A source of some distraction
27th May 2008 After the Mayday bank holiday weekend, I promised to add a trip report for a day outing to North Wales, but the combination of it being May and our having some decent weather has meant that my attention has dashed off elsewhere. It's hard not to be tempted by the outdoors at this time of year, with all the colours that abound. In addition to the fresh, verdant green of the new foliage, the list becomes a very long one. After all, this is my favourite time of the year.
Here's a cursory summary: the magnetic hues of the glades of bluebells, the white of hawthorn blossom and the catkins on horse chestnut trees, the yellow of the flowering gorse and the pink of the cherry blossom. There are more (that ever present invader, rhododendron, comes to mind) but what I have listed is enough to send you off somewhere when some sunshine is on offer. The result is that I have spent evenings in the outdoors near my home in Cheshire, and another trek to Wales ensued.
To cap it all, I have just spent a glorious weekend in Argyll, and I am kicking myself for not allowing an extra day for making even more of it than I did. Just catch Aktoman's photos from his recent trek in the Cairngorms to see what I mean; it makes my exertions look minor in comparison, and I wish that I had pushed the boat out more than I did. Not having full foresight of the weather when working for a living has the effect of cutting yourself short sometimes, especially when you need to plan ahead and get the required clearance.
All of that means more trip reports, so I'd better get cracking sometime. Of course, the trick is making the time, but the weather looks to be damper over the coming days; that might allow me the time to settle the matter. When the weather draws you outside all the time, it can be challenging to get anything else done. That applies to more than blogging.
An uncertain forecast, but a dry day in Teesdale
12th May 2008 This past weekend might be seen as not being that friendly towards hill country hikers with its mix of high temperatures and an ever present threat of torrential downpours with added son et lumière. Apart from a session allotted to the breaking in of my Scarpa ZG10's, my own outdoors activity was non too extensive. As it happened, I just couldn't get myself in the mood for a longer hike. The thundery atmosphere and the heat might have something to do with this lethargy but it also could be due to my having decent walking outings over the previous bank holiday weekend. After a climax, an encore can be too much to ask.
The Mayday weekend might have shared weather uncertainties with that following it but, in many ways, it was a very different affair. For one thing, I managed to make my mind up that I was going for a walk and that was that. I was playing with a multi-day Pennine Way outing but doubts over the weather and personal fitness toned things down a lot. I still experienced a new section of the trail but in a much more manageable fashion: an out and back along the Tees from Middleton-in-Teesdale. Though there was a threat of rain and skies were packed full of light cloud, I was determined to explore a part of England that was hitherto new to me. At times, the sun broke through anyway and all fears of drenching were for naught; it was sunscreen that was needed rather than water proofs.
Getting to Middleton and away is easily described: by train from Macclesfield to Darlington and by bus from there. Returning home simply reversed things. An early morning departure ensured that I was in Teesdale not long after 11:00 and the only concern was a short connection time in Darlington but I made the bus in the nick of time. On the way back, a spot of muddling meant that I missed the 19:34 southbound train and I had to await the 20:14 instead. I still got home but at the same time but retain the lesson that you shouldn't trust your memory too closely: I took the correct turns but at the wrong locations. All got resolved in good time.
The Tees-side walk itself was devoid of such navigational blundering. From Middleton to Low Force, the track of the Pennine Way (which it shares with the Teesdale Way at this point) was quiet as it followed the fast flowing Tees through fields filled with sheep and their lambs. Apart from some ramblers, very few folk were met until around Low Force and High Force. The capacity for dramatic waterworks of the natural variety to attract wider humanity should never be underestimated. The fact that the day was balmy contributed to the attraction of the features in question, as it always does.
I didn't have to go far past High Force for things to quieten down again. However, the pleasing sights of torrents of water spouting over rocks were replaced momentarily by the fruits of some human industrial activity: quarrying. Having passed this, I became conscious of the time that I had, perhaps overly so, and decided to turn back on Bracken Rigg rather than dropping down to Cronkley and Forest-in-Teesdale. I am beginning to notice that I am overcautious with out-and-back treks while throwing some caution to the wind on point-to-point hikes. My visits to Teesdale and Kinlochleven typified the former while my bank holiday wander from Bethesda to Bangor (to be described in a future post) could be seen as being very much of the latter. This is something that I'll be watching, especially for linear walks.
Perambulation over a combination of footpaths and bridleways, some boggy, was to land me at Holwick with the scars looking very impressive, even on a cloudy day. After that, it was back to the Pennine Way and Middleton where I whiled away a relaxing hour before my bus turned up. It was a good relaxing end to an enjoyable day. Thoughts are now turning to future Pennine Way expeditions with a walk from Teesdale to Dufton in the mind. Connecting with Swaledale and Wensleydale to usher forth my progress is yet another proposition. We'll see how that might come to pass...
A rucksack for a weekend?
25th April 2008 Alan Sloman may have been carrying his the length of Great Britain this time last year, but I always thought that my penchant for carrying two SLR cameras (one film, one digital) with me precluded my using my Osprey Atmos 50 for anything other than day walks.
