Outdoor Discoveries

Fitness

Earlier in the year, I had grand designs on a return to cycling after a break of nearly two years. What scuppered the plan was a lack of road cycling confidence that extended beyond not wanting to go pell mell down hills, which always was the case. Saying that, I have managed a few circuits from my home that took in Bollington but that is a far cry from daily commuting or travelling as far as the likes of Tatton Park near Knutsford or Lyme Park near Disley. What really is beyond me at the moment is an epic that takes me as far as Northwich or Chester.

Still, there has been a circuit from home that took in Gawsworth during March as well as a bimble up and down Longdendale in May. Both of those tried our the fold-up Dahon that I got last January so I am not done with cycling completely. In fact, Sunday saw me go around by Bollington on a short cycle that substituted for an aborted planned trot from the Cat and Fiddle Inn back home via Shutlingsloe. That was on a B’TWIN commuting bike that replaced the mountain bike that did day to day road travel duties for more than eleven years. The new one came to me from Decathlon in April and is a very nice machine with 24-speed gearing and lights powered by dynamos on the wheels. It has mudguards (an amazing rarity these days) and a carrier too so it is the type of bike that my parents might have fancied in their time. It certainly reminds me of a three-speed example arising from the same well of inspiration that I had in Ireland once upon a time.

Though I no longer trust its brakes, the mountain bike has not retired either. However, its role is very different from the one it used to have and the cause fits in with the title of this entry too. For years, its commuting duties kept me more trim than I otherwise might have been with round trips of around fifteen miles a day if not more. However, these had an Achilles heel in that I was put off cycling to and from work on wet days by a soaking on the way to work early on in my career. That was on a road bike whose gearing self-destructed and caused the acquisition of the mountain bike in 2002. Before then, it had served me well around Edinburgh and Skipton and around Cheshire too as well as on a single incursion into Derbyshire that set me on the road to hill walking in August 2000; it took me from Macclesfield to Buxton by way of the A537, possibly the highest that I ever have gone on a bike.

Dark evenings are not such an issue around Edinburgh but pose a different challenge on country A-roads. The result was that my commuting left the bike aside for the darker times of year and was taken up in earnest during drier spells on longer days. It meant that the benefits were not to be felt year round as they probably should to ward off any middle age spread.

What brought all this to mind was the fit of a new trousers during the past summer; it started me wondering if I was beginning to need the next waist size up and I baulked at the idea. That was enough to spur me into a kind of action. Walking was all very fine but it was not bringing my level of activity back up to where it once was. My remedy was the acquisition of a B’Twin bike trainer, again from Decathlon. The mountain bike was attached to this and I began to ease into spending some time on it. However, it probably is not the best of arrangements for silent running even after changing the back tyre to a quieter one; putting gaffer tape over the original might have made more sense for I am not buying another bike for this job.

Ten minutes on the thing were quite enough at the start, such was my lack of fitness. Since then, the sessions have grown longer and they are around the half hour mark these days. To some, that prospect would seem very dull and it was the same for a younger me. A spot of reading of magazines balanced on the handlebar is enough to address any sense of impatience though. Anything that helps me to spend time sorting my fitness has to be a good thing and I always reproach myself for reading nearly as much as I could anyway.

So far, there have been results and I reckon that I feel fitter though I’d rather have lost more flab than I have so that’s enough encouragement to continue. That it has given me a spurt of exploring hill country is another bonus because it did feel as if I was restricting myself to lower heights, as nice as they are. The summer weather we had this year helped too, in spite of it being at times a little hotter for walking than is ideal.

Nevertheless, I was lured out in places like Buttermere, Ullswater, St. Sunday Crag, Grasmere, Loughrigg Fell and Orrest Head during a good few Cumbrian excursions. Welsh locations like Ysgyryd Fawr, Sugar Load and Gower also saw me as did Loch Etive and Mull in Scotland. Maybe I felt it was high time that I got back into hill wandering ways while fitness was improving. On its own, the subject never really got me excited because I suppose that the world of competitive sport felt a little sterile to me. It actually took outdoors explorations to get me walking through hill country instead of looking in on it as if it were some niche sporting interest. It only was when I got to seeing hillwalking as a way to get into special quiet places with an attractive quiet spirit of their own that I really took to the activity. Being somewhere unique when ravishing light falls upon it has led to many happy memories too. Fitness is not for boasting but is a means to an end, a way of ensuring that hill country visits can continue and I keep adding to those soothing recollections.

