Category: Europe
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31st January 2019 Quite how I never considered how life's affairs refuse to fit within calendar years is beyond me because I have several examples to recall. Even though the aspiration of closing off things for a year end persists, that does not mean that it is remotely realistic. Accepting such continuity may be the best course even if some decry what they call drift.
There are times when the end of a year only adds items to a to do list for the next. That happened me in 2017 and it caused me to get much done about my Irish business last year. 2016 was one of those years when closure was sought because of a mix of continuing grieving, an unappealing job and looming deadline for the probation of my late father's estate. It became a forlorn hope and influenced how things went in 2017.
Still, many years enjoy quiet starts and 2018 became one of those. It allowed me to rethink my career and choose self-employment as the way out of what I perceived to be career doldrums. In contrast, this year has seen a collision between unfinished work form last year with new plans for this year and unexpected matters. Leaving things flow in preference to filling supposedly empty time with tasks now looks the wiser course.
Even so, I have got to attending the Adventure Travel Show and Destinations in the same January weekend. The first of these carried me to the London Olympia for attendance of talks and gawping at stands. The next day saw me head to Manchester's EventCity for the second when more of the same ensured. Leaflets were snaffled in numbers in an effort to look in on possibilities eschewed by my preference for independent travelling. The act might be more like one of education rather than the change of course that it might suggest.
Continuation also underlay my mid-Winter escape to Tenerife with its beginning in the dying days of 2018 and ending in the start of 2019. After what befell me on my 2016 Mallorcan trip, acclimatisation was a hallmark this time around and it worked. No ill-effects blighted the start of 2019 apart from eating stale food on my return and that only lasted around twelve hours. Other mid-Winter possibilities are more likely than they once were.
Though most base themselves in the south-west of the island, I plumped for the quieter north-east and Santa Cruz was where I stayed. New Year's Eve saw me potter into the city's neighbouring hills while New Year's Day allowed for a more adventurous circuit around Igueste de San Andrés than I expected. Parque Nacional del Teide got a visit too with some pottering about Roques del Garcia within sight of El Teide itself. The higher altitude did little to restrict my activities but I had reigned in any enthusiasm in any event.
The parched countryside played host to larger versions of the sort of cacti that my late mother would have had as indoor potted plants. Poinsettias grew out of doors with help from flowerbed irrigation and came in different colours too. Both these observations were reminders of the important of bringing ample quantities of water on any walks in the subtropical winter heat.
Adjusting to a cold climate after this took some time but it has happened and a recent spell of snow is a reminder that the warmer days of spring and summer are a bit away yet. That gives time for some planning of additional exploring and the current political travails need escaping for a while and it is as yet unclear what they will mean for overseas explorations. Meanwhile, I hope to do more domestic exploring than a recent day trip to Lincoln.
A curtailed Easter escape
27th December 2018 At the end of January 2017, an idea came to mind. Preceding years had seen holidays being little more than elongated weekends, and I fancied a little longer. Also, the idea of feeling ensconced in Edinburgh for a longer period of time appealed to me. Both thoughts came together to get me thinking of stretching the forthcoming Easter weekend by taking the preceding Thursday and the trailing Tuesday to make for a six-day trip to Scotland's capital city.
The days were booked off from work and bookings made. An early train ticket purchase got me a great deal using advance purchase tickets, which was just as well given the cost of the hotel booking. At this stage in the year, the chance of a springtime sabbatical was a tenuous prospect, though it had been discussed with my manager. The longer time off, unpaid as it was, required approval from more senior management and that took until March. That lack of notice meant that grander plans could not be made, which, in retrospect, probably was just as well.
Circumstances
Though what I really needed was quiet time at home, I could not help myself and spent a pleasant weekend on the Isle of Man at the start of April, just before the Easter weekend. In hindsight, returning from there on Monday and departing again for Scotland on Thursday within the same week probably was asking too much, and an Irish matter was to prove that. It threw me into indecision and pulled someone else through the proverbial emotional wringer as well. All was sorted in the end and there have been no lasting consequences, but such things did not half the weight on my mind at the time.
