Category: Trip Reports
A longer winter break
6th January 2010 We have had the cold winter mixture of snow and ice for so long now that it almost is no longer newsworthy. It was there before I set off on a winter airborne crossing of the Irish Sea and remained to welcome me back on my return. That's not to say that it isn't causing disruption, with travel being a casualty from time to time. It also explains why I was out on Christmas Day and the day after (Boxing Day to some, St. Stephen's Day to others) breaking ice to clear tracks so that those with older bones than mine didn't go breaking them. There was a useful thaw thereafter that allowed things to dry up before the next round of frosts and I took my chance on an afternoon stroll around by Springfield Castle in the winter sun. Traffic, thankfully, was light on the roads that conveyed me much of the way and most of the ice had gone. In fact, I found more of that on the back avenue of Springfield Castle than anywhere else, including the front avenue. The latter allowed me to escape from a sizeable bunch who were engaged in pucking sliotars (hitting hurling balls with hurling sticks to the uninitiated) along the road from Broadford to Dromcollogher. Apart from that collective, places were otherwise quiet with only the occasional soul encountered along the way. It was a useful escape from worrying about the effects of slips on those who really could do without a knock.
The only other trot of note was an afternoon jaunt around by Kilmeedy on an increasingly foggy New Year's Day. Though I gained some height, the lack of visibility meant that wide-ranging views were out of the question so I contented myself with decent progress along largely ice-free and dry roads with little or no traffic on them. It was, but an unremarkable few hours out in the cold air apart from the sight of a pair of swans in the River Deel near Belville. Even so, it was a good way to let the mind loose to lose any stresses and strains that had been collecting.
Apart from those bursts of road walking, the countryside journeying was largely virtual with some books capturing my attention. The first of these was found around my parents' house and caught my eye. Tales of canal boating do not normally attract my interest, but Gerald Potterton's In the Wake of Giants kept me occupied for a few hours with its mix of modern-day anecdotes and historical interjections. Ostensibly, it is a tale of someone fulfilling an interest in journeying along the Grand Canal and the River Barrow with its numerous canal cuttings for the avoidance of weirs. Naturally, this took me around by locales that wouldn't have crept too high up my list of places to visit and told me a little about them too, adding to my knowledge of the "Old Country". The tale may have stuttered to life like a marinised old Ford diesel engine that is used as a power unit for a canal boat, but the narrative soon got going in its own inimitable manner and went to show that there can be more to tillage farmers than meets the eye.
The second occupier of any free moments was a volume that I picked up a while back and lay on my reading list before I got around to it. Joseph Murphy's At the Edge does fit in rather better on a blog full of walking trip reports than a tome on canal boating and it has its own soul too. The backbone of the thing is a walk along the coasts of Ireland and Scotland from Kerry to Lewis made by someone who feels that he has lost a little something of his Irish heritage. Along the way, he gets to pondering Gaelic culture and the differences between Ireland become apparent with the emptiness of Scotland contrasting with an Ireland peopled with obliging folk; interlopers who fail to engage with their Scottish surroundings stick out like sore thumbs later on in the narrative. While I may have developed a beady eye with all my online scribblings, there were times when perceived typographical errors intruded on any sense of reverie (I know that I'm only human, so please let me know privately about any failings of my own making). Clearly, a spot of improvement on the proofreading side is needed on the part of the publishers and the author. Even with intrusions, the explorations of exile and connectedness drew me in as the journey continued; I suppose that my being an Irishman living and working in England had something to do with this, though my affinity for the places visited along the way may have helped too.
Just as there are Irishmen in England, there are Englishmen in Ireland and Tim Robinson has been one of the latter since 1972. On the return trip to Cheshire, I felt the need for a book and his Stones of Aran: Pilgrimage became my accompaniment as I left the branch of Easons on Dublin's O' Connell Street. It's an intense piece of writing that needs to be savoured away from the vacant prattling of drunken folk on trains. Quite how he can make so much of coastal explorations with only the occasional diversion inland is surprising. Until a few years ago, it was out of print but Faber & Faber brought out a new edition with a forward by Robert Macfarlane. There is a companion volume called Stones of Aran: Labyrinth that also was out of print until the New York Review of Books addressed that situation last year. More recently, he wrote a counterpart pair on Connemara with titles such as Connemara: Listening to the Wind and Connemara: The Last Pool of Darkness, both published by Penguin Ireland. The latter of these is in my possession and remains unfinished but it very typically was on the wrong side of the Irish Sea when it would have been continued. Of course, that's a human failing with my not thinking that I'd not be reading that much while ensconced in West Limerick. It's also an unusual one for me, but carriage of paper items is sure to add weight that can prove expensive if indiscipline is allowed to reign. In that light, the extra purchase can be seen as a comparative bargain.