However, this past weekend's escapade in Scotland has changed my mind. Apart from walking boots, the Atmos swallowed all that I was taking, and I was able to put most things on my back so that my hands were free while wandering along glen, by loch and under ben. In fact, I was left wanting for nothing, and that was without my putting anything in the cavity formed by the curved back.
Heretofore, my weekend pack was a heavyweight Karrimor Cougar that I recently have adjudged to be overkill for the task. Thoughts of its replacement had percolated into my brain, only to be thrown into confusion by last weekend. Before then, options such as GoLite's Quest or Osprey's Aether 70 made their way onto a tentative shopping list.
Now, I am inclined to regard a 70 litre sack as being too big for a weekend or a few days away, and contend that 55–60 litres would be sufficient if I need something a little bigger than the Atmos. That means that Gregory's Z55 and Osprey's Aether 60 come into the frame but, for the moment, I will continue to assess my current needs and what I may need in the future. While that's going on, the Atmos may be seeing a few more weekend outings yet.
Update: I have discovered since that Osprey makes an Atmos 65 and I wonder if any have made it across the Atlantic. I'll be sticking with the "50" but, on paper, its big brother doesn't seem that dissimilar in its characteristics apart from the volume and weight that it can carry.
Wandering around lochs among white-capped hills
24th April 2008 This past weekend saw me head up to Lochaber in the Scottish Highlands after seeing a favourable weather forecast up there; the prospects for south of the border weren't as good. A spot of overnight travel saw me reach Glasgow, from where a Scottish Citylink coach service carried me through the usually glorious countryside with it looking resplendent in the sunshine. The slopes may have been brown, but many of the tops were still white, a reminder of the bumper crops of snow that fell over the past winter and spring. It seemed a pity to merely be passing through all of this wonderful stuff without stopping but it just isn't physically possible to explore it all at once.
Appropriately enough for a day that was to be spent in its vicinity, my coach journey was completed on the shores of Loch Leven next to Glencoe village. My eventual destination was to be Kinlochleven, but the next bus there was nearly two hours away and a short stroll along the lower slopes of Sgurr na Cìche (also known as the Pap of Glencoe) was more than a way to spend the time. I found my way onto Forestry Commission land originally landscaped to mimic Canada for Lord Strathcona's wife. Unfortunately, the creation of an artificial lochan and planting of Canadian flora failed to stall a return to British Columbia and the big house that he built is now Glencoe Hospital. I walked around the lochan, taking in the views of mountains, some with snowy caps, above and through gaps in the trees. At one point, I took a path that gave my legs a good workout, a prelude to what was to come later.
My time well spent, I caught my bus for the short hop to Kinlochleven where a trek to and from Loch Eilde Mor was in my mind. I was retracing my steps from a visit in damper, clammier weather last August. Kinlochleven seemed more alive with people when I got there this time around and there were no midges to plague those who were out and about. When I set to ascending the steep slopes by Allt a' Chumhann and Allt nan Slatan, it didn't take long for me to find myself away from humanity. Views down along Loch Leven caused me to dally; I saw the potential in August but I knew that better weather would improve the views and I wasn't wrong. The Mamores and their others were the mountainous wall on the right as I looked west while, on the left, the view towards Sgurr na Cìche took in what divides Glen Coe from Loch Leven.
By the time that I reached more level ground, banks of cloud had bubbled up and were limiting the sun but not that much. It meant a spot of patience was in order when it came to photographic activity, a very minor problem. By now, I had made my way from a well-made path onto a good vehicle track and it didn't take that long for me to reach Loch Eilde Mor from that point. I would have walked its entire length were it not for doubts regarding my catching a bus to Fort William in time to reach my accommodation for the night. Thus, I turned back with Locheilt Lodge appearing tantalisingly close. In the event, I could have continued on a bit more since I was left with an hour to spare before the said bus arrived. However, it's best to be safer than sorry sometimes and I was getting tired anyway. On the way back, rather than following the path that I used on the way up, I stayed on the vehicle track and followed it until Mamore Lodge, after which I dropped down to the road on the West Highland Way.
Fort William was reached in good time and I spent a quiet night there before starting my journey home after enjoying the early morning sunshine. I was wondering if I left the area prematurely and whether a little more planning would have made a longer break of it. The views from the coach were as good on the way down as they were on the way up, even if a strange sense of fatigue with all things brown came over me. Even so, I might have been visiting Lochaber for next to ten years but I keep finding something new that always seems to convince me that I'll only ever scratch the surface of all that it has to offer. I have left hoping to return and a trek from Corrour to Kinlochleven might be a plausible proposition that returns me to the shores of Loch Eilde Mor and Loch Leven again.
