Category: Europe
Hot weather escapades with views of Ben Nevis
23rd March 2015 Some may adore sunshine holidays in destinations where scorching temperatures are commonplace, but that is not my preference. Childhood memories of the summers of 1983 and 1984 feature sweaty journeys across fields on afternoons with sweltering temperatures and this was Ireland's south-western corner. Strangely, the higher temperatures of around 30° C experienced around Saint Malo on a school trip in 1989 have no such associations in my memory and I am left to wonder if the coastal location with its sea breezes had anything to do with it. Nevertheless, it is those sultry inland days that have convinced me earlier that cooler days were more to be my liking.
In spite of that thinking, there are times when the desire to go for a walk in summer sunshine gets the better of me; there was a time when a heatwave was a time when I scotched the idea of embarking on a walking excursion. Much of the time, this has me out in temperatures hovering around 20° C, but there are times when those in excess of this are overlooked. The trouble with physical activity on warm days is that staying well hydrated becomes more of a concern. It is all too easy to let yourself go to the point that headaches and other symptoms start to strike so you never can be too careful.
The summers of 2013 and 2014 brought a good share of warm sunny weather to Britain after winters that were either long and cold (2013) or wet and stormy (2014). In some ways, they were not so unlike those from thirty years earlier. Even so, I so needed a getaway after the events of springtime 2013 that I booked in an extended weekend during July that I used to head to Fort William. It was one of those "come what may" bookings and it was hot sunny weather that I got.
Travel days were Friday and Monday, so Saturday and Sunday were available for spots of exploration. Friday was so hot that train and coach air conditioning could not be but relished. The stifling heat around Glasgow was all the more unmissable as I trotted from Glasgow Central train station to Glasgow Buchanan bus station and Fort William felt similar. Things must have a cooled a little as I wandered out on an after dinner stroll before retiring to bed for the night.
With that in mind, I am not surprised that I went for light strolling around Glenfinnan on the Sunday. Then, I walked a little of the shore of Loch Shiel to reprise a walk that I had done of a Saturday in January 2011. Skies were clearer the second time around and enjoyed the views before taking a break from the sun in the café at the National Trust for Scotland visitor centre. After that, I went up the small hill behind it and lingered to take in what I could see from the vantage point. That was not all, since I stumbled on a walk that dropped from Glenfinnan's train station down under the scenic railway viaduct that features in many photos and in the Harry Potter films too. Temperatures must have cooled because I only have pleasant memories of these and others were out savouring the surroundings too.
It was the preceding Saturday that saw me being more adventurous. It is something that I ponder with amazement now but the idea of walking from Kingshouse Hotel to Kinlochleven with a diversion to the top of Beinn a' Chrùlaiste somehow trumped what now looks like my better reason. Thankfully, there was a cooling breeze assisting the ascent and views opened up all around me. What also became apparent was the amount of heat haze that abounded on more distant hills. The Mamores and the White Corries were most affected and I have been experimenting with the Neutralhazer plugin in Photoshop to see what it can do for me. Of course, a day with less challenging lighting would be better and Beinn a' Chrùlaiste is such a place that a return is worthwhile.
On the day, the hill forestalled my plans to go all the way to Kinlochleven. That is not to say that I did not try myself out before going the way of reason. Now that I think of it, the lost golden evening may not have got me much more than I had anyway. The day had been a good one and looking over things now opens up more possible escapades like walking from Rannoch train station to Kingshouse Hotel or even an out and back hike from Glencoe village to the top of Meall Ligiche. The more modest height of the latter could afford some stirring views of higher eminences too, so the TGO route idea could be a goer. Repeating sections of the West Highland Way north of Bridge of Orchy also tempts me, so Glen Coe may not be see me deserting the place just yet when there is so much more to see.
What I have not done either is say all that I can do about those walks for what was intended to be a single entry has turned into a three part series. Next up is the piece on Beinn a' Chrùlaiste with that on Glenfinnan set to follow that. Hopefully, those should not be the last you hear of my exploring these areas. After all, there is much left to savour since I barely have scratched the surface and that is after numerous visits over the years.
Travel arrangements:
Return train journey from Macclesfield to Glasgow and return Scottish Citylink coach journey between there and Fort William. Return Scottish Citylink coach journey between Fort William and Glen Coe. Return train journey between Fort William and Glenfinnan.
