Helen's Wondering Wanderings

First Look Review

2012-01-25T10:04:00.002Z

I've been in Norway for 2.5 months now so thought I'd treat you to a First Look Review of my time here so far! It's been an interesting time, and, while I don't envisage my blog turning into a guide for other people looking to move here, I thought some of you might be interested to find out how I've been getting on.

On arrival I found that the research I had done didn't really prepare me for the amount of mis-information or basic conflicting information that I was to find, and that includes live information provided within the same organisation! Nor did I anticipate the amount of queuing I'd have to do, or the penchant there seems to be for ticket machines, whether in the post office, tax office, deli counter (well, that is more like the UK) or at the employment office. I felt like using the line from The Prisoner; "I am not a number"!

In actual fact though, I am a number with the issuing of my "D nummer", a temporary number until I start work. I guess this is equivalent to the UK National Insurance Number but it is fundamental to even basic things like getting a library card, a mobile phone SIM or opening a bank account. I received my number in person on a post it note as the skatteetaten (tax office) hadn't included the address I'd written on my application form...I was rather surprised as I'd expected Norway to be super efficient. Time will tell though and it has made me wonder about how people migrating to the UK find it there.

A great advancement is starting a language course. I am just over half way through the first level of Norwegian 1 with Alfaskolen, marking my progress from knowing fewer words than a 3 year old (an incredibly humbling experience!) to now approaching someone who is almost 4...
I spent the first few sessions learning how to say my name, where I live, where I am from and am gradually increasing my vocabulary, reminding me very much of the French I took at school and that back to basics level. Hopefully soon I will be able to say things in the future and past tense rather than just "I am drinking..." or "I am reading..."! Right now I have started to learn different nouns in conjunction with definite and indefinite articles for singular and plural forms, and how the word 'the' is appended to the noun rather than being separate which I find intriguing! Like French, nouns have gender so I am trying to learn which sex glasses and tables and chairs are. Best of all is that I can be nosy and can now eavesdrop on conversations on the T-bane and maybe catch the odd word, rather than it being white noise, as Thomas puts it!

As far as the actual culture and feel of Norway goes, I have to say that it does feel like a slightly more civilised version of the UK (sorry guys!). There is a lot of commonality with the UK from being Northern European, and it delights me to find how we share children's fairy tales and stories. It's been interesting to find out more about Trolls (see Troll Hunter if you haven't already!) and I'm looking forward to seeing evidence of them (though not necessarily power lines) when we go to the Rondane in June. But I've found almost everyone to be friendly, I don't feel for my safety when I travel back on the T-bane late at night after my course, and I enjoy the cosmopolitan feeling that Oslo has. Meeting Joe and Odd in Bergen just over a week ago gave me a different view of Norway, maybe more provincial in some ways, in that this being the second city is half the size of Oslo at 250k people! I love this, and how shops are shut on Sundays and even not being able to buy alcohol after 8pm doesn't feel so bad...

The weather this year hasn't been as bad as recent years, something which I think is shared with the UK too. It's just that it's several degrees colder; we haven't see temperatures above freezing for a few weeks now (in Oslo anyway; in Bergen it's warmer), but generally when I follow the weather reports for the UK or talk to my parents, it just seems as if we get a slightly more extreme or intense version of what the UK has, maybe 12+ hours afterwards. Yes, this is a massive generalisation but I wanted to give an idea of my impressions although I know it wouldn't stand up to meteorological scrutiny!

Finally I thought I would share some special words which when I hear them make me laugh!

- mange ganger, meaning many times. It has a pleasant way of forming in the mouth and makes me smile when our teacher says it!

- siste; meaning last but I always think of Darth Vader in his deep James L. Jones voice saying "Sister"...
- åtti ni; Norwegian for 89 but makes me laugh because it reminds me of "Utini"!

In due course I will write more, but hopefully this answers some questions my friends have had and now that I have resumed blogging I shall hopefully start writing more about my experiences outdoors. Stay posted!

Dusting

2012-01-20T08:49:00.000Z

We wander into the local woods, a matter of a few meters from the door step. The air is refreshing and my nose and cheeks quickly start to tingle with cold. Crunching and squeaking, my feet are reassured on the snow and ice with the spikes I'm wearing. Rather than hesitant foot placement (I've fallen over a lot), now there is a confidence which makes walking a joy again.

The dusting of snow creates exaggerated forms out of the trees, the Norway Spruces of Christmas abound here and the scene is almost from a Dickensian BBC special. Scots Pines curve sinuous forms until I come across trees fallen by recent winds. Here they abruptly point jaggedly at the sky, aborted in their ambition. Snow tries to cling to the broken growth rings, accentuating them, highlighting the pattern, the dark trunks in counterchange with the lightness of the ground and sky.

In Norway snowshoes are called 'Truge', but with the spikes it doesn't feel like trudging, just freedom. Ice and snow covered rocks are easily managed and I feel liberated. A different footpath; they're still new to me and in snow another landscape and environment has emerged.

The sun breaks through into a clearing above us. Curious lollipop shapes of teasel heads are topped with snow helmets, light bouncing off them, the novelty delighting me. Snow nestles in the crook of branches, covers the ground in a broken pattern; the snow isn't deep enough to blanket the world yet. Bald raspberry canes show promise for next year, blåbær lost their leaves long ago and are now just green stalks which swathe the woodland floor like thin branches of coral.

Stopping to absorb the feeling of space, everything quietens down. For a while anyway, until the noise of the outside world goes away to replaced with an irregular drumming. Coming from above I see movement revealing a Great Spotted Woodpecker, moving about in the trees, trying to find nourishment. Awareness spreads and over there is a Nuthatch, negotiating a tree and performing daredevil stunts of walking down the trunk. Great Tits chatter amongst themselves, flitting between the Willows and Birches, are they annoyed at us making a brew beneath their home?

I feel glad to go to another place and look forward to more snow and more hills, but to escape for an hour of two and to be absorbed into this other kingdom; this feels so vital in every sense of the word.

Review: Leki Carbonlite Walking Poles

2011-12-30T14:57:00.000Z

This is a much overdue review of a pair of Leki Makalu Carbonlite walking poles, supplied to me back in June(??!) by Webtogs. Suffice to say I've had plenty of opportunity to try them out and abuse them, both in the UK and in Norway, so here are my thoughts for you, should you have some spare cash after Christmas...

First of all, product description. On first impressions they look great! In a black lacquered finish with a carbon 'look' to them they have silver and gold branding which makes them look a bit special. Made of carbon they are strong and really lightweight for a mainstream brand, weighing in at 391g in total for both poles combined (weighed this morning and including a token bit of dirt...). In three sections, they extend from 66cm to 135cm which makes them a great option for use with a shelter (I used them with my Shangri-La 1 and my Trail Star) and the twist action super lock system means they're easily adjustable when you've put the poles in situ.

However, the primary purpose of walking poles is, of course, to aid walking. Comparing these carbon Makalus with the old aluminium anti shock Makalus I previously used, the difference in weight was astounding! It made a massive difference walking using lighter poles. Lighter poles just mean that using them feels effortless; although I hadn't really noticed any effort with the old ones, these lighter ones really brought the weight of the old ones into relief.

These Carbonlite Makalus have a carbide flex tip, come with a basket fitment (which I usually leave attached) and have a curious Aergon handle which reminded me of a shark's head, a little different to the usual upright cork or moulded forms but which actually were really comfortable. The only comment I would have with these, which could equally apply with Pacer Poles, is that the shape of the head means that using with a shelter slightly distorts the pitch line, but this is very minimal and you would have to be really picky to take issue with this point. I'm not so picky and haven't really found it to be an issue that can't be dealt with by simply turning the head around to match the angle.

There is also a 'Safety Strap' which I find assists in walking (depending on your style; they can give more leverage), but which I've also heard general reports of people breaking wrists when using. That is a general comment about poles though, rather than part of this specific review, but I will say that I did find that the material rubbed my hands which surprised me; I think the stitching on the straps attaching the Leki branding caused this so that will be unpicked!

One of the main features of this pole, apart from the light weight, is the Super Lock System which proffers a holding force of up to 140kg, or 309 lbs in old money. The poles use a twisting action to secure the length, which I didn't, to be totally honest, find totally reliable. On occasion I found that the poles undid themselves and after a while I found I would almost automatically detect when they'd undo and would re-twist them back into position. While there was the minor annoyance factor I am a little concerned that they could let you down when you really needed that support. They also stuck once when out walking but after a few minutes wrestling to take them apart and reassemble they resumed normal functionality. However in researching others' findings with these poles I didn't find any similar issues so wonder if it's just a spurious issue with the ones I have.

Overall I found these poles to be a great addition to my walking kit and even with the niggles I mention above, I would still recommend these if you are looking for a light weight pole from a well established mainstream manufacturer.

These poles can be bought online from Webtogs at £116.99; a 10% saving on the RRP, with a one year limited guarantee against shaft breakage and Webtogs' usual outstanding delivery, customer service and price match promise.

Something for the Weekend

2011-09-18T14:21:00.000+01:00

With my changing circumstances I feel under a certain amount of self inflicted pressure to make the most of the opportunities available for walking near home, maybe saying my goodbyes to some special places, before I move to Norway.
Last weekend I headed on my Burbage Round, my classic bimble of along Burbage Edge, up to Fiddler's Elbow and then back down past Higger Tor and Carl Wark.

It was a good, sunny, September day, blustery with the remnants of Hurricane Katia threatening, so clouds were scudding across the sky forming moving mosaics of the fields and gritstone edges. Walking along the edges, described a little unkindly by someone as little more than a "Farm Wall", was made fun by the wind being funnelled up, and judging when the gusts would happen and when they'd recede, leaning my body weight into them, made for some entertaining moments.
Pleasantly faint jangling of climbing equipment from underneath gave some entertainment value as beginners and people on stag dos had a go climbing; the expertise, flexibility and strength of more practised instructors clearly showing as they deftly scaled up.Others were relaxing against their Alpkit Phud mats, nestled into the bottom of large boulders, while others were sticking Spiderman-like to the rough stone.

So a good time was had, lots to see, lots of wildlife, lots of different textures underfoot from that nice, easy to walk on stone, broken into tiny pieces more like sand, to bouncing but dry peat (yes, you can bounce as you walk along). I particularly enjoy making a game out of trying to just walk on the exposed gritstone, well it's more like speed hop-scotch as you leap from one stone to another, trying not to touch dirt. It makes for interesting looks from passers by but also gives a good stretch. Until you hit the dirt patch and then decide whether you can make it out alive or not...

I digress.
One of the reasons I wanted to post this was that towards the end of my walk I decided to walk through the plantation near the old packhorse bridge. No reason in particular other than I don't often go in there.
I was pretty sickened to see the amount of trash left behind from people who had used the area as a camp site but leaving burned out fire rings, lager and caffeine drink cans laying around, food tins and bits of twine. There was a large water bottle, seeming innocuous to me when Burbage Brook was only 50 metres away, tops. I felt so disappointed. I tidied some of it up but there was broken glass everywhere. How can people do this?
Leaving that space I passed the springs and into the next bit of woodland. Here I found a few burnt stones laying together; someone had placed them there. About 5 metres away a hollow pit about 1m across, showed where the fire ring had been. I was alarmed to see smoke emit from the depression. Well, it was more a hole than a depression. The wind from Katia was hitting the side of the hole and I could see embers glowing in the ground. I spent a few seconds trying to work out the best way of tackling this; not strictly a fire, so do I call the Fire service, or attempt to try something myself? I opted for the latter and went back to the first site, found the water bottle and made the first of a few trips to try to douse the embers. On the second or third visit (it was a laborious task let me tell you!) I saw that the increasing wind had caused flames to start to lick up one side, despite my trying to quench and dampen the ground. The fire had just retained too much heat and had sunk into the earth, spreading for who knows what distance around, underground in the peat.
I decided to call the Fire department. No phone signal. Ah, but Emergency Services could be called. I tried to work out the grid ref then remembered I could just create a Point of Interest on ViewRanger and take that (yes, lazy I know). I did that and called the Emergency Services. They didn't seem to be very well equipped to take a grid ref so I explained where I was using the Fox House as a point of reference for them. They asked me to wait in the vicinity to I said I'd wait at the old packhorse bridge which is a very well known crossing point in the valley.

Time passed.

More time passed.

I heard sirens. Where the hell were they?

More time passed.

I got fed up.

I watched as other likely looking campers made their way down towards the plantation and the bridge. They were dressed as if they were going out into the city for an afternoon stroll. Rain was forecast. Oh well it's only a 20 - 30 minute walk out to the pub. Plastic carrier bags were dropped and picked up, shouts and laughter passing between one another.

They were about to pass closely by me so I called out to them to warn them that if they were camping, to avoid the area I'd been as there was a fire in the making and that I'd called the Fire service out. They were grateful. So much so that I picked up a gift from them later which in no way would I have been able to anticipate.
The Fire guys still had not arrived and this was more than half an hour after my call. I decided to head out to the road where, past Toad's Mouth I could see a National Trust Land Rover and a Fire Engine. I picked up my car, drove and then legged it over to them, peering up at the driver from the open passenger side door. I explained who I was. They explained that the operator had referred them to the Maynard Arms at Grindleford (how, I have no idea) and that they had no mention of a grid ref. I opened up the app on my phone, reeled off the coordinates and saw their eyes light up! I showed them the OS map on my phone and said that I had set markers on the ground to direct them to where the fire was. I didn't receive any criticism for wasting their time; conversely they said that I couldn't make a judgement how far underground the fire was so I did the right thing in calling them. They were polite, professional, courteous, good guys.
Feeling good that I'd done the right thing I drove off home. Karma seemed to be in agreement; for those who don't know, the gift from the campers mentioned earlier was a wayward pack of sausages that they had dropped en route to their camp spot. I took it as an offering from Burbage valley, that the Gods were pleased and that I had earned a couple of nights supper.

If you do come across a fire hazard on the moors, just call the service. It's what they're there for, what we pay our taxes for. And please, be aware of the risk of fires; even after the on / off rain that we've had, it doesn't really take much at the back end of a summer, for something to spark.
Transmission end.

Norway

2011-09-14T19:43:00.001+01:00

One of my favourite adverts from years gone by was for Lurpak butter, where a group of older ladies were sat in their local cafe, served by a much younger Danish woman, and who were reminiscing about what regrets they had as they advanced in age.
One of the ladies turned around to say, "I wish I had more grass stains", much to the gasps, laughter and being named a hussy by her friends, and the phrase and laughter stuck with me ever since.

This adoption was just one of the reasons I decided to go to Norway for my 2 week holiday this year, and which, looking back on that point of decision, makes me wonder how one event or moment in time can have so many ramifications.

I had toyed with ideas of going to Knoydart and wandering in the wilderness there for a few days. I'd also thought about wild camping my way through Dorset in the footsteps of Tess d'Urberville and perhaps writing some sort of walking guide to coincide with the 120th anniversary of the book. I'd thought back to my week back in February with Kim where we'd spent a few fantastic hours in Rothiemurchus Forest and which experience I sought to recreate in part. And for quite some time I'd thought about joining a certain Norwegian friend, Thomas W. Gauperaa, to hike with him in Norway.

I'd become friends with Thomas back in October last year, through Twitter and each others blogs, with a somewhat similar appreciation of the environment and ways of expressing it. It was an interesting prospect to visit Norway and him, and, I rationalised with myself, not that much more in terms of cost and travel time than heading to Fort Bill. When the awful atrocity of Utøya happened on the 22nd July this year, I think my decision was made in some way, confirming to me that life is too short and to just get on with it rather than to ponder and deliberate too much.

Giving Thomas the good news(!) I then pontificated over what route to follow. In fact when I arrived a few weeks later I still didn't have much more of a plan than that I knew I wanted to walk in the forests. I wanted to almost lose myself in the similar environment to Rothiemurchus that the forests of Nordmarka, north of Oslo lend; and I also knew that my fitness wasn't up to much so a major hike in the style of Thomas and Joe wasn't really on the cards. The results of not having something prescriptive allowed one of the most enriching times of my life.

I discovered a part of Norway that I suspect many overlook but which stirred my soul. Areas very much like the hills where I started walking, with twisted dingle dells of stunted woodland or strapping birch trees with mini kingdoms of lichens and mosses and various fungi which were so much more wide spread than in the UK. That remnant of Caledonian Forest in Scotland extends for days worth of walking in Norway, with it's ensuing sense of space and guttural, primeval attraction. And of course the bog, which I became relatively intimate with, on one occasion more than I really wanted to, but which in retrospect lent me faith in my ability to handle 'unfortunate circumstances', and was a learning opportunity about the trails in this great land.

In addition to the natural environment I spent some time in Oslo itself, enjoying a city over looking the harbour with it's boats, the museums, galleries and metro. Many of you will now know that a major draw became Mr G himself, whose surname I still have to work to pronounce (sorry), with whom I shared lots of laughter and a passion for life outdoors. While I came back from Norway, I have definitely left my heart there. This Norwegian adventure has only just begun...

MYOG: Front Mesh Rucksack Pocket

2011-08-18T17:42:00.000+01:00

With my trip to Norway now impending, and the weather forecast looking decidedly dodgy despite the weather karma offerings in the form of Star Wars related skits, I decided last night to make my own mesh front pocket for the GoLite Jam I’ve been using now for the past year.

I like the Jam but miss having hip belt pockets after finding them so useful on my OMM Adventure Light 20L, and while it’s got a pretty large front pocket, it’s a zippered, fabric pocket. It's "OK" but I've seen how useful the big mesh pockets are on the front of so many packs so thought I want one. I couldn’t buy one in the short timescale left (see baz’s backpacking blog) as I’d recently been delivered Fraser’s failed Contrail, I decided to utilise some of the mesh from that.

Frankly I didn’t think it would be much cop so I didn’t even bother to take photos of my cutting and sewing, but basically I had a length of mesh fabric (the noseum type mesh with fine holes, but which I’d seen had been used on the product Baz had bought), some shock cord that I’d bought a while back on ebay, some mini line loks that I’d cannibalised off the contrail with a couple of bits of grosgrain ribbon, my inherited sewing machine and some ancient, still on a wooden spool, polyester-cotton thread.

First off the material wasn’t wide enough to cover the bag; I’d envisaged a full width pocket to overlap the side pockets somewhat, so had to sew two halves of what I did have together.

Because I didn't take pics, those interested will have to exercise their brain a little and follow my directions with a view at the end result photos I have bothered to take...

