Category: Cumbria
An occasion when resolve got rewarded: Wandering from the shore of Ullswater to the heart of Grasmere
14th February 2017 Webcams can be both a blessing and a curse. They are handy for seeing what weather and ground conditions are like in areas of hill country, especially during wintertime. That is fine if you definitely are heading somewhere and the conveyed message is promising, but they can irritate if you find that you have missed out by staying at home.
That was how I felt during the second Sunday in July 2014 after a wonderful weekend trip to Buttermere. Having been away for several weekends on the trot, I might have been looking for an excuse to stay home, and my seeing what I missed on that Sunday stiffened my resolve for the next weekend.
The added determination was needed, for I was soaked on the way to Macclesfield's train station. At the time, someone could have questioned the sanity of what I was doing. Conditions were much drier when I got to Windermere, and the trend continued around Patterdale. It was if much of the heavy rain had by-passed Cumbria and there were signs that some had been around there given the stormy look of the leaden skies overhead me and the clag surrounding a number of fells.
Finding Quiet Corners Around Patterdale & Glenridding
Saturday evening did have occasional showers, but this was a far cry from what drenched me in Macclesfield. There was time to potter about Patterdale and Glenridding. The lower shores of Ullswater were frequented for long enough that I even got to see the fell tops, seeing a some sunlight before the sun went down for the day. There was time for an evening meal too, and it was a quieter, more intimate spot that took my fancy.
Other such purveyors would not have offered such peaceful surroundings. If I had the expectation that Patterdale was to be the home of soothing silence with only nature providing any soundtrack, it would have been unmet. There was music was to be heard from both Patterdale Hall and Patterdale Hotel. There was some recompense in the amusing sight of two young girls using inflatable guitars in a sort of sword fight in front of the latter of these. Still, any human noise was not so pervasive as to intrude everywhere, for there remained quieter corners to be found.
From Patterdale to Grasmere via St. Sunday Crag
After the following morning's breakfast, I set to a spot of strolling around the villages of Patterdale and Glenridding as well as Ullswater's lower reaches, searching for some photo opportunities. Though satisfying ones were thin on the ground, my retracing of steps showed me how peaceful the place could be without the sound of any revelling.
Retracing some of my steps back from Glenridding, I turned onto the lane leading to Grisedale at Grisedale Bridge. After threading along tarmac for a while, I found a footpath taking me up towards Thornhow End. The going was steep in the gathering heat of the day. Others had the same idea as I did, but left them pass me so I could go at my own ease, taking in any views that were there to be savoured. It helped that those over Ullswater were opening out before me and that I could see where I had loitered both on the previous evening and earlier that morning.
Other views opened up on the way up to the top of Birks too. Looking across Grisedale led the eye towards the bulk of Birkhouse Fell, and beyond that lay Sheffield Pike. Around these, a multitude of routes leads fellwalkers towards the top of Helvellyn and Catstye Cam. These are prospects that I have pondered more than once without making any of such designs real. Between them, there should be enough cause for a return sometime.
Cloud was set to frustrate photographic efforts as I continued along the summit of Birks and meant any views across Patterdale towards High Street were not of the sort of quality that makes me make anything but record shots. It was as if I were collecting reasons to return. St. Sunday Crag lay ahead of me, and cloud broke to leave me sunlit sightings of both Helvellyn and Catstye Cam. The amount of exposure to be encountered by a walk along Striding Edge was there to be seen, and everywhere seemed rocky at those higher reaches.
Once I had crested the top of St. Sunday Crag, there was a pressing matter that I to address once I had enough mobile phone signal: I needed to phone my father when there was someone with him to help with taking the call. He had little sense of where I was, and I never let him in on my whereabouts either. He had mixed up his days of the week and was expecting me to visit him sooner than was planned. Quite what other walkers made of this Irishman speaking on a phone in such a spot, I'll never know, and it is not something that I usually do either. That times have changed since then means that I am less likely to do the same these days. After all, I visit hill country as a respite from everyday life. That was not so possible back then.