The result was that my Thursday departure was aborted, my non-refundable advance purchase ticket forfeited and my hotel booking cancelled. Though there was some money lost, there also was more money gained. A quandary descended on me at the same time and I ended up booking a journey to Edinburgh with National Express for the forthcoming Saturday morning as well as rebooking the hotel for fewer nights. Such an act still left me unconvinced, but I went through with it.
Though there might have been an element of resolution regarding the piece of Irish business, there was a raw emotion evident during my journey north. The longer journey time was spent reading Mary Beard's SPQR and taking a phone call from my brother. Some hot nourishment was enjoyed at Tebay motorway services as well.
When I reached Edinburgh, it was not as bright a day as the one that I had left in England. Occasional rain showers were a threat. Before I made for my lodgings, I pottered around St. Andrew's Square and Princes Street Gardens. After settling into my room, I attended an Easter event in the heart of Edinburgh before retiring for the night.
A Wet Day around Glen Sax
Easter Sunday came wet despite suggestions of rain clearing away in any weather forecast. Even sitting out the morning in the hotel was to no avail. At other times, a day indoors might have sufficed, but I felt other needs and braved the damp weather.
There were phone calls and text messages regarding a neighbour having passed away, and useful conversations were had on the bus to Peebles. Once there, a little wait by the Tweed seemed to be rewarded by a partial clearance of rain, so I set off along a drove that I had not trodden for a good while. Grey skies lay all around and there was none of the pleasing light witnessed on the first Monday of June 2002 or what was to be savoured on a hot sunny day in June 2006. Nevertheless, I continued and others were out walking, so it was not just any aberrant activity on my part.
If there were ever any ambitions to complete a round of the Glen Sax hills, poor visibility put paid to such an idea. Still, there were visits to Kailzie Hill, Kirkhope Law, Birkscairn Hill and Stake Law, so I had gone further than any previous encounter with the place. As expected, wet ground was my lot, and it was soggy in places too. Still, the walk was much needed regardless of this.
With the signs of any path becoming ever more tenuous and visibility declining all the while, I thought it to be best to return to the saddle between Stake Law and Birkscairn Hill to commence a descent down some steep slopes. These were negotiated more liberally than the path suggested by the OS map would have done. Zigzags were added to my course to ease the task sufficiently for the avoidance of any sense of cragfastness. Water entered my boots as I did so, and wet feet were the result, another hint that my boots needed reproofing.
Soon enough, I was on the floor of the glen for a crossing of Glensax Burn to reach the sheep pens, where I joined the track leading back towards Peebles. Though the air was heavy, the rain had stopped, and steady progress left me marvelling at how fast I was going. In fact, I hardly felt the length of the five kilometres to the gate near Gallow Hill, where I again was on tarmac for the last stretch into Peebles to await the next bus back to Edinburgh.
The day had been satisfying, and I still would like to complete that Glen Sax Round at some point. This needs an early start since the walk will be a long one, but I now have some sense of how to make it happen. Also, a better day with plenty of daylight hours will be in order. Having a less cluttered life could help too, but the Easter Sunday 2017 walk started an emotional recovery that was much needed. The following day would take things further.
In Better Spirits along the John Buchan Way
Easter Monday got the benefit of a better forecast. Fancying the prospect of walking somewhere anew, I plumped for the John Buchan Way; another attempt at going around Glen Sax could wait. My choice also involved a hike from one place to another, something that I prefer to the idea of an out and back venture. Much like Glen Sax on Easter Sunday, it also offered much needed solitude and felt a world away from the usual run of my life.
There was a bit of dawdling around Peebles as I sought the actual route that the trail took on the way out from the town. Though grey, the morning was dry, and I was to escape rain for most of the day, with cloud breaking to leave bright sunshine holding sway before a late afternoon rain shower made a visit.