From grey to blue to grey again
14th March 2015 My last big walk of 2013 took me to Derbyshire only a few days before that Christmas. In fact, I flew across to Ireland the day after I undertook a hike that started from Monyash and finished in Bakewell after taking in Lathkill Dale as well as two very full rivers, Lathkill and Wye. In the days before this, there were shorter strolls too. First, there was a morning visit to Buxton with designs on making a photo of Grinlow Tower in my head. The advance of clouds from the west put paid to that, so another visit in 2014 was needed and there has been a useful one in 2015 too. There was more in the way of blue skies, and sunshine on an afternoon visit to Lyme Park that followed on the day before my final incursion into Derbyshire of the year. 2013 had seen a lot of these and the Peak District album in my online photo gallery benefited a lot from such excursions.
What I have yet to add to it is a photo of Lathkill Dale. The prospect of revisiting the dale has recurred in my mind a few times over the last few months only for my being able to summon enough energy to make it happen. It remains outstanding for 2015. The cause in 2013 was a grey start to the walk from Monyash. There was no square of blue sky to relieve the greyness as I passed through the village and along the road towards the path into Lathkill Dale.
All was quiet and peaceful at this stage of the walk. As I went down through the dry part of the dale, there was but one person about, and she was going the other way. The only words exchanged were greetings appropriate to the time of day. Limestone outcrops much like what you would find around Dovedale lay above me without much in the way of unrestricted sunshine to light them. It is not that there was not a patch of blue sky to give a pleasant backdrop, but the clouds were rather too keen on imprisonment of the sun for my liking.
After a kilometre or two of trotting along a dry dale floor, it was time to meet the River Lathkill. December 2013 was a month of much rain, and the torrent that burst forth from a cave on the side of the dale bore testament to this just as clearly as all the flooding or the Somerset Levels. The volume of water scarcely could be contained by the low banks, which meant that much of the normal line of the path was submerged. That ensure that picking steps involved more in the way of concentration, and there were times when going higher proved necessary as well. Any weirs on the river's course may have been there to reduce downstream flooding, but they might have caused the river to flow all around its upper dale.
In time, what started as meadow became woodland that was partially trespassed by river waters. Palmerston Wood kept me occupied as I passed through it on my way towards Alport. Around Over Haddon, the woods turned into pasture and there were more folk about. More woods followed before Conksbury Bridge was reached. All grew very quiet after this point where I crossed the Lathkill to continue to Alport. The sun was doing better in its attempts at cloud avoidance at this stage and I spent some time trying to make something photogenic out of the wooded slopes across from me. Sadly, clouds won out again as I approached Alport where an intriguing sign directed towards vagabonds was sighted attached to the gable end of a house. From my reading of history, this thinking may date from a time before the existence of police services that we have today and when villagers had duties in relation to enforcement of laws and by-laws.
After lingering in Alport a while to see if the sun was about its magic, I set off up Dark Lane. Beyond the farm buildings, I took a right turn across Haddon-Fields to go down towards the A6 near Haddon Hall. The skies were clear by now, so the sun was doing its best for the surrounding countryside with the power that could be summoned on a winter afternoon. It helped that Haddon Hall could be seen through any trees too. The absence of leaves has its own beauty too, since the skeletal appearance of trees that is well cloaked during the growing season can be admired.
Once across the A6, it was a matter of following the path by the walls enclosing Haddon Park until a useful path took me through a wood and across fields on a getaway from the motor-infested thoroughfare that I was after crossing. Bakewell was not far now, and a very full River Wye was crossed; it too was flowing beyond its banks. Fields also were sodden of their own accord, so muddy strolling took me onward; for whatever reason, I persevered with this instead of picking up the drier Monsal Trail. There are times when you go a longer way around, while there are others when the shorter way was desired. It was a case of the latter this time around, and not because of any limitations either. Maybe keeping close by the river was what I wanted, but that is lost to memory now.
In fact, I got to Bakewell soon enough and had a little time to spend there before I set off home again. Though I was not caught short, a little extra Christmas shopping ensued following some temptation. While The skies were grey and leaden in the failing light, I was far from bitter. There had been a good walk and I fancy a reprise with more in the way of sunshine. Aside from pleasing weather, what is needed is to have my life energy batteries sufficiently charged to make it happen.
