Category: Trip Reports
A mid-winter Mediterranean escape: Part 2
10th December 2018 Sometimes, writing comes easy and there are other times when it is harder. Writing up my Mallorcan escapade from nearly two years ago has become one of the latter for a number of reasons. Some of these are emotional given the time on which I am reflecting, and I also have distracted myself with technical matters such as moving this and other websites to faster servers. The added speed may prove noticeable, but any rough edges should be ironed out by now.
With that out of the way, it is not before time that I commenced the telling of the second part of what became a trilogy when I realised the scale of the task. This was not planned quite like Tim Robinson's duology regarding the Aran Islands or his trilogy about Connemara. Even with his planning, the difficulty in writing the Aran Island books is evident, and it offers some reassurance regarding any challenge overcome in writing this piece.
Addressing an Omission
The first part of the trip report dealt with a certain amount of familiarisation that preceded the deeper explorations described here, but I had failed to use the slacker pace of that day to address a packing oversight that needed sorting. What I had managed to do is arrive somewhere with near continuously strong daytime sunshine without having a hat to use while walking. The fact that the lapse did not dawn on me until the end of my second day on the island might have something to say about my state of mind at the time and how life had been going in 2016.
The outcome was that I had one extra thing to do before setting off for Sóller. Thankfully, these internet-enabled days allowed me to find an outdoors shop where the requisite purchase was made. However, instead of a broad rimmed hat like what I usually wear in such circumstances, I ended up with a peaked cap with a dropdown sun veil at the back. Its appearance reminded me of the sort of garb worn in desert warfare films, but it was to do what I asked of it.
Not so Late a Start
The added retail activity had me thinking that it had delayed my departure for Sóller more than was ideal. However, there are reasons why I now discount such a possibility. The realisation that the clock on my main DSLR had advanced to more than ninety minutes ahead of Greenwich Mean Time is among these. Having it set to British Summer Time is one thing, but the added advance beyond this was another, so I now decided that timing. Inspection of bus timetables and the time recorded on my GPS receiver track support my new thinking.
Being closer to the equator than my usual British and Irish haunts made for longer hours of daylight and stronger sunshine. The latter of these made my new hat a necessity, while the former allowed me more time for hiking. Having the sun rise around 08:00 is not so different from my home turf, but the timing of sunset at around 17:30 is the bigger help with an added ninety minutes of daylight walking time.
Now, I reckon that I left Palma for Sóller around 11:00, and I chose the more scenic bus route on the outbound leg of my return journey. This went around by the coast and is more scenic than the alternative that goes through a tunnel. The roads are narrow though and the heady drops down to the sea are in view, so this also is best considered as a way for more adventurous drivers or locals to go. For a first visit, the bus trip was a good introduction to this part of the island, and I must have arrived in Sóller around 12:15.
Finding a More Direct Way to Go
Once in Sóller, my mind was set on exiting the place, searching for more natural surroundings. Along the way, I passed a church near a central square before ambling through narrow lanes boxed in by multi-storey buildings bedecked with shuttered windows. Even on a winter's day, I could see the purpose behind such a design with its added shade from the bright sunshine of a hot summer's day. That thought was to recur later on in the walk.
For whatever reason, I considered that my route to Biniaraix was a haphazard one. While there was one inadvertent dogleg added, it now looks the more direct way to have taken, and I found just how circuitous the GR221 could be later in the day. My supposed deviation also introduced me to the sight of ripening orange and lemon groves, as well as the effect of heat-haze on views of more distant craggy limestone eminences.
A Climb Begins in Earnest
At Biniaraix, I finally joined the route of the GR221 and headed into those wilder surroundings that I so desired. The track was quiet, too, so I had plenty of those much craved episodes of solitude. What I did not realise back then was that the word "barranc" means gorge, yet I certainly realised that a steep ascent awaited me. The track was well engineered all the way as it wound up the slopes, so footing never proved problematic.
