash kit, first aid kit etc. Camp crampons, Black diamond raven ice axe. Also carried up to the Lnyn a wood burning stove as was requested, plus fire lighting equipment. Dried food for three days, packet soups, porridge, nibbles, snacks etc, camera and spare batteries. Petzle myo head torch and an e light as back up. Maps, compass, whistle etc. Pocket knife, opinel. Tent was a Golite shangri la 2 with a shangri la 1 floor, trek mate carbon trek poles also where used to support tent.

descending heather terrace ,

Tryfan

From top of Tryfan

View from Tryfan. The Llyn below is frozen

Paddling in the Lakes

2008-12-18T08:58:00.014Z

Heading up toCrinkle Crags, Lakes

Last Friday saw me heading north once more. This time it was a trip to the Lake district. Unusually for me, I was actually meeting up with a few folk. The coach journey up was not good. There is a direct service up to the lakes from London. it is a long run though. As we boarded in London the driver announced that we would have to divert due to a serious accident on the M6 which had led to it being closed near Birmingham. After much switching back and forth across country with the driver trying to keep up to date with traffic reports and radio contact with control, we approached Birmingham, which was reported as grid locked. By means of going around the back doubles we finally made Birmingham. A ten minute loo break and we where off again. Unfortunately it took almost and hour to leave the city. In contact with his control once more, the driver was given permission to close part of his journey. Those points where he had no one to drop off or pick up. In this manner we arrived in Windermere only an hour late. Some nine hours of travel. The weather was foul when we arrived. Someone was picking me up from the station but he had also run in to trouble on black ice. Some nifty juggling saw me doing a quick change in the bus shelter out of travel clothes in to my hill clothes and foul weather gear. Shortly after my lift arrived and we headed up to Langdale. The road was flooding in many places. The wind was fairly strong and it was chucking it down with a mix of wet snow, sleet and rain. Arriving at the campsite, it quickly became obvious that many parts of it where either water logged or actually flooded. After a some casting about I found a raised bank at the top end of the campsite that had just about enough room to pitch a few small tents among the trees. The others arrived as we began setting up camp. Everyone nipped over to the nearby pub for a quick drink. Coming back the water level on the road was over a foot deep. The top car park had a river flowing through it. The water level was almost lapping at the car doors. The tents remained above the flood waters, just.

Saturday morning saw the flood levels dropping rapidly but it remained wet with low cloud level. Thus an amble around Ambleside. This was followed by a walk up Loughrigg fell. By then it was just damp with drizzle.

Sunday dawned dry, although low cloud still covered the fells. One or two folk where suffering with sore heads after a little? imbibing the evening before. It was a day for the hill though. Ice axes where strapped to rucksacks, crampons packed and we where away. A steepish ascent up to Red tarn and suddenly we where above any cloud and in clear air. An added bonus was that we now had reached the snow line. Lovely, hard packed snow that made for good walking. The views got better and better as we made our way over Long top and Crinkle crags. There was ice under the snow in places which, although we did not use them, made us glad we had taken ice axes and crampons. Time was getting on and any ideas of doing Bowfell where discarded. Coming down by three tarns conditions where a little slippy and care had to be taken. The light was fading fast as we descended The Band and by the time we made it down as far as Stool End it was dark. The others where heading back but I had until Tuesday. The only day I had managed to get a very cheap train ticket for. Monday saw me going for a stroll and a bit of scrambling up Hell gill. Busy watching where I was going, I did not realise how high I had gone until I paused and saw how steeply the ground fell away below me. Certainly hands where needed as well as careful positioning of the feet. Sleet and rain again on Monday night saw the campsite becoming soggy once more. By the time I packed up to catch the bus down to Ambleside, rain was come down the valley in great sweeping curtains and water was once again flowing over the road.