Basically the order of works were:

Cut the fabric in two.
Seam the fabric; this seam formed a middle join which you can see in the photo. I turned the seam over twice so there were no open edges and sewed along either side of the edge for strength.
Lined the mesh up to the pack to guesstimate fit and how much seam/hem allowance to leave, and where darts in the mesh might be needed to allow for ‘bag’.
Made a small hem along the top side to ward against fraying fabric.
Made small hems on each of the raw edges along each side (I did this before creating the shock cord channel to make it easier).
Folded over the top, seamed edge and sewed to create a channel for shock cord to run through.
Re-pinned the mesh to the pack, aligned the centre mesh seam, and pinned 3 darts either side of the centre. This was just trial and error with no scientific calculation, just by eye.
Sewed straight across the 6 darts before hemming, just to make that easier to do, too.
Trimmed the bottom edge under the darts, again to make the hemming easier.
Sewed a hem along the bottom edge. This done, all seams and hems were complete.
To attach the pocket to the pack, the top channel had 2mm shock cord threaded through. This was then wrapped around the back of the pack, above the shoulder straps and tied in a basic overhand knot. Nothing more fancy than that.
To attach the pack at the bottom I sewed a mini line lok on to the bottom, angled corners, using grosgrain ribbon, hand sewing the ribbon onto the mesh. I positioned these such that they angled upwards and over the hip belt rather than under it.Then I threaded the same sort of shock cord through the mini line loks, wrapped around the back and tied. I currently don't seem to feel this when wearing...
Now assembled, fit it on your pack!

Let me know if you have a go. It was surprisingly easy. The biggest learning points for me were to keep measuring up against the pack and also that time spent pinning the seams down meant the sewing was a bit faster. Also, utilise any reverse stitch facility on your sewing machine or just turn the fabric around to sew over again as I didn't do this on the end of the channel and I've noticed it just starting to come apart.

I guess it took me about an hour and 15 to create this, which isn't bad in my book, plus I had a couple of 'in the zone' moments which are always welcome!

Tapotement

2011-07-17T09:08:00.002+01:00

I awake to the sound of my alarm. Nothing new there apart from it's the weekend and I had walked out on Friday night, pitched up somewhere about 40 minutes before dark and snuggled happily into my lofted quilt, pleasantly warm and happy.
I roll over onto my back and lazily look up at the roof of the shelter. No longer clear, I can hear the tapotement of raindrops start to fall. Staccato and merging in the wind's breath to a regular drum, a white noise with little rhythm. The wind inhales. The pulsating stops. Finger tips start to lightly touch again, soothing, delicate. Gradually and now with haste, the energy, the pace, the pressure increases. A rivulet streams, a gathering, rejoicing the union once again with the ground, to continue it's cyclical journey, never ending.

Each drop on the shelter with it's own shape and form, some tiny and delicate, some bulbous and meaningful. Static for a while until it's their moment. The wind moves, the earth breathes, the ground embraces, intake of breath, the drumming increases and then wanes. Tapotement.
It's time to get up.

In search of authenticity

2011-07-10T15:08:00.002+01:00

After a couple of weeks of semi enforced day walks, I was yearning to spend a night out somewhere. I couldn't venture too far but I did want to venture somewhere where I wouldn't be too encumbered by human interaction, and where I could connect with myself again.

Heading out rather late I arrived at the start and nestling under the lee of a warm stone church I shouldered my pack, picked up my poles and began to walk, looking forward to the hours ahead. I passed a beautifully tendered cottage, a mature lady voicing good morning to me before I got a chance to say it first to her. I complimented her on her garden and cottage, of archetypal Englishness with blooms abound, bees busy and things very much in their place. Lovely indeed but I was looking for something more haphazard, to escape from rigour and routine, from discipline and structure. That said I had plotted a route to follow, a roughly 21 mile circular trip with a camp at mid point along a stand of trees with a water source nearby.

Onwards! I quickly spied the first of the trail markers I was to follow for most of the first half of the walk, a garish yellow metal sign hammered onto a footpath sign.

Feeling more comfort now I was on the walk proper I started to settle down into my stride. I felt rusty and stiff, partly after the car journey and partly because it had been a while. A farm worker cutting grass gave me a friendly wave from his tractor as I raised a pole at him; a hazard of walking with poles, these movements feel awkward, artificial. The small hills opened up their folds to me, cushions of wooded pockets hugging their periphery. I came upon Castle Farm, easy to see why it was so named with it's crenelations, although I think it was only built in the 1800's.

Skirting alongside a wood diverted me from the farm, the path seeming to go on forever as it disappeared into a green tunnel. Deeper into the wood I could smell the green dankness of sodden, slightly rotting vegetation after the recent rains we've had while the contrast of the farmland to the left of the tunnel, glimpsed through these wooded cages, seemed tantalising in bright sunlight.

I could feel myself starting to relax. Passing through a field of rare breed sheep, which breed I couldn't tell you, I laughed at their huge fleece, making them look like something you'd buy in a shop rather than a living, breathing animal. A different breed looked inquisitively at me as I passed these by in turn, and next a herd of red deer, bred for their venison although they looked too cute to eat with ears wide and alert, tails twitching. Now on the tops of the wold, I walked through a field of beans, slightly surprised to see the dome of the local radio listening tower and then the top of the Rambler's Church of All Saints. I loved the juxtaposition of seeing the top of the tower, did the bean plants know they were this tall?

I was on the edge of the escarpment at this point with a view for at least thirty miles, which steadily diminished in a dark purple haze as clouds swept towards me. I stopped at the church for a brew, using water from a topped up water butt, open to the elements but reasonably clear. The oncoming rain hastened my enjoyment as I could see I had about five minutes of dry weather left. Sorting my pack out took a little time, as I wasn't yet back in the routine of having everything in it's place, and leaving my waterproof out I remembered I had brought along a collapsible umbrella to see if hiking with one made wet weather hiking more enjoyable! The rain was suddenly upon me so I took to the rear of the church for shelter, listening to the sheep starting to bleat with some anxiousness. It hammered down as I hunkered down, enjoying the freshness and the smell of the earth.

The tail end clouds were a sorry comparison to the voluptuous rain clouds, only issuing a bit of spitting when the mood took them. Stowing one pole, using the other and the umbrella I slip-slided my way down the track into the village then through and onto the next band of hills.

I think at this point a feeling of mild disgruntledness crept in. While I enjoyed the prettiness of the villages and countryside I was in, and yes, more fine walking country I had discovered for myself, I felt a sense of weariness, that I needed to really "get away from it all". But what does that mean? I liked walking where I was, but it was just too neat and pretty and, well, I guess that's why so many hanker for the wilderness. Quite what wilderness means to people, I think, can mean quite different things. Some of you may know I've been reading some of Colin Fletcher lately. While I enjoy his prose, one of the great and perhaps unappreciated things I value is how he placed value and meaning on both doing 'hard walking' as well as finding your own space, to go somewhere and to enjoy being in it. So rather than the onus being on walking day after day, what about when you reach that idyllic spot, a place where your soul sings, and you feel as if you've come home. That I guess is what I am actually looking for. It may be a beach on Harris, it may be in the woods of Canada, it may be in the mountains of the Sierra Nevada or it might be in the deserts or in the Grand Canyon. Thankfully I am becoming more confident in that however I find my 'bliss', it is on my terms; I don't have to satisfy others' expectations of me and how they believe I should be spending my time, which people to follow or ideas to adopt. Ultimately that is one of the greatest gifts I can give myself, and maybe that is the biggest journey I made this weekend.

The remainder of my walk was a mix of ancient grassland through chalkland wolds, along the edges of woodlands and across farmland. Passages through tiny villages and hamlets dating to Roman times; I walked along High Street for a time. I appreciate the history of an area, man made or by nature. A land has it's own story, how it was used, abused, discarded, ignored. Much of the predominant, visible history in this area dates from Roman and especially medieval times, and of course many of the place names reflect the Norwegian impact that was made.

Making camp that night I felt that sense of tranquility creeping over me. I'd taken the Shangri-La1 with the nest in case of bugs, though a groundsheet would have done. Having already attached the nest before I put it up it was an easy job, and the elastic I'd added to peg out the corners meant I could use the same pegs as for the fly. Dinner outside always takes on the atmosphere of a feast, and as in my last trip to the Yorkshire Wolds, I'd taken a small pack of wine. Something different for dinner, and a benefit of only doing an overnighter, I cooked some pork meatballs in foil in the ashes of my sidewinder, while I cooked some pasta on top in the minimal amount of water I'd boiled. When the pasta was almost done, and had used up most of the water, I added a Lloyd Grossman "For One" Tomato and Mascapone sauce and gingerly added my meatballs. It was fantastic! After dinner and only 25cl wine I was more than sleepy, my body was achey from the most mileage it had done for about 9 months, and quickly I fell asleep. The blow up pillow I'd bought from the Pound Shop (yes, for £1) was great and I'm sure helped me stay asleep longer than I'd intended to!

It took a couple of cups of coffee to rouse me in the morning and unusually for me took about half an hour for my body to start to feel half alive. I ached more than I'd anticipated but felt sure I'd be fine once on my way. In the meantime bending over to strike camp I felt like a geriatric!

The weather was kind to me though, only the odd spitting shower, and I felt a little more rejuvenated in spirit if not bodily. After five or six miles my feet started to complain, especially as I had a bit of road walking to do. Using poles really helps I've found, and when I had to read the map I noticed the difference in how easily I walked, and the difference it made to my posture too. My feet really started to grumble at me so I took a breather, perched on a huge lump of concrete a farmer had put in the middle of an open gateway to a field. I sat there, feeling the blood pool in my feet, throbbing in complaint until they were fooled into thinking I'd finished. No way Jose! A bit of flapjack, though admittedly not @AstroNick's special recipe, helped a minor sugar rush sweep through my veins. I felt ready to go again. Thankfully it was a bit cooler than the day before but that still didn't stop my mouth feeling parched. I had about 500ml water left and kept an eye out for water troughs, rivulets or even churchyards I might pass through; they often have taps that people use to refill vases they place on graves.

I passed the lollipop on the hill again, with the same smell of creosote I'd had the day before, taking me back into childhood, one of those smells that stay with you, like hot tar being laid on a road. Eventually I turned onto a side road where I was entranced by the Scabious flowers on the verges, and the seedheads of umbelliferous plants, the cow parlsey and other members of the carrot and parsnip family. Their whorls contained such patterns; the contrasts between the still developing creamy white flowers on one stalk and the mature, purple seeds on another with a beautiful green backdrop on another.

Following a footpath to a very old farm I passed a broken down horse cart, half rotten, the other half gone completely. I slightly worried a hen with about 10 chicks, who all tried to hide in some long grass. Turning the corner around the edge of a barn I found a decrepit, mellow stone farm house with all it's original windows. I wasn't sure if someone still lived there or not; it looked like one of those properties where an elderly person has lived there all their lives but who can no longer keep up with it. The wooden porch and wooden framed windows all looked to be rotten, indeed the porch was dilapidated and hanging from one side. But the stone looked mellow and welcoming, and though aged and in want of some care, there was a certain warm spirit about the place.

My path led me over another bean field, a red earthen path leading through in a straight line. After the rain the clay stuck to my feet, feeling heavier and heavier, despite the lighter feeling that I knew I'd be able to take a breather soon. The next field gave me opportunity to clean my boots with the long grass, a curious striation across the field, perhaps marking the edge of a long forgotten boundary with a deeper coloured grass on the far side. More fields, more sheep, I descended over the last of my wolds, the church appearing in the valley. My feet were very sore now but my spirit refreshed, but still with a yearning for more.

Initial Thoughts: Berghaus Mount Asgard Half Zip Smock

2011-07-05T20:28:00.000+01:00

If you're interested in the outdoors you may well have heard about the incredible "Asgard Project" where Leo Houlding and his team set out to climb the North Face of Mount Asgard in 2009.

As part of that, Leo was involved in designing some of the kit he took and this Mount Asgard Smock is part of the range Berghaus developed with him, utilising the new Gore Tex Pro Shell fabric.

Anyway, Gear Zone approached me to review a couple of things for them; one a Montane Soft Shell Dyno Jacket (which I'll do more fully another time) and this, which unfortunately I have to send back! So I've had this jacket for about a month now but with the balmy weather conditions we've had for well over 2 weeks of that, I've made the most of more dodgy weather to get an idea of the fabric qualities and wear of the garment, so would consider this to be initial thoughts rather than a full blow review.

So, what's it like? Going from top to tail, the half zip smock I tried had a great fitting hood, I've heard big enough to take a helmet though I don't use one, but with very well thought out cords to be able to cinch it around your head effectively and comfortably. The zip at the front is long! And this means that as a smock you are able to keep well ventilated (as long as you are not walking straight into driving rain), with a wide storm flap to stop weather ingress through the water resistant zip. There is a decent sized chest pocket just alongside, lined with a slightly stretchy mesh. Under the arms is gusseted, bright red on this model, which gives great articulation if you are scrambling (or climbing like Leo!) and the arms are pretty long (men's fit!) with soft covered velcro to adjust. There are no other pockets in line with the philosophy of design of both the Pro Shell fabric and this range, which I didn't actually miss, but I do have hip belts on my rucksack. And to finish off there is a draw cord hem. So design wise this is simple, structured, well thought out, with attention and features where they're needed and none where they're not!

As you would imagine from this flagship fabric, it is pretty lightweight (average 289g) but far more substantial than say the Montane Lite Speed H20. It doesn't rustle or feel stiff, almost as if it has some drape about it which makes for a really comfortable wear. I had the Men's (or Unisex) smock and being a woman with a very female figure I found that the smock wasn't cut for my sort of figure. If you are a woman reading this, bear that in mind; those with boyish figures would find it an easier fit, as you'd imagine with smock styling anyway.

Overall I think this is an awesome product! I enjoyed wearing this as a windshirt (the breathability is excellent, even puffing my way up a hill it breathed really well, I didn't feel clammy but equally I didn't feel in need of more protection), and more importantly as a waterproof which I have to say it excelled at in driving rain on the flat moors in the Peak District. If it there was a women's version I think it would be so much better than a halfway house of Unisex or full on Men's version (which this is); the fabric itself is fantastic and seems a shame to have the cut diminish the otherwise excellent properties; if I were male I would run to the shops and get one!

If you are thinking about buying one, Gear Zone currently have them at £187.00 with free P&P, and it also comes in black...

Review: Chocolate Fish Merino

2011-06-29T20:47:00.000+01:00

One of the great things about being on Twitter is that you can have direct contact with outdoor clothing manufacturers, and this is how I met Amanda from Chocolate Fish Merino. Amanda is the friendly face of a small company specialising in Merino baselayers, with genuine interest in other Tweeters and the world at large.

A couple of months ago she sent me a Taranaki 190 Merino Long Sleeve Crew T-Shirt in a lovely royal (cobalt) blue colour. She explained it was a returned item and didn't have the labels on it but she washed it and sent it over to me to try out and write about. April's mini Summer (I really do hope it wasn't the UK's only one) meant that I didn't really get chance to wear it much to do a decent test and review. Not put off by this, Amanda in the meantime sent me a Women's T-Shirt in black and a Women's Taranaki 190 Merino Cami in a nice dark red / burgundy colour. From a disclaimer point of view I will declare that I have received all 3 items FOC with the purpose of review, but if you've read other reviews I've carried out I think you will know I write pretty frankly! Now that I've had chance to wear all three I thought it was time for you to read my thoughts!

Starting off with the Women's T-Shirt, out of the wrapper I was immediately struck by the quality of the fabric. All 3 Chocolate Fish Merino products I have are of 190gsm weight material, so aren't quite directly comparable with the 3 Icebreaker products I've mentioned on this blog in the past, those being either 150 or 200gsm. What set the Women's T apart for me, right from the off, was the weave of the fabric and the cut of this T. The scoop neck isn't cut high so is a little more flattering than many (including the Long Sleeved Crew), but it's not so low as to feel draughty on the hills. The cut is tailored to a female figure rather than a man's or unisex product, so is flattering to wear, plus the length is long enough for me at 5 ft 9ins, a big issue when it isn't long enough, but not an issue if it is! The top is comfortable, the weave of the jersey knit feels soft but it has a robustness about it which I've noticed means it keeps it's shape well after numerous washings.
I've worn this on more than a few outings now, on the hills, casual evening walks and also to work and to the gym. I would even wear it on a night out (but that's just me!). It costs £44.95 which I would baulk at frankly if I only felt it suitable for the outdoors, but because of it's high utility I would feel much more comfortable in buying this knowing I could get a lot of wear out of it in a lot of different situations. (Thinking about it, the quality reminds me of how Marks & Sparks used to be viewed in the old days; you pay for what you get!) In fact it's a regular feature as much as part of my working wardrobe and out hiking. I personally am not that keen on labelling clothing as 'technical' but this does do all that you'd expect of a merino baselayer, wicking my effort away efficiently, not feeling clammy or damp. I think it's safe to say if you meet me on the hills this summer you'll likely see me in it!

The Long Sleeve Crew is another great product, the neck cut higher and therefore feels closer than the Women's T. The arms are a great length for me, being a unisex product, so may not be great for more petite women. The body length is quite long too which means I am happy when it's cold that it covers my back, in fact it covers half of my bum too. This is definitely the T I wear when it's pretty cool outside, whereas I like the Women's T for when the weather is a tad warmer even if windy (I would wear either with a windshirt if it's windy). I wonder what the L/S Crew's lower threshold will be, though I've found doubling up with a S/S T over a L/S T gives me a lot of flex in layering. The LS Crew is on offer at the time of writing at £49.95 instead of the usual £54.95 so I would say grab one for the cooler weather now!

The Cami is something a little different, and only for the ladies! It has spaghetti straps but because of the weight of the fabric it doesn't make you feel quite so at risk of 'exposure' that lighter weight fabrics can do. It's also constructed using panels of fabric which gives more support. It feels great on, like a second, supportive skin, but again, one of the great things about this is that, in a rather old fashioned way maybe, it can obviously be used as a vest too. This is very much at the outer limit of my budget at £34.95, and for the utility value I would probably rather buy a Women's T at a tenner more, but for those on not so tight a budget or as a present it is a really nice item, especially if we were to get something akin to a summer...For those looking for a cami top for a travel wardrobe in warmer climes I would definitely recommend this; for the UK weather I would want more shoulder coverage personally! (Hopefully that will provoke the UK weather to produce some sun...)