Once I had got as far as Peebles' extremities, the next task was to go around Morning Hill, and the path on the ground took a slightly different course from what my map suggested. The line taken was good enough for me, so I was not about to pursue the matter. The course became clearer as I shadowed the Cademuir Plantation to reach a lane that would convey me around a hill topped with a fort.
The up and down course continued to take me through pastoral surroundings laden with signs reminding drivers that pregnant sheep were all around there. The hint was that they should slow down, but that naturally did not apply to pedestrian stravaigers like myself. Crossing Manor Water, I continued towards The Glack, where I would leave tarmac tramping behind me for a while. That a pesky pothole had nagged an ankle was more reason for going over softer ground.
The way to Stobo took me through many fields as I threaded my way along Glack Hope and over the lower slopes of White Knowe and other neighbouring hills. As the route went this way and that, a certain amount of attention was needed so as not to wander off it, until matters became simpler after Easter Dawyk. Any height that had been gained was being lost all the while as the A712 grew ever closer. Eventually, a second crossing of the River Tweed (the first had been in Peebles itself) was to reach the road and seek out another escape from tarmac.
If I was seeking a bus stop from which to get back to Peebles, there might have been some uncertainty about such a plan, but I was seeking out the trail for Broughton. That was to shadow Easton Burn for much of the way to Hammer Rig. By then, any vestiges of pastoral living were petering out, and I could feel that I was in wilder terrain, though civilisation never was that far away.
It also helped that sunshine lit up the surrounding hillsides as I crossed some of their number. This was where hilltops like those of Hammer Knowe, Hog Knowe and Hopehead Rig acted as progress indicators while I wondered at how far I was going up Stobo Hope to reach the isolated output of Stobo Hopehead.
Dark grey cloud was gathering from the east while my surroundings remained sun-blessed, butt it was not about to last. Just beyond Hopehead Rig, the rain caught up with me to ensure a damp finish to my walk. It might have been nice to have retained sunshine for the descent beside such heights as Clover Law or Cat Cleuch Head, yet I hardly felt denied because of what else that have been there to savour.
It was dry when I reached a dampened and quiet Broughton, and the bus stop was easy to find, especially when I was there in plenty of time before the next departure. That meant I could stroll about the village a little and note the laid-back youths who were hanging around, with one of their number set to be a fellow passenger on the bus back to Peebles.
Once in Peebles again, there was time for strolling about the banks of the Tweed, but the sun was not being so co-operative, so photographic opportunities were limited. Maybe that was just as well, given my need to return to Edinburgh before a southbound journey the next day.
Afterwards
The day after Easter Monday was when the matter in Ireland finally got sorted, and I must admit some trepidation interrupted any peace of mind on the train from Edinburgh to Manchester. Any yapping on a phone by a Scottish NHS IT administrator was remediated before or at Carlisle and was a lesser intrusion in any event. At least, this train journey was one that I had booked back in January. On arrival in Macclesfield, I found out the good news from the other side of the Irish Sea and could look back on my weekend with satisfaction. Emotional rest was the order of service for the rest of the week, until I realised how close my return to work was becoming.
Travel Arrangements
Train journey from Macclesfield to Manchester, followed by a coach journey from Manchester to Edinburgh. Two return bus journeys between Edinburgh and Peebles. Bus journey from Broughton to Peebles. Return train journey from Edinburgh to Macclesfield with a change in Manchester.
Rewards for a reluctant departure
22nd December 2018 It took until July 2009 for me to make my first visit to the Isle of Man, and that was a rain-drenched day trip. May 2010 saw me spend a bank holiday weekend on the island when I took in sections of its coastal walk, Raad ny Foillan or the Way of the Gull. That also was the pervading theme for a subsequent trip in July 2011. Since then, though, I ended up leaving the island alone until April 2017 when I was lured there early in a springtime sabbatical from work. It is that which I am recalling here.