With that phone call made, I looked at what faced me if I kept going towards Cofa Pike for the ascent to the flat top of Fairfield. In the event, I decided that I did not fancy it and picked up an informal path at Deepdale Hause that would drop me to Grisedale Tarn. Steep sections made for careful progress until gradients levelled off and navigation towards the outlet from the tarn was devoid of the confirming line of a path. Breaks in the cloud brought more in the way of sunshine, though Patterdale remained under its cover.
There was time for a rest beside Grisedale Tarn before I continued with my walk. It was August 2005 when I last had been this way, for I have photos from a time when I mainly pursued film photography. That day, I believe that I was headed for the top of Fairfield, and it was to take up one of the most frighteningly eroded paths that I ever tried using. The way down took me to Patterdale by Hart Crag and Hartsop above How. It was that day that I rejected the idea of going down Cofa Pike to go over St. Sunday Crag after the ardour of my ascent. The seeds were sown for a walk that came to pass in the 2014, the one that I am describing here.
My next destination was Grisedale Hause from where I would drop into Hause Moss, a level area that by rights could host another tarn. In reality, this is but a bog with Fairfield's gentler side rising from it. While the slopes remain steep and craggy, they are more hospitable than the foreboding cliffs that form its northern aspect. These were seen in the flesh for the most time earlier in my walk; they appear no less striking in the line drawings that Alfred Wainwright included in the first of his Pictorial Guides to the Lakeland Fells. Fairfield is not a place about which to be blundering in poor visibility.
My first encounter with Fairfield was on a walk that started from Rydal Mount and took me over Heron Pike and Great Rigg, with the way to Ambleside going via Hart Crag, Dove Crag, High Pike, Low Pike and Low Sweden Bridge. It was a horseshoe route and both Great Rigg and Heron Pike loomed over me as I went down to Rowan's Ground with Tongue Gill beside. This was an unpeopled place, though it could have done with a breeze to take the edge off the warm afternoon sunshine.
Another crossing of Tongue Gill was needed to reach the track down to Mill Bridge on the A591. Once on the busy roadside, it was time to make for the junction, from which a lane would take me into Grasmere. The heat meant that I was flagging a little by this stage, so I appreciated the chance of a refreshing stop in the heart of the village before I began my way home. That initial test of resolve had paid dividends and with all my traipsing over these fells, there remains yet more to explore.
Travel Arrangements
Return train journey from Macclesfield to Windermere. Bus service 508 from Windermere to Patterdale. Bus service 555 or 599 from Grasmere to Windermere.
A weekend spent around Buttermere
8th February 2017 The last few trips to the Lake District have had the same thing in common: overnight stays at a YHA hostel. The latest was last December when I stayed in Ambleside and walked from Great Langdale to Grasmere. Before that, I need to cast my mind back to the summer of 2014 when there were three trips to the Lake District. The last of them saw me revisit Orrest Head before heading to Ambleside for a walk from there over Loughrigg Fell to Langdale YHA. Before that, it was the turn of Patterdale from where I walked over St. Sunday Crag en route to Grasmere.
The first of the lot took me to Buttermere and that is the subject of this long-overdue entry. It was the first weekend in July and Le Tour de France had its Grand Départ in Yorkshire. As someone drawn to quieter spots, Cumbria was my choice and some sunny weather was promised. The frenzy about the cycle race meant that witnessing the thing took more organisation and more exposure to crowds than was to my taste. After all, life then was such that a spot of peace was in order.
2014-07-05
It must have been near enough the middle of the day when I arrived, but that did nothing to stop me having designs on walking along the ridge comprising Seat, High Crag, High Stile and Red Pike. While I made for Scarth Gap, I eventually thought better of such a scheme and stuck with Haystacks instead. It was not to be a waste of a day with plenty of sunny weather.
