Category: Outdoor Activities
New boots
7th February 2017 When someone thinks of Mallorca, wet and muddy surfaces could be very far from their expectations. Yet, I carried my well travelled pair of Meindl Burmas with me. Having heavy duty footwear covered all eventualities and I did meet with muddy patches and steep paved pathways so it was just as well.
The day before I left for my Mediterranean escapade is known in Britain as Boxing Day and is called St. Stephen's Day in Ireland. It was bright and sunny so I was lured out on a local stroll that took in Tegg's Nose Country Park. Not long after I had left home, I discovered that the three year old Regatta Crossland Mid boots that I have for such things were starting to show external signs of coming to pieces. There may be a bit of life in them yet but the start of the post-Christmas sales put the idea of acquiring a replacement into my mind, especially when there might be price reductions.
While I was tempted by cheaper offerings from Hi Tec, I ended choosing something from Berghaus that I got delivered to my local Millets store. That collection was a painless affair on a busy Saturday afternoon and I tried out my new Expeditor AQ Trek boots around the house to see how they fared for comfort and fit. They passed on both counts and I am awaiting drier days before testing them further.
Like the aforementioned Regattas, these too are fabric boots with a waterproof membrane. Though testing on local walks has not happened yet, thoughts of using them for walks in places with dry climates have entered my head. These are not so serious that my Meindls might stop reaching sunny places in southern Europe but something with suede uppers could suit such an outing.
After a year of unfinished business
5th February 2017 2016 turned out to be a dramatic year in world affairs, and it was set to be a busy one for me too, so I could have done without the other developments. That work looking after my late father's affairs is tailing off into more of a steady state, and I hope that things become more manageable as the year progresses. There even might be time for a sabbatical from my day job.
The way that I feel presently is that such a thing would be well needed, and I fancy a period of rest after all the upheaval of the last few years. It has sapped my spirit, so a spot of renewal is in order. Overseas trips became a way to tide myself until a longer break becomes a reality.
In 2016, I got to three new countries: Austria, Norway and Spain. With my visits to the first two of these taking the form of extended weekends, I left feeling that there was more to see. It is usually not a bad thing, but an extra day or two added to each would have allowed a bit more exploration. My Spanish escapade took me to Mallorca between Christmas and New Year, and that brought what the other trips did not bring. There was a feeling of leaving the cares of life after me that was much needed.
In a way, it worked too well, and a cold that I had caught somewhere began to make its effects plain enough that the return journey had more than a little dash of limp home mode about it. It took a week or two before I finally recovered, and some extra time away from work was in order.
Before that took hold, there was ample time in the near constant sunshine as I explored the island from my Palma base. Port de Pollença was my first port of call, with a little strolling about the place. A day trip to Sóller allowed for a chance to sample part of the GR 221, a long-distance trail extending along the Serra de Tramuntana. After that, there was a trot around Port d'Andratx that was supposed to take me to Saint Elm but granted me a view of the place instead when I failed to find the path needed to get me from one track to another. Given that I was feeling less than my full self, it was just as well. The last day of my trip saw me lazing about Palma next to its impressive cathedral, helping sightseers with photos when asked to do so. There was ample time during my stay to make photos of my own too.
Despite the fever, I got a lot from my time in Mallorca, and it offered the feeling of satisfying and more complete explorations. It also did me another favour. During December, I fell into a search for closure that I do not understand fully, and even walks around Macclesfield over the Christmas did little to dissipate the feeling. It probably was grief that hit me but going away somewhere else fractured that unwanted continuity.
December saw me return to the Lake District for a walk between Great Langdale and Grasmere on a crisp winter's day. The dawdling along the way was restorative and taught me that such experiences can be readily available in Britain. There also was an amble between Burbage and Whaley Bridge that revisited the Goyt Valley. Being denied much in the way of sunshine was no irritation, and it also offers encouragement for a return sometime.
Other longer walks happened during the year too, with one returning me home from Leek by way of the Roaches. Thinking about that now recalls how soothing a largely solitary saunter, it was. Another took me along the White to Dark Trail between Tideswell and Hathersage.
Hopefully, 2017 will be an easier year for me, and it is something of an open book in some ways. Aside maybe from a possible stay in Stockholm, overseas excursions no longer loom as large in my mind now. Scotland could see more of me than that short visit in November that took in Inverness and a rainy Plockton. A spot of mental clearance could see me plodding around England and Wales more often, too. Ireland might even see a spot of much-needed exploration, and I also fancy a stay around Killarney. Given how heavy my spirit feels now, the more important job for the year could be to lift things again for me.