Travel Arrangements:
Bus service 58 from Macclesfield to Monyash and from Buxton to Macclesfield after coming from Bakewell on the TransPeak bus service.
Spaisteoireacht and stravaiging
12th March 2015 While playing with the Google Translate menu that I recently added to the navigation bar of this website, I discovered that words like explorations, jottings and wanderings are not always translated into other languages. One of these occasions was with the Irish language (the term "Irish Gaelic" is not one that I abide) that I learned during my schooling in Ireland. However, I also rediscovered a word that sounds wonderful to me: spaisteoireacht (try pronouncing it as spash-tore-ukt, speeding that up after practising it a few times). An entry in the online dictionary from Foras na Gaeilge translates the word as walking, strolling, sauntering or promenading. To my mind, that makes it sound like the Scottish word stravaiging, albeit without any insinuation of aimlessness about the business.
Unlike much of last year, much of my walking this year has fallen with the confines of spaisteoireacht rather than anything more strenuous. It also has remained largely local too. For instance, my return from Ireland after my father's funeral was disrupted by snow and I took the opportunity to get out for a walk around by Prestbury with a lot of melt water around in the places. That was enough to overwhelmed my "knocking around" pair of Regatta boots and drench my feet though the whiteness was a delight to the spirit. A pair of Wellington boots has been acquired from Go Outdoors since then in preparedness for a return of any such conditions later in the year or beyond that again. Later that weekend, I paid Lyme Park an afternoon visit and the white covering still was very much in evidence everywhere I looked or trod and the photos show what I mean.
Several trips to Buxton came to pass too and the first of these had me crossing the hills from Macclesfield on one of the few buses that travelled that way on the day. There was plenty of snow up there so that may explain why my bus for the return journey was conspicuous by its absence. A train journey was in order since the temperature very was dropping at that stage. More recently, I repeated the journey with buses carrying me both ways, though the outbound one broke down and had to stop at the Cat and Fiddle Inn and await a replacement. The beeping noise being made as the ailing bus limped the final part of the way to the inn certainly had me thinking that it would not been a bad afternoon to be disrupted up there with unexpected sunshine lighting all the surrounded us. Others may have pondered the prospect of patronising the pub but it was photos that I was after. When I finally got to Buxton, I made for Grinlow Tower and without ignoring the delights of the Pavilion Gardens. It was blustery up high and the gusts that came made photography a shaky business so I could have done with a tripod. Even so, pleasing images were made and I came away happy.
There was a trip to Edinburgh too and that had me revisiting old haunts from my university days up there. Places like Blackford Hill, Morningside, Bruntsfield, the Meadows and the city centre, along with Dean Village, Stockbridge, the Botanic Gardens and Inverleith Park gave shape to what essentially was a stravaig. The sky was blue, and the sun was out too so it was a glorious day for some strolling and there is more exploring to be done around Blackford Hill and another trip along the Water of Leith towards the Edinburgh would not go amiss either.
My mind has been travelling overseas too but I am reminded that I should be making time for some hill country wandering too. The closest that I have got is what I have mentioned above and there was following a stretch of the Macclesfield Canal too. Ideas have not been collated but catching up on trip reports from the past year of too may sort that.
Precious Gifts
11th February 2015 After a break needed to care for their own older relatives, my parents started to go exploring Ireland again. Early memories of this involved evening drives after the cows had been milked. Places like Springfield Castle, Cahermoyle House and the last resting place of William Smith O'Brien still reside in my memory. Somehow, I also seem to recall that the evenings were clouded and dull when we made these excursions, but my father retained an interest in history for much of his life and a few of these outings stemmed from that.
That is not to say that places were not frequented for their scenic worth. After all, my mother enjoyed flowers and shrubs with many a pot plant about the house while shrubs and trees made mowing the lawn all the more interesting. Trees were favoured by my father, so places like Foynes Wood, Curraghchase Forest Park and Doneraile Park also saw visits and the Ballyhoura Mountains were not ignored either, especially given my mother went on Sunday drives around there with her own mother. Visiting gardens open to the public was more my mother's interest and she found ones like Annesgrove Gardens near Castletownroche in North Cork or Derreen Gardens near Lauragh in Kerry through the pages of the Cork Examiner (now the Irish Examiner). Rhododendron flowering seasons nearly always saw excursions to the Vee and Mount Melleray in the Knockmealdown Mountains between Clogheen in County Tipperary and Cappoquin in County Waterford.
