Category: Places Explored
Journal keeping
14th September 2018 One thing that I do not keep myself is a written diary, though photos from various outings act as prompts for my memory at times. Until his health no longer allowed him, my late father used to keep a diary and often referred to it when trying to unearth what happened on a particular day. After his passing, they were put somewhere more discreet for the sake of maintaining a sense of dignity.
It is not recent encounters with lapses of memory that has brought this to mind but recent reading. Over the summer, I caught up with Chris Townsend's Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles, where a long hike along the Pacific Crest Trail from thirty years before was recounted lucidly. That was followed by Hamish's Mountain Walk by Hamish Brown, where mentions of journal keeping appear in a narrative that includes reminiscences from twenty or so preceding years of wandering about Scotland's hills. Going back further in time, I then read Mary T. S. Schäffer's Old Indian Trails of the Canadian Rockies, where journal keeping again must have made the retelling of summer expeditions from several years before a little bit more successful.
Thinking about it now, I find myself wondering just how much travel writing needs a supporting diary or journal to make it work. Currently, I am making my way through Bradt's Roam Alone, with its tales of solo travelling that read so fresh that you have to wonder if some contemporary notes assisted the various short stories.
All this probably should make me consider if scribbling a few notes at the end of each excursion might be worthwhile, given how long I have tended to leave things before writing them on here. It is true that less adventurous rambles leave less of an imprint on anyone's memory, as I found with one more recent trip report, so that might be a hint that new experiences should be sought on a continuing basis. Meanwhile, my memory often beats others, and that might explain how I never got thinking these thoughts before now.
Life's journey has followed that trail in recent years and new things have been tried. Maybe, it might be no harm to keep doing that with my wanderings too. Revisiting old haunts brings satisfaction, but exploring new places keeps things from feeling stale. Adventurous thoughts lead to roaming North America, New Zealand or Australia in my mind's eye, yet there are other possibilities closer to hand. It is a matter of making some time to uncover them and then make the most of what is there.
More ambling along the Goyt Valley
12th September 2018 Sometimes, walking routes get reprised very close to each other and this pairing is one of those that, I thought, had been written up earlier but surveying what was posted on here already proves me wrong. It might be that because I have done some pairing of different walks in other trip reports, blending of memories has struck, so let us move along.
A pair of strolls along variations of what otherwise might have been the same route allow an opportunity to find some contrasts, and so it is with these trots between Burbage and Whaley Bridge via the Goyt valley. Here is a list: wintery showers versus a taste of summer, midwinter versus the onset of spring, the end of a year versus the start of another and the end of one piece of business versus the onset of another. Each changed the character of my hikes as much as the deviations that I made the second time around, so they hopefully will add a little something to their respective narratives.
2016-12-22
It is difficult to talk about starting a Christmas break when part of your working life has stopped and another is continuing to what feels like the bitter end. That was the conundrum that surrounded this walk, yet an offer of a half decent day was enough to draw me outside again after a serene day spent among the Cumbrian fells. In truth, there was to be a lot of the same sensibility about this outing too, and that was just as well given how my life was going at the time.
My arrival in Burbage was followed by some fumbling while I oriented myself, but I was soon on the track by Burbage-edge Plantation. Height was gained steadily before a wintry shower of rain came my way to test my resolve. As if that were not enough. The wind was strong enough to obscure the words of a passing runner. Thankfully, this was to be the only such stormy weather episode of the day and dry, sunny if chilly weather became my lot for the rest of the walk.
Skirting the aforementioned forestry plantation, I continued from Burbage Edge towards Berry Clough with opening views of my surroundings. Sunshine came and went, but my mind was allowed to wanderer but not so far that it interfered with navigation. The path remained clear and became even cleared as I followed the clough downhill. All the while, I also needed to keep an eye on my footing even on an agreeable gradient.