Red tarn, lakes, partially frozen

Langdale

Langdale

Sleeping with ponies

2008-12-08T14:15:00.035Z

Cabin fever had been setting in. Having barely stepped out of the flat for over a week, I was restless. Finances being tight the New Forest was the cheapest option. Also, it gave me a chance to spend a couple of days to work on my bush craft skills. Once more I headed down to Ringwood on the Friday. John H. kindly took time off from a very busy work schedule to meet me at the bus stop, get me a cup of coffee and then drop me off at a convenient starting point just outside Burley. Many thanks John, appreciated. Headed up the main track by Burley Outer Rails. The day was quite pleasant with a low, winter sun. Crossing the Bolderwood ornamental drive, I left the main tracks and made my on rather obscure footpaths. John had warned me conditions underfoot where wet. How right he was. Some places where total bog. At times, just following my nose, I headed up to Bolderwood cottage. Deer where quite numerous but with the density of the trees, I was unable to photo them. At the cottage I took to the drive up to the car park and picnic area. From there, aware that there was not too much daylight left, I made my way up to the Canadian memorial and then picked up the track. Headed across by Fritham cross and around to the underpass. Something else John had warned me about, the horrendous noise of traffic on the A31. It was a ghastly din that battered ones senses. Easing my way past a group of large red cattle with equally large horns that had no intention of moving off the track, I headed over to Cadman's pool. Here I was faced with a bit of a quandary, light was fading fast, I wanted to stay up on the ridge but somehow be far enough away from the car park that still had people driving in even though it was dusk. Managed it in the end, although I could hear cars arriving and departing at different times during the night. This time around I was using another wood burning stove, the Kunzi Magic Flame. In design it is simplistic. Basically it is hinged in such a way that it folds flats, like a large postcard. Open it up and drop the inside base plate and one has a fire box. my initial findings where that it burns hot. Water boiled incredibly quickly. The only down side possibly is the weight. It is the heaviest wood stove I have used. However, it is an ideal bush craft tool. My bivi was set up between a large fallen branch and an old rotten, tumbled down holly tree. Even in death though, there was life. A new holly tree was growing up through the hollowed out centre of the old one. Young holly trees where sprouting up nearby. The chain of life continuing. Read for a short time by the light of a guttering candle until the cold caused me to burrow deep in to my sleeping bag. A clear night sky and bright moonlight promised a cold night. As is my want I woke during the night for a loo break. As I wriggled out of the bivi bag I noticed dark forms all around me. A group of ponies had bedded down very close by. Heads turned in my direction but they where totally unfazed by me. Just before first light they began to stir, rising to their feet and wandering off. Something I had decided to experiment with was a tin of green heat. Supposedly the green alternative to meths. The idea was to use it for a quick breakfast brew instead of firing up the stove. After ten minutes of waiting for a pint of water to boil I decided enough was enough. Getting the stove lit was a lot easier and quicker. Breakfast was a mug of tea and a roll. it was shared with a friendly robin who made short work of the bits of bread offered to him. There had been a frost during the night and the morning was crisp and clear. There was a frost on the ground as I started off. The air was clear and still. the leaf litter underfoot gave off a deep, heady, fecund scent as it was disturbed. Following a defined footpath, I could see it was not going in the direction I wanted. However, across the other side of a boggy hollow I could see a gate that would lead me in to Holly hatch enclosure and a track through the wood. It was pleasant walking through the woods. Deer flitted through the trees. At one point a stag with a magnificent set of antlers ambled out