A first visit to Nidderdale
19th December 2016 The first week of July in 2014 saw a frenzy about Yorkshire when it hosted two stages of Le Tour de France, the first following its Le Grand Départ. Since then, the Tour de Yorkshire continues to rekindle the enthusiasm as does the Tour de Britain and that visited Cheshire in 2016. There seems to be no stopping the rise of road cycling as you will find on so many British roads.
The weekend before that Tour de France excitement, I travelled to Harrogate to spend a night there. Near the start of my working life, a work Christmas do brought me there for a weekend in December. Lack of satisfaction with photos that I took with a compact camera was but one experience that led me to buy an SLR the following summer. It also led to a subsequent day trip that yielded enough satisfaction for an album to be added to my online photo gallery.
Those photos date from my pre-digital photography days so I fancied a return to see if I could follow up my efforts on film with digital counterparts. Unfortunately, the weather failed to play ball so there is scope for a return. However, I had another reason for going to Yorkshire so I was not left empty handed after the weekend up there.
While I have visited many of Yorkshire's dales, I never had got as far as Nidderdale. For some reason, it is not included in the Yorkshire Dales National Park and has its own Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. My guess is that it might have something to do with geology since limestone pervades much of the National Park while Nidderdale is mainly a gritstone area not unlike the Dark Peak that is shared between Cheshire, Derbyshire, South Yorkshire and Staffordshire.
It was sunny when I reached Pateley Bridge but my luck was not to hold even if it stayed dry all day. Many road cyclists were out on the hilly roads but that did little to delay my arrival. Still, one could wonder if anyone was living out a sort of Tour de France fantasy though Nidderdale is missed by the race itself. Given all the ups and downs, it seemed unfair to leave out Nidderdale and there was one cyclist who was getting so much of them that they asked me if there was any respite from the ascent at all.
The omission from Le Tour did nothing to stop folk decorating everywhere and anywhere with fully painted bikes and that included their tyres. Seeing this, you have to ask if these ever are to be used as bikes again. It is a curiosity that has proved not to be a one off since I know it happened for the Tour of Britain in 2016.
Under clouding skies, I followed the course of the River Nidd as far as Glasshouses before crossing the B6165 as if to make for the Nidderdale Way. Now that I survey the map, I have fallen into a little quandary as to whether I followed the long distance trail or merely shadowed it. There may have been a bit of both knowing how navigation can go but I was headed for Brimham Rocks and certainly left the trail to cross Fell Beck to get to them.
Skies were well overcast as I surveyed a way to gain the last bit of height to get among them. It may have been that my navigation was freer in its style than the following of public rights of way for I seem to remember that it involved a bit of clambering. Upon doing so, I got to glimpse the weird and wonderful forms that various outcrops take. To make photos of them like others have done, a return may be needed despite the sun gamely striving to break through the cloud cover while I was up there.
This not only is access land but also is owned by the National Trust so I got to dawdle as I explored what there was to be seen around Brimham Moor. There were others doing the same but I suspect that they had arrived by car. My next move was to walk the same road that they would have used and in the direction of Summerbridge.
Soon enough, I found the Nidderdale Way again and followed it as far as Smelthouses this time. From there, I headed for the River Nidd, whose banks I followed back to Pateley Bridge again. Beyond Glasshouses, I rejoined the Six Dales Trail for the final stretch. Aside from Pateley Bridge and Brimham Moor, much of my time was uninterrupted by the assembly of humanity so I was gifted the quiet time that my spirit so needed.
There was some time before the next bus back to Harrogate so I treated myself to an ice cream and found a perch next to the bowling green. Some were playing that gentle game and their exploits reflected the gentle atmosphere of the evening and reminded me how peaceful country evenings are in the countryside. But for my need to get back home for work next day, I might have been tempted by an extra overnight stay if a place had been available.
The peaceful ambience left me with good memories that easily compensated for any lack of sunshine. They may draw me back again for seeing Brimham Rocks in good light would be a bonus and there are Dalesbus services that go further up the dale if I ever fancy being more adventurous.
Travel arrangements:
Return train journey between Macclesfield and Harrogate with changes in Manchester and Leeds. Bus service 24 took me between Harroagate and Pateley Bridge.
Solstice sauntering around Abergavenny
18th December 2016 The second major hillwalking trip of 2014 returned me to Wales. This time, it was the turn of hills on the edge of the Brecon Beacons National Park that I had held in my sights for quite a while. Abergavenny was my base and Saturday saw me take in Ysgyryd Fawr (otherwise known as the Skirrid) while Sunday allowed a return visit to Y Fâl (or the Sugar Loaf as many know it).