The end of the incline landed me near the waters of the River Goyt where there was a bridge on which I loitered a while before picking up a path in the belief that it might be the desired right of way. That did not prove to be the case, but it mattered not a jot. Its boggy way led me across the well-named Goyt's Moss towards Errwood Reservoir and around by the lower slopes of Wild Moor. The surroundings suggested otherwise, but Buxton was only a few miles away, but the emptiness was just what was needed to experience a much-needed soothing interlude of calm.
By then, the course was the same as one that had been followed before, so there was little need to consult a map and I wandered along tracks and paths until I reached the road that would drop me onto the dam at the end of Errwood Reservoir. Here, I was to linger awhile, especially on the other side before I continued on my way. The last spell of sunshine of the came and I left as clouds blocked it again.
Losing height gained me the shore of Fernilee Reservoir, by which I was to process for a kilometre or two. It was not all level going either, for I needed to gain some height on the way to the lane that crosses the reservoir dam. Any idea of continuing along the east back of the River Goyt was extinguished by the sight of signs warning of path closure due to work on an asbestos roof. The way by the west bank would suffice, and it was on a good track too. Eventually, a way down to a bridge across the river was found, so I could follow its east bank to reach Shallcross Wood where I would meet two equestrians coming the other way, though I questioned the wisdom of their following the track that they were using because of the tree cover.
Beyond the wood, the right of way lead me onto the A5004 that would carry me into the heart of Whaley Bridge, where I would await the next bus back to Macclesfield. Arriving at the bus stop in plenty of time to do some shopping in a small place that was not too tiny to have a Big Issue seller plying his wares. Light was declining, so I was glad to see the bus arrive. Its passage along the B5470 was to cause a missed phone call from my solicitor, whose business would need to wait until the following morning.
The same applied to an auctioneer who made contact with me while I was out among the hills, but both matters were sorted quickly enough to close affairs for the year. If it was as easy as that to unwind in the time that was available, 2017 might have been different and life progresses as it does. Between Christmas and New Year, there were to be a few days spent in Mallorca that would have their own story to tell.
Though dampened by rain and having enough wind not to hear what someone else was saying, I persevered and dropped into the Goyt Valley. From Berry Clough onward, much of my route was a reprise of a walk undertaken in October 2013. As if to underline what recent years of tumult have done to my memory, the section along by Fernilee Reservoir had been a blur and I followed the River Goyt from its dam on the western side instead of the eastern one as I did before. Otherwise, there was reward in the form of some sunshine lighting up Errwood Reservoir. Nevertheless, another return is in order and one on a sunny day would be best, since I never have had much luck with the Goyt Valley when it comes to photography. It may mean getting muddy again, but that is a trifle when it gives returns like the ones I often get.
2017-03-25
What probably was the first sunny weekend of the year could not do other than lure me out of what felt like a rut. 2017 had started with a flu-like illness before enough was completed in Ireland to satisfy a two-year deadline. Then, my mind turned to sorting out a certain lack of energy and there was a reluctance to pursue more in the way of Irish works. These and what preceded them were blamed for my lethargy, rather than signs that my day job was not what I hoped it would be. A spring sabbatical that began soon after this hike was not enough to deal with that, so I ended up stepping into "oblivion": leaving my job to start a career break that would allow for rest and a time for exploration that laid the foundations for how I work these days. Little did I know that quite a year lay ahead of me.
That sunny day in March, I had a decision to make: was it Burbage to Whaley Bridge again or a walk from Disley back to Macclesfield using part of the Gritstone Trail before using other rights of way beyond Bollington? Both options had me torn between, but I chose the former for Saturday and the pull of the latter got me out again on Sunday. This was to become a walking weekend.
This time, there was no fumbling on arrival in Burbage, for I knew where I was going next. In any case, it was a release from a bus full of folk tempted out for the day by the predicted weather. From start to end, this was to be a day with plenty of sunshine and rising temperatures. Thankfully, that is how it turned out, too.
After coming a little along the now familiar, I stopped a while to organise myself and took in such sights as Grinlow Tower and the busy A537 across the valley floor from me. If this sounds like the weather made it easier for me to look around, there might be some truth in that thought. The same benign conditions also made it easier to deviate from the December route, as much as an earlier start and longer hours of daylight. It would have been even better a day later with the extra hour of daylight in the evening time added by the onset of Summer Time. Still, there was ample time on the last Saturday of Winter Time for my needs.