Continuing the scenic theme, my parents also appreciated mountain and coastal scenery. My mother especially enjoyed the latter and it was the freshness of the Atlantic sea air that especially drew her. There were so many visits to Ballybunion in County Kerry that the place no longer appealed to me and might have inoculated me against seaside resorts for life! Other favoured seaside destinations included Beale, Banna and Ballyheigue on the same stretch of coastline as well as the likes of Kilkee, Lahinch and Spanish Point in County Clare.
Thinking back on it, it sounds that my parents enjoyed much of what is branded now as the Wild Atlantic Way. In fact, I reckon that there was not much of Ireland's western seaboard that they had not savoured. Donegal stands out in my mind, as well as Sligo and maybe north Mayo too. Definitely, their travels have West Cork, Kerry and Clare well covered and there were a few days spent around Connemara too, nearly twenty years ago. Car touring was their way rather than country walking though, and they thought of their excursions as going for drives and these often were leisurely too, the often narrow roads that were travelled saw to that. Doring Kindersley's Back Roads Ireland (from their Eyewitness Travel series) would echo what my parents enjoyed doing.
On some of these, they would bring us along and there would be many miles covered between the two milking times in the day. One was around 180 miles and took us all around the Beara Peninsula with a scary moment when it looked as if there was no road and that all that was ahead was the sea. Even though it was a sunny summer day, the sight gave pause for thought until we saw the road go around to the left and lose height as it did so. Going slow around there certainly paid its dividends. Another memory from such an escapade was dropping down into the Black Valley and the Gap of Dunloe on a gravel track in an ordinary family saloon, a four-door Nissan Sunny. The places that they took their cars would surprise you and there was a story about the way into a waterfall on of their multi-day trips away; the road was well rough and my father proceeded without due regard to the underside of the car and got away with it. It may have been Glen Inchaquin near Kenmare but I cannot be more definite than that.
The east coast of Ireland did not get overlooked either, for they honeymooned around Bray in County Wicklow. Thirty years later, they reprised that trip and went to Glendalough and other spots too. The full details escape me at this stage, but their love of scenery certainly excluded very few parts of Ireland. Another trip away took them down to Ireland's south-eastern corner, though it was not as sunny as its reputation suggests when they were there. There was one story about an experience in a guest house when trying to open a window for fresh air at my mother's insistence resulted in the thing falling out on my father. It was dodgy anyway and hit no one as they discovered the next morning. Many a B&B say was secured at the end of a day's touring and they were fortunate that accommodation providers at any fully booked establishments rang around to sort them out for that night. That is something on which I never would attempt myself now and I did take such a spur of the moment approach with hostels on my first visit to the Isle of Skye. It makes me shudder a little even now.
All of these visits to scenic areas rubbed off on me and actually inspired me to visit the Scottish Highlands in the first place. Even so, I followed a very different approach with more cycling and walking with hardly any motorised touring at all. Nevertheless, all that exploring of Britain, Ireland and the Isle of Man never would have happened if visits to Kerry and West Cork with my parents had not stirred up something in me and my mother encouraged it in her own small way by asking if I had gone anywhere during a preceding weekend. Without my various excursions, there would be anything for this blog or even for this website and that is one of the priceless things that they have left me. My curiosity for seeing new places or new sides to old haunts still remains with me. There are parts of Ireland that they visited where I have yet to go and there is armchair wandering beyond the shores of Britain and Ireland too, with the Faroe Islands and the Alps arousing enough interest for me to survey guidebooks because I realise how little I know of such places. Whether I actually get to these places is another matter, but my current hunting grounds have much to delight me so I have no plan to desert those either. The two people who inspired all this may be with us no longer, yet their wanderlust has not gone with them. It is difficult to see them wanting to be very much different.
Released?