With all this reading about a country to which I haven't done justice in walking terms, you might think that 2010 is set to be a year when Ireland might see more of me. That, however, is not mine to see. The start of any year usually is like beginning with a blank slate, but 2010 seems more wide open than other years. While grand designs are not my style, I am more inclined to avoid them this year than I otherwise might do. It will be a case of meeting the future one day at a time and seeing where things take me from here.
More snow in the air
22nd December 2009 Now, I know why it was a good idea to sit schtum on Sunday. This afternoon, I took a bus over the hills to find a Buxton constantly beset by snow showers. Even with my being shod in North Face Hedgehogs, a certain chill was felt as I negotiated soft and often slushy snow underfoot in its main shopping precinct. Thankfully, they have good grippy soles with decent cleats.
The snow did leave off for a while and I got to take in a very snow-covered Pavilion Gardens during the respite. Some sled-riding was in progress on The Slopes in the heart of the town, so not getting mowed down by one took up a certain amount of attention. That snow-less interval didn't last long, and enough snow soon filled the air to make the idea of returning home seem sensible.
On that return journey, the effect of all that snow was immediately apparent, with a definite slowdown in the speed of traffic around both Buxton and Macclesfield; the occurrence of an accident didn't help the latter. Then there was the matter of negotiating a snow-covered twisty road complete with sharp uphill and downhill sections. Visibility wasn't great either, and seeing the whereabouts of the road cannot have been easy at times. Being well familiar with where you are going has to help with getting through it all.
It's no wonder that the A537 gets closed in severe weather, and I didn't envy the lot of the bus driver either. The outbound journey was benign in comparison, with enough clarity in the air to see the well snow-covered hills all around, and the road was much clearer too. The whole experience was an education, and I was glad to be back home safe and sound. Things can get very lively up there, and going home via Buxton can be a better option at times. Trains may be more resilient than buses in these situations.
Sticking with what was near at hand
21st December 2009 In those rare times when snow pays a visit, thoughts can turn to going elsewhere. So, it was on Monday after with Sunday's snow covering. In the end, I wisely stuck with enjoying what lay on my doorstep and spent an afternoon among Macclesfield's nearby hills. Traffic may have been free-flowing and public transport running well enough for an excursion to the likes of North Wales to have worked but it would have been shameful to ignore the wonder that lay near me.
The route that I took was a familiar mix of roads and other rights of way. To start, I found my way onto the Macclesfield Canal via a very attractive Victoria Park and followed it until I reached the road near Sutton Hall, a pub near Gurnett, having taken in a section that was closed up to October. Having missed out on one or two public footpath options, I followed the road around by Lyme Green to Sutton where I made photographic use of the local parish church. After that, it was more roadside footway travel until Langley where I picked up a bridleway by Teggsnose Reservoir. As I shortened the distance to the visitor centre and car park at Tegg's Nose Country Park, the views opened up with Shutlingsloe being backed by a bank of cloud. From there, I joined the Gritstone Trail through snowy fields with the hillsides developing a certain alpenglow in the late afternoon sun. On reaching, the A537, the ridge that is Kerridge Hill lay tantalisingly before me but I tamed my ambitions to content myself with a road walk to Rainow, avoiding the steep up and down of the Gritstone Trail alternative. An untrodden public footpath beckoned, but a tight stile persuaded me to stay on tarmac. From Rainow, it was roadside footway travel all the way home in the declining light. There was a tempting bus option but I stuck with the plan of a circular walk from my own house with the street lights coming on as I went.
All of this was on familiar turf but that made it no less wonderful; never discount snow's transforming powers. There was a mixture of uninterrupted reverie interspersed with encounters with snowball throwing and sled riding that remained of the detached observation variety. Everyone was out enjoying the results of the previous day's hefty snowfall in their own way, no bad thing, though there's something to be said for leaving things where they have fallen for the enjoyment of others. After all, the chances of replenishment are not so high these days. In a way, that may make us all make more of what comes when it does and that applies to me as much as anyone. Then there's the chance to add to your experience of winter conditions too.
Dry weather promised; rain found
17th December 2009 My last visit to Scotland was with tempered expectations but only visited voluntary dampness upon me. Sunday's trot in Derbyshire was predicted to be dry but turned wet from the east when I might have been hoping for a bit more in the way of sun. Was it an example of the weather playing up at weekends or hill country confounding predictions yet again? Whatever might be the answer to that teaser, I was in no mood to let a bit of dampness spoil a good day's walking and it didn't.
The yomp started at Edale's train station and it looks now that I must have been displaying signs of a sense of purpose. Was that why two young ladies thought that I knew where I was going and asked where short strolls might be found? Whether I should have done so or not, I pointed them towards the grassy stuff beyond the Nag's Head inn where there is gentler walking than on the nearby moors. That might have been my trusting their possession of good sense but I thought that I saw them again on the train back to Manchester so I couldn't have done them much in the way of harm.
