Category: Outdoor Activities
A need to try again?
28th November 2008 It's been a while since I mentioned my Scarpa ZG10's on here. Over the summer, I took a risk in taking them with me on my bout of island hopping because I feared that I needed their waterproofing with the weather that was being forecast. As it turned out, I went to one of the few parts of Britain where there was sunny weather but I still put them to good use and needn't have had the worry that most occupied my mind: ankle discomfort. Any breaking that I had been doing paid dividends there.
Since then, I have found that if I did get unpleasant weather, they would cope well with it. Their robust construction meant that crossing of rough country around Skye and South Uist was easily within their operating range. More recently, I confirmed this when I took them on that crossing of waterlogged terrain from Ardlui to Butterbridge. Having a solid rubber rand all around the the bottom of the uppers makes cleaning easy too, a useful attribute in this season where mud is often encountered.
So, there's a lot to like about them. There is, however, one constant nagging doubt remaining at the back of my mind and that relates to how well they fit me. Scarpa is one of those manufacturers that resolutely sticks with European sizing, even on the U.K. market. Because of this, I wonder if I ended up with a pair of boots that is a U.K. half-size bigger than what I really need. In the shop, they appeared to fit fine and I didn't detect too much looseness while breaking them in but it was my taking them north on that island hopping excursion that found them out. On my most recent hiking trip to Cumbria, I found that wearing thicker socks and using volume adjusters really did help and I don't remember much heal lift, so long as any laces didn't fulfill an urge to loosen.
My having qualms about sizing and fit is something of a shame, considering how well the Scarpas otherwise perform, but it is often said that fit is the most attribute of a pair of boots and I would have to agree. It would be worse if the boots were too small for me but their being a little too big can be troublesome too so the thought of trying out alternatives does linger in my mind. Since there's only so much that you can learn from trying boots out in a shop, the idea of renting a pair to see what they're like sounds an intriguing way to avoid spending money on what isn't suitable (I have a vague recollection of such a service being advertised). Of course, having firmer idea of what you want helps too and could get you away from picking a particular brand or model to seeing what a shop might have on offer, taking advantage of their expertise in the process.
I have yet to decide on a boot hunting mission so I'll continue to see how I can get on better with my ZG10's while continuing to ponder the footwear issue. They have already taught me a lot so there my be more to learn and they may loosen more with use with fit improving as a result; it happens with Raichles, apparently, but I will not be depending entirely on this happening with all boots. Even if the Scarpas were to get replaced by others for much of my hill wandering, I would still hang on to them because one never knows what might happen that would have me seeking out a spare pair for some weekend away; I am sure that they would serve a bigger purpose that what they have taught me so far.
Another day, another fell
26th November 2008 Last Saturday saw me venture out into hill country again with a trip to explore the fells near Ambleside. The last time that I was up around those parts, it struck me that I hadn't been around Ambleside for a few years, so the seeds were sown for a future outing. Being that time of year when shorter days are visited upon us, I was after a hike that I could complete in the available hours of daylight and ended up ascending Red Screes before descending to Scandale Pass and then down Scandale itself while returning to Ambleside.
My visits to Ambleside seem to alternative between grey days and those with an altogether more sunny aspect. Last Saturday was to prove to be one of those grey days, as was the one when I first went to Ambleside. Then, I plied a short circular route around by High Sweden Bridge and then Low Sweden Bridge. Next time, the sunshine of a crisp clear cold February really showed the landscape at its best as I made my way up Scandale, over Scandale Pass and then back to Ambleside by way of the Kirkstone Pass and down The Struggle; I was enjoying good moonlight on the final stretch of the stroll. A mixture of greyness and sunny breaks were what greeted me while on a round of the Fairfield horseshoe with a start at Rydal to ascend Heron Pike and Great Rigg to continue to Fairfield (the summit was deserted when I reached it so it isn't always crowded) before dropping down to Ambleside again. When a trip to North Wales proved unworkable after a train cancellation, I found my way back to Ambleside and was consoled by the delights of a sunny day and a fabulous evening as I went over and around Loughrigg Fell on a circular hike.
The sun did peep out near the end of the day last Saturday but it was frigid, breezy and bracing greyness for most of the time. There were signs of blue skies in the distance as I left Ambleside to go up the narrow Kirkstone Road. Sufficient cars were passing the way to make me appreciate the off-road travel when at last I started up a public footpath traversing the often soft ground.