9th February 2015 As anyone with elderly parents should know, life can be a roller coaster ride when their health declines. It certainly has felt that way over the last few years for my family and me. However, escaping out into the countryside has helped in its own way when dealing with life's rougher moments. Getting through December 2012 certainly called for those head clearing escapes, be they into Tatton Park near Knutsford in Cheshire or along Irish country lanes. Both of my parents were frail then, with my mother having been shaken up by a hospital visit and my father's strength in free fall since the summer. By Christmas, he really needed to be in a nursing home but mentioning the subject only resulted in angry exchanges. It took a brush with death due to a kidney infection for the matter to be forced and the issue to get resolved as it needed to be. He still was not intent on staying where he had to be, and it was a nice place too, so no one could relax and a walk along the Macclesfield Canal between Congleton and Macclesfield as well as a shorter stroll around Buxton were well needed.
What really changed everything was my mother's passing away not so long before what would have been her eighty-first birthday and the loss was a raw one that not only resulted in next to daily evening walks by the River Bollin but also had me venturing further afield is search of a spot of solace. April 2013 saw me make two trips to Derbyshire; the area was to see me more than any other in that year. The of those April visits had me encountering banks of snow left over from a late winter as I hiked from Hayfield to Glossop, rounding Kinder Scout from below as I did so. The weather was much milder later in the month when I embarked on a circular yomp from Bakewell that took in both Ashford-in-the-Water and Monsal Dale. These were followed in June by a walk from Bamford to Edale that took in the southern edge of the Kinder Scout plateau and a walk from Monyash to Bakewell via Lathkill Dale. That last big walk of the year had me passing swollen rivers too; it had been a month of heavy rain and much flooding. A July escape to Fort William that took in Glen Coe and Glenfinnan could not have been more different with its sweltering temperatures and dry sunny weather. There also were sunlit walks from the Cat and Fiddle Inn back to my home that took in Shining Tor and Lamaload Reservoir. The first of these took me onto Rainow and Bollington, while I passed close to Shutlingsloe on the second.
The combination of the scare that began 2013 and the loss of our mother meant that I tended to be more precious about my father; I suspect that my brother probably felt the same. The sense that pervaded most of 2013 was that we could lose him sooner rather than later. It sounds churlish to say it now, but I started to wonder in the light of my father living longer than we might have expected if it was not before time to abandon any putting of my life on hold that there might have been. That does not imply that there was any sense of abandonment because, if anything, my visits to Ireland became more frequent. For much of 2014, I crossed the Irish Sea on a monthly basis.
In between those, though, I began to get out and about again; last summer saw me make three visits to the Lake District. The first was to Buttermere when I crossed the top of Haystacks, while the second facilitated a walk from Patterdale to Grasmere that went over the top of St. Sunday Crag and the last revisited Orrest Head and Loughrigg Fell. January and November saw me spend time around Llantysilio Mountain near Llangollen. Of these, the first trip enjoyed bright sunshine all day and the weather disintegrating to spells of rain while I was up high during the second. That makes an excuse for another return sometime, though I did get more than a little compensation from spending some time by the Mawddach estuary near Barmouth the next day. There were more Welsh visits though: a summer solstice one that visited Ysgyryd Fawr and Sugar Loaf near Abergavenny and a September retracing of steps between Rhossili and Port-Eynon in glorious weather. Yorkshire too saw a visit before the Tour de France did: that took in Pateley Bridge and Brimham Rocks in Nidderdale on a largely grey day. Northumberland was paid a visit during October, with the delights of the coastline around Bamburgh being sampled on a day that felt more like it belonged to summer. Local trots around Macclesfield were not neglected either; Alderley Edge and Hare Hill got two visits. A pesky Jack Russell terrier took a set on my left leg the first time around so a hospital visit was advised and no such intrusion was experienced the second time around, though I could have done with more sun.