The first variation came soon enough, with my not skirting the Burnage-edge Plantation as long as I did in December. Instead, I kept going straight along the track as if destined for Derbyshire Bridge. However, I still left it for the Goyt Valley and did that near its highest point too. The out of action Cat & Fiddle Inn lay before me, but my closest encounter was to be that aboard the bus that brought me from Macclesfield.
My thoughts though were on rejoining the path down to Berry Clough, and there was plenty to see in the sunshine as I went on my way. Goyt's Moss and Stake Side took up most of my field of view until I began to drop along the clough itself. In good time, the now familiar bridge over the River Goyt began to be seen and then reached. After a photography stop, I was on my way again.
This time around, I ensured that I stayed as close to the line of my intended right of way as possible and got better views along the valley too. That there were hardly any marks on the ground from previous stragglers may have made it a more challenging task, but it increased the chances of solitary wandering, something that I relish. In something of a freestyle fashion, I found the wall where I would turn right and use as a handrail for further navigation. A clough crossing added a descent and subsequent re-ascent before a more descenting descent followed. While I should have stayed near the wall, I veered away in the hope of more friendly gradients and the chance of a zigzag course. Since I was on Open Access Land, there was no need to stick rigorously to the route of a public footpath anyway.
The cause of that testing descent was another nameless clough and I returned to the wall to continue to one with a name: Wildmoorstone Brook. Crossing that and going uphill again brought me to a reservoir near Goyt's Lane. While the road would take back towards Errwood Reservoir, I chose a byway in its place and that returned me to more familiar surroundings, but I was to add another twist: a footpath going around Bunsal Cob that cut out even more road walking. The knoll itself was not left without further exploratory perambulations to extend the time spent there before continuing to the dam of Errwood Reservoir.
Leaving there, I spotted another path that followed the slope of the dam itself to give a more satisfying start to a stroll along by Fernilee Reservoir. This was the first time that I was doing that without sunshine fading on me or rain showers intruding. There was loitering about its reservoir as I checked if a previously encountered obstruction remained because of work on a building containing asbestos in its fabric. Since the obstacle allowed no further passage, I advised others as much, and I retraced steps and followed the same course into Whaley Bridge as I did in December. It was just as unpeopled as I found it on other visits.
It can amaze how a brain records events for the signs of others out enjoying the day as much as I did, hardly remain now. Another curiosity is that the exact details of how I got home have been lost too, but any journey would have involved a change in Stockport. Whether that was from bus to train or train to train is unclear now, but both are plausible, and it certainly was not a direct bus ride to Macclesfield like the previous encounter with the area. The important details persist, and it is the ambience of the hike that can be reproduced most readily. Since that is often what draws me, it is just as well, and any sense of recalled calm is a godsend when life proceeds along one of its rougher stretches.
Travel Arrangements
Bus Service 58 from Macclesfield to Burbage on both days. Bus service 60 from Whaley Bridge to Macclesfield after the December walk. Bus service 199 or train to Stockport followed by a train to Macclesfield after the March hike.
A few hours wandering about the north wall of Great Langdale
4th September 2018 2016 was a very full year. There was a lot of Irish business to be completed along with two political upheavals and a new job that I now realise was not a match for me. Towards salving the last of these, there were no less than three overseas trips with on each to Austria, Norway and Mallorca. Even with these and maybe because of them, I still did not feel that I was getting the emotional space that I craved so much. It set the scene for changes in 2017 that led to the start of a career break.
This post tells the tale of another trip that preceded the personal tumult of 2017 while coming after the global turbulence of 2016 and in the midst of finishing the personal work for the year. It, too, was a reminder that not all was well with my lifestyle and there was another in the form of an inability to stop spending on some things as if the future never existed. Looking back on this now, I realise that it was caused by a lack of personal emotional space caused by having too much happening in my life. That theme was to result in some adjustment in subsequent years.