For whatever reason, my mind began to turn to thinking about traders of old who might have used tracks like these regardless of the gradients. A good surface would have helped with that, and that was another consideration given such toil. Would the added shade have been a factor in building such a route, given how hot summer days can be in this part of the world? Such mental meanderings took away from any shortfall in photographic activity until sufficient height had been gained.
After those shaded zigzags, I again emerged into sunshine and benefited from the wider views that opened up at the same time. Though afflicted by heat haze, they extended as far as the coastline and some signs of the otherwise obscured Port de Sóller were there to be spotted, while Sóller showed itself far more confidingly at one point. Sunlit limestone crags lay above and around me, so they also became targets for my camera, as challenging as the mix of bright white rock and often dessicated vegetation proved. This was a refrain that would recur at other times during my stay in Mallorca.
Any such thinking was set aside as I took in the surrounding sites when the ground levelled off, and I closed in on my turning point of L'Ofre. A gate lay across the track advising walkers to stay on the trail in Spanish, an ever familiar trail in any language. In fact, a farm lay in front of me but keeping left brought me to a quieter spot where I could linger awhile.
Some lunch was taken near such eminences as Puig de l'Ofre and Puig de na Maria. The first of these reached above 1000 metres above sea level while the second failed to reach 900 metres of altitude. This was a high and rugged place with a cross placed by the local Confraternity of the Holy Shroud in 2008, if Google Translate made an accurate translation of the inscription on the plaque on its rugged concrete base.
That Catalan was suggested by the online translation tool was no surprise, but the attempt on translating an inscription on the cross itself did not meet with as much success. The best way to express it was that any food taken in front of the cross would last a walker the rest of their journey, and that more or less is what my lunch did for me that day.
Because of the time of year, my own itinerary was not to take in Embassament de Cubér, a reservoir in otherwise natural-looking surroundings, as many a guidebook advises. There was no seasonal bus service running that would allow me to avoid adding a descent and subsequent re-ascent to the height that I had gained already. My time also was limited by the available hours of daylight, so I was happy to begin my return to Sóller and there was no question of feeling short-changed.
An Alternative Return Route
In the event, the return route was a variation of the outbound, so that helped for a change of scenery on the way. The first of two deviations was chosen near Can Catí and an initially appealing path turned rougher as I continued along its length. That did not matter as it kept me higher for longer and only featured adventurous descents near its rejoined of the track following by the GR 221. All the while, light was fading and my memory features a recollection of overcast skies, though I cannot confirm if that was the case.
Even so, I stuck with GR 221 after passing through Biniaraix to sample what I had missed earlier in the day. This was a roundabout way to go in ever more declining light, but it was still possible to see why it went this way. Expansive views abounded in contrast to what was offered by the gorge section. Sollér's central church could be as clearly seen as the craggy mountains that lie all around the place. If it had been brighter, I might have made photos, but those faded memories are enough for me.
Signs for Fornalutx may have been tempting at another time, but that added too much of a diversion, so I was content to shorten the distance to Sollér. That was just as well, since it was practically dark when I met with its outskirts, and it was reassuring to make my way to the bus stop through well lit streets. After a wait, the bus for Palma arrived to ensure that I was back at my hotel at a reasonable hour. The day had been a good one.
Travel Arrangements
Return bus journey between Palma and Sóller.
A mid-winter Mediterranean escape: Part 1
16th November 2018 This time two years ago, I was in the business of surveying numerous locations for a momentary mid-winter escape to a warmer climate before settling on Mallorca after a chat with my brother, that allowed me to build up the necessary courage. Another motivation was that I wanted to do something different between Christmas and New Year. A planned trip to Ireland in the same period in 2015 was aborted when grief hit me with a vengeance. After that experience, I was all the more determined to ensure that Christmas 2016 felt very different.
After a Christmas period laden with plenty of local walking that got as far as Tegg’s Nose on St. Stephen’s Day (or Boxing Day as some know it), I headed off to Mallorca in an effort to make a hard break in the run of things. Having sunny weather all the time was a novelty for me as I took the sights around Palma as well as heading out for walks around Port de Pollença, Sóller and Port d'Andratx. That ensured that I enjoyed a mixture of coastal and hill walking together with a feeling of leaving normal life after me. It might have worked too well, for a cold slowed my beginning to 2017 while it felt for a long time like it was refusing to leave me. Other than that, the getaway was undoubtedly what I needed to snap me out of a mental rut into which I had fallen.