2014-06-21
My arrival was in the middle of the day so it was just as well that this was a time of very short nights. Once I had booked into my hotel, it was time to go for my planned hike. It was to be one with a lot of road walking, and the stretch taking me out of Abergavenny remains in my memory for its length as much as its steady if unrelenting height gain. Eventually, my surroundings were to grow ever more rural as I kept a look-out for the junction where a lane would take me to Llantilio Pertholey. There, I stopped by its church before continuing along the lane underneath the A465.
That lane was to carry me most of the way to the southern end of Ysgyryd Fawr, save perhaps for following a public footpath to gain respite from tarmac treading. What I really wanted to reach was the National Trust car park from where a path would take to the summit and that was achieved without too much intrusion from road traffic. This also was where I found my first short stretch of the Beacons Way.
Now that I look at maps of the area again, it strikes me as odd how I did not pick up this trail in the middle of Abergavenny and go about following it from there. Regardless of this oversight, it was to take up onto Ysgyryd Fawr and I soon was to feel the effort of the ascent on an afternoon of growing heat. The way up through Caer Wood felt longer than it was and I soon enough was above the trees and making for the trig point on the actual top of the hill. False summits were encountered before that, not that they unduly perturbed my mental state.
Other folk were about too and there was plenty of space for all of us on this small patch of access land owned and managed by the National Trust. When I reached the trig point, I had the place to myself with all the views of Wales and England that lay before me. It was if a lack of proximity to Abergavenny made the hill something of an oasis from humankind.
Then, I reckon that I retraced my steps to rejoin the Beacons Way to drop onto a lane near Pant-y-tyle. Heading west along that lane brought me to a public footpath that crossed some fields to reach Crossways. By this point, my exposure to the heat of the day had been such I fancied easier strolling so tarmac tramping was my lot as I returned to Abergavenny for the night. All the while, the cleft for which Ysgyryd Fawr is best-known lay hidden from view as if largely did while I was on top of it too. Nevertheless, that was of little concern on a blissfully fine sunny midsummer evening ambling through a little piece of Wales.
2014-06-22
After what I recall as a fitful night's rest because of overnight heat, I rose the next morning to breakfast and attended to some needs before setting off for somewhere that I had not visited for more than a decade. A warm summer's day lay ahead of me so I was glad that my objective was near at hand. Uphill progress in the heat was to be steady with recourse to rest and rehydration stops at short intervals.
What I was revisiting was the top of Y Fâl, or Sugar Loaf as it is known in English. The previous visit was on a Sunday day trip when a lunchtime arrival did nothing to stop me reaching where I wanted to go. It appears that happened during April 2003 and preceded the entry both of this blog and digital photography into my life. It also was early in my hillwalking "career" so there may have been a little foreboding about scaling heights too.
After a spot of exploration around the centre of Abergavenny, that first walk to Y Fâl took me along a valley named on Ordnance Survey maps as The Park. The passage of time means that my memory of how I got from there to the top of Sugar Loaf is patchy but it seems that I may have struck on fairly directly to the top of Sugar Loaf rather than gaining some height before heading west to scale the rest of the ascent as could be another possibility.
It might have been that lack of hill climbing experience, but the sharp pull at the end is one that has not been lost on me. Another memory that remains is that of seeing lads messing around on National Trust land with a car before turning it over. It was my horror on seeing such callous disregard for pleasant countryside that made the sight so unforgettable. That was on a broad low ridge called Deri. Quite what lead me that far east is erased by years of other cares but it must have been an on-the-spot decision inspired by the sunny spring evening.
Thankfully, no such environmental mindlessness was not to blight the repeat visit. The way out from Abergavenny may have been the same as before until I went for a new deviation that would involve a narrow lane that took me to the foot of Rholben. Whether there had been a shortcut taken on a public footpath is lost to me (a lot has happened in my life since then) but I clearly recall the final turn onto a track amid some trees where a phone call to Ireland was made. My now departed father possibly never realised where I was.
That tree cover was soon lost and scaling some steep slopes was sweaty work in the afternoon heat before the gradients relented to allow for some gentle hilltop strolling before the final approach upped the ante again. Y Fâl lay ahead all the while and steady progress got me to its summit without undue hardship. That was not how it felt the last time around and I am left wondering if it might have been previous lack of exposure to such heights that had more to do with it.
What I found on top along with panoramic views was a cheeky ewe and her lamb. Aside perhaps from odd thoughts about sandwich theft, there was little need for concern and these are sure-footed creatures anyway. Hardly anyone else shared the views with me, which is just as well given the narrow wedge that was offering a vantage point. Still, there is enough space for more than one person at a time, as I found on that previous visit.