To avert any loss in motivation, I booked a single room in YHA Ambleside so I travelled up there by train and bus on Saturday. A later departure meant that I arrived in the dark, but that did not stop me strolling about the place. After all, the shore was near at hand and I even got into the heart of Ambleside, which was a kilometre or two away; in spite of the name, the hostel is found at Waterhead on the shore of Lake Windermere. A fish supper was enjoyed too, a rare thing for me these days. For the way back, I should have had my head torch for going along a darkened lane though I came to no harm because of my risk taking.
After all that, I settled down for the night and arose next morning to a pleasing scene. Between 08:00 and 09:00, the sun leisurely arose. Before this all started, I made a solitary photo that recorded a peaceful scene on Windermere with the sky having a rosy hue about the frosted grassland. This also preceded breakfast and I was lured out again after that to savour a scene whose tinting was changing from red to blue. Cloud cover steadily broke as I did so and, after collecting my belongings and checking out, it was time to await a bus to Great Langdale.
It may have been down to thinking of exploring the place at the wrong time but I never had much luck with seeing Great Langdale in bright sunshine. Admittedly, the visits have been few with the first being on a walk from Borrowdale that took in the Scottish sounding Langstrath and that was followed by a winter wander from Great Langdale to Ambleside. Both were greeted by grey skies. More often than not, I viewed the distinctive Langdale Pikes while on other hikes so it was not before time that I saw them up close in favourable conditions.
The bus dropped me at its terminus near the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. Frosted grass told a story of a preceding cold night on the valley bottom and the following morning was little warmer. This was more than a little noticed as I pottered along the flat ground by Great Langdale Beck between Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel and New Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. In fact, I was reproaching my forgetfulness when it came to having gloves. Local shepherds were moving their flock, something had me wondering if such an act could not have been done on another day. After letting them on their way, I shortened the distance to Stickle Ghyll while warming my hands as well as I could.
Following what had been a largely quiet interlude, I joined the busy path up to Stickle Tarn. The gradient was testing and it helped little that the perceived throng stopped me from stopping as much as I would have liked. Passing and re-passing the same people needed energy so I was not willing to allow that to happen so readily. The others were bound from the tarn with some continuing to the top of Pavey Ark. After the fleshpot, quieter surroundings were sought and found. The distraction had its uses for my hands warmed on the ascent while the presence of snow patches attempted to belie any sense of the day having become that little bit warmer too.
Looking back on what happened next, it might have been that the expected right of way was not a path on the ground, but even having a GPS receiver could not stop me veering off it. A determined effort could have addressed this, as I was to find afterwards in similar circumstances on the moors between Bamford and Hathersage in Derbyshire. Then, I stuck with the line almost regardless of what lay underfoot. Returning to its Cumbrian predecessor, I took the hint and adopted a freestyle approach. In any case, there were multiple paths so it was a case of picking one that went in the desired direction and the benign weather allowed for such an approach.
My wandering course took me around by Blea Rigg and Great Castle How. Though it was afternoon at this point, it was around these that I gained the most satisfaction. Few were about so I could amble as I liked and the momentary sense of relaxation was just what I needed with wonderful views round about me. Windermere could be seen to the south while both Codale Tarn and Easedale Tarn lay below me in the growing afternoon shadows. It did not matter that I ought to have been beside them and not above them as I was.
What began to occupy my mind was finding a way down to the eastern end of Easedale Tarn. Once the initial steepness of the chosen descent was past, it was replaced by more gentle slopes as I negotiated the way to the track by Sourmilk Gill. The sun may have been lowering all the while but I had daylight with me and there were a few others passing the way but in nothing like the numbers encountered on the way up to Stickle Tarn.
All navigational travails were behind me, for the clarity of a defined track aided passage as much as the onset of a quiet lane. The surrounding land was falling increasingly into shadow, but my timing was good when I got to Grasmere. There even was some time for self-tidying before the next bus to Windermere. The air may have been cooling again but I was on my way soon enough.