Arrival
Unlike previous overseas excursions and even Irish ones these days, I arrived in Palma de Mallorca at night. The pre-booked shuttle to my hotel was not to be found, so a taxi was hailed for the purpose. Noting the fare incrementing on the metre, I wondered how much this was going to cost, and it was with some relief that the floodlit Cathedral of Santa Maria came into view and my hotel was not far from there. Even with the darkness, I was lured outside in an act of exploration, and that included pottering about the said cathedral with its opulent flying buttresses and other medieval architectural flourishes. As I returned to the hotel for the night, the stage was set for a daytime sighting next morning. Temperatures had been very mild, too, so this was about to be the start of an unusual experience for me.
Around Palma and Port Pollença
Part of that oddness was the fact that there was one sunny day after another. Having lived on maritime islands where sunny spells are as finite as they are occasional, this was striking. Being precious about episodes of sunshine means that there is a tendency to rush around to make the best of them. What I probably more needed at the time was to slow down and let things flow at a gentler pace.
Instead, I set about exploring Palma, as I have done with so many other places. It might have taken a while for the route between the hotel, and the bus station to gel in my memory after embarking on several circuitous itineraries, but the way to Palma's cathedral saw no such errors. It seemed that a straight route to the dominating edifice was hard for anyone not to find. The bright sunshine felt at odds with the time of year and the pale stonework only amplified its effects.
Pottering about the edifice and its environs kept me going for the whole morning, and many a photo was made of near and far. Eventually, it could not hold me, for I wanted to see more of the island. To accomplish that, I needed to seek out the city bus station.
That was done in a customary meandering manner and I discovered that it was an underground operation, with the island's mainline trains leaving from the same place as its bright red and yellow interurban buses. The curious cycling of train departures through different languages; English was among them, though the idea of German being included along with something more local like Spanish or Catalan appeals to me, even if my memory cannot confirm it as being a fact.
Once I got my bearings around the interchange's subterranean construction, I got something to eat there and then headed back to my hotel, possibly to organise myself before travelling further afield. On returning to the transport hub, I caught a bus to Port de Pollença for an afternoon visit. Before I even arrived in Mallorca, train travel had been rejected due to its restricted reach; it hardly went near the mountain areas that I wished to explore.
The sunlit Serra de Tramuntana accompanied my northward journey, but this was not to be a day for their exploration. Instead, the northern coast was my intended destination, and I admired what I passed on the way there. Once in Port de Pollença, I made for the coast and pottered along the shoreline as workmen attended to one of the houses along there. It may have felt like summer to me, but the place was far from being thronged, and I had ample time to survey what lay around Badia de Pollença.
Most of that involved road and footway tramping, since this was not a day for more adventurous wandering. In hindsight, there might have been a tempting short off-road stroll to be had, but I fancied seeing if I could get a closer look at the Peninsula de Formentor. Along the way, there was time for photos and for realising the limitations of the map loaded on my GPS receiver. It did not help that I was near a military facility, so I followed the MA-2210 around its switchback bends to gain some height before leaving it on a path signed for El Caló for a wilder feel. The escape did not last long, for I did not fancy losing height to reach the shore only to have to gain it again. Instead, I stopped a while before starting to retrace my steps back to civilisation again.
Port de Pollença proved confusing to negotiate, and I very nearly missed a bus back to Palma but for an observant and facilitating driver. There could have been a two-hour wait for the next departure, so I was appreciative, and the bus took a slightly different route too since it called at Cala Sant Vicenç. Light was fading on the way back to Palma and I made a roundabout way back to the hotel too; it took time for the way there from the transport interchange to become engrained in my mind. The explorations of the ensuing days were to ensure that, and they are the subjects of subsequent parts of this trilogy.