It had been August 2003 when I last visited Buttermere, so a return visit was long overdue. Then, I struck on along the road to Honistor Pass before following paths and tracks towards Grange and the shores of Derwentwater, along which I returned to Keswick where I stayed the night.
This time, I followed the track to the northern end of Buttermere with views of Fleetwith Pike looming large beyond it. Next, I picked up a higher track through Burtness Wood, though it later dropped down to the lake shore. It was at Peggy's Bridge where I picked up the track leading to Scarth Gap. In the afternoon sunshine, my surroundings looked resplendent.
There may have been designs on cutting out Seat altogether in favour of a more direct route to High Crag, but there was no obvious path to see so I continued to Scarth Gap. It was when I reached that saddle that I reviewed my plans against the time of day after peering down towards Ennerdale and chose an ascent of Haystacks instead.
That decision was the cause of my needing to scramble up a few sets of rocky crags, thinking that it certainly was not going to be my way down again. If I had designs on a cheeky side trip before going along the intended ridge, this could have been a spanner in the works. It was just as well that good sense had thwarted that idea.
Once I was past those crags, the going became gentler and Great Gable lay in shadow. Innominate Tarn was passed and I sought out Blackbeck Tarn, my next landmark. After that, I was set to cross Warnscale Beck before starting a steep relentless descent down the slopes of Fleetwith Pike. Eventually, the gradients relented around Warnscale Bottom so I had gentler progress from there to Gatesgarth Farm. There, I joined the road for a short stretch before finding the track to Peggy's Bridge for a repeat stroll along the banks of Buttermere in the still evening air.
With most gone about their evening business elsewhere, one could dawdle and enjoy the uninterrupted peace. When I finally got to the YHA, I sorted out my bed for the night before heading out again. With the evening peace and the sound of Sour Milk Gill and of Herdwick sheep filling the air, I scarcely could withdraw from being out of doors until it was well dark. Doubts over interior lighting was the only thing that could draw me indoors from such a soothing ambience.
2014-07-06
The morning dawned with a mixture of clouds and sun. After breakfast, I started pottering about to make the most of it. The shore of Buttermere was revisited while I soaked in views of the surrounding fells. Though clouds continued to build, I paid a visit to Crummock Water. Though the bus had followed its shores the day before, my stroll showed its setting to even more pleasant than that of Buttermere itself and it helped that my vantage point was as good as deserted.
Looking around me before I left for home again, ideas began to coalesce that yet could lead to new trips. Traipsing up the steep sides of High Crag, High Stile and Red Pike one at a time would make for multiple trips or a pleasant longer stay and nearby Grasmoor and Robinson offer additional temptation too. It was a weekend that offered so much: pleasant weather, wonderful scenery and plenty of peace and quiet. Given my current state, a return seems long overdue.
Travel Arrangements
Return train trip between Macclesfield and Penrith. Bus service X4 or X5 between Penrith and Keswick. Bus service 77 or 77A between Keswick and Buttermere.
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.
A possible project milestone
18th November 2014 This past summer has been one that has seen me revisit the Lake District after a gap of more than four years. In fact, there was more than one weekend visit too and the first of these could not have enjoyed better weather. The source of my attention was Buttermere, a valley that I have overlooked for far too long since my first visit there over a decade ago. Though I played with the idea of going over Seat, High Crag, High Stile and Red Pike in a single push, I saw sense and stuck with Haystacks instead. The next object of my explorations was Patterdale from where I trotted over St. Sunday Crag and continued to Grasmere via Grisedale Tarn. For at least two weekends on the trot, this part of Cumbria defied predicted weather doom with the second offering up a sultry opening that got me engaging in more rocky fell walking. The last outing was tamer following a delayed departure and took in Orrest Head and Loughrigg Fell before the evening grew greyer and damper.