Trying not to repeat myself, all products use the same 190 gsm fabric and, as with all the merino products I've worn to date, the stink factor is pretty limited if at all, even after being subjected to being worn to work and then to the gym, or just simple consecutive daily (and nightly) wear for days at a time. I've found all three to wash really well, dry reasonably fast, wick sweat really well (unless it's trickling down my back which does happen at the gym but that's a different test!) and none are bulky.
What sets these apart for me is the utility value meaning I would get more wear for my £, so while on paper they look a little expensive (though not really compared to other merino products), they are so wearable that I am more likely to wear them in my day to day life as well. I think these are products that will last a good few years wear so for me these would definitely be a worthwhile, sustainable purchase.

Lost: One Mojo

2011-06-22T20:52:00.000+01:00

A couple of stressful weeks at work, money worries and no longer being 'in' therapy, have left me feeling a bit out of sorts. And before I knew it, Sunday was looming. Where to go? I'd been out the previous Sunday, and Monday night too after an internal cry for help from my spirit and needing some soul food. I had driven out to the Fox House and cooked up my dinner while sat on the edge of Carl Wark. That was pretty blissful and helped me feel a little more me, but I still haven't felt quite 'right' in myself...

So, where to walk? I decided to revisit last weekend's destination, sort of, and approach the area from a different angle. I had been inspired by the view near Abney Grange, looking down the valley towards Bretton Clough, with the remnants of what look like moraines, a pretty confused but small area of landscape.

Plotting my walk the night I was also conscious of wanting to walk further thank I've done for a while (more lost mojo stuff; the hip thing has knocked my confidence a little) so I planned a 10 mile route that would take me through Abney Clough, up on to Abney Moor and then down to the Grange, around to Bretton, do a bit of a wiggle into the Clough and then up on to the moor and go stone circle hunting. Plan made, printed, customary battle with clear sticky film (forecast = rain), pack packed, poles in car (I still forget them sometimes) and I was good to go. More or less.

Heading out I felt good; it wasn't too late, though it wasn't that early either. The drive was alright, an idiot up my bum until I turned off after Fox House to Grindleford, and then a spirit raising section near Leam. I parked off the road near Hazelford (what a lovely name), making sure my handbrake was on and set off down the track past Tor Farm. Turning back to check the car wasn't sliding down the hill it was lovely to see the view over to where I'd had dinner 7 days before. There is something about this landscape that wants to transport me back in time. Massive blocks of stone lay recumbent in the sweet meadow grass, dotted with those white clouds on legs we call sheep.

I was heading towards Stoke Ford and not having been there for the best part of 20 years, frankly I couldn't remember the landscape. Not to worry, I'd got the laminated map and figured out where I was. Kind of.

From the grassland I went through a five bar gate and was plunged along a footpath into a bit of a wood that reminded me very much of a section on the West Highland Way apart from I had better weather this day, the footpath twisting and turning, some parts sandy underneath clumps of heather with glittery stone and sand fragments glinting in the sun. It was a lovely little stretch and I thoroughly enjoyed, even more so as I emerged into a glade where a track forded a stream, and a couple of robust foot bridges negotiated their way for foot passengers. I hung around a little while, smelling the heady perfume of some pale cream and yellow honeysuckle, before crossing over on one of the bridges and onto the path.

This was my first 'navigational error', or, 'where I went wrong'. Instead of taking the path on the southern side of the stream (which was even VERY clearly sign posted to Stoke Ford), in my perfumed drunkenness I somehow decided to head on a path on the northern side, which initially looked promising but after a bit I started to question myself. Especially when I passed through sections bordering what looked like burned out vehicles, a barbed wire topped stone wall, a mid thigh high meadow and a curious mini orchard and attempt at a woven willow structure with a camp fire/kitchen nearby. Strange. I wondered if I was about to be an extra in a remake of 'Deliverance' and looked around me to see if I was being watched. No one. But I could hear voices on the breeze... I hurried on.

Soon after my Deliverance moment I spied a multi fingered footpath sign in the distance. Result! I arrived at Stoke Ford with a sense of relief and company as about ten middle aged (hang on, that's what I am now; maybe they would now be counted as old?) people were having a brew on the far side of the stream. I plonked myself down on the stone bank with my feet dangling over just above the water and had some nuts and drank some water and just watching the world go by.
Another group of very cheery ramblers came down the opposite bank, looking to be from late 60s and into late 70s. The Leader, wearing a Bolsover Ramblers baseball cap, smiled at me, proudly declaring they were doing a 9 miler and heading up to Abney. It looked as if he was about to carry on up the hill but was halted in his tracks by plaintive cries from some of the others of, "I thought we were going to stop for a coffee!".
They perched against the stone wall and I enjoyed eavesdropping on their conversations, the mundanity of daily life, what the neighbours were up to etc etc. The first group departed, a group of 6 fell runners streaked past without coming down to the Ford, and then another group of ramblers marched from west to east, much like the elephants in the Disney version of the Jungle Book. After this mini Piccadilly Junction had dispersed I decided to rouse myself and went back to the footpath sign. It clearly pointed the way to Abney so for the life of me I can't remember why I decided to ignore that and to instead head for a small gate into another meadowy area running alongside the stream...

A couple of people passed me, a jovial Scotsman with a lady who looked to be his Thai Bride. She was fit and they both strode ahead of me and soon disappeared. I caught up with them again as they negotiated the first of many low hanging branches and we continued to concertina together and apart for the next third of a mile or so. The differentiating moment came at a whole Beech tree laying across the ground. The top of the trunk was about 4 to 5 feet off the ground. I decided I wanted to play on the top of the tree, enjoying the different perspective with the tree still alive but horizontal rather than vertical. Moving on I was halted again by a goat skull hanging in another tree, horns attached, looking a little sinister. Another Deliverance moment?

By now I had determined I was most definitely not on the right path. I hadn't quite figured out where I was but the map didn't add up with where I needed to be, and the end of the path was in sight. Well, technically that wasn't quite true; there was no end as such it just disappeared. I couldn't immediately see where the couple had gone; there were no obvious tracks to me. Instead, more barbed wire, a stream, a bank plunging down into said stream. Ok, up then! A minute on a mud wall showing the previous couples secrets of sliding confirmed they had passed this way. I scrambled up and slid back down but the up part won over and I escaped the mud chute. Argh, more barbed wire. I was conscious I was officially trespassing and having figured out where I was on the map, knew I wasn't on a right of way, and wasn't that far from a couple of farm buildings. I spent a precarious couple of minutes straddling the barbed wire, trying to hold it down and away from my nether regions and failing to pass unmarked, before making it to the other side. A brew was most definitely called for so I settled my rump onto a mossy bank and fired up the sidewinder. A cup of coffee (I'm trying out Kenco Millicano instead of the ubiquitous Starbucks Via; way less packaging and not bad a taste) in my lovely Kuksa gave me pause for thought and respite. Oh, and this pic demonstrates my acquired prowess with Thermawrap and Duct Tape!

I took the opportunity to replan my walk for the day. Cast aside the 10 mile Mojo and instead make the most of what I'd got. I was following Bretton Brook rather than along Abney Clough and I decided instead to adopt Bretton Clough properly, find the convergence on the map where the path from Abney and Cockey Farm descended before rising to Nether Bretton and see where my feet were to take me then.

It wasn't that long before I saw a little footbridge in the crease of the valley, which I gained after negotiating more barbed wire and a deep gouge in a bank, secreting a stream. Jumping over a couple of tussocks I got to the bridge, crossed over and found a couple of footpaths leading away. I felt a sense of relief, away from the claustrophobia of the woods and out onto the...bumps? I was slap bang in the middle of what had inspired the walk, a rougher country version of Postman Pat Land, paths wheedling their way around them, the bumps being too tall to see over. It was fun! I used Viewranger on my phone to see which one I had picked but it wasn't difficult terrain, I was just more curious to see what it looked like. There was the outline of a long ruined building, joined by a family of four out for a late picnic. I rounded another bump and left them. I completely loved this area and delighted in it's twists and turns and surprises, the fecundity of the ground, the sense of place. I could happily imagine living here, and in researching the area on the net, found that this formed a refuge against Bonnie Prince Charlie and his cattle rustlers in 1745. My link to the highlands restored in this fold of Derbyshire?

Following another fold I dipped to another stream, across a bridge and then took the high sheep path instead of the low footpath, across a hillock graced with birches, heather just starting to flower and bracken fronds unfurling. Glorious! A mix of Skylarks and a variety of Tits were calling and singing, woodland and moorland birds intermingling song. Even more heart lifting I came out on another meadow with another ruined building in the middle distance. Fallen down stone walls were dusted with a low living member of the bedstraw family (thanks @Hen4!) which, when the sun shone made my heart glad. John Muir used that phrase for the mountains but I find that for me it can apply almost anywhere if I keep my senses alert. The stones were nestled comfortably among the plants, as if they were just a-slumber. Yet another place I want to return to and dwell. I moved on to the ruin, enjoying figuring out the structure and what fit where in the ramshackle ruins, nature taking over and forming perfect benches as grass overlaid double walled structures. A turf seat. A red moving dot caught my eye; someone up on the small cliff face overlooking the clough. Interesting. It looked like a couple and I wasn't sure if I was intruding on them or actually if they were intruding in on me in my soliloquy.

A track led away from the ruin, towards where I had walked the previous Sunday. Rather than cutting across country with the growing bracken and heather and ground nesting birds, I decided to keep to the path. I seem to find that regardless of where I walk I am usually rewarded with a new sign or sound and, following this path I came upon a beautiful pastoral scene with lambs suckling at their mums, while shaded under a wizened tree. Their nudges were so enthusiastic that the ewes were off their hind legs. Other lambs were much more casual, one stretching from sleep, reminding me of my cat as hind legs extended.

Soon though I was on to the top, The Barrel Inn at Bretton just over the horizon, the mast at Sir William Hill clear and proud. It is such a landmark hereabouts; I don't regard it as an eyesore as it's something I'm so familiar with it seems part of the landscape I know. The odd Skylark took off from the grass, singing in alarm and warning. Thoughts of stone circles had left me; too many people on the edge of the moor for the solitude I prefer, so I wove my way through a plantation area and then up to the cliff I'd seen the people on earlier. A family were about 75m behind me but didn't stop at the outcrop. It was windy as the valley funnelled up energy from the valley, swooping up and over the cliffs. I didn't mind; there was enough shelter to take a pew, make a brew and absorb the view! Gliders were making the most of the weather, acrobatics in the sky. The colours of the rock face, the lichen, so much detail.

Time was passing comfortably but I decided the return trip to Stoke Ford was due, where I made the same Jungle Book elephant traipse down, across and up; too many people at Piccadilly Junction again! Now following in reverse the path I should have taken originally I could see newly planted native trees, cordoned off against sheep grazing. I passed a line of ants, looking industrious. I traced them back to their nest, the top of the anthill flat as if someone had cut a lid off. It was like looking at a kaleidoscope, ever shifting before my eyes. While absorbed I was passed by the family of four who had passed me at the outcrop; one of the sons dressed in a Belgian camo pattern with a yoke/daypack arrangement and Magnum boots on. He glanced over what I was wearing and initially looked doubting at me. That passed as I passed them and I like to think that maybe, just maybe, he saw the light of lightweight backpacking.

The view I had turned around to admire at the start now greeted my eyes. It was a minor struggle to keep to the footpath as my eyes were held by the view, High Low (a small hill) looking suspiciously akin to Carl Wark to my mind, the ribbon of Stanage reaching towards Bamford Edge, Higger Tor proud on the horizon. Again I was taken to times past.

I'm not sure if I have found my mojo, maybe it's just a simple matter of being part of the rat race and competing priorities, but I know for sure that I absolutely need to get outside regularly. The quality of my life increases in direct proportion to the time I spend walking and pondering, noticing and paying attention. I felt a little embarrassed at mis-reading the map not once but twice, I've still not increased my mileage as I want (but why do I want?). But this is honest, this is me, and if you can help me find it I am happy to follow directions!

A year in the life of...

2011-05-31T20:14:00.001+01:00

Little did I know, exactly one year ago, that my backpacking (and social media networking) style would have changed so much in the course of one year.

A year ago I signed up to Twitter (16th May 2010) and then a couple of weeks later, started this blog (31st). In this time my backpacking journey has been explored, analysed, experienced and relished. I've made some good friends, met some new people both in real life and many more online. It's lead to a richer experience all around and my kit has changed enormously, mostly down to the generosity of one or two key people but also through selling a lot of old / outdated / heavy equipment and replacing it with lighter versions.

Just selling and replacing with lighter gear isn't really in the true spirit of lightweight backpacking; I'm learning it's more of an attitude thing, considering multi use items, simplifying and making your own gear. Lately, thanks in part to being beneficiary of my late Aunt's sewing machine, I've started to dabble in making my own things; the pooh stick, a fair number of stuff sacks and a prototype hip belt in some cannibalised fabric and oddments have helped sate my need to be connected with the outdoors when I haven't been able to get 'out there'. And that is what it's all about really.

That experience of being in and of the land, the air and sky, how it lives and breathes. It's not necessarily a sense of adventure, although that is reasonably plentiful for me, any time I venture somewhere unknown (and sometimes known too). I have found that I enjoy England. That England of rolling hills and Hawthorn hedgerows. That John Betjeman, quintessential green and pleasant land. I like the hills too, and the coast, and even the flat lands; they all have something to offer if you keep your eyes and ears open!

The journey to light weight means for me the ability to continue to wander, to be at least adequately kitted out and not carrying more weight than I need. Instead of a pack weighing upwards of 12Kg (I think the record for me was something like 45lbs when I was in my early 20s, about 2 years before the photo above was taken of me in Austria), now it is more likely to weigh about 8Kg, including water and food. I can add odds and ends as I want and within reason but while I am strong, as I approach my 40th birthday in August I don't want to carry more weight than I need. And frankly I'm not fit enough to do that either at present. (Losing 'that' weight is also on the cards...)

Who knows what the next year will hold? I'd like to get fitter again and cover a bit more distance than I currently do. I'd like to improve my basic map and compass work and to do more walking in the dark! I'd like to do more sketching on my wandering. I'd like to do more local wandering, uncovering more flora and fauna and sharing that through my local communities and surrounding villages perhaps. I expect the learning / weight curves will continue but I expect them to flatten off somewhat. Generally I think I'll carry on going to places less conventional in the hill walking world; that may mean I don't walk so many hills...but if I retain the level of solitude but with pleasant, limited interaction with people rather than being annoyed by their overwhelming presence in more populous destinations, then I am sure I shall continue to grow on my lighter weight wondering wandering journey and be happy.

Gregory Women's Jade 34 Backpack Review

2011-05-29T16:14:00.001+01:00

Once again the Web Phone rang. Alfred the butler was missing so I answered the phone myself. It was Gareth from Webtogs, asking what I'd like to review this time. Hmmm. I had been spoiled by Phil of Lightweight Outdoors with the Opsrey Hornet sack but which I'd had to return, so said to him I could do with trying something to replace it. I'd seen the Jade 34 women's specific cut rucksack so asked to try that. A matter of a couple of days later and a parcel was waiting for me. My new mission had begun.

My first impressions of this were that it was quite a big and heavy pack. My long term mission to reduce my pack weight was not going to be helped along by this item. Manufacturers weight of the size Medium I tried is given at 1.4Kgs, more than half the weight of my current "Big 3". Putting that aside I put myself in the mind set of the majority, who this pack is aimed at, and took it out on a few trips of varying lengths and destinations in the Peak District, Derbyshire and the Yorkshire Wolds.

The description on the Gregory site describes it as:

"Perfect for technical routes or longer trips. Auto fit harness system, with airflow across back. All access front zip. Side and bottom compression. Quick access waistbelt pockets. Built in rain cover."

The Jade 34 is an internal frame pack with a curved back that gives a good inch or two clearance from the mesh panel that rests against your back. The bottom of the back panel has two prominent, padded lumbar pads from where the very well padded hip belt extends with a small pocket on each.
It is a top loading pack with a lid with internal and external zipped pockets (the external one has a key clip inside), and a hydration point on either side of the lid. As you can see from the photos there is a substantial haul loop, load lifter straps and well padded, shaped shoulder straps with a moveable sternum strap.

The front of the pack is covered by a big fabric panel that conceals the detachable rain cover, accessed via a zip at the bottom. The panel forms a pocket with a small area of mesh at the bottom, and is also part of the compression system with webbing straps and buckles towards the corners, used to manage pack volume. Undoing the buckles enables access to a long, curved zip which means you can get at your pack contents without opening up from the top. I personally tend to use stuff sacks to keep pack contents dry and organised and feel that the zip and fabric panel are overkill and add unnecessary weight.
There is a decent sized mesh pocket on either side of the pack which is generous enough to hold a 600ml water bottle and my Vargo meths bottle plus other slim items.

The top of the pack is secured with a drawcord and webbing and a buckle cinches down over the top of this. The lid is then locked down and secured with a buckle attached to webbing emerging from within the side pocket on each side. A lower compression strap and buckle goes over the middle of the side pocket, securing those items and keeping the pack stable. There is also an ice axe loop on the bottom of the pack. All the zips have decent sized loops with plasticised coverings which is great for winter use and the pack is made from 330D nylon oxford flatweave and 220D double diamond ripstop, both feeling very substantial. A lot of loops, webbing, zips and buckles, it is a busy pack! Oh, there's also shock cord at the top of the fabric panel with a cord hook, giving yet more possibilities of kit haulage...

So, it is a comprehensive pack, but, and the big 'but' for me, is that all together I just find it's overkill for what I want, and I struggle to think how other people would use all this pack's attributes either, especially as a day pack, though at 34litres (in reality nearer 35) it's a sizeable product.

Generally, I found that although a lot of thought and engineering had gone into this product, I didn't find it to be the most comfortable of packs for me. The air gap designed to reduce sweatiness (Gregory's Dynamic Transfer System) meant that I felt a bit 'disconnected' from the pack, that it wasn't part of me, which is how other packs have felt (to the extent that I don't really notice wearing them). It was all cinched down and stable, but still didn't feel as if it carried well for me. There was too much padding which I noticed while wearing (maybe this is a function of only using the pack for about 4-5 outings so hadn't compressed down yet, but then would you expect the padding to compress? I wouldn't!). I was aware of the frame of the pack itself too, which was a bit distracting.

More on DTS from Gregory's website:

Dynamic Transfer System (DTS)

"Ranging from larger daypacks for light and fast overnights to small packs for a quick outing, the JetStream DTS line has a pack suited for you. Although for carrying less weight, the suspension can handle up to 30 pounds with ease. A curved steel bar held in tension with the framesheet starts flexing the more you load up the pack, effectively transferring the weight directly to the lumbar pad and onto your hips.

"Thanks to the well padded lumbar pad, there is also minimal slippage when scrambling across terrain, so the pack stays centred and balanced on your back."

