Category: Weather
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.
A good covering
19th December 2009 I was out earlier this evening on an A to B trip on my bike when a shower of sleet came upon me, not a problem with my being appropriately attired. Even if I got snow, the lugs on my mountain bike's tyres would have coped; yes, they are staying inflated so far. Speaking of the fluffy while stuff, there is a plentiful supply of that emanating from the sky right now and it is coating everywhere in white. Getting about on foot now looks like a job for my North Face Hedgehogs and any wondering about a pre-Christmas outdoors outing could have snow-covered countryside on the agenda. Methinks that I need to decide where to go, a task that may or may not be made easier by my adding an at a glance collection of Met Office mountain weather forecast summaries on here. After all, there is a need for preparation for the prevailing conditions, as last Friday in Cheshire proved by its feeling like being in a chest freezer with fans turned on. Without any wind, daytime temperatures were around freezing in the lowlands anyway and below that (-2.5° C) in Buxton and Leek. With temperatures like those, it's best not to be rushing out to become a mountain rescue statistic.
It wasn’t all sunshine
14th December 2009 From Friday's weather, hopes for clear blue skies, unimpeded sunshine and crisp frosty air were building, but a look at weather maps confounded those aspirations somewhat. The lesson is that an anticyclone's ability to pull in cloud should not be underestimated and it was to come quite far west too. In circumstances like these, it is too easy to let the effect of realities on dreams stymie enthusiasm for outdoor activities but, not being in a mood to waste whatever the weekend might offer, I was out and about in Cheshire and Derbyshire.
In truth, I did play with the notion of heading to Wales, but that wasn't to be and I stayed local on Saturday to mend a bicycle wheel puncture and then test it out. You may be thinking that puncture repair testing wouldn't take me far but I was out for a few hours with the fallback that there were enough hours of daylight to walk the thing home if needed. There was some walking along the way, but the cause was a diversion over steep hills and not my failing to remove a thorn or a similarly undesirable object from a tyre. There was a reward for my risk taking in the form of the dissipation of cloud cover to reveal pleasingly lit hill country. It was just as well that I was out to enjoy it, then.
Sunday was to see me spend an afternoon walking from Edale to Hope, a station to station yomp over the Great Ridge from Mam Tor to Lose Hill (or Losehill Pike as the National Trust names it on their signs; there's also the label of Ward's Piece too but I am as yet unsure of the origins of that name). With Sunday having a verbatim start to Saturday, I was displaying signs of cold feet about the planned venture but lured myself out anyway. As it turned out, I would have been forgiven for having those doubts given that my Derbyshire amble was set to meet with rain. By then, my hand was turned to the proverbial plough so I got on with enjoying the walk, a task that was helped by there being some spotty sunshine before the rain that had brought some photographic satisfaction my way. All felt good.