Departure
The first week of my sabbatical was somewhat relished as I spent it on sorting out Irish affairs together with a series of computer upgrades. It was during this that I plotted a Manx revisitation. As I approached the weekend, a certain reduction in enthusiasm came upon me, and I opted for a Friday evening sailing once I cleared my arrival time with my hotel. That was just as well, given that more Irish business emerged before I departed for Liverpool.
Once in Liverpool, there was a dash on foot from Lime Street train station to Albert Dock in around twenty minutes. As I did so, I passed those in the city for the weekend of the Grand National horse race at Aintree. Others intending to travel on the day itself would have to contend with train staff being on strike.
Having got on the boat on time, I enjoyed the evening light as the ship plied the Mersey on its way from Liverpool with only my luggage as an encumbrance; in hindsight, I should have checked in some of it into the hold, a lesson that I learned for the return sailing. Everything looked enhanced, so it almost took the fall of darkness itself to get me inside to get some food in advance of arriving in Douglas. Once there, it was a direct walk to my lodgings for the weekend, made without further ado.
An Improving Day
It must not have taken much to organise myself, for I was in Laxey soon enough after getting there by bus. Some food was acquired in advance of my hike and I took the chance of pottering as far as the local train station, served by electric trams from Ramsey, Douglas and the top of Snaefell itself. Any temptation posed by a ride top the top of my objective was dispelled, and I set off there on foot.
My course took me along Glen Mooar towards Agneash with Laxey Wheel to be seen across the valley. The skies were laden with clouds at this point, so one might have wondered at my resolve. From Agneash, I went east for a while to pick up a track that would take me past such hilltops as Slieau Ruy, Slieau Ouyr and Slieau Lhean.
Those tops were partly obscured by low cloud, but this started to break up as I continued west until there scarcely was any trace of it at all. The only photographic problem then was the flat light that can be got on a day early in April, and haze that seemed as if coming from drying out hills. Even so, my surroundings continued to delight me, and that was to endure for the rest of the day.
Passing Cragh Ouyr, dropped me down to the A18. The track disintegrated on the ever more boggy terrain, but you can expect such things on a springtime stroll like the one that I was undertaking. A rest stop was taken by the roadside before I took advantage of ramblage rights (think right to roam, Manx style) to make a direct ascent of Snaefell's steep north-eastern slopes.
Nearer the top, the gradients relented, and I was to potter about a flat-topped summit littered with two masts, a train station and a restaurant. The bitter breeze was not so welcoming, yet any temptation posed by the restaurant was resisted, and I began my way down with views over Sulby Reservoir and other such sights. The Manx island top had been visited.
My descent returned me to the A18 and the road was quiet, so I walked along it in preference to the nearby ramblage or open access land because of tiring limbs. Apparently, the lack of traffic was caused by a road closure for repairs, as an enquiry from a passing cyclist demonstrated to me.
At Windy Corner, I left the A18 to take the track down to Glen Roy, with Slieau Lhoist to the immediate south of me. My recollections of the track have stretched it beyond what appears on a map, but I arrived at a narrow lane being used by some motorised traffic. Nevertheless, I headed north along the road to brave up and down crossings of various streams before I was being led east again. A path through Axnfell Plantation was rejected in favour of the more direct way to Laxey that I was following.
Having overlooked it earlier in the day, I decided to pay a visit to the iconic Laxey Wheel. This old mine water pump looked better in the evening sunshine than in the morning dullness, so I tarried a while before returning to Laxey for some food and the bus back to Douglas.
Better than Predicted
The forecast suggested otherwise, but Sunday brought some decent weather before rain finally arrived in the evening. By then, I was back in Douglas, so it was far from being an irritation. After the previous day's exertions, some lighter activity was in order and matters were needing attention before I headed off for an excursion in any case. This was not going to be a day that brought disappointment.