Other thoughts from using the pack include that for me the hip pockets were too small; the photo below shows a chewing gum pack in one. They were just about big enough to fit an HTC Desire phone in.

The fabric panel, compression system and front zip access seemed over engineered to me. The usable space in the front, fabric panelled pocket was less than it could have been, even though it was gussetted. Speaking with Gareth, he likes using zips to access the body of a pack but it's not something I look for in a pack myself, so that is likely down to a matter of personal choice.

In summary, this is not the right pack for me, but for women who are interested in a pack with a large air vented panel, well padded, good capacity and lots of bells and whistles then it might be something to consider. Unfortunately I am not really in the target market for this sort of pack; I want something relatively simple with decent sized side pockets and a top lid, small compression straps (or shock cord) and a large mesh front pocket. A couple of attachment points would be good. For me it has to be light, probably a third to one half of the weight of this, frameless with good hip pockets too. My search will continue!

For information, this product is on sale with Webtogs at £85.49 (including a 10% saving) with the usual excellent Webtogs delivery and customer service.

7g Silnylon Slipperiness

2011-05-25T12:42:00.002+01:00

Something a bit different for me this time; a post on my first attempt at MYOG or Make Your Own Gear for those not so familiar.

For a while now I've seen John (ShedDweller10 on Twitter) and Nigel (nigep) tweet out about MYOG they're having a go at. References to fabrics and obtaining curious pieces of haberdashery, or what fabric deals they've been able to get. Not to mention of course, Colin (Tramplite) and Mateusz (Laufbursche) with their more professional approach, and particularly Thomas (gauperaa) who has given me much encouragement. In fact now I'm thinking about it, there is a small army of industrious MYOGers populating the UL (Ultralight) and general Lightweight backpacking community so apologies if I should have mentioned you, too.

Maybe feeling a little left out of this, and wanting to experience that other dimension that these folk seem to experience, I ordered some silnylon from Germany with some very mini cord locks (almost the tiniest I've seen) waiting eagerly for it to arrive which it did less than a week later. However, to break myself in gently, I decided to have a bit of a MYOG weekend and kicked off Friday night 'living it large' by making a pooh stick, courtesy of the instructions by Colin and hosted on Andy Howell's blog. I didn't have quite the right ingredients but made a respectable job (I think) and the enhanced stick weighed in at 26g.

Back to the parcel from Germany! I decided to start simple and to sew a stuff sack first. I have visions of starting to replace my mass manufactured clothing with home made, sorry, custom made clothing, bespoke even, for me. But back to reality and a stuff sack.

I didn't really follow any instructions as such, having read so much on thru-hiker.com and on friends sites and BPL. In the end I took a couple of stuff sacks I already have, turned them inside out and looked at how the seams were constructed and then winged it as far as cutting out my fabric to a rough size. The pedant in me went back over it to make sure my cut lines followed the lines of the ripstop.

So with a rectangle of slippery silnylon cut out, I spent approximately the next half an hour trying to figure out what I needed to do in what order (hey, it was my first go at this remember!). Then setting up the sewing machine so that the tension on the top and bottom row of stitches was even. Remembering to wind the bobbin with thread of the same colour and then checking the tension on a piece of scrap again (not that I'd actually produced much in the way of scrap at that point anyway!).

I took the plunge and sewed the first seam, joining the short sides together to form the tube. I folded it over to create an edgeless seam (I am no seamstress and as yet don't really know the name of seams) and was reasonably pleased with how it looked.

So, a tube. What next? I decided to sew the top hem, and to help me I pinned the hem down, not being worried about waterproofness (it wasn't going to be a roll top closure but just a draw cord). The pic below shows the hem folded over and pinned in place.

For some reason I decided to switch to the bottom of the bag (cul de sac) at this point and sewed up the bottom hem then doubled it over and sewed again (belts and braces approach?).

Then I opened up the bottom as shown below so I could pin roughly where I wanted to sew to create the rectangular form of the bottom..

I sewed along the pinned line and then doubled the triangular corner over and sewed over this, again with the idea that it might give the bag strength. Whether this is true or not I have no idea!

I repeated this on the other side and cut off the excess material.

Turning this the right side out I had a nice looking seam:

That left the top to do. I wanted to put an eyelet in, rather than create a buttonhole entry for the drawcord, or to mess around with the hem opening at the seam. Somewhat surprisingly my parents had a couple of eyelet punches and I finished the bag off on Sunday night (yes, there was a fair bit of elapsed time doing other stuff!) but after a couple of bevvies I put the eyelet on the wrong way around!
No matter, once the eyelet was in I threaded the drawcord through and into place around the pinned hem (remember that almost at the start?). Then I hemmed the flap of material down, capturing the drawcord in place, going carefully over the eyelet area which is a bit bulky for the sewing machine to negotiate.
Here's the finished product:

I feel reasonably pleased with the end result. It is just the right size for my sidewinder, is reasonably light at a whole 7g, is a nice, bright red colour (a lot of my other kit is green or black so it doubles in use as something to stand out a little if I needed to draw attention) and overall, I made it and I'm proud!

I used:
1.5mm Polyester cord
Ripstop Nylon tent fabric silicon coated 50g/sqm 2nd choice in red
Mini Tanka cord lock
Red polyester thread

The fabric, cord lock and drawcord were all from extremtextil and I found the ordering process really easy. They accept Paypal and you can pick from a choice of shipping options. My small parcel arrived within about 5 days of ordering which I was really pleased at.

Sites you may want to look at include:
thru-hiker
backpackinglight
And there are lots of clips on YouTube too.

If you have access to a sewing machine, have a go! ShedDweller John just got hold of a sewing machine on Freecycle so don't let lack of machine put you off; have a go! It's so much nicer to think 'I made this' rather than to go out (or sit in on your computer) and "buy, buy, buy"!

Wolds Overnighter

2011-05-24T19:47:00.000+01:00

Before I even start typing this new blog post a sigh escapes my lips as I think back to a lovely weekend I had.

Away from the hustle of work, the weekend was a curious mix of stress and worry and then relaxation and peace. The two days were quite markedly different yet part of the same little journey, through and over the hills and dales. The difference was, for me, the stress of the first day, wondering how successful I would be in finding somewhere to pitch my tent in a relatively populated area and not getting chased by annoyed Farmers. So the first day of wandering was more directed, goal oriented where the second day was much less so; as long as I got home for my Mum's roast dinner, everything would be good!

A mid morning start from the car in the interesting village of Bishop Wilton, where scouts were bashing one another with long sticks in readiness for a days walking themselves(!) I set off up a track that quickly emerged through a gate into a field with cows laying on the ground, chewing the cud. A sign of the weather to come? This chap didn't think so, looking on with his bug eyes...

In fact this Ent was a herald of something else quite curious. I wound my way up the hill and across the head of the dale, approached this time by some beautiful brown calves, where I came across a bench with a sign warning, "Do not put on the RING Frodo". I didn't see any other sign of Lord of the Rings but I wonder at how pervasive this creation of the imagination has become!

A couple of lefts and rights, over stiles and through kissing gates lead me to cross a road and over to Cob Nab and Manna Green. This is a set of ancient earthworks, and now Access Land, deep hollows grazed by sheep, surrounded by pretty hillsides covered in mixed coniferous and deciduous woodland, the chalk tracks and footpaths shining brightly when the sun deigned us with it's presence.

As I'm finding with the Wolds and typified with this area, the dales are steep sided and my recent cold and lack of fitness had me puffing my way up the far hillside. Turning to admire the view (or more accurately, pausing for breath), I was surprised to find a small herd of sheep at my back, maybe wondering what new sheep language I was panting at them!

Tracking alongside a hedge I was delighted by the Hawthorn still in blossom, joined by the cow parsley bobbing it's head gaily in the wind. Where I live some of the Hawthorn is starting to brown as the blossoms fade so making the trip a little farther north was definitely worth it for me. I joined a Roman road for a short section, not bothered by the tarmac but rather amused by the sight of a very old red Datsun driving towards me, the tarmac on this single road with plant filled cracks down the middle. It reminded me very much of childhood in Norfolk where occasionally our road would get it's periodic dose of tarmac and gravel before being splayed by the cars and plant life taking over once again.

Once again taking a turn onto a track I enjoyed seeing a vista of rolling hills, the hedgerows delineating the form as the hills bounded into the distance. When I planned my route I hadn't been looking forward to the next section especially; a crossing of a main trunk road with a car park area and a smaller road departing from the junction. I had imagined a dirty, litter strewn layby of some sort and couldn't picture in my head how the footpath would cross the roads. Emerging out of a thicket I needen't have worried. A small picnic area with 4 or 5 hikers enjoying their lunch, and a nice, arty plaque showing local paths and features of the wolds showed off a pretty area. A mown section through wild grasses and flowers lead the footpath to a good spot to cross the road and before I knew it I had joined Wayrham Dale, with cowslips and birdsfoot trefoil adorning the hillsides and chalk. Daisies love chalk and there were plenty of those too; I could have spent hours happily making chains if I hadn't been occupied by thoughts of the days mileage and where I was going to camp. Oh, and I wanted to also re-visit Mrs Smith in the village shop in Thixendale to catch up on her gossip of the past three weeks!

A small area of mixed woodland lent a sudden coolness to the warmth I had been experiencing in the dale. A little like the glens of Scotland, these small dales were curved, deep, and seemed to have their own microclimate. Plus they can be great conduits for funnelling the wind through if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time!

I passed the entrance to a very inviting looking dale, surrounded by more earthworks, emerging into Bradeham Dale where I'd hoped I could replenish some water in the well there. The well in reality looked a bit like a dew pond, and under the water lilies what water there was looked more like tadpole jelly than water! Luckily I spied a cattle trough and took some from there instead though I was hardly desperate.
The next section of this long sequence of dales had me laughing as, in the middle of essentially a green amphitheatre of a field, a solitary footpath sign with fingers to all corners paid homage to Piccadilly Circus. Without too much wondering which path to take, I headed on down into one of two Thixendales I was going to tread today, joining the Yorkshire Wolds Way for a short section. The clouds were bombing over the sky, itself a glorious blue, but incredibly changeable, heralding conflicting weather systems as clouds at different altitudes headed in opposite directions. The dale was quite sheltered most of the time, allowing me chance to examine bird boxes, most of them huge, sized for Barn Owls. Having watched a recent television programme (Countryfile) I suspected that they had been erected by Robert Fuller, both to conserve and protect them, and also to aid his work as an artist specialising in wildlife. In fact a little further on I came across a tree house type bird hide.

It reminded me very much of a tree house my Dad had built for me and my brother when we were kids. Dad always builds things to last and the tree house was no different! As was this; this one even had a piped chimney with a balustraded section, I guess for people not to fall. But because it was sited across from another Barn Owl box, this one converted from a tree, it gave the game away!

With some wistfulness the dale rounded a corner and I could see a roadway in the distance. The dale started to open up; the ancient river beds must have been wider at this point and the silt left providing nutritious ground for arable crops to be viable rather than sheep and cattle. Joining the road, another single track, I walked the short distance into the village and was just on the outskirts when the heavens opened on me. With little debate I delved into my pack to put my waterproof jacket on, had got myself and my pack sorted when it all stopped. A deluge and then nothing, barely even spitting. Down the road a short way a chap with curly grey hair, a tan and a smile, laughed gently at me, remarking he'd had the same thing happen to him about half an hour before. I joined him in laughter and said it was Sod's Law! We had a chat about weather forecasting and sailing; I learned what I know about the weather (which isn't a huge amount really) from doing a Day Skipper Theory course back in 1997, and he taught those same classes, and more, going on into Ocean going qualifications with the RYA. So we had a very interesting few minutes until his "BusKing" mini bus arrived, marked for Driffield and packed with people in wet weather gear.
Besides which I had a rendezvous with Mrs Smith at the local village shop to keep! After meeting her on my first visit to the Wolds and listening to her stories I expected and was looking forward to more of the same and was not disappointed...

All good things must come to an end they say, so after making re-acquaintance with her and Mr Smith I set off into the weather which was blowing with a little more intent now. Out of the village I struck off down another dale, this one heavily populated with sheep and lambs. Some were very skittish, and some couldn't care less, as I perambulated through the dale, head down against the buffeting wind, and then jacket done up against the rain that now started to sweep through. The funnel effect was very apparent and it was with some relief I took my first refuge in the shelter of a small, shrubby Hawthorn, obviously a bedroom for some of the ladies of the valley. I figured that with the weather system being so changeable, the rain would pass by soon and so it did, and so I re-emerged and continued on through more sections of sheep filled fields.

Being a while since I'd eaten anything and fancying a proper brew I headed to a decent looking area, although abound with the ubiquitous sheep poo (no wonder they have to be wormed) and sat myself down wearily with half an eye on the weather and the other on my sidewinder which always seems to boil water surprisingly fast. A jolt of caffeine and sugar later and I was set to go again. As was the weather which was clearly demonstrating it's precipitating prowess as I could see a sheet of rain descending from the cloud about half a mile away. Hmm. I debated with myself whether to carry on to where I'd planned to camp, which was another 3 miles or so away, or whether to camp somewhere in this sheepy vicinity and take my chance on farmers not wandering around checking on their sheep, and that local dog walkers would be feeling salubrious after an afternoon sat in front of the FA Cup Final on the telly with a choice beverage and not wanting to get wet...
Working out the odds I decided to stay put more or less, just to site the shelter around the curve of the end of the dale slightly to make most of the benefit of the hill. It rained. I pitched the shelter and then re-pitched it as the wind clearly demonstrated it wanted to come from this direction actually! I'd not pitched the nest before so had a little bit of fun trying to hook the rear hook in before giving up, figuring it would only be resting on my feet anyway.

Time went on and I settled in, cooking a meal of home made dehydrated chilli with pasta and a Babybel with a small tetra pak of Tesco Value Red Wine. With the spiciness of the chilli I couldn't really detect the wine other than a warm feeling!

No one appeared and I was undisturbed apart from the herd of sheep baa-ing loudly outside the tent. They'd all congregated noisily, hoping I'd provide them with a feed. No chance!

I had a lovely, toasty night sleep, despite the weather being blustery and stormy. I finally woke at about 7 to wonderful clear blue skies. I broke camp quickly after breakfast and a coffee. I hadn't packed that much so it didn't take long before I set off up the dale, through a couple of cows and heifers. I thoroughly enjoyed a very different sense of being outdoors to the day before. It wasn't yet a quarter to 8 yet I was alone in the countryside with the birds and wildlife to myself, the air clear to distant horizons. Gaining the top of the wold, views opened up towards York and sweeping around towards the Humber. I changed my planned route, following a road a little way. A friendly cyclist in brightly coloured jerseys whizzed past me with a greeting. I peered over a thick hedgerow into a field to where a tumulus was marked on the map, but very little other than a slight mound could be seen on the ground.

The hedgerows were thick and long, dew laden grass soaked my shoes as I followed a footpath along a field edge. It didn't look as if the footpath was used much at all. I caught glimpses of a small church in a hamlet, one with a square tower compared to the spires I'd been seeing roundabouts. Roofs were red tiled and as I came upon this group of houses an idyllic English country village was shown in true springtime splendour but for the addition of cars outside each house (they do spoil the view!).

I had a bit of a nosey around before finding again the track I wanted to follow that would lead me alongside South Wold and then on towards Cheesecake Wold. How could I resist that? Forsaking the cheesecake (disappointingly there was none on offer) I stopped for a brew and a late morning snack, perching in a custom made seat where grass formed a nice bottom shaped space in amongst tree roots. The pace of the day meant that I had plenty of time to enjoy and absorb the view, to spend time contemplating and just being in that moment, not worrying about anything. Bliss.

Even writing this takes me back to that moment and as I probably did then, with a sigh I return to my walk, passing a 'proper' tumulus with what looked like a mounded, wooden island in the middle of a field, before descending a little used road back towards the village I started from.

Raindrops on Roses

2011-05-05T19:38:00.000+01:00

How sweet the rain is when it falls down on to parched ground!

Like many, I love the smell of rain on the dry, cracked, dusty earth as it teases the ground, gently dampening it without being quite enough to sink in. Gradually the fusty, dusty air is washed through, releasing a smell that fabric conditioner manufacturers could never dare hope to replicate, no matter how much money they spend.

The birds seem to sing more loudly, as if they too are being refreshed in body and soul. To be honest I have absolutely no idea how they might be affected by the rain after a prolonged period of none. Do they equate rain with more insect life, more seeds to be produced? Are they aware of time in that sense? A very human characteristic (or maybe it's just me?) is to think of animals in an anthropomorphic way, to transfer our very behaviours, thoughts and beliefs on to the wildlife around. So I do enjoy indulging in thinking they enjoy this respite as much as me. I imagine the blackbirds in my garden bustling around, their feathers getting damp but them enjoying the freshness as they preen and clean their plumage to resume their sleek attire before feasting on a bounty newly released.

Can you remember that feeling, that joy when you take those barefoot steps out onto the grass, caressing your toes, your feet, tickling your ankles if it's long enough. That coolness, creeping, rejuvenating through and into your soles (and your soul?). Even on my last walk out in the Wolds I experienced a little of this, walking in the dew soddened grass, but rain is just that bit different to me, delicious but in a different way.

When you actually look at the rain, the tiny beads, the fat drops, the clinging pearls from the tip of birch leaves. Perfect forms with contorted, reflected images of our world.

Now, thinking about the weekend, I wonder what the weather will hold. I want to get out and walk, maybe have an overnight camp. The rain, if it does, wont impact this, but trying to get a grip on what the weather might do is a popular past time, or at least stereotype, for the average UK Joe. But being more connected with the outside I think it is only natural to want to understand, predict and then to be equipped. The weather patterns in the UK have seemed a little out of kilter to me, having just had the warmest April in Yorkshire since 1659, and the driest April for more than an hundred years. What will the late Spring and Summer months hold?

Variations on a Theme of Thomas Tallis

2011-04-24T16:58:00.003+01:00

The Yorkshire Wolds is a place I've promised myself to visit for at least the last 4 years. It's not hilly in the classical Lake District sort of way, nor does it profess the open moorland and plateaux of the Peak District or the North York Moors. Instead it is an intimate landscape, open arable farmland and then, out of nowhere, a plummet into folds of land, embracing you into it's bosom, turning you this way and that until you are disoriented and then throwing you up onto pasture so you can gain your bearings again.

And at this time of year this is England at it's best. Springtime in late April and onwards into May. The last of the Blackthorn before the Hawthorn truly takes over. It's not known as the May Flower for nothing! Everything is exuberant and lush, vibrant green, buds wanting to burst. I just love this time of year, full of promise.