For the way down, I did not retrace my steps but chose a circuitous route around the hill's northern fringes before starting on a relatively gentle descent towards Twyn Gwyn that me by horses and cattle. My pace was relaxed so I took in both the ambience and the sights that lay about me. Again, it felt as if I had the place to myself aside from any domestic animals. Quite what allowed that to happen is anyone's guess, but the heat of the day cannot have been any encouragement for other ramblers.
The way down allowed another sighting of the hill that I had walked the day before, Ysgyryd Fawr. In front, there was the low ridge of Deri down which I descended the last time. Then, it had not cast off its winter coat but it was easily all green this time around. Everywhere looks greener around midsummer in Britain or Ireland.
My downhill route eventually landed me in The Park and I noticed the heat more keenly than I had while I was up higher. It was just as well that I had a clear track to follow to Port-y-parc where I met up with tarmac again. As I continued down into the centre of Abergavenny and then onto its train station, other possibilities dawned on me. Ysgyryd Fach and Blorenge both lie near Abergavenny and there also are thoughts of returning to Brecon's nearby hills along with those of the Black Mountain. It had been a satisfying and restorative weekend, so there is every reason to follow up on those ideas.
Travel arrangements:
Return train journey between Macclesfield and Abergavenny. What I cannot recall now is whether I changed trains at Stockport or elsewhere, like Wolverhampton and Shrewsbury. Both remain plausible possibilities if I were to repeat the journey today.
Walks around Barmouth in different decades
2nd August 2016 Currently, I find myself in uncertain times. The cause is the recent vote on Britain's membership of the European Union when a small yet significant majority supported leaving it. As someone who hails from the Republic of Ireland, that adds doubt to the prospect of my remaining where I have lived for more than twenty years. My being a non-British national making use of my rights to freedom of movement is but a part of this. Such has been the nature of public discourse during the referendum campaign that this no longer feels like home and I feel less a part of a place where I have felt acceptance before now.
All this is enough to cause me to stop and review my life situation, especially with the need to complete outstanding family business in Ireland after the change of last year. A career break would be welcome and it might allow me to ponder next steps. Obtaining British citizenship is one option that I am exploring seriously and moving to another EU country like Germany could be another. After all, it could make a good base for exploring the Alps, as would Switzerland (though it is not in the EU) if opportunities arise there. Either would be a big change since my explorations of Britain would be much reduced and the focus of this blog and the whole website would change dramatically as a result.
Considerations like these were non-existent a decade ago when I considered myself an integral part of British society. That sense of settlement was enough to allow me to spend much time to be exploring the delights of hill country in Scotland, Wales and England. Many of those inspired entries on here and there are more to relate. One from November 2014 reminded me of another from the middle of the last decade, a simpler time that even pre-dated the existence of this blog. With all the current tumult, it is good to think back to then because recollections of happier times help us to get through the tougher ones that come our way from time to time.
A Spring Bank Holiday Weekend
Memories are faded now but I reckon that the occasion was in 2005 when I paid a visit to Dolgellau on that year's Spring Bank Holiday weekend. It was to be a weekend visit and Cadair Idris was the lure. However, it had escaped my notice that this was the weekend of Ras y gader, a fell race up and down the very mountain that had drawn me in the first place. If I had an accommodation booking, this would have been of no consequence and I was in the habit of turning up at the local tourist office on the day to organise such matters back then. There was no luck in Dolgellau and the nearest vacancy was in Llwyngwril. This threw out whatever plans I might have had and I asked about Machynlleth instead.
With accommodation booked in Machynlleth, I pottered about Dolgellau a little before catching the next bus there. It was an overcast and rainy afternoon, but things were cheerier when I reached Machynlleth. Strolling about the town, I sorted out something to eat and passed one of the marker stones of the Glyndŵr's Way as I explored the place. Later on, I re-planned my weekend.
Looking at travel possibilities and pondering other considerations, I settled on a trot about Barmouth. Next morning, I caught the bus that followed the coast as it went between Machynlleth and Dolgellau serving such places as Aberdovey, Tywyn, Llwyngwril and Fairbourne. It was at the road end for Ynysgyffylog and Morfa Mawddach train station where I left the bus and where I caught it again in the evening for the return journey to Machynlleth. In between, there was to be a lot of stravaiging.