That afternoon had provided a much-needed interlude that was the forbear of longer ones like a subsequent springtime sabbatical and a longer career break. The identification of a need for more personal emotional space became a search that remains ongoing. It even seeps into how I approach work these days and a spot of quiet time among Cumbrian fells became the start of an ongoing journey.
What has not happened so far is the incorporation of repeat visits to that itinerary. Vantage points like Lingmoor Fell, Pavey Ark and Harrison Stickle all take my fancy and should add the familiarity whose absence was felt while figuring out what subjects were in the photos selected for this trip report. Doing so in similarly sunny and serene condition would add to such experiences and I would return in hope of such things. Life still needs quieter moments.
Travel Arrangements
Train journey between Macclesfield and Windermere. Bus service 555 from Windermere to Ambleside and from Grasmere to Windermere. Bus service 516 from Ambleside to Great Langdale.
Sport?
31st August 2018 Cooler temperatures have encouraged me to hop upon on a bicycle that is left permanently on a bike trainer. It got so hot at times this past summer that this was the last thing that I have contemplated. Some may think that such an act would be dull but I avoid anything like boredom by catching up with some reading at the same time.
This has been how I came to start through my back issues of the Irish Mountain Log, published by Mountaineering Ireland and one of the few remaining news stand titles that feature Irish hill walking. However, the organisation also covers other similar activities like mountaineering and climbing in both its indoor and outdoor forms.
That may be one reason why its editor insists in calling outdoor activities that take place in hill and mountain country a sport but funding for outdoor activities can come from government sports agencies for whatever reason and Ireland is among those. For instance, the Irish Trails website is funded by the Irish Sports Council.
However, I don't think of my hill wandering as being sport at all and I also find the expression alienating. To me, sport is a sterile thing with its focus on competition while my motivation for walking through the countryside is as much as about enjoying natural sights and sounds as getting some space to clear my mind. At heart, I am also an explorer so I like to see new sights too. It is about savouring surroundings and experiences rather than having a head filled with thoughts of conquest and victory.
The Irish Mountain Log does feature some of that so I would prefer outdoor-focussed activities to be called something more than a sport even if that attracts some funding. Mountaineering Ireland may support competitive events but they do include mountaineering and hill walking so my suggestion is that the label becomes "sport and outdoor activities" or "sport and outdoor pursuits". The titles may be longer but they sound more inclusive and might incorporate better the social side of these activities that is important for so many in Ireland.
Autumn reflections
30th August 2018 There have been a few nights this week that possessed the chill of autumn and some trees already are losing their spring and summer colouring. In fact, I picked two early conkers on a walk this evening. Meteorologists may prefer us to wait until the start of September but I always wonder if autumn really starts in the middle of August. Some I overheard talking about turning on their heating may not disagree with me so strongly.
It is strange how we assign the summer months because when it comes to hours of daylight, August in some ways is a mirror image of April. The main difference generally is the residual heat remaining after June and July, something that can hold until the start of November. This past summer has been exceptional so it is not that the school year starts after a break without its share of sunshine even if August came damp.
For whatever reason, I can get ideas about fresh restarts around this time. It might be that there is a lull during September or the start of those school, college and university years but my mind can fill with possibilities while bemoaning that such things often are stymied by a decline in energy coinciding with growing hours of darkness. It often feels like a brief burst of energy before other things take hold.
The latter has me wondering about a midwinter getaway since I did not have an overseas trip this summer because of other concerns. This line of thought also emerged two years ago and there was a trip to Mallorca with some walking that in on my radar for a forthcoming trip report. Other possibilities will be assessed and enough time allowed so as not to have 2019 began like 2017 when a heavy cold weighed me down.
2018 has been a busy year for me with a move into self-employment taking up the summer months and a series of property maintenance tasks in Ireland that were planned during the career break that I began in August 2017. The last part of 2016 came busy with Irish matters so that might not have helped the start of the next year either. As I look to the rest of this year, I hope that work will remain steady enough for me to focus on other things like getting out and about in any good weather that comes. Life has become an adventure again and that blows away any staleness that once may have beset me.