Inspired by it being cloudy by the time that I reached the place on a walk from Port Erin in July 2011, I decided that a longer visit to Castletown was in order. Handily, it remained sunny for much of the time that I was, so some photography was allowed before the arrival of cloudier skies put a stop to such endeavours. Thus, I made up for any shortfall from my previous encounter with the place.
Having pottered about Castletown while making some photos of what was there, I decided to go further afield and retraced more of my steps from July 2011. Though without a map because of low expectations, my memory more than compensated, and useful footpath signs filled in any gaps as I wandered along a circuit that took in Scarlett Point with views of Castletown Bay and Bay ny Carrickey to be savoured in addition to those of the coastline along which I passed.
On arriving back in Castleton, I was tempted to see the inside of the castle at its heart before returning to Douglas. If I recall correctly, this was late in the working day for Manx Heritage, but I go my fill before returning to Douglas for the evening. The arrival of rain did not intrude for I was indoors by then, and it passed quickly enough for a saunter alongside Douglas Bay until I came to the end of the promenade near Onchan. There, I retraced my steps and saw no sign of the Mormon missionaries that I had passed on the outbound stretch of my stroll. On reaching my hotel, I retired for one more night on the Isle of Man.
Some More Strolling
July 2011 had not finished with inspiring me, and there was time for more exploration before my afternoon sailing to Liverpool. The midday deadline for booking out from the hotel allowed for some unladen sauntering with my camera. To start, I retraced some steps from the evening before and then pottered around by Onchan Pleasure Park before spending some time in Summerhill Glen. All that wiled away the time until my baggage needed retrieval for further travel.
Having to pull a trolley case after me did nothing to stop further wanderings before my time of departure. These led me to another vantage point that I last explored on a rainy evening in July 2011. Thus, I ended up around Douglas Head and the start of the Marine Drive, another stretch of Raad ny Foillan that I had surveyed on that evening in 2011. Better weather made for more photography and hopefully will mean better memories as well.
In summary, my 2017 sojourn on Manx shores was drier than its 2011 forbear. It also meant that when I returned to the ferry terminal and boarded the ferry, I could stay outside to sample more sunlit views could be savoured with the weather remaining pleasant all the way to Liverpool.
Much like Hamish McInnes in a recent film, I find that photos rekindle recollections. It means that vague recollections of rain showers on that Monday morning in April 2017 are just that. Much was gained, and that was just as well with where life went next.
Travel Arrangements
Return train journey between Macclesfield and Liverpool. Return ferry crossing between Liverpool and Douglas. Return bus journeys between Douglas and Laxey and between Douglas and Castletown.
A reprise in reverse
18th December 2018 In my previous post on here, I mentioned the idea of having a fallback when inspiration is scarce for one reason or another. Fatigue can cause this as much as being otherwise engaged. As I found for a few years, it also can be the cause of your repeating yourself, and that theme pervades this trip report.
The walk itself followed a route that I had traced several times before. Some of these are recounted on here, and one from November 2012 prefaced an episode of considerable turbulence in my life that blended with others to make up the course of several years. The difficulty with going over old ground is finding something new to say along the way. To resolve that, you need to say a little more about a hike's place in a sequence of life events.
April 2017 was to see the start of a spring sabbatical from work, and that itself was the start of a sequence that led to my taking a career break. A kind of tumult was coming my way, much like the more emotionally charged one that struck in December 2012. The situations differed, but the level of raw emotion was not so dissimilar.
Looking back on things now, the problem was in letting go of things. It is easy to set up a fairly pleasant life situation to be defended, but there always comes a time when relinquishing what you have and replacing it with something else is the better course. Hindsight reveals this to be a recurring theme, even if it is not always so obvious at the time.
All of this was very far away on that last sunny Sunday in March 2017. After a fairly grey start to the year, this was a first sign of springtime, and it came with a hint of summer. It was enough to get me out and about, with many others getting the same idea. The preceding day saw me wander along the Goyt Valley, and going from Disley to my home in Macclesfield was the leftover option of which I made good use.