There was a bright golden haze on the meadow as I set off from the small car park English Heritage had created. I wandered along the Centenary Way, a minor road at this point, bounded by the acrid yellow of Rapeseed crops, the smell frankly reminding me of the air after someone has sneezed!

Thankfully I was beyond the fields and off the road before very long, through a gate and onto the first chalky path. Beautiful sights of most trees starting to be more in leaf than not, though some were winter skeletons still, so a broad display of life on view.

Emerging further I caught my first view down to Wharram Percy, the much studied medieval village of which a Church now is one of the few remains. But I had decided to leave that until my final destination for fear of not going for a walk otherwise and instead being waylaid by it. So I continued along the top of Deep Dale, cows in the valley following in parallel.

This section of the path followed the Yorkshire Wolds Way as well as the Centenary Way. I followed the branch off to the left at a gap in the hedgerows, just where some large hay bales had been stacked. I sat in the sun behind them to have a quick brew. Hearing a very slow thudding noise I looked up to see a man dressed in shorts and a lightweight rucksack pass by me. Hellos quickly said he was on his way, thud, thud, thudding along at a slow, regular pace. I wasn't long behind him as I'd seen the forecast for later that afternoon; thunder and lightning with a deluge of rain to make up from the thirsty April we've been having.

A little farther I passed two muck heaps, not just steaming but actually smoking, I wondered as a combination of the natural composting process but maybe catalysed by the hot weather we were having. It was supposedly hotter than LA and as dry as Madrid; very unusual for April in England where the grass should be too damp to sit on. I had even decided to wear my Tevas and in the shadows where the dew hadn't dried out, I could feel the wet grass tickling my toes as I walked through it.

There was an incredibly beautiful section as I came upon the top of Court Dale, the vista looking deep down into the valley with the customary steep sides, this one with sheep and their lambs. And then I had "Bright Eyes", the theme to Watership Down, playing in my head as I followed the narrow path, punctuated with rabbit warrens and droppings.

Dropping down into Thixendale I was about fifteen minutes too early for the Cross Keys to open at noon, although two motorcyclists has pulled up and were disrobing in the heat and a party of four walkers were milling around waiting. I carried on into the tiny village, nestled in the middle of the dale, one of the hills covered with hawthorn and wild roses. I walked past the Church, following the scent of two elderly ladies in front of me, and then decided to pop into the village shop.

A surprising half an hour passed very quickly in the shop as Mrs Maude Smith, former proprietor of the Post Office and Warden of the one time YHA in the village (closed 1999) chatted with me about times past, the stories of village folk and requests from other people for her to write down her stories. She got so fed up with people asking that she burned her diaries, putting paid to it (she hoped). And as she said, there were things in her diaries she didn't think anyone should see! Retrieving my Cider flavoured ice lolly from the freezer for the second time I bade her farewell until my return (not long I hope) and went back out into the midday sun.

Mad dog weather it was too! I ate my ice lolly while looking at the information boards outside the Village Hall (in previous lives the School and YHA), eyeballing a steepish chalk path that leaped out at my eyes, bidding me to walk it. I succumbed after allowing a few walkers to pass, not that I saw many, using my poles to help propel me up the path. My hip started to complain again, not in pain as such, more a mechanical popping noise in rhythm with my walking, but I made it to the top (yay), all of 35m climb!

Eating my sandwich overlooking Thixen Dale I started when a loud female voice behind me shouted how quiet it was up here! I was frankly a little annoyed at having my peace shattered, but this party of four was destined to leapfrog the rest of the way with me, no matter what delaying tactics I used to slow my pace. I let them make some progress by staying put, eating a melting Kitkat, scooping up the chocolate with my fingers and having another brew. But only 50 yards on I passed them as I headed towards the beautiful Vessey Hill. It was so pretty I decided to stop to sketch a little, again the heat of the sun almost drying the paint on my brush.

After ten minutes or so they did their leap frog act but I was in mid flow and only noticed the continued voices from them as they debated which way to go (I was off the track a bit, trying to preserve my solitude!). The sun was warm, the birds were singing and it felt like a blissful way to spend a few minutes just having a little snooze...

But! Remembering the weather forecast I decided to continue on after a short while, rejoining the path and along another earthwork, testimony to the very long human influence of these parts, going back a good 5000 years. A family were having a picnic right on the footpath on the other side of a stile; I couldn't imagine why they'd not sat just to the side, but they were cheerful enough as they said hello to me! Then, emerging out of a tiny coppice, the sun reflecting back off the pale chalk land baking both me and the land I tried to keep into the shadows along the broad track that would bring me back to where I had branched off earlier. Looking at the map it seemed as if this track was part of a long roadway at some point in time, indeed there is plenty of evidence of Roman inhabitation in the area.

Just as Wharram Percy came into view my phone (with camera) died but again I met with the loud party of four, easily seen from 500 yards away as they were all clad in white. They were doing what I had done, taking a siesta on the grass. The sun was pretty hot so I could hardly blame them the cool shade in the long, green grass. The herd of cows in the valley below had decided on the same and had flaked out on the ground, chewing the cud in a sun induced lethargy.

Now taking the path towards Wharram Percy at last, I finally rejoined the four, exchanging jolly remarks about our leap frogging. They continued into the Church yard as I took refuge in the mill stream. Ah, to have that blissful water cascade over my sunned feet and legs! I stood for some time just splashing around, enjoying the sounds of the water and the Skylarks in the sky. A feeling of peace descended which was reinforced again as I wandered around the ruined Church. English Heritage have done their usual best at providing a reasonable amount of useful information without over doing it for the layman with plaques dotted around the area and paved and gravelled outlines of how the Church is likely to have developed through it's lifetime. The outlines on the hillside, formed not by English Heritage but by the lives and building of the people who lived there, were quite subtle but interesting to those bothered to have a decent look.

No sign of the threatened thunder of lighting, but time was moving on so I returned up the last incline to my car, parked on it's own when I arrived but now surrounded by others. A pleasant day in an area I'd not visited before, I definitely will return to explore more of this intimate country again.

Focal points

2011-04-17T16:22:00.002+01:00

Sometimes, rather than nature being the focal point of my walk, very occasionally it is the people I meet along the way.

This time it was while walking to work. I say walking to work; my new job is 3 miles away by car so I thought I'd see what the walk was like, using local footpaths and trails at the weekend and so without having to rush. It's almost a mile extra walking on the paths than by the road, but integrating nature and having the outdoors sandwich my working day is very appealing!

So I set off from home and walked through the village, passing wonderfully perfumed lilac and cherry blossom to join up with a section of the Trans Pennine Trail (TPT), the central 65 mile section running from Chesterfield up to Leeds. The first section was very familiar to me, having walked it many times en route to a local park, and I struck off on the next section heading south towards Chesterfield, guided by a not very subtle post.

There is no question now of Springtime; it's most definitely here! Emerging out of the woodland corridor I had tantalising glimpses of fields between industrial estates, edged with white foamy blossom, and then the industry fizzling out as the TPT headed south. The first Hawthorn in bloom was a fantastic sight to see, with accompanying Cherry and Apple blossom, simple flowers with delicate scents attracting insects and bees.

It was interesting to see pockets of countryside, giving lie to the fact that this area just used to be self contained villages in Derbyshire, before gradually increasing in size and, when the county borders changed, becoming part of the 'Peoples' Republic' of South Yorkshire.

Continuing on the route past further remnants of industry, I came upon an interesting area, evidently an old railway station with a clear platform running for some distance along the trail. Opposite was the cordoned off remains of Killamarsh Central Station, one of three railway stations in the village as different lines diverged to serve different parts of the country. What on first glance looked to be a burned out shack was actually one of the old station properties, the wrought iron work still intact but with a dilapidated beauty. When I look at something, whether it's organic or something man made like this, I am attracted to the shapes between, contrasts in hue and tone, shadows and recesses and then more obvious ironies; the Fire Exit sign, walled in with plywood and the building having been burned down. Even the barbed wire preventing access to an area that most people wouldn't really look to even try to access.

Further along the TPT I passed a useful information sign about the station, with black and white photographs of trains such as the Mallard that had passed through here. A middle aged couple out for a Sunday ride on their bikes were already at the display, and we briefly chatted, marvelling at where we could go. Hornsea for fish and chips anyone?

Reminding myself I was supposed to be doing this to see how feasible it would be to walk to work, I pulled myself away, gaining ground on a small figure dressed in a dark blue suit with a wooden walking stick and a baseball cap. As I was about to pass I was struck by the light in this old man's eyes, that thin translucency of the skin on his cheeks and the energy of his step. We exchanged greetings and I remarked on the beauty of the station. This led to our walking together for the next 3/4 of a mile or so, talking about history, society, his cycling, life in the war, life in the local pit, the railways, his family. He had been an enthusiastic cyclist well into his retirement but felt that now his balance was a little too off for him to chance a fall, in case he broke something which would put the end to the mobility he had. I asked if he minded me asking his age. He said ninety five. It seemed incomprehensible that he was only five years off one hundred and yet he was walking along very ably. It was actually a bit of an eye opener that someone could be that fit and healthy at that age, with so much vitality. Something for me to consider. In his life he had walked three miles to work each way, spent much of his working life underground in the coal mines, his limited leisure time on a bike.

The spirit of history ignited by the train station was brought to life by walking with him. He told me stories about how in the old days people did their shopping on a Friday night, after they left work at 2 or 3, waited until they got paid an hour or so later and then the Mother and all the children would go to the bakers where the children would each receive their loaf of bread. It wasn't allowed for the Mother to collect all the loaves; the children had to be presented with their own bread. Then, taking 7 loaves home, Mum would put them all in a half barrel to keep through the week, each of the children having 4 slices of bread for sandwiches at lunchtime. It got a bit muddled when childhood ended but by age 14 they were working in the pit. I think about my niece who recently turned 11 and wonder that in the old days a boy would be going down the pit in three years time, to work for hours in the dark, rats scurrying around on the floor. Compare that to nowadays in the age of Xboxes and Playstations, adolescence extending into peoples 40s and beyond...

We passed the point I had planned to turn off so I continued with him for a while, leaving the trail and up a bit of an incline. At the top we parted ways. I followed his directions to where I'd be able to cross the trail and head south west to Eckington; unsurprisingly he knew all the paths in the area. But before that happened I found a tree where I could sit, eat my lunch and just contemplate my day and that wonderful old man I'd met; Les was definitely the highlight of my walk.

Cowboy Camping

2011-04-10T17:06:00.000+01:00

With the weather in the UK turning decidedly spring like and warm, I fancied trying a bit of Cowboy Camping. I'd not done this before, to sleep out under the stars without any means of shelter. So, no tent, Trailstar or tarp for me, instead my sleeping bag on my mat and a groundsheet. I didn't even bother with a bivvy bag since the weather looked to be set fair and any dew that may form would be contemptuously dismissed by my sleeping bag.

There was another reason for wandering out. Finally, after being unemployed for an age, I had attended a second interview and been offered the job on the spot. The paperwork done on both sides and agreement to start work next Friday meant that I wanted to grab a bit of 'thinking time' away from the structure of home, and to commune with nature for a while. It would be a true wander, to meander at will wherever I wanted (within reason) and to still, to quieten down and get my head together.

I struck out on Friday after lunch, with my kit packed in the faithful GoLite Jam, food to last me a couple of days if I wanted and no real plan otherwise. The aim was most definitely not to walk miles and miles and bag any hills, instead I took my painting kit and a voice recorder to capture moments, fully intending to meander, maybe dwell in the same spot for a while, and to just 'be'.

And it was fantastic. It was a gloriously sunny day, the hint of a gentle breeze, but barely a cloud in the cerulean blue sky. Within half a mile of setting off walking I stopped to sort out the voice recorder and as I was doing so was diverted by the sound of some rustling near my feet. Looking down at the ground to where the sound was coming from my eyes adjusted to see a short tailed vole, it's coat almost the colour of a hazel nut, but so tiny it was about the third of the size of my palm. I stopped to watch it as it went about it's business, making short, sharp, skitterish movements from one leaf to the next. After a couple of minutes I shifted balance and it suddenly noticed me and took cover in a run in the undergrowth. All from a matter of 4 ft from my feet!

Continuing on I could see Sycamore leaves bursting out, Hawthorn buds starting to swell, surrounded by bright green leaves. Seedlings coming up through bracken, perennial Rosebay Willow Herb starting it's annual stranglehold on hedgerows, life really starting to speed up now. Throughout all this the sound of birdsong was just incredible. Skylarks punctuated the sky; occasionally I was able to glimpse one as it plummeted to earth before pulling up at the last minute to land to meet it's partner, somewhere in the heather. The drumming of a Great Spotted Woodpecker gave it's position away. I just decided to amble over towards the noise and to wait until my eyes would catch sight of something flitting between trees and I'd spot the black and white bird before it started to drum again. I carried on in this way, not really following human paths, instead being guided by my feet along animal tracks and seeking out any wildlife if the sight or sound gave it away.

After spending a happy afternoon doing this, stopping occasionally to make a brew or to just listen or watch, I scouted around for a likely spot to set up for the evening. I pitched quite early, about 30m from a crossroads of footpaths. It was only about 6 PM which meant that I spent the next hour wondering if I'd be found by passers by. I needn't have worried, I didn't see a soul, but I skirted my 'camp' to view it from different angles to check. Deciding I'd be alright I went back and settled in. It felt like luxury, to be able to recline with your back against a tree, ensconced, all cosy in my bag with my stove next to me, open views all around! It made so much difference than to be in a tent, tarp or shelter where you would have to sit upright unsupported, or laying down and trying to read.

I spent the next hour or two just reading, having a brew and listening to the birdsong around me. There were all sort of birds, Blue Tits, GreatTits, Blackbirds, Woodpigeons, Chaffinches, Robins, Jays with their raucous squawking and many more besides. They quietened down as twilight passed into dusk and I put my book down to stare up through the trees at the stars above me and enjoying the warm pine scent. I started to feel quite sleepy and peaceful and it wasn't long before I was soundly asleep, and it wasn't quite 9PM by then...

I awoke a couple of hours later. Not for any particular reason other than the sliver of a moon shining brightly in the night sky. The land wasn't dead by any means. Tawny owls were calling and even in the middle of the night there was still the odd Pheasant cry. At one point I laughed as, being camped just off a small animal track, I heard some Yoda-like grunts from something that followed the path past me. I could only tell it was there from the noise it was making and how it appeared first on one side of me and then the other. I had no idea what it was, and still don't, but there was no sign of a major light sabre battle in the morning!

Waking up, the morning was on the chilly side, which was warmed slightly by two cups of coffee. Mist was gently rising in the valley but I was elevated so happily avoided that cold caress. Looking behind me to where the sun had already been up for an hour, the trees were backlit, their leaves a luminous, golden infused green.

The birds welcomed me back and I finished my coffee before packing up to head into the open and to enjoy my breakfast in the warmth of the sun.

The sky was incredible! A lone contrail pierced the early morning haze, the clouds reminding me of ripples on the sea when you're becalmed. The haze was warmed through a few hours later, the day building up to one of the warmest of the year so far. I wandered around again for an hour, just being nosy, watching the odd Hare, spotting a Green Woodpecker, being mindful of snakes sunning themselves. Ground nesting birds lifted into the sky seeming to enjoy the morning as much as I did.

I was about to sit on the edge of a bank when I noticed it was dotted with small holes. I paused a while to stop to watch as solitary bees entered and disappeared into their homes. Glad I hadn't disturbed them, I instead found a fallen tree to perch on, obligatory rabbit warren under the roots, and had some porridge and a cup of tea.

Another Hare shot forward out of the heather about 20m away, unmistakable with a dark brown fleck on it's ear and the way it bounded rather than a rabbit hop. I took my sketchbook out and tried to get a feel for the scene before me, daubing some paint on some cartridge paper which buckled with the water and dried all too quickly in the warmth. This set the scene for much of the rest of the day, wandering, stopping, watching, contemplating, drawing, drinking, moving on. Finally I just laid down on some scrubby grass, surrounded by the bees and birdsong, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. I didn't reach any big conclusions; I hadn't gathered my thoughts about the big changes coming up in my life. But I knew this was a place I could return to when I needed it, to head to the outdoors, to pack up and take off for a night, a day, a weekend, more?

A Night in the Forest

2011-04-05T17:39:00.001+01:00

After a stressful week I decided, pretty much on a whim, to take the tarp and head east for an impromptu overnight camp in an area full of folklore, history and mystery. "What land is this?" I hear you ask (unless you follow me on Twitter)? "Why, the land of Robin Hood! To Nottingham!" Or, more precisely, Sherwood Forest. A short, 20 mile drive to the heart of the Forest and I was walking.

The part of Sherwood I was visiting hosts the main Tourist centre but it being Friday evening, pretty late already and the sun setting in the not too distant future meant that most of the visitors had gone. I set off from a side road and headed off on a broad track. This part of Sherwood is largely broadleaved, deciduous woodland and which is actively managed through a combination of selective grazing, tree felling and copicing, effectively mimicing how the woodlands have been managed historically until really the last century when our love of oil based compounds and consumption, drove out natural man made goods and the value of this type of land changed.

Pretty early on I met an old friend, Major Oak, the reputed principal hideout for Robin of Loxley, or Robin Hood as he is more widely known. This old fella is reckoned to be at least 1000 years old, and is one of a thousand-odd ancient trees in the forest, some dead, some alive and some clinging on to life, surprising everyone in the spring. Major Oak has been supported for one hundred years or more through a system of upright scaffolding (painted a sympathetic green) and wires and braces in suspension on high. The 'Major' reference refers to the chap that named the oak rather than it being a name given by Robin...

There is debate about the tree itself. It is simply massive in real life but the debate surrounds whether the tree is one or a few trees which have grown together, resulting in the hollow centre. As the tree has grown the slit has closed substantially but a few years ago the hollow centre was reckoned big enough to fit an entire rugby team.

After pondering this massive tree I started off on another path, this time part of the Robin Hood Way, a 107 mile walk skirting Nottingham and weaving around northwards before ending at a small town called Edwinstowe. I didn't have a big walking objective for this walk though; I just wanted to get some air, explore an area I don't know that well (though there is a family photograph with me aged about 6, stood in front of this very tree) and to have a camp out. With time moving on I thought I'd better suss out somewhere to camp. I wanted to get farther in to the forest, away from easily, road accessible areas and where I might be encountered by dog walkers and early risers.