Eventually, that softness began to the hardness of well frozen terrain, but there was a fair amount of ascent among stone walls before that transition was encountered. Apart from a momentary spot of confusion due to an overestimation of progress near Snarker Pike, navigation was a straightforward affair. On the lower reaches, I was sheltered from the cold biting breeze from which there was no escape once headier heights were reached and especially as the gradients eased between Snarker Pike and the summit of Red Screes. It was no day to linger on that summit and, very appropriately, it was bedecked with frozen tarns. This was hardly the time and place for conversation but I was asked by a lady where the path that I had following started out; it went too near to Ambleside for her and those with her (there is another possible way down, but even Wainwright suggested that to be too steep for a descent; that might have been how they made their way up).
With the inhospitable conditions on the top of Red Screes, it should come as little surprise that I started my descent with no delay. The greyness was one limitation of photographic exploits but it was the cold that capped it all. Production of anything worthwhile was to await another day and I picked out my path down the slopes to Scandale Pass. A wall provided a useful navigational handrail and Scandale Tarn was in view too. Eventually, I was to lose that biting breeze on the return to more familiar surroundings.
The way down from Scandale Pass was easy walking and softer ground was met as I plied the banks of Scandale Beck until I reached High Sweden Bridge. It was then that the sun escaped from its cloudy hideout and I got to acquire more pleasing results, to my eyes at least. That appearance of sunshine caused me to diverted around by Low Sweden Bridge but it was soon to disappear again. A goodly number were descending this way to Ambleside, including a sizeable group of students; I wonder if they were attached to the University of Cumbria, whose campus I passed as well.
I was easily back in Ambleside before daylight faded for the day. The town was chock-a-block with people, making any aspiration of having a look in outdoor gear shops utterly impractical. The mercury was really dropping by now as I made for the bus stop for my bus back to Windermere, retracing the journey made that morning by train to Windermere and bus to Ambleside. However, I was left waiting in the cold for up to an hour due to the turning on of Ambleside's Christmas lights and its concomitant disruption of any passing bus services (I wish that I knew about this beforehand so that I could have planned accordingly). I still managed to catch my intended train from Windermere to Oxenholme only to have an hour's delay in Oxenholme due to an incident on the line; being able to wait in the warmth of the indoors helped here. Even so, I was back home before 21:30 after a good day out that might yet be the progenitor of more like it.
Crossing a watershed between Ardlui and Butterbridge
17th November 2008 Over the weekend, I was lured north to Scotland by thoughts of seeing its magnificent countryside lying resplendent in bright sunshine, however fleeting that might have been. However, that halcyon dream was merely just that because the predicted continual improvement in the weather on Saturday proved to be more gradual than had been predicted by the forecasters, so much so that it could have been called an illusion. That mountains can make their own weather may not have helped my cause either.
The weather that I did encounter was more reminiscent of that which I got while out walking around Arrochar and Tarbet in February or March. Then, I got heavy showers that got more progressively slow moving and frequent as the day wore on until they grew into the sort of irritant that made me glad that I was leaving when I did. On that day though, there was some good sunshine at times to make up for all the wetness, but my last excursion was bereft of any such succour, even if holes in cloud did allow glimpses of blue sky and the sun did make feeble attempts to get through. It wasn't to be a day for photography, particularly since making pictures of wide vistas was utterly out of the question.
When I got off a coach at Ardlui, there were grey skies but it was dry after a passing shower. I then made my way down a wet A82 to Garristuck cottage, a little south of Ardlui train station. After a short spell along a track that passed two houses, I was into a field and making my way up the hillside. The path that I was following may have been faint, but that was sufficient to steady any navigational waywardness. The plan was to reach a coll between Stob an Fhithich and Stob nan Connich Bhacain and then drop down to reach a path that was to take me over paths and dams to a 4x4 track that would land me on the A83 near Butterbridge, between Cairndow and Rest and Be Thankful. However, the sight of the crags of Stob an Fhithich resulted in a change of direction and I went around to the other side of that hill to traverse gentler slopes. The gradient may have been manageable, but gentleness wouldn't be a quality that I would ascribe to the terrain that I was crossing. It was waterlogged and grassy with occasional crags, bracken and scrub encountered before I dropped into Srath Dubh-uisge, looking very much part of the catchment area for Loch Sloy. For a while, this was to be the type of walking that could be a more effective workout of the leg muscles than any gym and in much more interesting surroundings.
Picking up that informal path (a wonderful description that I found in Walking World Ireland and it was used to describe something similar) needed a bit of searching to locate it, even with the sights of dam railings and such like; it was merely a line of trampled grass that soon enough brought me onto a good track. Up to this point, I only had one passing shower during the hike, but things were to intensify on the weather front while the walking actually got easier. It was just as well that I was by now well on the way to Butterbridge. Even with the greyness, the murk, the heavy rain and strong winds, the colours of the countryside showed themselves. All the while, my waterproofs and my boots very usefully kept out the dampness while I proved that I too could cope with the conditions as well as my gear did.