on to the track. He was camera shy though and legged it as soon as I got the camera out. A bird caught my attention and I froze, trying to make out what is was. A spotted wood pecker. Once past Holly Hatch cottage the track got busier. At first a few serious looking walkers, big boots and trekking poles. Nearer to Fritham and the car park a series of dog walkers. Barbour jackets and hunter wellie boots. Most replied when I said good morning to them. Upper class accents to the fore. One or two looked askance at my scruffy appearance and swiftly hurried on. Well, I refuse to curtsy to them. At least their dogs where friendly. One chap looked a tad surprised when I commented on his Labrador. It was one of the older breed, deep chocolate brown and much larger and stockier than today's normal lab. The guy thawed a little and told me he was working on a breeding programme to bring up the numbers of these dogs. There was a track marked around the outer perimeter of Fritham. However. it was signed up as private and a man standing there was rather indignant that I had been considering heading down it. Took to a very muddy footpath instead. Out on to Salisbury Trench and then back across Longcross plain. Picked up the track that led across to Irons Well and back to Fritham. From there made my across Amberwood enclosure, Alderwood enclosure to Hasley hill. Saw a couple of woodpeckers and more deer. In one of the photos taken on the Hasley Hill ridge deer can just about be made out. Double click for a clearer view. Set up a bivi on the ridge. It was still quite early but I had the beginnings of a migraine. Took a migraine tablet and just curled up in the sleeping bag for a few hours. It was fairly late when I surfaced and I still felt non too good. However, I decided that it was essential to get some form of food down. Got the stove going. The warmth it threw out was most welcome. Made a mug of soup and managed most of it. Lay back against an old log as the stove died down. The sky was bejeweled with a star studded arena. A dark shape silently drifted across the night sky. An owl landed high on a tree beside me. In the distance another owl hooted. The owl in the tree replied. A dialogue ensued between the two until eventually on wide spread wings it drifted away effortlessly from its perch, hooting as it went. In the early hours of the morning a stag barked very close to me. Deer where quietly passing by, walking within a foot or so of my bivi bag. A dark shape paused, checking me over, deciding I was no threat it continued on its way. There had been a heavy frost during the night and by morning my water bottle was partially frozen. A cup of tea and I was soon packed up and on my way. Making my around to pick up a track that would lead me over to Ogdens. Two horse riders where heading for the gate that I was going through. To save them dismounting I swung it open to let them pass. One of the horses baulked though. The rider sighed in resignation, explaining to me that for some reason this was one gate the horse did not like. The horse seemed amiable enough and made no protest when I took the bridal and gently led him through the gate. Equine logic is sometimes a little difficult to fathom out! Over at Ogdens, dog walkers where struggling to get their cars down to the car park. Black ice made the going tricky. It was a succession of footpaths from there and eventually followed the Avon path back to Ringwood. Saw another spotted woodpecker as well as a couple of green ones. A quick nip in to the less than salubrious ladies loo, to change out of very muddy footwear and equally muddy trousers. That is why I carry a spare set of clothing. A final remark in my defence. There are a few folk who will read this and roll their eyes in horror at the though of me being tentless. However, apart from the fact that wild camping in the New Forest is illegal. Where I stopped overnight where in areas not suitable for a tent. Certainly it was not done from a lightweight aspect. My bivi bag is an old ex military surplus goretex bag. It is not light, but it is robust. A poncho overhead is there to keep any rain off. Mind, I would love a dd hammock and tarp. At present I am looking for a second hand one, money being tight.