Avoiding showers along the Welsh border
14th April 2008 For the weak willed, the threat of heavy showers over the past weekend might have been an excuse to stay at home from the outdoors, but dry sunny weather featured more than one would have thought in light of the various forecasts. As for me, I just couldn't rouse up any enthusiasm for going anywhere; I just was in no mood for it. The weekend before couldn't have been more different: after a month of March that was quiet on the hill wandering front for various reasons, a lengthy bout of "man flu" included, I firmly decided that I was going somewhere to get out among hills and an imperfect wasn't going to stop. I was prepared for it.
The destination was to be the hill country near Knighton on the Wales-England border. It was a plan that I attempted to execute last December, but a late train thwarted my designs and I explored the Long Mynd instead. This time, no mistake was made, as I left Macclesfield early in the morning and ended up leaving myself a forty-minute window in Shrewsbury after a train journey involving a change in Wolverhampton. I used that time to go for a walk around the town in damp weather, and I came away impressed with what I saw. In fact, I have made a mental note to make a photographic foray to both Shrewsbury and Oswestry some sunny day when I want something a little different from my usual hill country forays.
I completed my stroll in ample time to catch my train to Knighton and, when I arrived there at around 10:00, I found the place to have taken on the feeling of a ghost town. On the train, there were a goodly number of ramblers and I thought that this might be their destination, but I was to be very wrong: when I did disembark, there were more waiting to depart than what actually arrived. I took my time while ambling through this sleepy agrarian spot and dropped into the Offa's Dyke Centre, a spot nearly as quiet as everywhere else.
In fact, the aforementioned quietness was to pervade the most of my day's wandering. The sky indicated a day that was to be "iffy" on the weather front, but any predictions made based on its initial appearance were to be proved utterly wrong; the only rain encountered was the odd drop, if that at all. Once out of the Offa's Dyke Centre, I made my way north and, within minutes, I was in Shropshire and England was to play host to all of my footfall between then and my return to Knighton. Loosely defined plans are typical of my walking exploits, and this was no different: follow the Offa's Dyke Path north and turn around to return to the train station in time to get home again.
Along the way, I saw very few people and the weather kept getting better as I perambulated over the not so high English hills and looking west was all that was needed if wanted to see their Welsh counterparts across the Teme valley. The lack of stature in the hills didn't make any difference to the effort required to surmount them: a fact borne out by my progress up the not inappropriately named Panpunton Hill after crossing the Teme, a short stroll away from Knighton. From there on to Cwm-sanaham Hill, progress was gentler and serious up and down activity was deferred until the descent from the latter and the subsequent re-ascent.
It was not so far north-east of Llandair Waterdine that I decided that I had gone far enough north for the day and set to following Shropshire's public footpath network proper for a return to base. It was at this time that the cloud cover really started to break up to make up for some superb sunshine as I negotiated my way from field to field, never a strong point of mine. Crossing a minor road, I picked up a clear bridleway along which I continued on my way back to Panpunton Hill, Knighton and home. Everything was going well until confusion struck at a meeting of rights of way, for which nothing on the map seemed to represent where I was. There was only one thing for it: head west until I met the national trail along which I had been hiking earlier. A stone's throw was all it took to get me back to more familiar surroundings, and I am not certain how I ended up where I did, but I am inclined to suspect that a new public footpath may have been set up that the OS do not show on their maps. It's undoubtedly the sort of muddle that makes a GPS receiver very useful for confirming that you aren't going completely mad!
Once back on the Offa's Dyke Path, the journey was unremarkable apart from the descent of Panpunton Hill paining my tired knees. The sun remained out in force as I made my way through Knighton, the place now being more alive than it was earlier, to its train station for the 16:15 to Shrewsbury. With the weather as resplendent as it was, it seemed a pity to leave so early, but I had a good walk lasting more than five hours and the next train would have been at around 21:00 anyway. Nevertheless, I resolved that if the weather stayed as it was, I would stop off in Church Stretton for a quick nip into Carding Mill Valley with the idea of putting my camera to some use. That did happen, and I was leaving when the first of the forecasted "nasty" showers arrived.
From Church Stretton, I took a train to Stockport, although Shrewsbury's looking wonderful in the post shower sunshine had me sorely tempted. I stayed on the train, deciding that a quick run around with my camera (for most of the day, I had been working exclusively with film thanks to my DSLR running down its battery and my lack of foresight for not recharging the thing in time) wouldn't do the place justice anyway. Given that I travel this way regularly, the journey from Stockport to Macclesfield should have been routine, but I have encountered an incident verging on adventure before. This time, I was both lucky and unlucky to meet the first southbound Virgin departure from Manchester since 17:00; I was lucky that it ran on time but unlucky in that it was overcrowded. I inadvertently, and unusually for me, got on in the first class bit and, not realising that it was open to all anyway due to what happened earlier, I made my way to standard class on a very crowded train. If I wasn't on autopilot to an extent and knew more of what was going on, I would have stayed where I was, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty vision, isn't it? Anyway, a ten-minute journey like this is never going to spoil the memory of what was a good and varied outing, and I hope to head down that way again. The possibility of spending more time along the Offa's Dyke Path rears its head too.