I continued my way down Glen Kinglass regardless and started to encounter the only fellow walkers that I'd met all day. Any wonderment as to where they might be headed was partially answered by a sign for a track to Ben Vane that I was to see later on. Because of the conditions, I could only imagine how my surroundings might look at their best as weak sunshine attempted to brighten things up while I made out the road up to Rest and Be Thankful. The A83 came soon enough and I awaited my coach back to civilisation while among high hills that need to be surveyed on a more suitable day. I reckon that I was out among them a day too early and, annoying as that might be, it'll take another visit to see them at their very best and I might even cross that coll between Stob an Fhithich and Stob nan Connich Bhacain too. I may not have left with wonderful photos but I have something equally valuable: more ideas for future outings. Those hills won't go away anytime soon so I hope to be able to stage a return at some suitable juncture.
On Western Isles walking guides
12th November 2008 In order to build a picture of anywhere that I am going for the first time, I end up hitting the web as well as perusing books and maps to get a sense of the place and where to go together with what there is to be seen. Of course, any plan that results is going to be incomplete so I always feel the need for flexibility so as to explore the unexpected, the unknown unknowns if you will. Things like the stillness of the Uists and Harris' potent mixture of stony hillsides, sandy beaches and blue seas will forever stick in my memory but it's discoveries like the Harris Walkway that could prove invaluable on any future trip.
When I started out on my hill wandering journey, many places were new to me but there are now less locations where I haven't been. Anywhere south of a line drawn below the Brecon Beacons fall into this category as does much of my own native Ireland and Scotland north of the Great Glen. Over time my walking trips have tend to gravitate on certain areas and it's very easy for some places to keep you profitably occupied, so much so that there are years that I could title by the places where most of my walking took me. 2003 could be the Lake District year for instance. I remain partial to going somewhere that I haven't visited before and that Western Isles trip falls into that bracket as do a number of trips I made in 2006 when Northumberland and Pembrokeshire saw my footfall.
Speaking of heading onto pastures new, I got the idea that my Western Isles trip needed a spot of research before I went. It could be said that the idea of heading onto offshore islands focussed the mind more than it otherwise might have done. Apart from a certain tourist overview, these were to be terra incognito to me and it might be said that I was venturing further away from the usual locations than is my wont. All of that was enough to get books lifted off shelves and mapping organised.
In fact, I didn't even have a collection of paper OS maps for the islands even if I did possess digital mapping from the likes of Anquet and Mapyx. A lurk in the outdoors blogosphere will reveal that printing out digital maps is being done by a fair few but I retain a preference for the old style paper mapping from the likes of the OS or Harveys, if only to allow myself more options when I'm actually out there among the hills; it's amazing what can take your fancy while you're actually there. Having digital mapping did allow me to refine my shopping list so that I wasn't expending any more cash than was absolutely necessary. I have to admit that I have developed a taste for OS Explorer mapping and a full collection of these for Na hEileannan an Iar would not have cheap, hence the cutting of the proverbial cloth to my measure. I might enjoy the flexibility offered by paper mapping but both the cost and the need to watch the weight that I was carrying for my week away meant that any overindulgence simply was out of the question.
While I have planned many an outdoors excursion by mere perusal of a map, books remain essential for that broader view. I am very partial to Cicerone's guidebooks but I found that Walking in the Hebrides didn't meet my expectations, even with the mention of "Western Isles" in its subtitle. If I had wanted to get an overview of the walking on offer across all of the islands on Scotland's western seaboard, then it might have been fine but I was after something that was a little tighter in its focus. The fact that it did not contain route maps, even sketches, for any of the walks didn't help either and it really needs a map open in front of you for the directions to feel that little bit more real.
More more successful in my opinion is Nick Williams' The Islands from the Pocket Mountains stable. The scope might have been as broad as the Cicerone title but the punchy pithiness of the descriptions really did give a feel for what was there to be explored and worked far better than the often dense prose of Walking in the Hebrides. The featured walks might have scaled the heights and ventured into the wilds but a spot of map perusal picked out lower level hikes through the wonderful stuff.
Speaking of lower level walking, I spotted another even more slender title while actually on my week long outing that might have its uses yet: Luke Williams' Walks: Western Isles from Hallewell Publications. Again, brevity might be a very prominent feature but there are a plethora of ideas here too. Speaking of mid-outing acquisitions (I can be the proverbial magpie at times, picking up things and adding extraneous weight to what I am carrying, and it's a habit that needs careful control), I also ended up procuring Charles Tait's The Western Isles Guide Book with its enticing photos and useful overview of things to see while on the islands.