Stealth camp New Forest

2008-11-20T11:01:00.021Z

Having recieved Bob and Rose's new design Honey Stove from BackPacking Light for trialling, it was a case of getting out there and actually putting it to use. After a bit of pondering I decided to take it down to the New Forest for anover night stealth camp. The area is close to London and is fairly cheap on the bus. A quick shout to John H, who lives in the areas, time and day set up, gear packed and I was away. John met me off the bus and over a cup of coffee in a rather posh coffee shop, we perused maps and discussed best options for a walk and overnight bivi. John suggested a few ideas and drove me out to a starting place. It had been mizzling and damp all morning but the afternoon cleared and we saw a spot of sunshine. John walked with me up to Hasley Hill where we sat and had a five minute natter. On the way up we saw four stags and a small group of deer. Surprisingly they where not that concerned about us. Thanks John for the coffee, lift and reccomendations, appreciated. Parting company with John, I ambled over towards Sloden enclosure and on to Amberwood Enclosure. Coming back up the track by Ashley Cross a forest ranger, driving the other way slowed down to look me over. Trying to look the picture of innocence (?) I smiled and waved. He raised his hand in acknowledgment and drove on. By now the light was starting to fade and I swung off to set up a bivi in woodland by Gaze Hill. From what John had told me, several days of rain had left everything fairly wet. Certainly underfoot conditions where boggy in places. This was going to be an interesting test of the Honey Stove. All the kindling and small bits of wood I gathered where at least damp. Fortunately I had my knife which allowed me to make feather sticks and split wood, allowing me access to dryer material. John must have wondered what I was up to when I took my belt out of my rucksack and hung my knife and camera on it. Wearing the belt loose, it does not interfere with the rucksack hip belt. to On these occasions I carry a fire starting pouch anyway and this allows me to actually start a fire without any hassle. Once started, although a tad smokey, the Honey Stove proved itself as an efficient stove. In comparison to the bushbuddy, this stove holds more wood. In turn it requires less stoking. Although recommendations suggest finger thick wood, I deliberately added stuff that was around the thickness of a thumb once the fire had got going well. The stove coped fine with it. This stove draws well once going, it burns hot and due to its larger capacity its embers remain lit for longer. A pint of water brewed in under ten minutes. It was pleasant sitting in the gloom of early twilight with a hot drink and a small, glowing fire for warmth. The fire burnt to fine ash and with foil underneath the bottom ring there was no environmental impact whatever. The cold ash was scattered in the forest litter, leaving no trace. A fairly pleasant night, a clear sky with brilliant starlight and a half moon. Owls called back and forward through the woods. Night creatures scurried through the undergrowth and deer grazed quietly close by. Rather than light a fire early in the morning I used esbit type fuel tablets. Dropping the top ring down to the middle, it was simply a case of lighting the fuel tablets and within minutes I had a brew. The stove initially warped a bit but soon flattened again. First impressions where that it was a bit fiddly to assemble. However, setting it and getting it lit proved fairly straight forward. My suggestion would be to have a little hand cleaning gel in ones kit. As with any form of fire lighting, hands can get sooty. An added bonus is the if an alcohol hand gel is used it is also inflammable. Poly bags are a must. The morning was clear with sunshine. There had been a heavy dew overnight but I had been comfortable. Coming around the track by Hampton Ridge I managed to walk fairly close to two stags. This is the advantage of having the camera to hand.The photo has almost managed to capture them in detail. If the photo is enlarged by clicking the mouse they can be seen fairly well. Came around by Abbots Well, getting a few glances from a covey of dog walkers. A couple of ladies with very polished accents wished me 'good morning' with a quizzical raised eyebrow at my rather shabby appearance and rucksack. Returning their greetings, making a fuss of their muddy red setters, who where clearly enjoying themselves, I strolled on. Came around by Ogdens, ambling up the lane with a group of ponies heading in the same direction. Headed over Ibsley Common, wet and muddy underfoot and then dropped down to to pick up the Avon Valley path back to Ringwood. An interesting overnight stop. The Honey stove worked well despite damp tinder. A pleasant walk and a welcome break. The one downside was that I was in Ringwood by early afternoon and had a few hours to wait for my bus. A cup of coffee and a insipid pasty, a wander around town, after which I twiddled thumbs for a couple of hours.

The honey has landed

2008-11-12T15:52:00.003Z

Well, Rose and Bob over at Backpacking Light.Com have done it again. The postman has delivered me a package. It is the new Honey stove designed by Bob and Rose . They have chosen me as one of the lucky ones to try it out, give it a trial and present my verdict. On first impressions, it appears a little fiddly to first assemble. It is constructed out of light steel. As yet I have not weighed it. My first impression is that this is a stove for the outdoor person but possibly not for the minimalist. Where this one differs from any other wood burning stove out there is the adaptability it offers. Careful thought has been applied and by use of a central tray a trangia meths burner can be used. A trangia gas conversion is also a viable option. The central fitting has been designed so that these burners drop straight in to a central ring. Meths stoves are also a viable option. Ditto esbit solid fuel blocks. The stove is designed in a diamond shape to allow for a variety of pans to be used. The whole unit folds flat for easy storage. Differing trays and a front fuel door can be used or left out as required. Now I need to get out and use it and then will do a proper write up of it.

woodlife

2008-11-10T15:13:00.001Z

These are just a mixed bag of old photos. Enjoy.

2008-11-01T18:59:00.001Z

East of Ullapool

2008-11-01T18:54:00.004Z

A few more old photos, pre digital. Shetland

2008-11-01T18:50:00.004Z

Double left click for better view.

Photos

2008-11-01T15:26:00.001Z

These photos have been downloaded from old photos. To view a tad better double click to get larger picture.

tired boots

2008-11-01T15:15:00.002Z

lakes

2008-11-01T15:11:00.005Z

Lakes

winter Mamores

2008-11-01T15:06:00.005Z

winter mamores

Found on E bay

2008-10-14T17:53:00.003+01:00

Flicking through e bay I came across a section that shipped ex Russian military equipment from the Ukraine. Curious, I ventured further. Most of it was clothing, some nice military headwear, furry hats for the hill in winter? However, the crowning glory was a fully working main T72 battle tank. A snip at fifteen thousand pounds. Shipping can be arranged. Beats the Chelsea tractor any day. Sort of tempting in a way??????????