There was more to my normalisation; a bike trainer was put to good use to see if my fitness could be bettered. The second half of 2014 also had my father see a good run of health that lasted until last month. Though there was a smaller scare in February 2014, things steadied after that. Still, he was growing weaker as I found during last Christmas and I returned to Britain before New Year sensing that we might be on the cusp of a big change of some sort. In fact, I also wondered to myself how he would fare if he caught an infection. That question was about to get an answer only weeks later. A heavy chest infection was to confine him to bed after a traumatic experience when the nursing home thought him strong enough to sit up in a chair for a while. With that in mind, I made what, I thought, was a flying weekend visit in case there were to any further developments. Much of Saturday was spent with him; my brother came later than I did. When we left, he was comfortable enough for us to think that a peaceful night was in store. When that changed after midnight, we dashed to the home. By the time that we got there, he had breathed his last only moments before. While some would find that heartbreaking, the final peace is what I recall. That his suffering had ended was more important than we might have felt.
A word said during one of the many conversations we had with others over the ensuing days remains with me: release. My brother and I felt it while nearby neighbours were stunned by our father's departure; they surely felt it more than we did; some were crying on the phone to us. There may be another factor: we both had our homes and our lives, while they see breakage in a continuity that they held dear. Also, the period with our father allowed us to come to terms with where things were going and have a partial glimpse of where things would go after he went. Of course, there are ups and downs as well as twists and turns of which we know nothing yet. The turbulence within me after my mother's passing has not come after my father's and there are times when I wonder why, though that is not to see that there was no weeping or no jabs of the heartstrings. Maybe it's that sense of release again.
Though there are matters that need attending yet, my mind also is starting to explore possibilities too. Visits to Ireland are sure to continue, albeit not at the same frequency and certainly not with the same purposes as before, though you hardly can abandon your relatives or former neighbours. There may be opportunities to visit places in Connemara, Mayo, Donegal or Wicklow that I have yet to see. That would be continuing something that they did after their own parents were deceased, when there were many trips to Kerry and West Cork. Some of those gave me the love of hill country scenery that has taken me around so much of Britain and the Isle of Man. Over the past weekend, I was strolling around old haunts in Edinburgh like Blackford Hill, Bruntsfield Links and The Meadows before crossing over to newer haunts like Dean Village and Edinburgh's Botanic Gardens. Except for the occasional incursion of rogue clouds, there was enough sun shining on me throughout to inspire ruminations on the possibility of spending a week in the city sometime. Even in a place like Edinburgh, there was much opportunity to wander down memory lane (I graduated from one of the city's universities) and have time and space to yourself if you needed it. Nearer destinations will remain attractive in a new life situation.
Speaking of memories, there is one that returns to my mind when I mention Edinburgh, since I gained a research degree in a science subject while there. My parents were hoping that I would find a job in Ireland afterwards, only for the world of science to be an international one, especially if you fancy a career in academic research. Some of my contemporaries gained post-doctoral jobs in the U.S. and that option did appeal to me not a little. The phrase "seeing the world" came to my notice and sharing it while on a trip back to Ireland must have tugged rather too strongly on parental heartstrings, for I was asked to leave such designs until after they were gone. Now that youthful naivety has been displaced by realism, I now am amazed at the sorts of thoughts that went through my mind back then, especially when after experiencing more of the delights of Britain and Ireland.
Even so, that is not to imply that I am not tempted by foreign destinations. Since the likes of the mountains of Canada or New Zealand or the American Rockies may be a step too far, other spots in Europe have a certain allure. For instance, business trips to Sweden appear to have cultivated a soft spot for Scandinavian destinations such as Norway, Sweden, Denmark or Iceland. There are areas of hilly and mountainous country in three of those. Any juxtaposition of mountain and coast is a stunning combination, too, as many photos of Norwegian fjords will evince. That brings its own reminder of the Faroe Islands; their compactness could help any explorations. Going there would build on a 2008 escapade that to Scotland's Western Isles and the islands of Orkney and Shetland have not missed my attention either. To return to the continental European theme, though, you cannot overlook the Alps or the Pyrenees, either. Yet, even they are but some of the mountainous regions on the continent that get mentioned in walking magazines from time to time.
None of this means that responsibilities are about to be overlooked. Sometimes, it does feel that you can make new obstacles for yourself, too. The ones that appear of their own accord are enough for anyone; life after my parents will bring its ups and downs soon enough. In between, pondering those other destinations may bring its own comfort, while realising that short visits only uncover so much. After all, I lived in Edinburgh for over four years and still have parts of it to see anew, along with those nooks and crannies that I continue to revisit. As ever, only time will reveal what comes to pass and what adventures may be had yet.