Heading north west I only disturbed grey squirrels as their presence was revealed by their noisy rustling of leaves as they bounded between acorn larders. There is a lot of life abound on the woodland floor at this time of year and they were the noisiest reminder given the longhorn cattle were nowhere to be seen...

Passing out of the broadleaved reserve into a plantation I was reminded of Army presence by repeated large green signs warming of MOD activities, that blanks and explosives may be fired. I was already aware the Army leased some of the land so this wasn't a surprise and it wouldn't have been the first time I had bumped into soldiers on exercise while out backpacking. On this occasion I was in solitude though and emerged out of that darkness into a pretty area of heathland. Mixed birches and oak, larch and gorse with heather and dead bracken, broad swathes of open land with thickets. Beautiful. I struck off down a narrow path and spied some thick gorse bushes I thought would provide some decent cover, though if anyone did want to annoy me I'd be easily spotted with my verdant tarp!

A spot with crushed bracken looked like a great bed so I lay down my pack and started to set up camp. I found it a bit easier this time to set the tarp in a hanging lean to config and the stakes sank firmly into the ground. I used knots instead of line loks to tension the guylines, which held the tarp pretty well. Glad of the heavyweight silnylon groundsheet with the sharp, dead bracken, the NeoAir was next, followed by poofing out my sleeping bag to air. After a hunting and gathering exercise of twigs I got cooking. For dinner I'd brought homemade dehydrated chilli with half a pack of Sainsbury's 2 Minute Meals Long Grain Rice which is already partially cooked, so I only had to boil some water to add to the chilli, and then the rice later on. I put these in their freezer bags inside my sleeping bag to help air it and retain some of the warmth as I'd not brought a pot cosy with me. While that was going on I went off to collect more wood to stoke my fire with.

The sun started to set as I had my snap. It was blissful, and to be truthful I found it exciting to be there, out in the open again after a month since my last camp, and my mind started thinking about all the different walks I want to do, where I want to go, where I want to explore or just sit and observe. My mind started on overdrive down this pattern of thought but as the sun set within half an hour or so the temperatures started to fall, so with more wood collected I took comfort from my sleeping bag and retired.

Or so I thought as another hour then two, and then three rolled by, my brain still on overdrive and sleep seeming far off. It was a staggeringly clear night and the stars, the galaxy, was just above head level. I felt as if I could almost reach out and touch them. The more I looked the more constellations I saw, infinite into other worlds. The sound of a helicopter of some sort at around 00:30 was a less welcome interruption than the Tawny Owls making their presence known, screeching a little. They are pretty common and in a wooded area like this to be expected. I love to listen to the different night noises, creatures giving themselves away, or markedly demonstrating their authority over life or territory.

The clock ticked on and getting towards feeling a bit fed up that I wasn't sleeping and without it seeming as if it would be arriving any time soon, I decided to pack up and walk out. Once I made that decision it made the lack of sleep worthwhile and added an extra sense of adventure to just a local camp out. I packed everything away quite quickly, surprised at the amount of moisture on my tarp, only using my headlamp towards the end to check I'd not missed anything. The stars were so bright I didn't need my lamp much at all, and I walked with the aid of trees I'd spotted earlier, now silhouetted against the sky or amorphous shadows. Crunching over the bracken and occasionally getting tangled I finally made it to the path on the heath, adjoining a very dark plantation area.

The friendliness of the open heath seemed to regress into the dense shadows of the conifers and a chill swept over me and down my back. I flicked my headlamp on and confirmed where I was, before turning it off and being plunged into darkness. An owl called again, but it was a familiar noise, though not the twit-twoo of childhood. I felt a bit safer. Rather than retracing my footsteps of earlier I decided a more direct route, following the boundary of the conifers, along an old track, rutted and me stumbling until my vision returned.

Passing a gap in the plantation I checked the map, again sacrificing my night vision. But I could count how many more gaps on the map I had to walk past before my turn, so once again lights off and walk. I started to very much enjoy the liberating feel of walking in the middle of the night and as I finally found my turn, now into the forest proper, I felt safe and secure. Dark, gnarly shapes came towards me as the ancient trees appeared. I wondered what they had seen through their life, surviving the 1500s with the rape of the forests for the battles with the Spanish Armada, supporting woodland industries like charcoal burning and being the backdrop to so many peoples lives.

Rustles in the dead leaves gave rabbits away as they were shocked to be disturbed at this time. Who goes there? Feeling my way along the path, glad of my walking poles where the path was pitted or rock strewn, I made it back all to quickly to the car. An unwelcome set of headlights blinded me as another late journeyman sped past. But rather than viewing this as a failure, of not lasting out through the night under the tarp, instead I created a memory that will last me a lifetime, of feeling a certain bind with the forest, seeing it, feeling it alive at night with not a human living soul around. I was sure to return.

Combing Coombs Dale

2011-03-28T17:20:00.002+01:00

Some of the nicest, early spring weather arrived with my legs wanting to walk. Ideally somewhere new to me, somewhere a bit different. Remembering that Dave Mycroft, Gareth Jones and Andrew White had had a jaunt along Coombs Dale a while ago and watching their video clip via Andrew's Walks Around Britain site, I thought I'd head for there.

Following a hesitant start where I had to go back home to feed my Mum's chickens (whoops), I arrived at my 'departure point' i.e. Calver Sough, at just before 11 AM this bright Saturday, and firing off a manual Beacon from Viewranger to feed into my Social Hiking track for interested people to follow me, I avoided the Eyre Arms and headed off.

It was one of those days where the wind was to toss the clouds around, so I was never quite sure if I was going to be blessed with that glorious spring sunshine, or if I'd be rained on. No matter; I had everything I needed with me, although my legs were grumbling early on with lack of walking. That soon disappeared and I settled in to heading away from the main road and off up to the start of the dale.

Following a metalled track alongside a small brook, it was pretty evident that a lot of work had gone on to manage the Elder and Hawthorn on the banks, as well as the placement of a few beautiful wooden benches. These had been recently installed and the smell of the wood oil as I sat on them was wonderful! I sat on a few of these until I reminded myself I was here to walk...

Very gently the walk went higher. I passed a man whose son was carrying an Osprey pack with a full load; I wondered if he was trying out kit for a Duke of Edinburgh award or something. Out of the woodlands the dale opened up on the right, showing exposed limestone crags like scars on the hillside. It was very pleasant walking, with the sound of bubbling water one minute and a hush the next as the water pooled in man made pits, some of the remnants of the extensive local mining in the area. Occasionally the sun would break through, showing dazzling yellow pollen on catkins, trees appearing as golden halos.

Ahead, twisted oak trees formed stunted, gnarly, moss ridden shapes, contorted into fantastic parodies of old men. More evidence of managed waterways appeared with wooden sluice gates, then nature asserted herself with hart's tongue ferns poking out of sunlight crevices.

Pausing to look at the entrance to Sallet Hole Mine, then obeying the three Danger / No Entry signs and the padlock, I turned ahead and paused yet again over a spring bubbling out of the ground and onto the track. Someone had created a sort of shrine, with a printed white piece of paper 'laminated' in sellotape and declaring:

"O most favoured by God, You confer on me the healing of your grace from your inexhaustible Spring. Therefore, since you gave birth incomprehensibly to the Word, I implore you to refresh me with the dew of your grace that I might cry to you: Hail O Water of Salvation."

It reminded me a little of the shrines I found all over the Austrian mountainsides, wherever a spring bubbled up there were wooden boxes, often adorned with crucifixes and icons of Mary, occasionally candles and dead flowers. This was a more rustic affair with a simple adornment of stones and branches, and while I didn't particularly appreciate the words used, I felt a certain gladness that people had stopped to appreciate this water which had appeared from the Earth.

That feeling of gladness was also helped by the sun reappearing out from the clouds and a distinct lack of people; since the father and son I had not seen a soul, unusual for the Peak District on a Saturday. Passing 'Rough Side' and the path having almost finished it's ascent, eventually I reached the end of the dale, at the cross roads of the wonderfully named "Black Harry Lane" (I'd love to know the story behind that one) with the track I was on heading towards Blakedon Hollow and Wardlow.

After waiting for three friendly mountain bikers on a pass from their wives to finish faffing around at said Harry's gate, I headed south with a touch of ascent. The sun had rolled back the clouds, which were starting to back up against the blue sky as Skylarks joyously performed acrobatics in front of me. I adore their song and so perched myself against a long abandoned gateway to watch and listen to them. Bliss.

It was absolutely glorious and a herald of fine weather to come; my heart sang with hope and wonder that these fluttering creatures could evoke such happiness in me.

Reluctantly I turned back to the path where, after negotiating a couple of stiles, I came across a couple of headstrong heifers, determined to outwit their farmer who was calling them by name. Good old fashioned names like Daisy; what a name for a cow! After enticement with a bucket of something or other, they gave in and joined the herd, and I walked through them to head for my next path along Longstone Edge. Even writing this now, more than a week (or is it two?) later, I still am transported away into those joyous feelings, seeing the escarpment lay out before me for miles. Handily it was time for lunch so once I'd negotiated some gorse with it's beautiful yellow, pea like flowers, I found a spot on the other side of a stone wall where I could brew up and absorb the view.

It's such a luxurious feeling, to sit on the edge of a field with a panorama around you and to not be disturbed by other people. I saw a couple of walkers who had entered into the field by the way I was to follow next, but they decided on a different route so I was again left in peace. A quick bit of banter ensued with some of my friends on Twitter who were following my route, one of them also out and about but walking near his home in Germany (@Beuteltiere), plus a bit of product placement for KitKat, LightMyFire and MSR.

It was a perfect spring day and I sprung back into action, setting off across the field to Rowland where there were some enormous apple trees and very pretty and well kept buildings. Following the road for a very short time I found a squeezer stile, which was a LOT of a squeeze and gave a passing rotund cyclist a laugh too! The reality of the ground I walked on here compared to the markings on my OS map had since been obliterated and a wall across the field was 'missing'. Never mind, I navigated diagonally across the newly ploughed field to where the wall would have been, and then headed straight for the road, and was pleased to see a sunken kissing gate only 2m off from where I was. I didn't relish the next part of the walk as it was going to be along the road to Hassop, but actually it was one of the (many) highlights, finding wild gooseberry plants and masses of wild garlic emerging from the bankside woodland floor. It was like walking in a cave at one point as the road descended and the banks and huge beech trees shot into the sky around me. I chewed on a couple of leaves of garlic, thinking how glorious this would look in May when the starry white flowers would shine up from the ground.

Out of that darkness I emerged blinking into the light and the stunning edifice of All Saints Catholic Church which is a curiosity to me, very Greco-Roman in an archetypal English country landscape.

A quick explore before heading onto the main road, the B6001 from Calver to Bakewell and I was arrested again, first of all by the sight of a proper red phone box and then by another Eyre Arms. Two in one walk? Well it was a perfect day for some liquid refreshment so I wandered in and had a lovely chat with Nick, one of the owners, before retiring with a shandy (I was driving later) to sit outside to watch the world go by. Which in this case was a Nuthatch on a tree on the other side of the wall, scurrying up and down before flying off with grubs. More bliss, I was surely spoilt this day!

And once again I was off, on the last leg home now, which meant a little hill along Dog-Kennel Wood, past the old school, up a little incline and then heading north into Bank Wood. I'd walked past this section of Bank Wood about a year ago and remembering at the time that I had wanted to go in. It was a mix of broadleaved and coniferous wood with sections of plantation areas, a thin, stretched out wood along the top of the crest of a long hill. It didn't look as if many people walked here, though I did arrive into a clearing where a memorial bench was positioned towards Hassop, across from the huge quarry on the other side of the valley. I briefly stopped here and enjoyed the bands of amber and ochre threaded with steely blue. Quarries aren't my favourite landscapes but taking time to observe did help appreciate other aspects of this industry. Looking east there were incredible views towards the edges above Beeley and I could see the domes of Chatsworth Hunting Tower, glinting in the distance.

On the last of the woodland now and I had that rueful feeling of a good walk coming towards the end and not wanting it to finish. Through Bramley Wood and doing the limbo with some rhododendron, Baslow and Curbar edges were clearly in view. Regular limestone walls abutted the wall my path followed, interspersed with drinking troughs, situated so every other field shared one. Something to note for a sneaky overnighter in the future... A short zig zag and I was headed downhill on a steep, very muddy bank. I could see multitudes of skid marks as people had slithered all the way down. I was not alone then as I grabbed on to saplings in an effort to remain relatively mud free!

Across a field, over another spring and up another field, I managed to bypass the Calver branch of Outside and made it back to my car, happy and contented, some may say, full of the joys of spring!

For anyone wishing to see the route I followed, please see the link to Social Hiking here. Note that my phone battery expired just after the pub...honest!

Brasher Women's Kenai GTX Review

2011-03-22T09:51:00.001Z

A while ago I was approached by My Outdoors to see if I would like to test and review a pair of the new women's Kenai GTX boots from Brasher. Again I have been given free rein to report on them as I find and after a few walks and a few miles I gathered my thoughts which have been published on the My Outdoors site.

Not only was I pleased to be asked in the first place, but I am especially pleased, well stoked actually, as this is the first time my writing has been publicly published other than through my blog.

The review itself can be found here.

The North Face Women's Apex Elixir Jacket

2011-03-19T09:51:00.000Z

After reviewing the Icebreaker Bodyfit150 Atlas top from Webtogs, and then meeting up with Gareth and his wife on a Peak District walk at the start of February and seeing Gareth wearing a softshell, Gareth asked me if I fancied reviewing a softshell jacket for him. I happily agreed with the obvious caveat that what I said would be genuinely my opinion, without bias, so here's my review.

Well, it's a review of two of these TNF Women's Apex Elixir Jackets as the first one that came was a size XL which is usually the sizing for a women's UK 16 in outdoor gear, but for me was enormous. So I also tested the returns system (easy, no quibble and now I believe has been extended to 365 days) and received instead a size L which fits much better.

The immediate thing that struck me was the feel of the fabric. I've not used a soft shell jacket before and didn't know what to expect, having fondled various Rab and Mountain Equipment soft shells in the shop; they all seem quite different to me. The feel of this was that it's relatively thin material, with no inherent warmth to it, but then when I put it on I noticed how the collar had an internal face of lovely brushed material which did feel warm. Part of the Summit Series, the jacket is geared to quite fast moving activities so I don't see that lack of warmth feeling to be an issue, but does point out matching clothing to your anticipated activity levels.

In fact activity generally, as although it's supposed to be harness and pack compatible, I found some issue with the pockets interfering with a pack hip belt. I've generally worn it with an Osprey pack I'm trying out but the hip belt lended the unfortunately usual awkwardness with anything in the pockets falling below the belt. This is not a hip belt placement issue; it's a pocket placement issue and they really should be a bit higher to my mind. I can't comment on harness compatibility as I don't have one so there you go.

In fact I feel a bit critical too that there is a lower drawcord around the bottom hem, but on a fitted jacket like this (and the fit is a good woman specific cut) I didn't really see the need for it; the natural cut of the garment does the job nicely so it just seemed like extras that weren't needed to me. Getting past that the drawcord design itself is actually well thought out but I didn't find them useful.

But hey! I loved the sleeves! Maybe it sounds strange to single out sleeves but the design is fantastic, they're a close fit but with a lot of articulation, partly because of the four way stretch of the material but partly because of the raglan sleeve placement too. They were long enough without drowning me which is an added bonus! They are finished off at the cuff with a moulded velcroed tab, which compared with the pliability of the softshell fabric itself seemed a bit overkill; a softer material could have been used.

The cut is longer at the back and I would say is more flattering as well as practical, though another reason why I wonder at the drawcord. It covered the bottom of my back and more, so I didn't have any cold gaps and it didn't ride up under my pack at all. I guess through this review I may have veered off a bit into designing in my mind what I would want in a jacket, so how did it work in real life, on the hill?

On the hill it felt pretty wind proof; it's reckoned that the TNF Apex Aerobic soft shell fabric has a wind permeability rated at 10 CFM. That means that the fabric allows wind through at 10 cubic feet per minute per square meter, a relatively high number I think but appropriate given what it's designed for where breathability is more important. A lower number would hinder breathability although would give more wind resistance and I have read in researching this post that fabrics with higher numbers prove too breathable at the cost of retaining warmth. Certainly I have felt pretty cosy wearing the Icebreaker Bodyfit200 weight top underneath (and a 150 when it's been colder and more exposed); even on lunch stops in the changeable end of winter/beginning of spring weather we've had (about 4 Centigrade), I've not felt the need to put something warmer on as I haven't felt the wind penetrate to chill me. Walking uphill with a pack on and generating some heat I never felt stifled or especially sweaty, which I was pleased about as it meant I had the baselayer - softshell combo right for me. I wasn't sure what to expect with the jacket generally at first, but because of this breathability it felt great once at the top of a hill. I could admire views without worrying about getting cold through sweat chilling my body or needing to wrap up more.

In summary it is a jacket I see myself using quite a lot in spring and autumn at least, where I expect blustery, occasionally rainy conditions. With the usual DWR it will keep off light, not prolonged showers (I want to test this more though) and seems to combat the wind pretty well while giving a great level of breathability. While it packs down quite small (more than an equivalent fleece would), I wouldn't envisage needing to put it in my pack; it would be on my back unless the weather was exceptionally warm!
Finally, as my hip continues to mend and I get fitter, I anticipate moving faster so think it will really come into it's own, and maybe will provide me with a better alternative to the base plus fleece / windshirt combination I have tended to wear in dry weather.
Material
90D 202g/m2 73% nylon, 17% polyester, 10% elastane 4-way stretch TNF Apex Aerobic soft shell with DWR
Weight
384g
Size
L (16 equivalent)
Pros
Great breathability
Great wind resistance
Great scalloped fit for women
Sleeves long enough without excess 'bag'
Subtle embroidered logos (I don't feel like a walking advert)
Great, bright colours for those who want them
Cons
Drawcord; I still don't understand the need on this jacket
Pocket placement; interferes with rucksack hip belt
Cuff tabs; too stiff but a minor detail I didn't notice too much in use
Sizing is large so if you are borderline maybe order the size smaller

At the time of writing, Webtogs sell this at £89.99 with free UK delivery

Three Shires Head and Axe Edge

2011-03-17T17:21:00.000Z

My relationship with the Peak District has been like a complacent lover; slightly bored and taking it for granted. However a now long standing "We must meet up" with Nina and Fiona who I met online through Twitter, gave me a firm nudge to rekindle this affair and to pay more attention.

Sometimes paying more attention, maybe focussing on a different aspect or adjusting expectations, does wonders and so we decided on visiting the western side of the Peak District, it being more equidistant for us which seemed only fair. And what a great decision that was. New landscape, new terrain, new geography, new people!