Looking over maps can trigger moments of indecision that need to be cinched and my pondering this Derbyshire outing was no different. Though my first destination was Mam Tor, the option of going directly heading for Hollins Cross was in the back of my mind too, once I put a stop to any indecision. As it happened, I stayed on a bridleway for the "shivering mountain" that I should have used on a previous hike from Castleton to Edale but didn't, for some reason, lost in the gathering mists of time. My course followed Harden Clough before I detoured around by Greenlands to make my way past the not inappropriately named Cold Side; it is north facing, after all. There were occasional parties of walkers and cyclists going the way, but these were nothing intrusive and spotty sunshine did its bit for the hillsides.
Going up on Mam Tor meant encountering a mix of occasional walkers, regular ramblers and spots of rain. There had been signs of murk upon the Ladybower and Derwent moors even as I started out but I paid them no heed. The plan was to make the best of the conditions, come what may. That murky dampness did make me don waterproofs but it was no real encumbrance to the prepared. In any case, an escape from Hollins Cross was always a possibility if things ever got too annoying. They never did and I took a chance on getting to Hope train station.
Back Tor looked more impressive than my memories of its crags would have suggested. The occasional hang glider was out and about but a fine sunny summer day would have drawn more of its kind. Later, the air dried up, and the sun made vain efforts to light up the land about me. Even so, any designs that I may have had on engaging in aerial photography of Castleton and Hope would have to await another day.
When I reached the top of Lose Hill, I began to wonder whether making the 15:39 from Hope station to Manchester was asking too much. In the end, I amazed myself by getting from the hill top to the train station in 35 minutes and that gave me a few minutes to wait before the train appeared as well; it was as if I had been travelling by fairy wind. It does leave me wondering about my perception of my own walking speed, but that may be tempered by the amount of travel over rough ground that I do. Regardless of my wonderment, it was a good way to end a good afternoon out in the fresh air. That I had mixed fortunes with the weather doesn't even come into it.
Travel details:
Return train trip from Macclesfield to Edale with a change in Manchester.
Testing a puncture repair
16th December 2009 Last Saturday, I had designs on going further afield for a day away but they didn't happen. That allowed some time to address something that has been looking back at me reprovingly for a while: a flat front tyre on my bike. The cause was a long thorn (around a centimetre or so in length) that had inveigled itself into the tyre to hole the inner tube. It illustrates the trouble with country cycling in the autumn months when many a hedgerow custodian is cutting it down to size after the summer, littering the road with the sorts of things that penetrate even thick mountain bike tyres. Thinner racing bicycle equivalents must be giving grief then.
For whatever reason, the repairing of punctures is a task that causes me to procrastinate. While it is true to say that various attempts at the chore have ended up being so messy as to necessitate the buying of new tubes and tyres, I should be a bit more competent at it these days but it's never a thing to go rushing. In fact, I find that it's undoubtedly the kind of activity for which the saying about haste slowing down speed is most apt.
Once that front wheel was put back together again and the tyre well inflated with a double-barrel foot pump (possibly meant for car tyres really but it does the job so well for my tyres that it must put a stop to braces of punctures like those that blighted my innings with a Carlton racer) from Halfords, it was time for some road testing. By the time that I was ready to leave the house, the sun had got to hiding behind big wads of clouds, but my mind was decided on a departure, even one that might have involved walking a bicycle home after a failed repair.
For the jaunt, I followed a usual route of mine that goes around by places such as Gawsworth, North Rode and Bosley, though without actually going through any of these places. The fact that I hadn't been out for more than a month was brought home to me by the absence of leaves on next to every tree, hedge and bush. Then there were all the well manicured hedges with their reminders of thorns sprayed all over a road after a hedge cutter. What was also evident was how well November's tempests had swept away any of that. It's amazing where fixing a puncture can send your thoughts.
As Croker Hill and its radio tower loomed ever larger in my sights, both were catching more and more of the sun and much more than anywhere else. It looked like the sun was finding a momentary hole in the clouds, but there was a bigger clearance to come from the east. That was to be the lure and reward for my diverting away from the A523 and into nearby hills. The initial reasoning might have been the avoidance of football traffic around Moss Rose, but that doesn't explain why I would go around by Coalpit Lane, Broadcar Road and Old Buxton Road. All of this may have been on a SUSTRANS cycle route but I'd advise of the need for strong legs and decent physical fitness before giving this one a try. Seeing the steepness of the gradients, I chose to walk them with breaks for photographic capture of the by now well lit surroundings. For that, I should have had fully charged batteries rather than resorting to sticking dying ones in pockets to make an exposure or two. Even so, I came away with enough images to ward off any recourse to self reproach.
After that short satisfying blast of hill country, it was mostly downhill until I got home with tyres still inflated and untroubled by an underpass littered with broken beer bottles; carriage of one's means of travel was the cure for that and the council has been informed of the state of the footway. Puncture repair testing was successful and a good spell of fresh air was enjoyed too without my bringing more trouble home with me in the form of new punctures. There are some things that really don't deserve the practice.