My mid-trip book buying brings to mind a comment I overheard a few years back, in Portree's tourist information centre if my vague recollection serves me correctly. The comment itself was the more memorable and I'll turn it slightly on its head here: to get books devoted to a certain location, you almost need to go there. Even in these days of internet shopping, that still retains a ring of truth about it and it's an opinion that can be taken even further. You don't get the full feel for a place like the Western Isles simply by surfing a website extolling its virtues. It's by going to explore that you find what else awaits discovery and that it turn provides reasons for any return; exploration and discovery begets more of the same and the role of books and maps is to get the process started.
A return to the familiar when other plans come to nought
10th November 2008 The first day of November saw me make an overdue return to hill country, with Cumbria's Lake District acting as my main destination. I had a few walking locations in mind by the time that I reached Windermere train station; the railways served as my way there and away again. However, my train was late (thanks to a little Saturday morning trespassing on the line near Deansgate) so any plans for a return to Great Langdale needed to be placed on a hold and a broken down bus meant that the Coniston fells still await my footfall. That left the option of an out and back hike from the train station to the top of Yoke, and my revisiting familiar terrain as I went.
Even so, I was far from disgruntled, and the sights from Orrest Head should have put paid to any sense of humbug anyway. It was its usual splendid self while I admired the views, even with a very noisy dog and her apologetic owners. The pooch had the misfortune of an aggressive appearance and an equally aggressive bark, but I soon learnt to ignore her enough to make a few photos. The fells by now have their autumn/winter clothes on them, and there's an occasional dusting of snow to be seen in places too. Panoramic views were just the balm to soothe the soul after the noisy interruptions.
Having bobbed up to Orrest Head from Windermere's train station, I bobbed back down the other side as I made for the road near The Causeway Farm. A very short eastbound piece of tarmac bashing later, I began to cross fields again to reach Moorhowe Road where I repeated the shuffle but reaching a gravel track called Dubbs Road. Shortly after passing Dubbs Reservoir, the views over Troutbeck opened out before me and northern vistas were packed full of gloriously humpy whalebacks of hills. All of this was familiar to me from a previous circular walk from Windermere to Kentmere and a linear wander from Windermere to Staveley by way of Kentmere.
Passing a wood to my left, I emerged onto the rougher track that is Garburn Road. In so doing, I left the dodging of puddles that took up near enough the width of the track behind me; these were there on my previous hikes too, so I was unsurprised by their size. In place of those puddles, I got steeper slopes and looser surface that tested the nimbleness of my ankles. Garburn Pass was reached soon enough and, rather than descending to Kentmere as I have done on those previous visits, I left the wide track for an initially boggier one taking me higher up the slopes.
That boggy bit was to turn into a very good gravel path, and it surprises me that there wasn't a good track all the way, but I suppose that it keeps some in their place. As I went ever upward, views to my right opened out before me and the houses of Kentmere could be seen. Ever mindful of time, I continued to inch my way up Yoke with an appropriate number of photography stops. The summit wasn't long coming, even if there was an extra cairn lurking to confuse the unwary. I was tempted by the prospect of Ill Bell, but consciousness of the remaining hours of daylight and the prospect of losing a lot of height before regaining it again made me see sense; the sight of an oncoming shower helped to wean me away too. That other hill can wait for another day.
I came down Yoke in the dampness, and I need to admit that having to pull on waterproofs did cost me some time. Given that the rain didn't stay long, I am left wondering if it would have been better braving it, but you never know with these things, and it's often better to be safe than sorry. The sun was lowering in the sky all the while as I retraced my steps, and I was happy to be making progress all the while. When I made Garburn Road, I decided to stick with that track rather than continuing along Dubbs Road because of the hour that it was. That meant descending on a lot of loose surface, and it did begin to take its toll on my patience, so it was not before time that I left it for the much smoother Longmire Road, another track in spite of the name.
My plan was to return to tarmac before the light dropped too much since I wasn't wanting to have navigational nightmares in the dusk, let alone the dark; it was an objective that was easily achieved. As it happened, I did see someone else who was going to run that gauntlet of crossing fields at dusk, but I left him to it as I descended by minor roads to the A592 that would carry me onto the A591 for the final stretch back to Windermere train station. Even with failing light, the greatest challenge in all of this was one that I encountered earlier in the day: getting across the A591. Thankfully, a kind lady did me a favour for the second crossing.
It had been a great day to revisiting an old haunt but with an added twist. Ill Bell might not have been summited, but hills always last more than a day and Yoke did well what was asked of it. Other plans that fell by the wayside can be kept on file for future visits. What really matters is that I enjoyed the day out, and I remain hopeful of more like it.