Firstly, I made for the Mawddach Trail and then crossed the tolled pedestrian bridge to get across the Mawddach river (the return trip was 50p then) to Barmouth where I had business to do before setting off into the countryside. With that out of the way, I set to ascending a steep path that took me by the first-ever piece of land acquired by the now ubiquitous National Trust. Even now, I have recollections of seeing sea thrift as I did so in the bright sunshine.
After the sweaty climb, things levelled and I bumbled along a variety of paths. What tempted me was the prospect of an out and back walk to Diffwys, one of the Rhinogydd so that was the general direction that I took. The course was not direct though as I navigated the footpath network but I believe that I must have passed Cell-fechan and Gellfawr before heading north with views of the pastoral coastline ahead of me. Eventually, I would have turned east on a path that took me towards Bwlch y Rhiwgyr where the time of day caused me to set aside any thoughts of reaching the top of Diffwys. That was to wait until February 2010 when an out and back walk from Dyffryn Ardudwy got me there.
The descent of good sense was no disappointment for the change, of course, was to gift me views of Cadair Idris like the one you see above. The lovely sunny day and the seasonal height of the sun in the sky was enough to ensure that. In wintertime, the north face of Cadair Idris is often shrouded in shadow, so that makes it a difficult photographic prospect. The unexpected collection of three standing stones aroused my curiosity and, while there are not as dramatic a site as others of their kind, there are prominent enough to get highlighted on OS maps. What I had found was Cerrig Arthur.
From there I returned to Barmouth by a more direct route that still followed public footpaths to cut down on road walking. The evening was delightful with a mix of bright sunshine and perfect views whose impressions have not been erased that much by the passage of time. Though I might have liked to hang around longer, there was a bus to catch, so my time in Barmouth was fleeting and I returned across the toll bridge to make sure that I was in time for my bus to Machynlleth. The next day, I stopped off for a short time in Dolgellau on my way home for one last hurrah on a weekend that had not been unkind to me.
A Pleasant November Afternoon
It was to take me until November 2014 before I would go walking about Barmouth again. There were accommodation foibles this time around too but it was not finding a place to stay that was the issue for I have learned my lesson and nowadays book ahead before I travel. Another problem was to arise.
Because I went for a walk around Llangollen the day before, I stayed in the town that night and at a hotel that I had used a few times previously. After the day of walking, I was hoping for a quiet, relaxing night. What I had not expected was that the night's entertainment was to set off the fire alarm so many times that the band had to finish early. If the band was called The Blunders as I remember it, then it was particularly apt.
The result was two unhappy sets of customers. First, there were the hotel's overnight guests who did not get the quiet night that they might have expected until all the fuss had subsided; some cancelled their payments in disgust. Then, there were those after a good night out and had travelled a distance to see the band in question. Neither were satisfied and it was one of those nights that are best not repeated. As it happens, I have not been there since then, but that has more to do with my not visiting the area rather than any fury at what happened.
Still, a night's rest was had once everything had calmed down again and the next morning saw me catch a bus to Barmouth. A midday arrival with short daylight hours along with heaviness in my legs after the previous day's exertions meant that I was going to keep things simple.
The fine winter sunshine and the location meant that nothing more than that was needed so I pottered about a quiet Barmouth for a little while before picking out the path that was to take me by Dinas Oleu and Gorllwyn. There was height to be gained but I took my time and recall no overextension as I dealt with the intricacies of passing through a network of small walled fields.
Eventually, I found my way onto the single track road between Barmouth and Sylfaen and that was left so I could sample the glorious views from the viewpoint at the Panorama Walk. Even though it was November, others were about too and what was a mild afternoon for the time of year. Views along the Mawddach estuary were in plentiful supply and there was Cadair Idris on the other side, shrouded in its habitual wintertime shadows.
Because it led downhill and away from my objective of Cerrig Arthur, I eschewed the track leading towards Cutiau and returned to the road. Well lit views towards the Rhinogydd and their foothills lay ahead of me as I shortened the distance to Sylfaen. Diffwys and Craig y Grut lay among their number and I delighted on seeing both from this side again.
After Sylfaen, the road became a gravel track and the time of day concentrated my mind when it came to seeking out the antiquity on which I had happened in 2005. Hazy memories made for an indirect course and there was no one around to get upset about that. Once I relocated the three standing stones, I set to making some photos in the late afternoon light. Lengthening shadows made this tricky but I managed what I came to do and returned again to a quiet Barmouth well ahead of the time to start my homeward journey. Those few hours reminded me of the delights of the area, and why I should focus my mind and set a few days aside to explore around there sometime soon.
Travel arrangements:
Bus service X94 from Llangollen to Barmouth and the way back to Wrexham. Train journey from Wrexham to Macclesfield.