All of this allowed me to capture a number of photos and that partially was the cause of me getting out and about in the first place with the YHA helping by having spaces in their hostels in the right places at the right times that I could uncover on their website. It was the quest for a better photo of Fleetwith Pike with Buttermere in front of it that drew me there in the first place and there was no disappointment, especially with a late summer evening spent in fading light with the only perturbation of a quiet valley being the tumbling waters of a gill. It was memorable bliss.
My St. Sunday Crag outing granted its share of photographic opportunities too with Ullswater and the fells about Helvellyn attracting my notice. However, my third excursions saw an envisaged photo of Grasmere denied by advancing cloud so that is one that could need repeating, and any excuse will do a hill wanderer when it comes to revisiting a pleasing location.
There are other possibilities, of course, with recent films made by Terry Abraham with Mark Richards and Chris Townsend drawing new things to my notice. An actual ascent of Helvellyn from Wythburn could become a reality yet as could a similar escapade to the top of Great Gable. The latter stunned me when I glimpsed it from Haystacks, and it looks manageable from Seathwaite too. In many ways, I am beginning to wonder if it is that little bit easier to get to the Lakeland fells than it is to their counterparts in north-west Wales. A recent promise of good weather around Anglesey and Snowdonia brought home to me how low my stock of trip ideas for those places is. Replenishment is ongoing.
One thing that might help with that is a perusal of my online Snowdonia photo album because it has been doing the same for its Lakeland counterpart that partly inspired me to return to Cumbria again year. In fact, a good number of photos from the past summer have found their way into the Lake District album during an overhaul that it received. That did take a share of time to do between selecting and processing photos as well as writing some descriptive text to go with them. Not unexpectedly, the time spent doing that took away from writing stuff on here so here is a list of the photos that I now have in this album (entry links to an actual photo too):
Looking towards Langdale Pikes from Orrest Head, Windermere
Red Screes & Wansfell Pike as seen from Orrest Head, Windermere
Caudale Moor & Thornthwaite Crag as seen from Orrest Head, Windermere
Looking towards Helvellyn from Place Fell, Patterdale
Looking towards Blencathra from Place Fell, Patterdale
Ullswater from Thornhow End, Patterdale
Helvellyn & Striding Edge, Glenridding
Dollywaggon Pike & Grisedale Tarn, Grasmere
Looking along Tongue Gill towards Grisedale Hause, Grasmere
High Pike, Low Pike & Red Screes as seen from Loughrigg Fell, Ambleside
Low Pike and High Pike, Ambleside
Great Gable as seen from Haystacks, Buttermere
Looking north from Scarth Gap, Buttermere
Fleetwith Pike & Warnscale, Buttermere
Whiteless Pike & Grasmoor, Buttermere
High Stile & High Crag, Buttermere
High Stile & Red Pike, Buttermere
Scales, Mellbreak & Crummock Water, Buttermere
Clough Head from Jenkin Hill, Keswick
Skiddaw as seen from Little Man, Keswick
Some of the above dates from I used to use film cameras and I fancy bettering the efforts on another visit, but digital photos dominate the album now that I finally caught up with various efforts from as long ago as 2007. Then, film photography was my mainstay and I only pulled out the Canon EOS 10D DSLR I had for making some photos for trip reports. The arrival of a Pentax K10D changed all of that, and I hardly use any film at all now. It wasn't the 2014 photos that took the time but the backlog from previous years too, along with enlargements of older photos originally captured on film. Hopefully, I will keep the album more alive from now on to avoid a backlog like this in the future because another hope of mine would be to keep visiting this wonderful corner of England. If anything, those excursions might be opportunities to correct any misimpressions that I may have as much as seeing new sights and improving on older photographic efforts.
Fitness
14th November 2014 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 out 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 (a remarkable 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 pair of 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 were restricting myself to lower heights, as nice as they are. The summer weather we had this year helped too, despite it being at times a little hotter for walking than is ideal.
Nevertheless, I was lured out to 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 time that I got back into hill wandering ways while my 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 see 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.