News of Walking World Ireland

Everyone can have a hiatus and there has been a long one on here for entries like this one. In my case, it is not as if I have been away from hillwalking. As it happens, I have had more trouble motivating myself to write stuff on here than getting out among hills and there is a growing list of Trip Reports to Come too. What has happened is that procrastination has got in the way of my getting those additional outings shared and it gets worse as the list grows longer. In addition, an old bike of mine has found its way onto rollers in an effort to increase fitness and reduce flab. The former has been a success so far and the latter needs more in the way of effort so the bike trainer will not be left to gather dust like another road bike that I acquired in April but that was taken out on a short cycle between Macclesfield and Buxton yesterday.

The inspiration for this post though is an email that I unexpectedly received from the publisher and editor of a walking magazine that I thought was defunct: Walking World Ireland. My impressions led me to join Mountaineering Ireland to received its journal, Irish Mountain Log, as a substitute. However plans are afoot to get Walking World Ireland back on newsagent shelves again, albeit under a new guise of Mountain World Ireland. Here is the text of that email:

An apology and announcement to readers of Walking World Ireland

From November 28th:

Walking World Ireland will become Mountain World Ireland

As a subscriber to Walking World Ireland, you’ll have noticed that the magazine has not been published for almost a year now – since the 2014 Annual.

As editor and publisher I want to apologise sincerely for this. We value every reader very highly, and it was only after a prolonged period of business difficulties that the decision to suspend publication was made. Since that moment it has been my clear hope and intention to return WWI to the shelves as soon as possible.

The reason I’m contacting you today is to let you know that the magazine is indeed making a comeback. I’m delighted to be able to say that, and I hope it will also come as good news to you.

From next month, Walking World Ireland will resume publication as Mountain World Ireland. It’s a small change, reflecting a slight but exciting change in emphasis – largely the result of the countless conversations I’ve had with readers over recent months.

Mountain World Ireland will remain at its core a hillwalking magazine, celebrating, as ever, the beauty of Ireland’s mountain landscapes and the pleasures and challenges they offer. But more, it will celebrate the wider world of mountain sports – the people and activities that inspire us as lovers of high places.

I hope and trust that this rebirth will meet with your approval, and will continue to inform, entertain and inspire you as WWI did. I want to thank all of you for the patience you have shown, and for the many, many expressions of support we have received from readers and subscribers. I hope to hear from you again with any comments you may have on our future direction. Anything, in fact, that you have to say.

Finally, I want to assure all of you with unfulfilled subscriptions that we will honour all our outstanding commitments, and if you’re unsure where your subscription stands, do contact me at [email protected] or on +353 (0)86 805 4590.

Sincerely

Conor O’Hagan
Editor

Copyright © 2014 Mountain World Ireland, All rights reserved.

You are receiving this email because you have previously subscribed to Walking World Ireland

Our mailing address is:
Mountain World Ireland
10 Kickham Road
Kilmainham
Dublin,
Ireland

Some of the sentiments sound familiar so I will wait and see what becomes of these plans. An improving economic situation may help the new venture so I wish it well while intending to savour what is on offer. If anything, the WWI offer had gone a little repetitive so a refresh was needed anyway and a break often can make for a good reboot as has been seen with many a movie franchise. My Irish travel horizons may have been narrowed by life events over there in recent years but there may be a chance to do some explorations of my own yet.

As for the future of this outpost, I hope to get more trip reports shared and the summers of 2013 and 2014 came good enough to lure me out and about on welcome and much needed escapades. Usual haunts like the Scottish Highlands, the Lake District and the Peak District saw incursions along the Gower, Monmouthshire, Yorkshire and Northumberland. The perceived need for better photos drove quite a lot of these and the Lake District photo album is being rebuilt at the moment too. Also, there may have been visits to other places too and there are musings that I wish to mull over on here too once procrastination has been banished.

An eighth birthday

This bank holiday weekend is being a quiet affair for me. With a cold to weather, it certainly has not been one for grand designs and the weather has not been sunny all the while either. Saturday was sunny around Macclesfield though and I got out for a local evening walk around by Prestbury.