We met at the famous Cat and Fiddle Inn, the second highest pub in the UK after Tan Hill, and after enthusiastic greetings and getting booted up we set off down the obvious path heading down across the moor.
Where I had driven through some very thick fog to get here, now the sun was trying to warm (the word 'burn' would be a bit overkill) through the clouds; they started to lift and views started to appear, the horizon receding further. Walking was easy and good fun as we quickly got to find out more about one another and our conversations were punctuated with a lot of laughter.

We continued on this path, ignoring one that spurred off to the right, and continued downhill along Danebower Hollow to negotiate a stile, cross the road, over a crash barrier (very picturesque, or maybe not), over another stile and down past Nina's chimney (she made it her own) to a young River Dane. In fact now we were picking up the yellow signs of DVW, or Dane Valley Way, which we were to follow for a while.

The valley seemed to be considering showing us the faintest hint of green: spring? Maybe. And just to provide that contrast, a small group of walkers were stepping down the hill on the right, a couple wearing red jackets that just accentuated that beautiful, hopeful colour.

Following the brook, which wasn't grand enough to be called a river to my mind, the valley walls closed in before opening at Panniers Pool and the packhorse bridge above it, connecting paths used by walkers now but which has been used since at least medieval times to transport goods, coal etc. The small group of walkers had stopped on the far side of the bridge and seemed to be a friendly bunch as they paused over their flasks of tea to exchange hellos with us.

We stopped for a few minutes. I thought Nina was going for a dip as she went out of sight to photograph the pool leaving me and Fiona chin wagging.
This was going to be our planned lunch stop, but it was only about 20 past 11 so we continued on, allowing some horses to pass before we walked up the beautiful valley with pockets of pine trees and fascinating rock formations on the stream bottom.

Moving out of the picturesque greenery towards Orchard Farm, we met a metalled single track road which we followed uphill for a while before striking off on higher moorland again, on Axe Edge Moor. The eastern side of the moor gives rise to the source of the River Dove, one of the major rivers of the Peak District and celebrated in style a few miles south wards at Dovedale (a different Dovedale to the Lake District one). In fact this is the same River Dove that Izaak Walton wrote about fly fishing in "The Compleat Angler".

Very steadily getting to the top, and pausing to examine mole hills and deep, black groughs in the hillside (ie we were a bit out of breath), the conversation continued, focussing more and more on food! The hill flattened out into a boggy top. I was reading off the map, trying to work out exactly where we were as there wasn't really a defined footpath to follow. A bit of a wobble off route took us slightly eastwards of where I'd planned, though of no issue. Seeing that it looked to be bog for the foreseeable future we picked a likely looking spot on the other side of a back road, supporting a wooden barrier; a potential seat. I sat on the ground and fired up the Caldera Cone (yes, of course I brought it with me, with meths this time) so I could boil water to make coffee. Fiona expressed an element of wonder at it, more so when I lifted the lid of my kettle to see steam billow out. The coffee wasn't up to 'Service' standards but Nina still had some served not very decorously to her. Sandwiches and coffee stashed in our stomachs we didn't linger too long before setting off on the last leg of the walk.

Crossing the last main road, the A54 that goes to the Cat and Fiddle, we were so busy chatting that we walked too far North for about 200m, passing what I thought could be a "Pixie Parliament" (or maybe a well of some sort), until Nina asked, "Where's the pub gone?" We looked at each other and consulted the map. Yes, we'd gone too far and decided that although we could extend the walk and add a bit of road walking, instead we'd backtrack to where we were supposed to walk, and to follow a "broken wall".

This section was surprisingly close to the road but thankfully it veered away. Before long the path joined a road section which we amused ourselves with by forming a click clacking, pole tapping caterpillar by walking one in front of another, me relaying which songs were stuck in my head, various inspections of the broken state of the wall and keeping check of the proximity of the pub.

Surprise, we didn't go in, but instead parted the walk with promises of meeting up again in the Peaks or maybe Wales and sampling some wares then.

All in all it was a great walk, with an added, extra post-walk Twitter analysis and befriending on Facebook. I hadn't laughed so much for a long time and even writing this walk up is putting another big smile on my face, to remember such excellent company.

Fiona can be found on Twitter at @Fionascot, and Nina at @Smirnie71.

And finally, for anyone wanting to see the route, including the extra spur, I used Social Hiking for the first time on this walk and you can see that here.

Torridon - The Kit

2011-03-04T14:28:00.004Z

A couple of people have asked me what kit I took with me on the trip to Torridon, well, what kit I use generally, so I'm giving a separate entry for this alone. Please bear in mind that:
1. The kit I used has been pieced together in a largely evolutionary process which has not reached fully evolved status and is a work in progress. Other people have a 'better' kit set up than me so I am not representing this list as a guide, just a baseline of where I'm at at present.
2. This work in progress is progressing very slowly as any surplus cash I have is generated from selling 'stuff' on ebay and which tends to be spent on petrol for trips rather than updating my kit. Suggestions for improvement are welcome, but please be mindful of a very limited budget to be able to respond; I would rather get out in the hills than buy new kit!
I have also made some notes as to how I use some of the items; it's been useful as I write the list up to reflect how I could be more efficient, and again if there are other ways you have that you think could be useful please add your thoughts!

Shelter
The shelter I used was an MLD Trailstar, which I've used a number of times now. It's a great, lightweight shelter although I need to re-do the seam sealant after TheNewNomads was dripped on a couple of times overnight. It weighs 470g including the 2mm Dyneema guys and line loks. I could trim down the guy lines as I've never needed the length currently on them. I currently store it in a not very efficient Outdoor Designs Silnylon Ultralite sack which weighs 16g.

The pegs I use with it are a mix of pegs from my old Trisar, at 17g each, and some Akto pegs at 11g each, totalling for this trip at 128g. I store them in a thickish plastic bag which weighs 3g. I got some lighter pegs for Christmas so will use those on the next outing.
The shelter doesn't have a groundsheet with it, just being a skin in effect, and because I had left my polycryo bundled up (and now slightly green and smelly) after my last outing, I used a rather heavy silnylon groundsheet I have which weighs 342g in a mesh stuffsack. (I don't normally use this groundsheet.) It wasn't big enough to cater for more than one person so Kim brought a separate sheet. That totals 956g without Kim's sheet.

Generally I like my shelter set up though obviously there are areas I could make a lot of saving (the polycryo groundsheet instead for example though I find it to be a pain to fold up and pack, and it wears out quickly so will replace with a lighter silnylon sheet I think). But my main concerns are the size of the thing where pitch space is tight, and in full on winter weather with bowling winds of rain or snow I would say you have to expect some ingress, despite the ability to pitch low. Even on the top of a hill with a double skin tent you are going to get spindrift inside the fly if the weather is that way so expecting better performance from a single skin shelter would be I suggest illogical. We had some weather in from the front opening so this is my experience.
For the future I am thinking tents again, maybe something like the GoLite Shangri-La 1 or 2, though I love my basic tarp and am looking to do a lot more of that this year. I will certainly look to get a bug net for the Trailstar for the midge season. For winter I am drawn to the Vaude Power Lizard or even the old Akto or TN Laser Competition.

Sleeping

The lightweight crowd may groan at this but for this trip I took a heavy Snugpack Softie Elite 3, a military spec bag, weighing 1685g inc stuffsack. Swapping out the stuffsack for a lighter compression bag would reduce the weight some, and I could change the zip pulls etc. But I like the bag a lot, it's olive green which I strangely love, it's got a great lined feet area for hardcore bivvying with boots on (not that I'll probably ever do this) and I like the shoulder and hood baffles. A great thing was that in the morning when I discovered my feet were venturing for freedom outside of the shelter, a bit of a flick of the bag and a quick wipe with a bit of pack towel and the bag was fine. Amazing considering how wet the weather had been through the night.

It's a 3 season bag which I lined with a Sea to Summit Thermolite Reactor Extreme liner, which I like the feel of and which seemed to help boost the rating of the bag. It weight a whopping 414g; yes, the weight made me gulp too. It was above freezing though I suspect not by too much overnight on the Torridon trip. I was warm enough but did have my clothes on too! I do sleep horrendously cold though which is incredibly annoying because it means I have to boost whatever bag arrangements I have which of course means more weight, and more cash.

A great asset was borrowing a POE Bamboo sleeping mat (610g) which I've had a bit of trouble finding a link for so I suspect it's not for sale now, but I've never tried a mat with insulation in it before and it was a revelation for me. Definitely something on my wish list for next winter.
I don't bother with a pillow when sleeping but was incredibly impressed with Kim's Big Agnes Clear View pillow, so very light. I may add that to my list (it's always so interesting walking and camping with others to see what they have and how they use it; I always learn something new).

Thinking into the future, for cold weather I would really love to be able to afford a 4/5 season bag and to take fewer clothes and possibly not take the liner, but the low cash flow I've had this year has meant a lot of compromise. For summer I have the option of using this liner with a bivy bag for sleeping outside, but I do like using quilts instead so would like to get something better than the Thermarest Down quilt that I currently have (which may in the future be subjected to a MYOG makeover...). A lot is driven by cost; if I spend money on this then I have less to spend to get to the Lakes or further away and I would rather get out there! I tend to spend in smaller increments to 'patch up' kit I have, but I do recognise that saving for some bigger items would give me different benefits. Hmm, food for thought. It would mean I wouldn't be able to get away as often as I have managed to do...

Pack

I use a GoLite Jam original version (since replaced with Jam 2) that weighs 560g. I used it first on my West Highland Way walk back in August last year and it's been with me on every overnight plus walk since. I like the pack a lot, though would love a better front pocket and pack compression straps to really cinch it down when it empties. Hip belt pockets would be really lovely too, though I don't miss padding at all (maybe that's because I have plenty myself!). Most of all I really miss having a top pocket. I used to find it so useful for segregating my stuff, and I felt more secure against rain finding its way, rather than through the roll top that's on this pack. It, like me, tends to have a bit of a pear shape thing going on, where I prefer a more structured pack.
I did try on an Osprey Exos 46 which felt absolutely fantastic with about 10Kgs of shop weight loaded into it (I know you could probably argue this with most packs), but I'm not sure I could put a use to all the straps and 'features' that abound. I have an Osprey Hornet 24 on loan which I'm trying out so will report on that at some point soon too, though my kit wouldn't squeeze down that much for an overnighter with it.

For packing I use a mix of sea to sumit and exped dry sacs but am seriously thinking of getting a big sea to summit pack liner and doing away with some of the other bags. There is an advantage though in that they keep your kit organised, though conversely I find I get a better pack shape if I stuff extraneous, loose stuff in it.
Thinking to the future I would like to replace it, even one day with a mighty Laufbursche huckePACK, a Colin Ibbotson (or should I call it Tramplite?) Skins pack, but if I could find a supplier in the UK for an Osprey Hornet 46 I would seriously consider that, or even an OMM pack...

So, so far the weight is at 4225g...

Cooking

Once again I took my bea-yoo-tiful Caldera Cone (34g, plus plastic caddy 73g), with my MSR Titan Kettle (90g) but this time took a Gram Cracker (3g) with Esbit tablets (14g each). I do like the proper foil sealed Esbit tablets rather than the Hexamine tablets you get with Highlander Hexi stoves though I find them hard to obtain. I used a heavy, blow torch like Turboflame Multi Task lighter (76g) to light the Esbit which did take after some gentle persuasion. I had a basic bic lighter and a few waterproof matches too; at one point all combinations were used it was that damp! I also took an MSR Titanium Mug at 60g which was useful for coffee while I was using the pot; no I don't have a Kuksa...

Food wise I described it in my post but I am really proud of myself, that I prepared a bolognese sauce and dehydrated it at home before trying it for the first time here. That and eating proper ramen noodles (Blue Dragon, 4 bundles in a pack weighing 250g, one bundle is a large portion for a meal but they hydrate really quickly; £1.07 from Asda) made me feel like a 'real' backpacker!

The bolognese was stored in a normal supermarket freezer zip type bag but divided up into a Pour and Store bag I'd got from Morrisons and the food reheated in that (4 for £1 if memory serves correct). They have a gussetted bottom which means they can stand up if you have somewhere flat to put them. I opted for the cradling in my hands option to warm up and 'manipulate' my food to encourage it to hydrate. (No idea if that worked but my hands were toasty on the inside at least!). I added the ramen noodles to the Pour and store bag when they'd cooked, including the v small amount of water left from boiling in a tribute to Ray J, and ate (scooped) from the bag with my Spork (10g).

On the walk itself I think I had a snickers bar and I usually take a bag with a handful or two of GORP, literally raisins and peanuts in this case, with the addition of a couple of brasils and walnuts.
Other than that it was porridge for breakfast (a mix of Oat So Simple original with a handful of fat steel cut rolled oats) made with water that I'd boiled for coffee. A slightly squashed banana was consumed to avoid further squashing in the pack (messy).

For water; water was plentiful! And there was no need to filter it either as it was running straight off the hillside, especially the following morning. So I had my 600ml Tango bottle (28g) as my main receptable - which I also drink directly from - and my 2l Platypus (47g) which I just used at camp to collect water. It has a narrow opening and collecting the water from the burn (from the loch so maybe it could have been contaminated, though low risk) was very, very cold. I could barely feel my fingers at the half full mark. I would have been better off using the MSR Kettle to collect water to pour into the platy instead.

Clothing

As usual I had my black Icebreaker Bodyfit200 long sleeved top, a dark heather coloured Berghaus Spectrum Micro Full Zip Fleece and my black Mountain Equipment Seraph jacket which was worn AT ALL TIMES!
This was coupled with a pair of black Craghoppers Kiwi Stretch Pants (I must write about these; they've been fab) and topped off with a pair of Berghaus Deluge Pants which have performed fantastically since I bought them and worn on my walk with Cath and Gareth too.
I brought along a pair of Helly Hansen Lifa long johns for evening wear (!) and my lovely heather Rab Photon Jacket in case the weather was cold (February, Torridon, but actually it was ok!).
On my head I wore a Trekmates Merino Wool Beanie which is super; warm, stretchy, comfortable, and when raining I wore my SealSkinz Cold Weather Hat that really does nothing for me but is warm and waterproof and generally feels ace!

On my feet I wore a pair of Smartwool socks though I have so many pairs I can't remember the specific model, and (horrors) I wore my old lightweight for leather, Brasher Hillwalker GTXs which kept my feet dry and warm though as usual with this particular pair I did start to get hot spots though no actual blisters. I lace them in a particular way to alleviate pressure off my achilles - before I bought these a few years ago I had no idea there were so many ways you could lace up a pair of boots. You Tube it and you will see what I mean!
On my hands I wore a pair of Outdoor Designs Merino StretchOn liners, covered with Trekmates Tromso 3-in-1 Gloves (I don't use the liners that came with them). The OD liners are great. Reasonably priced and keep my hands warm. The Trekmates I'm not sure about yet and think I might prefer mits but will carry on with these til next autumn/winter.

Poles
I have a pair of Leki poles, they must be at least 12 years old. They did have an anti shock system which I'm not sure still works, but which is fine for me as when pitching the Trailstar it helps to have something a little more rigid to use to tension against. (The shock system 'boinging' on the Coldedale Zen walk woke me from my sleep!) But they are incredibly heavy. I really don't want to weigh them! I compared them with some carbon fibre poles Kim showed me, from Gossamer Gear and was staggered. But I don't NEED to change them yet; they've saved me on a few falls now and despite being a little bent they still do the job!

Hygiene
I have an MSR Blizzard Snow Stake after reading the Phil Turner inspired make your own poo stick article from Colin Ibbotson, but without the accoutrements of gross grain ribbon etc. In terrain such as Torridon it was difficult to dig a hole more than 6 inches deep before hitting rock so packing out is a better option. I use a small roll of Andrex On The Go (natch) which is convenient though I'll also use moss or snow if I have to!

I use a normal Oral B toothbrush without having sawn the handle off, with a small 'pot' of Theramed toothpaste which I swallow when brushing my teeth rather than swilling and spitting as I'd do at home. I used babywipes for my face and bod though on my own I usually use my MSR packtowel ('Ultra' I think though I'm not absolutely sure which variety now, there's quite a few) cut in half in conjunction with some water boiled in the kettle and a small tube of face wash / bar of soap (which I find better personally for cleanliness and is okay if stored in a small plastic bag). The towel then gets attached to my pack (in decent weather) to dry as I walk. The packtowel is a great, simple piece of kit that I used to wipe off water from the bag, sleeping pad and anywhere else, and having cut it in two I can separate one for hygiene. When I'm out for more than a couple of days I boil it in my pot to keep it sanitised. I don't know what other people do?

I take a small selection of plasters and compeed with some painkillers too, in a small plastic bag. I have actually used items in my kit; compeed and micropore tape with melolin for blisters on the West Highland Way (the scissors on my classic Victorinox penknife were invaluable in cutting it up), and painkillers when I did my knee in on the Coledale Zen walk in the autumn. I've never needed more but I think with walking alone so much I want to learn more about general stopping blood and fixing up more dire problems for myself if I do ever need it. I know first aid kits have produced a lot of discussion in different blogs; a matter of risk management and I'm risk averse in this case.

Well done if you have got this far! I am running out of steam but have covered most of the points, apart from:

navigation: I took a compass, whistle and mini thermometer combo I have on a lanyard, 65g, a guidebook and OS map with an Ortlieb mapcase (very much needed in the wet). Plus a Tikka Plus Headtorch (the switch seems to be playing up so I shall look at alternatives now) and spare batteries; all items I take on every walk I do.

I am conscious that there will be a few small odds and sods I've not mentioned, coffee, maybe other bits of food for example, but by and large this is what I took. I think it was pretty well equipped and I felt safe and comfortable (apart from that dodgy switch on the torch which I must get sorted). While there is room for improvement, hopefully you will find it interesting / useful / amusing to see what I have!

(A last point; I will spreadsheet the kit and weights at some point for public viewing...!)

Torridon

2011-03-01T16:32:00.002Z

Torridon. A land of sleeping giants, older than Everest and the mountains of Nepal, rising straight up from sea level into the sky. When you can see them...

A stark contrast with something new and fresh; a friendship with TheNewNomads which had been building up through the wonders of Twitter, Facebook and our blogs, and a meeting for a couple of hours over Christmas. 3 or 4 days with a new person. Would we get on? Would we get on with Torridon?