Travel Arrangements
Outbound flight from Manchester to Palma de Mallorca. Return bus journey to Port Pollença.
Experiences with Spanish hiking maps
3rd November 2018 Currently, I am writing up my walking trip to Mallorca from December 2016 but it is proving to be slow going. Enthusiasm for completing the job is waning so splitting up the endeavour might be in order, especially since the narrative is heading in different directions. Towards this end, I will share my ruminations on using Spanish hiking maps since they have intruded in the trip report and could deflect it from proceeding in a single direction. As things stand, it needs some additions even if it already has grown quite long already.
Before I left, I ensured that I was supplied with maps. The best of these were ones by Editorial Alpina and they covered the Serra de Tramuntana as a two map set. The scale was 1:25000 with hiking trails well marked but I ended up stepping outside their coverage around Port d'Andratx and needed one from the 1:40000 four map set by Reise Know-How to make up the shortfall. The latter covers the whole island, shows hiking trails and is made from waterproof paper, not that I needed the last feature on my trip.
Though it provided useful trail tracking, my Garmin GPS receiver proved less useful because of the poor quality of its Spanish maps. Around Port de Pollença, it may have been stymied by the presence of a military facility but the shortcomings were more than apparent around Port d'Andrtatx when I failed to locate the path that would have led me to a track towards Sant Elm. It did not help that I was in a fragile state that day but I would consider an alternative on another Spanish trip.
Though maps from Spain's national mapping agency CNIG do not show trails, they do come in 1:50000 and 1:250000 scales that are available in digital form through SityTrail and ViewRanger. The former of these offers annual subscriptions while only an expensive all country lifetime licence is available from the latter. Both offer mobile phone apps so they would be usable much like that from Britain's Ordnance Survey, useful as a pinpointing backup to a paper map for those moments when uncertainty descends though complementing with a compass is best.
If I was ever to venture onto Spanish territory again, I would be tempted to give SityTrail a whirl while out walking. For writing the Mallorca trip report, I have an active subscription and have been able to load GPX tracks on there after exporting them from my Garmin device. That should help with route descriptions even with CNIG data behind them and added photos can act as confirmation.
Forthside wanderings
30th October 2018 This year's trips to Edinburgh have seen a developing trend: a tendency to go walking along the southern shore of the Firth of Forth. February saw me pottering along Edinburgh's northern shores on a stroll that took me from Edinburgh's city to and along the water of Leith before I headed west as far as Silverknowes where I caught a bus to Waverley train station where I caught my train home.
That necessarily cut off an approach to Cramond, but the omission got addressed on a July visit when I walked along the coast west of Silverknowes before going inland along the banks of the River Almond and that was followed by a brief visit to the Cammo Estate before I found a bus stop from where I began my journey home. There was no crossing to Cramond Island because it was a time of high tide, so examining tide times ahead of a coastal hike and that lesson was reinforced more recently.
As it happened, this past Saturday saw the longest stroll of the lot, with my going west from North Berwick to Seton Sands. Mainly, it involved travel over sandy beaches and dunes, as well as rocky shorelines. Many coastal rocky prominences like Bass Rock or Fidra caught my eye and led to photographic activity. Part of the John Muir Way was followed too, especially after a crossing of Aberlady Bay was stymied by the depth of Peffer Burn. That crossing left me wetter than was ideal, but thoughts of getting cut off by an advancing tide spurred me along. Next time, a sighting of a beach watercourse on a map will cause me to be more cautious about my intentions than I was on this occasion.
Still, much sunshine was enjoyed, and it did wonders for the coastal scenery, much like on previous visits to the Edinburgh coastline in February and July. Unlike those days, more cloud came in the afternoon and brought a little rain, but that did nothing to take from what preceding better weather brought to me earlier in the day. My route had been inspired by one included in The Great Outdoors and offered something very different to other possibilities like the Pentland Hills or the Glen Sax round near Peebles. Both of those await future explorations now that the bracing sea air of the Forth has been savoured and there are other parts that need exploring, so return visits to Edinburgh remain likely.
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.