Yesterday saw me head to Alderley Edge for a walk around by Hare Hill. I may have followed the course in an anticlockwise direction instead of the intended clockwise one but I was not along in doing so and I left the best for the return section from Hare Hill. It really is very pleasant with a multitude of bluebells putting on a pretty display. A cantankerous Jack Russell terrier slightly spoilt things by giving me a nip around my left ankle but that will fade in the fullness of time. A stop at the Wizard Tea Rooms for a bacon barm and a pot of tea made amends and I chose a more off-road course back to the village to catch my bus home.

This blog is entering its ninth year and things have changed over the years. When I started it, hill wandering was something for which I had more time than I do today. Nevertheless, I still enjoy getting out and about so there are trip reports to file. My last hill outing was near Llangollen in January so it’s well after time for another. If only life events offered a clearance, who knows where my mind may roam.

Currently, I am catching up with unread issues of The Great Outdoors and Outdoor Photography so the ideas shelf could get to see more on there. There are places like the Yorkshire Dales where I have not been for a while and Cumbria’s Lake District calls too. Summoning the energy to devise a scheme ahead of some alluring weather could produce results so there are rewards for any display of courage regarding an immediate future.

A circuit by the River Wye

One thing that strikes me about Britain is how you find the same river names turning up in different places. Those that come to mind include the Ouse, the Derwent and the Wye. There is every possibility that some have come upon this post looking for the Wye that rises near Pumlumon in Wales between ducking and diving across the border between Wales and England before reaching the Severn estuary near Chepstow. As it happens, I quite fancy spending some time near Tintern and such places, but that has yet to happen. Pumlumon, where the Welsh Wye rises, has remained untouched by my footfall too, so that’s another possibility.

Derbyshire’s Wye and Preceding Occasions Spent Beside It

What this piece features instead is another River Wye, the Derbyshire one that rises near Axe Edge before dropping into Buxton and winding its way towards Bakewell before then going on to join with the River Trent. It is a river that I have been near more often than I had realised. The reason behind that discovery is that all my visits to Buxton have put be not far from its course without my realising it. There have been a fair few of those since my cycling there on a Saturday in August 2000. That was the first and only time that I did so and the steepness of the route followed by the A537 not only convinced me not to return the same way that even but also triggered the start of my hill wanderings and ensure that buses have been used since then.

Speaking of buses, further forays have been facilitated by them and one January day spent going further than Buxton to stop at Miller’s Dale, Tideswell and Bakewell. It was a sort of poking around the Derbyshire Dales that a guidebook had inspired. Getting home from Bakewell even might have involved more bus journeys with one taking me as far as Chesterfield before another got me to Sheffield where trains took over travel duties. There must have been a change in Stockport, though I scarcely can recall it now. Well, it was more than a decade ago and many things have gone through my mind since then.

My first real walk on the Monsal Trail was on an overcast Easter Monday in 2001 when I embarked on an out and back journey from Monsal Head. When I initially tried to recall memories of the walk, it worked better for the outbound trot and I was unsure whether I returned on foot or not. However, I now reckon that I must have retraced my steps on foot as well. With these things, you need to be careful that later memories are not getting mixed with earlier ones.

A Saturday during July 2001 again saw me following the Monsal Trail with a then new camera, a Canon EOS 300 film SLR, and with a lot of sunshine around too. The starting point was Miller’s Dale and I remember the diversions that took me around by places like Cressbrook and how narrow the river valley got in places. Since then, former railway tunnels have been reopened, so the whole trail becomes a very reasonable cycling excursion for anyone. It was a delight to see the Monsal Viaduct with sunshine upon it, though it’s best to remember that photographing the dale from Monsal Head is best done in the morning with the sun in the east. Otherwise, lens flare and undesirable exposures will stymie your efforts. From Monsal Head, I did not follow the trail all the way into Bakewell but instead deviated to visit Ashford-in-the-Water before continuing to my destination. It was a good walk and that remains worth repeating.