From my starting point at the village train station, I made for Lyme Park by way of the Gritstone Trail. Usually, I continue along the A6 before picking up another public footpath, but it was too good to lose the chance of walking somewhere in midday sunshine that I only ever had seen under grey skies or in declining light. The track was largely quiet too, but that was not to last.
Though Lyme Park was a busy place, there were deer to be seen, and I dallied a while before I set about leaving humanity after me as I thought. The fine day made for a rather different outcome because it took until after Sponds Hill before I truly had my own wider stretch of surrounding space. Even so, I was reconciled to the fact and enjoyed what views lay about me.
This was one of those days when patient sharing was in order, and that acceptance also applied to the pile of gravel left on the track itself. With pleasant surrounding views and the ability to continue moving, such a supposed irritation could be left after me. From an emotional standpoint, it proved ephemeral and that was just as well given what else was happening in my life and what was ahead of me.
The quieter stretch after Brink Farm allowed me to set my own pace, and I stopped on a broken down stone wall for some lunch. By then, the sky was filling with clouds all the while but that verified the wisdom of my starting from Disley. Various added markers highlighted my growing proximity to Bollington as much as encountering more folk again.
At this stage, I was following paths and tracks that were so familiar to me, I could have got away without using a map. With well frequented stretches along both the Gritstone Trail and the Middlewood Way, the way home had a certain hint of autopilot mode about it as the walk came to its eventual end. The weekend had been good to me and more walking trips were to happen in 2017.
Travel Arrangements
Train from Macclesfield to Disley with a change at Stockport
Pairs
17th December 2018 Thinking back to a year ago when I was in the middle of a career break, I am struck by how much reading I was doing. There were two from Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia and Songlines, and both gave me my fill of travelogue writings by the time that I got as far as January. Both contained a certain air of desolation that also came in its own way from Kev Reynold's Abode of the Gods. It might have been a certain end of year feeling with the dull days of a passing December as much as what I was reading. After all, I found myself again detached from the mainstream flow of living much like I did when transitioning from university into the world of work.
The sense of desolation might have befallen my impressions of Tim Robinson's Stones of Aran duology but for other distractions. Work has been among these as much as seasonal activities like sending cards and buying presents. Becoming engrossed in computer tinkering has been another factor and it certainly helped with speeding up this website. All of this delayed my completion of the aforementioned pair of books with their incompleteness of ending. The second was supposed to resolve a conundrum posed by the first but I get the impression that it may have proved to be a voyage of acceptance rather than resolution.
For all that, I now have moved onto the same author's Connemara trilogy and there is extra life in its early pages. A quieter place like Aran has less documented history while most of the action is elsewhere so it is easy to find loose ends that never can be brought to a satisfying conclusion. For one thing, oral history can bring its own challenges with an intermingling of myth and actual events together with loss of memory as one generation hands over to another. Eve today, this remains an elemental place as I found when I was there last August.
Throughout all this recent activity, two visits have been made to the moorland around Hathersage, Grindleford and Sheffield. In fact, there is such an extensive path network that more may follow because of the possibilities that are offered. That thought popped into my mind during last Sunday's hike from Grindleford into Sheffield during an interlude between spells of heavy rain. In truth, I should have been attending to seasonal matters but my enthusiasm for hill country got the better of me.
Anything that grants views of such sights as Padley Gorge and Higger Torr cannot be a bad thing and the area could be a fallback should all other forms of inspiration fail me. December was not much of a walking month for me in 2017 so I embarked on bus journeys that took me around mid-Wales and by the area that I walked last Sunday in their stead. It helps that collecting ideas is as good as making use of them and those from then led to one walk from Hathersage to Sheffield in November and another from Grindleford to Sheffield last Sunday. In turn, each of the duo could be the cause of return visits to the area and longer hours of daylight could allow more scope for any future explorations.