Tideswell saw me visit again in December 2005 before I continued towards Litton and a descent into Cressbrook Dale to reach Monsal Dale. There again was a diversion towards Ashford-in-the-Water on the way to Bakewell. It remains a memorable day in spite of greasy ground conditions. A passing fellow walker tumbled to soil white woollen gloves, so my use of walking poles was far from daft. Apart from saving knees from wear and tear, they also steady you and stop most if not all accidents caused by slips.

Another Encounter

Last year, I was reminded of how long I had left Derbyshire without so much attention and I redoubled my efforts. Thinking through those memories, some faded, again makes me keen to explore old haunts and reinforce those memories with new ones. That was partly why I got myself over to Bakewell on the penultimate Saturday in April of last year. Apart from the prospect of some sunshine, the need for some me time following a recent life event was another motivator.

What resulted was a circuit from Bakewell that took in Ashford-in-the-Water and Monsal Dale. Before leaving Bakewell though, the presence of sunshine allowed me some photo opportunities that I never had to the same extent before. For instance, I only ever got near Bakewell’s main bridge over the Wye in declining light, so that needed addressing. Then, there was the churchyard that I only remember visiting under overcast skies. With a day ahead of me that allowed plenty of time for walking, I was not to overlook chances like these.

Not far from Bakewell’s parish church, I found a useful public footpath for getting to Ashford. The sun ducked behind clouds while I was crossing fields but it was not as if I were being deprived. One thing about the Derbyshire Dales is that once you are above the dales themselves, the countryside is largely level up there like a plateau and the photos end up needing panoramic compositions unless interesting skies are what you get over you. Along with many fields, roads such as Standedge Road and Crowhill Lane were crossed too with navigation across a tilled field after one of these feeling uncertain until I reached the next one along. Bumbling around in someone else’s field is not my idea of a walking, especially with sharp words ringing in my ears as happened one December Saturday afternoon around Sedbergh. None of that rancour spoiled this day though and I followed the lane until I saw a path down by a mast that dropped me onto the A6 near Ashford-in-the-Water. The descent was steep yet steady and plenty of views of the lie of the land below me occupied the mind while navigation was steadied by a useful wall. These types of things get called handrails and are invaluable.

Getting across the A6 was less tricky than it might have been and I got to spend some time around Ashford. As luck would have it, the sun was playing hide and seek on me with the clouds so I needed to wait before I had the light needed for the sort of photos that I had in mind. Thus, I was delayed around Ashford’s church and chose a lunching spot in view of the Sheepwash bridge, a packhorse structure where lambs were pinned in at one side (the left of the picture) and ewes driven across to wash their wool before shearing began. These days, the Wye is more likely to have trout than sheep in its waters. Its older use would generate an amount of commotion anyway and I wonder how modern minds would have perceived such a practice with all its guile and herdsmanship. Photography and strolling appears to be its main uses now as it is closed to motorised traffic. When I was making the most of the midday sun, folk were ambling about and that may not be to everyone’s taste, so the early morning light that falls on the bridge from the east causes anyone making use of that to have little or no human intrusion in their compositions.

From Ashford, it was back across the A6 again to make my way towards Monsal Dale. There were two choices: a lower level path to Lees Bottom that strayed not far from the A6 and a less direct course around by Sheldon and Deep Dale. Because I did not fancy being beside road traffic any more than was needed, I went for the Sheldon route. There was a range of reasons why this part of my walk was busier than that from Bakewell to Ashford. Even going uphill did nothing to dissuade some. Was it down to the time of day or the location? That is a question that I cannot answer, but there was no grumpiness with there being plenty of space to share on the way towards Sheldon.

While passing through Sheldon, I was on the lookout for a public footpath that would lead me towards Deepdale. It looked as if I had found it, but something about its aspect left me getting cold feet. Lack of waymarks and a missing stile certainly did not help and visions of blundering in fields returned me to the road again. Others were more brave than me and I left them to go their way while I trod Johnson Lane with views of Magpie Mine to my left.

After turning right onto a busier road, I found my way to the unmetalled byway of Wheal Lane that led towards the path through Deep Dale. This is managed as a nature reserve for the preservation of its wild flower habitat by an organisation who I never encountered before: Plantlife. The clouds that had filled the sky as I journeyed around by Sheldon were breaking and I began to hope again for seeing Monsal Dale in good light after giving up on the idea. In the event, I need not have worried, for cloud cover steadily dissolved over the remainder of the day.

That lower level path from Ashford-in-the-Water was crossed again, and some folk needed directions from me and I hope they sent them the way that they wanted. Before crossing the A6 at Lees Bottom, I stopped at a useful public convenience. This was without running water by design, a strange thing to many, and hand sanitiser was available instead of the soap and water that most of us would seek. That I wasn’t the only one thrown by this became obvious when someone else needed the results of my perception.

Once on the other side of the A6, the path into Monsal Dale beckoned and I remained concerned about a rogue cloud blocking the sun for the final landmark that I had in mind for a photo: Monsal Viaduct. The bank of clouds had broken, but some shenanigans were going on over my head that kept me on my toes. Thankfully, nothing ruinous was to come of it and I remained keen to get to my objective. What became clear was that it was not that far away from the A6 even if you feel that you are nowhere near it when at Monsal Head. Sometimes, it takes a walk for that sort of thing to become clear and I also noted a useful bus stop for a future incursion around here.

First though, I needed to get through woodland before being released into pasture not far beyond a weir that I also visited. This was a path that was well visited and I had to share the views, which hardly was surprising given how well Monsal Dale is known and how near roads it is. Quite what John Ruskin would have made of all the visitors is a question that I cannot answer, but there was plenty of clearance was the making of photos. That meant that the valley remained peaceful and alluring of a sunny day near the end of April.

The recently reopened Headstone Tunnel was a tempting walking prospect but my not wanting to waste sunshine was enough to keep me out of there. Instead, I retraced old steps to get up to the hotel above me. A delightful sight lay below me and it was one that needed a morning outing to make the best of the scene with a camera. There by the roadside, I dallied a while and partook of an ice cream before continuing by road to Little Longstone before crossing a field to rejoin the former railway line again. This route may not be anywhere as necessary as it was on my first trots around here but it usefully remains in existence anyway.

Once up on the trail, the number of cyclists using the amenity had greatly increased from what it was before and I had every intention of following it all the way back to Bakewell. That resolve remained until I passed what formerly was Great Longstone station, but something beset me that never happened on the trail before: it began to feel like a slog. Looking back now, this almost feels like a lack of gratitude, given the steady sunshine that I was being bequeathed at the time. Maybe, I thought I should have been going faster given the good surface and there was concern that the same hardcore surface wasn’t so friendly on my feet too. Also, familiarity might have bred contempt so it might be an idea to follow it by bicycle in the future and that sounds a delightful idea now as I write these words.

Eventually, I decided to leave the Monsal Trail for another bridleway near Toll Bar House. It was better than getting grumpy and the green lane appeared to offer a more direct route into Bakewell too. Even with a hummock ahead of me, the new surroundings kept me interested and steady progress saw its results with Bakewell coming into view below me. Eventually, I was deposited not fat from the town centre and made for a waiting bus to start my journey home. That was a busy double-decker and, given the day, there could be no surprise at that. Clearly, others had good taste in weather and countryside so I hope they enjoyed their day out like I did.

Travel Arrangements:

Bus service 58 from Macclesfield to Buxton and bus service 177 from the latter to Bakewell. Bus service 218 from Bakewell to Sheffield and travel by train from there back home with a change in Stockport.

Never the best to go rushing time

When I was looking for my first step into the world of work after university, the quietness of some months were frustrating. January and September appear to fall into this category but I now see them differently. The sense of stasis has not gone but I now prize it because so much of a year can go in a frenzy. A working life will do that with its many deadlines and the events of family life can do the same as I found last year. Then, there can be the chasing of good weather from the start of year until summer. The whole mix can leave one so exhausted before autumn comes that hibernation looks attractive. It quite possibly explains my energy profile over the course of a year.

One matter that makes me wonder is when I start hearing about events towards the end of year being advertised right at the beginning. Concerts given by famous artists may be very desirable but why go wishing away the present? The same trick is used by marketing folk in the world of digital technology too and the risk is that you never appreciate what you have. Sections of the technology media do not help matters by speculating over what might be in the next iPhone or iPad but does it matter? Much of the time, the hubbub needs ignoring so we can enjoy any other delights that come our way in this life.

Another thing that amazes me is long term planning. Some plan their holidays a year in advance and I ask myself how on earth do you know how things will be then. Life’s twists and turns bring the unexpected and that may be the comfortable situation that you expect either. Laying out your life before you just sounds like hubris to me and recent years have enforced that thinking with the progressive frailties of elderly parents. Parents of young children may feel the same. Your life may feel like it is being put hold but the present can bring joys too.

There is no doubt that January can feel too quiet for some and minds go racing ahead to designs on summertime holiday bliss. With days like Blue Monday and the current long run of stormy weather, such escapism is understandable. However, Blue Monday actually came up sunny this year so you could cheer yourself with a walk away from our more built up areas. That may not cure money worries or people trouble but the past year has reinforced for me how essential a good walk can be for easing a troubled mind and thinking over things. Even venting stress through footsteps often is what is needed and is all the better so no one else gets hurt by what is going on within you. Complaints from knees and feet are better than those from others with injured minds.

The real use of a quiet January is to take stock before the year’s distractions get cracking. The month wasn’t so quiet in 2013 but 2014 brought what was needed and my mind could wander elsewhere. On digital maps, I have ranged over the hills of mid Wales and along the courses of the Wye and Severn rivers that rise in Pumlumon. The Black Mountain in the Brecon Beacons National Park has been perused too while a general survey of transport possibilities have been ongoing. Any bus service that looks useful was noted with Sundays being better to avoid until the summertime Beacons Bus network recommences. While a little stay to sample what is in those places sounds promising, no dates are set as the course of life remains largely unknown and the uncertainties and vagaries of the weather lie among those.

It was the same sort of metal wandering that led to my visiting the Western Isles in August 2008. Quieter times allowed the formulation of an escapade that I am loathe to consider at the moment. Then, the playing with different configurations actually led to one that fitted in a week when other parts of the U.K. and Éire were getting a soaking. However, I pulled a cracker that I never will forget.

Another thing that I relished last month is a sense of steadiness that was so different from how much of 2013 felt. It so felt like bliss that it was tempting to procrastinate and leave some less pleasant and necessary tasks for later. Those now need listing and tackling because procrastination is not the way to go either. It’s as bad as wishing away time ahead of summer holidays or the launch of an attractive gadget. Moments need seizing even if the freedom to relax a little is all the more appealing; no one can relax all the time.

January is not only for contemplating and designing escapades because it can have some of its own too. 2011 saw me head to Wales, Scotland and Ireland on successive weekends before I was swamped with work. Being in the off season does mean cheaper deals and lured me to Edinburgh and Llangollen one weekend after another. The first allowed me to recall times from my student days in a wonderful city and the second had me threading new ground with views of spots seen and sampled on previous outings.

February can be less frantic too though it was filled with angst in 2011 and weighed down on me in 2013. In 2012, it was so different with a weekend trip to savour a section of Northumberland’s coastline that I had walked under cloudier skies. Last weekend, I got as far as Lincoln to visit its cathedral and its castle. The latter is under restoration ahead of the octocentenary of the signing of the Magna Carta next year. Currently, all the scaffolding is restricting what you can see so I didn’t get the photo of Lincoln Cathedral that I had fancied. Another visit when it’s all done sounds a possibility though the entry prices surely will have gone up from £2 for an adult by then. English Heritage look after the old Bishop’s Palace and charge £4.60 for adult entry so that maybe what the entry charge for Lincoln Castle should be. Even with a reduced charge, the lady issuing my ticket took pains to tell me how little there was to see though a free tour was available if I fancied that. In the event, what was there satisfied me and I rather fancy the idea of seeing more should the occasion arise. What I saw around Lincoln’s Cathedral Quarter looked very attractive on a sunny Sunday and I’d venture that the actual cathedral itself is more ornate than York Minster too. I left for home with a sense of satisfaction.

Whatever others may say or think, I have a certain affection for the months of January and February. They can be the calm before a frenzy and escapes from the everyday are a possibility. While having a breather appeals to me at the moment, there is no harm clearing niggling tasks out of the way too and the post-Christmas clearance often allows the space for doing exactly that. Then, it is a matter of taking the rest of the year as it comes. After all, long term planning often gets derailed by life itself.