Monday saw me make the drive from Sheffield up to where she was staying near Perth. I drove up the A1 as far as Newcastle and treated myself with a revisit of old memories of days past with the Group B Rallying crowd; halcyon days of Opel Mantas and Forest Spec Escort 2000s. Driving through Otterburn and Kielder and over the spine of England into Scotland via the award winning Best Pie Shop in the Land was spectacular and I would very much recommend this route if like me you didn't have to rush on to the end destination. For me the roads were clear and fast, giving me a taste of the more wintry weather that has largely bypassed where I live. Speckled heather and snow covered hill sides, dark forest, reminders of bronze age settlements and the rather touristy Brigantium site, closed as I passed Redesdale, but the roundhouse very much visible from the road.

Reaching Perth and Kim was very welcome and it wasn't long before we were talking kit and exchanging ideas. Exchanging ideas and easy company was very much a theme for the week, not just around backpacking and walking gear but even around what to have for breakfast (I kid you not!). We poured over the maps and guidebooks we'd got and agreed a bit of a plan for the week, adopting curious pronunciations of mountains which I wont repeat here for fear of provoking the wrath of my Scottish friends... An early start to Torridon beckoned for the Tuesday however, so it was a case of reassembling the packs which we had dismantled in glee, and to pack ourselves off to bed for the next part of the adventure...

...Which started with another fairly long car journey, almost 200 miles from Perth to Torridon via Inverness. It didn't really matter in so far as enjoying company. It did matter somewhat in terms of getting there, walking and finding somewhere half decent to pitch overnight! A Babybel supply stop in Aviemore and the odd photo stop, before casting a passing glance over the outside of the Kinlochewe Bunkhouse (still not sure after reading varying reports), we hastened down the turn towards Torridon before coming to a halt at the breathtaking awesomeness of a massive hulk of a hill, mountain, in front of us. I actually commented, "So, do think this is Beinn Eighe?" as I stood in front of the park sign...

With the tone set for the next few hours, we were treated to some fantastic scenery and a view of Stuc a' Choire Dhuibh Bhig, the eastern end of Liathach, as we drove down the single track road towards the car park at the head of Glen Torridon, and the start of the walk into the hills.

Car parked, we eagerly started our first walk together, between Liathach and Beinn Eighe's peak Spidean Coire nan Clach. Kim is a great person to walk with and knew I wasn't sure about the recurrent problem I'd had with my hip, but together we seemed to just fall into a pace that felt spot on for me; slow but making progress and for once I didn't feel as if I was having to keep stopping to catch my breath. With a democratic approach to walking we swapped who went first a couple of times but I felt very comfortable with her taking the lead, and she was very attentive to checking out with me if the pace was alright. Sharing the excellent route details in the Cicerone Guide "Walking in Torridon" by Peter Barton (updated by Chris Lowe and Jim Sutherland), we made decent time along the Allt a' Choire Dhuib Mhoir (which the book says is pronounced 'Alt a' hhorry-doo-voor' and which reminds me somewhat of Afrikaans). It wasn't a walk where we were going to make any great summits; instead it felt as if it was about a passage of time and space, history and prehistory, as the clouds rolled in and out over the stark, huge landscape. Just being there was enough, for the land to seep into our souls and to think in wonder at the earth we trod.

We could see a bit of weather coming in from the sea, the signs of the low pressure out to the west in the Atlantic, which in Torridon you're not too far from. Clouds started to hang lower over Liathach, flattening the top out as the snow covered mountain got lost in the air. Surprisingly it didn't feel at all cold, especially considering it was towards the end of February. I hadn't know what to expect weather wise and had tried to be prepared for a range of possibilities.

On we walked, starting to wonder as the path curved around, just when would we finally get to the Fhearchair? It seemed a bit deceptive as we gazed down the glen towards Loch Maree in the distance and at the sight of another massif, wondering if this would finally be it. Time was getting on and the weather encroaching at our backs. We had a discussion over likely spots to pitch. Kim had sussed out an area on the map that looked good and flat but neither of us had anticipated how boggy nor rocky the environment would be. It was by no means a desperate situation but we were conscious of making a decision. We swapped pitch sites around in our minds and settled on one below Loch Coire Mhic Fhearchair, which was sloping a little but was about the flattest and least rocky around. Tuckered out, I opted to pitch the Trailstar while Kim checked for alternatives up towards the Loch itself. None showed themselves so I got on with the job.

Another experimentation for this trip was the dehydrated food I'd made using a marvellous Stockli Dehydrator on loan from a friend. Dried bolognese sauce was divvied out between us and we each used our own stoves to cook while laying in our bags, heads up towards the open end of the shelter. Now getting colder, it was tricky to light my Esbit tablet for the Caldera Cone (using with the Gram Cracker) but I was very impressed with Kim's extremely fast stove. Even more so when she had already got her food rehydrating in the Pour and Store bag as my water was only just luke warm. All good things come to those who wait though and proper ramen noodles cooked in the pot and then added to the bag when the food was ready gave me probably the best meal I have had while backpacking! And then of course the piece de resistance, Spotted Dick provided by Mr Kipling! Wonderful times!
I managed to provide entertainment for the next hour or so as various zips got caught, my bag continually sliding down the gorgeously warm POE Bamboo sleeping mat I'd borrowed via Kim from Phil (thanks Phil). I had the option of my NeoAir and to combine it with a CCF mat, but on feeling and seeing the insulation in one of these mats, and then trying it out in the field, boy was I glad of that decision!

The weather that had been slowly pressing in towards us decided to curl in towards us in the corrie, bouncing off the Ruadh-stac Mor, the triple buttresses of Beinn Eighe and round to Sail Mhor, at the bottom of which we were camped. The Trailstar was pushed a little, suffering from too short pegs in too boggy ground for tension to be drum tight. I had pitched it low, more by luck than judgement, but still the rain entered through the opening slightly. More a problem for me was in the morning I found I had slid downhill and my feet had exited under the Trailstar at the back. Luckily for me I had taken a hard core bag so I could just flick most of the water off when I found out. Neither of us had had an awful lot of sleep but after porridge and a coffee and a wander about up at the Loch for me, we packed up and left for the car.

It was a very different feeling to the day. Low, grey clouds with no sign of that glowing orb in the sky, we could see the rain in cascading sheets across the glen. No matter, we were well fed and warm and both managed to keep dry for the most part and felt a sense of unity in being the only people out in this weather in this landscape. The snow that had lain on the hills the day before was most definitely in retreat and coupled with the rainfall, many of the burns were churning down the hillsides. Great fun and easy water for us. And a growing sense of adventure and delight in crossing the stepping stones towards the end of the valley, some of which were completely submerged now. I love times like this, preparing my mind for adventure though for Kim having walked the Arizona Trail and crossed plenty of creeks with snow melt, I guess this was a little less than challenging! From then on we did Wonder Woman and Six Billion dollar man impressions, crossing 'raging torrents' that were maybe 18 inches across at best! Again we kept pace with one another, seamless, almost effortless. Rain came down but we were cheerful. No stress, just considering our options. The outcome of that is an entirely different story...

The photos I took for this blog post can be found here.

Granger's Hill

2011-02-18T21:29:00.000Z

I am excited!

In two days time I am off up to Scotland to meet up with Kim and to venture up to Torridon. I haven't been there for a couple of years and while I don't expect the landscape to have changed too much - apart from a couple of rockfalls that I'm aware of and widening of one or two of the roads - I would imagine the the ancient Lewisian gneiss to still be supporting the Cambrian quarzite and Torridian sandstone.

While I am not going to be summiting any of the huge giants, I shall be walking amongst them and in doing so I don't want to risk a re-enactment of the wetting through I had two weeks ago with Gareth and Cath. So I have splurged and treated my (one year old) Mountain Equipment Seraph jacket to a wash and reproofing. I did it properly, cleaning out the detergent tray of my washing machine before running through an empty cycle, before then running through Granger's 30° C Cleaner and separately the Proofer (you can get combined products, but I reckon that's akin to the Wash 'n' Go shampoo and conditioner; good in theory but trying to do two different jobs).

After running a dripping wet Goretex around to my Mum's to use the Tumble Dryer, my Seraph has emerged looking pristine, soft and, lo and behold, water beads off the surface instead of being soaked up. How long will my precious last in this lovely state? Will she make it through the trip to Torridon? Stay tuned for the next update...

TGO Challenge Withdrawal

2011-02-08T19:19:00.000Z

This is a difficult post for me but today I have emailed Roger Smith to withdraw from this year's TGO Challenge.

I've been questioning how I walk, what I get out of it and where I like to walk. This has been reflected well in my blog and discussions resulting from my posts. But almost regardless of my questioning I feel time is overtaking me. My hip isn't making the month to month progress I had hoped for and with only 3 months to go now before the start of the Challenge, I am not confident of the hip being healed and my building up fitness to do the cross Scotland walk within the time set. I walked 5.5 miles on Saturday with Gareth and Cath, a walk I enjoyed very much. But forecasting the progress I've made since October when I sustained the main injury, I can't see I'll be fully recovered and fit enough in time.

Instead I have withdrawn in a decent amount of time for someone in better shape to take my place. This removes pressure off me to be ready in time and will save my Physio from the 'Will I be ready?' grilling I give her!

I can continue to enjoy the low level walking I've been doing, adding in more mileage and hills gently (up and downhill has started to be less painful) and giving myself time to recover at a less hurried pace. This doesn't mean that I wont be venturing into the big stuff; I'm really excited to be visiting Torridon with Kim in a couple of weeks but the walks will be low level and no summits involved! I don't imagine this will dull the experience at all; we'll be outside and surrounded by amazing scenery and Kim is an amazing person.

As a measure, the act of tendering my withdrawal has given me an amount of regret, but I think it's the right thing to have made the decision to withdraw. I daresay I will be jealous at the guys and girls setting forth in May, but instead will create alternative adventures to live out and enjoy!

Nice weather for ducks!

2011-02-07T19:32:00.000Z

Saturday saw me revisit a familiar haunt but with a twist; instead of wandering lonely as a cloud I met with Gareth and Cath Jones who I'd not met before. In fact I think I've only spoken to Gareth once or twice before with an exchange of emails about doing some reviews for his Webtogs site. Cath's family live in Derbyshire though and they had come up from Dorset to visit her family. Gareth had lined up a couple of walks and I was pleased and a little nervous to be asked if I wanted to go for a walk with them.

The day arrived and the weather was grey, wet and windy. Indeed, it could have been described as miserable, but the great company seemed to sweep the weather away.

We met in the NT car park and donned waterproofs (well Gareth had a pair of softshell trousers on). I gave each of them a cut down print out of the walk; I had decided on the route, not really knowing how well Gareth knew Derbyshire and at that point not really knowing that Cath was at least as local as I am! I like to know where I'm walking and hate following a path of someone else's designation with no idea of where I am (plus there's the safety aspect of it all).

We walked through a patch of woodland and crossed the main road out onto the hills. Across the valley the top of Carl Wark was just about visible so I showed off my limited knowledge of archaeology with the different theories academics and lay archaeologists have come up with about this mysterious site. It looked even more mysterious than usual with the cloud hanging so low and through the walk I kept having a feeling of walking though a Jurassic Park set.

It was lovely to walk with Gareth and Cath though and the conversation flowed easily, talking about what different people get out of being on the hill and inevitably the gear too. It looked like there was a proliferation of Mountain Equipment lovers; right from the off in fact as each of us had at least one ME item on, and we passed a couple of runners (or maybe they passed us?) who were wearing ME jackets too.

Reaching the top of the gritstone edge we peered out into milk of magnesia nothingness as the clouds moved in. As me and Cath nattered, Gareth did a great job of navigating the boggy rivulets so all we had to do was just follow him as we talked! It's interesting to meet other hill and outdoor lovers and to find commonalities - and differences - in outlook and experience. The time just seemed to fly by and soon we were at the mid point where we had a choice to return via a low level path or circuit the other rim of the valley but in the cloud. Various factors helped point the way to the lower level option and I thought it might be interesting to see the edges we'd walked from underneath. With the weather beating down a bit we weren't to see any climbers or people practising bouldering techniques but we did pass three or four groups of people who had taken disabled people in wheelchairs outdoors. Almost everyone seemed to be smiling, despite the 'miserable' weather and of course I had to point out the blindingly obvious of "It's a bit damp isn't it!" to one of the guys' gentle derision!

Cath's boots were squelching well by now, and the rain was pretty relentless and though we were all smiles we decided on tea and scones in the NT cafe. We all started disrobing ourselves of our waterproof layers, dripping onto the floor. We were all a bit damp; Cath had a bit of a wet bum and Gareth made me laugh when he wrung his gloves out "I didn't realise they were so wet", he said as there was a waterfall streaming for a few seconds from his hands! I had two pools of water in my chest pockets (one from some lichen we'd picked up) and my arms had wetted out completely. I had mentioned earlier that I always bring my brew kit along so proceeded to get the Caldera Cone out and assembled it on the table in front of us all and in between mouthfuls of scone (with strawberry jam and cream) tried to demonstrate how it worked - without lighting it of course!

Three hours had seemed to flash by in less than half that and reluctantly we reclothed ourselves before venturing back out into the rain and back towards the cars with talk of doing this again. Despite having had a months worth of rain in the two days over the weekend, I think we all had a lot of fun and it reminded me how nice it is to share places with people, to hear about their lives and their stories. In fact hearing about Cath and Gareth's pond dipping with their boys in Padley Gorge I am hoping to be invited along in the summer some time!

Plumbley Pootling

2011-01-22T21:42:00.000Z

Hmm. I seem to be getting slower and slower in my walks. Today I set off without planned a route other than 'I fancy going in that direction over there', there being near Eckington Woods, a parcel of ancient Beech Woods and odd bits of funny shaped plantations, in the middle of rolling arable land where the gamekeepers coax Pheasants to stay a while, breed, eat corn and be shot.

Shooting was actually a bit of a feature-ette too today.

Anyway after the cold weather the fields are streaming with water but despite this the first broad bean shoots are already 4-6 leaves, the barley looks to have survived the earlier snows and now there are bright green shoots of woodland bulbs springing up vibrantly from the woodland floor.

I plodded away from where I'd parked the car; a salubrious neighbourhood where people have thoughtfully 'placed' sofas but not for your comfort, and me becoming slightly more jaunty in a 'my hip IS FINE' sort of way as I entered the Beech trees. I've walked through these woods many times but armed with Viewranger (no Phil, I didn't register my walk on Social Hiking) I decided to go off the normal paths I beat and head off into the wilds. Well that might be a bit of an exaggeration but there is a certain delight in treading on footpaths in familiar areas but which you've never trod before.

It involved a fair bit of mud hopping, sliding, slipping, skating, pirouetting, not quite splitting and damn, I forgot my poles so the odd hand plant was in order.

A pretty dull day, bordering on freezing in the hollows, the clouds hung heavily in the air, odd bits of rain being carried in the air but nothing more than that. A guy passed me wearing a fluorescent yellow hat and blue Ron Hills. He must have been at least 65 and fairly whizzed past me, leaping gazelle like down to sunken farm roads and bounding up onto the muddy fields. How did he manage to look so graceful where I'm as graceful as an elephant on an ice rink?

Oh well, I decided to head off on a different path to him so there was no risk of him lapping me, heading up to cross one of many stiles giving fine views over to old farmsteads and the Sheffield high rises in the distance.

On the next bit of the walk was one of two areas of heath land where the clay gave way to more sandy ground and gorse bushes were in profusion with their almost ever present yellow flowers brightening the surroundings. Coney city; you could see tunnels all over the place.
I decided as I descended the second of these to stop for a brew. I didn't want to brew up on the path so took a mini diversion to the edge of another pocket of woodland, barely more than a thicket but enough to house a Pheasant pen and a few feeding stations. I found a nice banked up, mossy area to park myself on, with my bum sized sit pad (a bit of lurid green CCF mat I've been steadily butchering) and got the Caldera Cone. As a special treat I decided to use the Gram Cracker instead of meths. Half an esbit saw water quickly boiled for a coffee and, joy of joys! I found a Twix finger in my Rucksack. How did that happen? I'm not known for leaving chocolate!

The views into the valley and across to Ford and Ridgeway were lovely. The barley was so bright in the dull winter light and the patterns the tractors had made as the seed was drilled made the landscape seem as if it had been combed into patterns especially for me.

Looking across I was on the edge of more Beech so had a blonde/copper coloured carpet laid out. I just sat for quite some time looking at the views, the patterns of the tree branches and the colours, listening to the birds and watching as the occasional rabbit ventured into the open near me.

Sadly, the brew and Twix finished, I decided to continue through the woodland as a short cut, but as I crossed the area in the photo I could hear a shoot coming closer. Not wanting to be bawled out for trespassing (I was well off the right of way) I turned around and behaved, re-joining the footpath and following the contours through more mud.

Taking a path that followed a field boundary I was surprised to see some stone walls made of more slate like stone under the hedges. The whole line of hedge and wall looked as if it was ancient, although it didn't link any obvious features; it just had a feel about it. Some of the hedge was of tall holly bushes, some ivy; one bush looking like an upturned anvil, defying gravity.

I think this set me off into sensory over drive though as from then on I started studying the hedges and what plants were in them; ferns, rosettes of foxgloves, the beginnings of bulbs, oak saplings and wasp galls, dog roses (I found a hip with the seeds exposed so took a couple to sow), unfurling seedlings of Wood Anemones, tiny Dog Violets just starting to send the first blade of a shoot through the leaf litter, the very first signs of some sort of Umbellifer unravelling tentatively. I even saw some Lamium, white speckled. I wondered if this was a rogue garden plant.

My journey back expanded exponentially as I spent more time looking. My pockets expanded with selections of dead leaves, haws, rose hips, acorn jackets (so I could look up the type of Oak they'd come from). I managed to resist picking up any twigs and branches until the last half mile when I followed the Moss back towards the car. I take fallen samples, a great believer in what Ruskin once said, that to sketch the twig you can sketch the tree. Absorb yourself in the form and understand it, and it will grow from you.

Hens, Forests, Robins: Awakening

2011-01-15T08:30:00.002Z

This morning I woke at something not very much past 5. This was fine by me as I had wanted to wake early to listen to a broadcast on BBC Radio 4 of an interview with a couple who live in a Yurt on Exmoor, how they live with the land, farming it in a sustainable way, including the wood used for their fire. The couple are called Hen (short for Helen) and Leo.

Some of you may already know of @Hen4 on Twitter. Hen is campaigning for the Save Our Forests campaign (Twitter hashtag #SaveOurForests). The except below is from the 38 degrees website where you can find out lots more, download information including posters and leaflets, and most importantly, sign the petition to help stop this action:
The government is planning a massive sell off of our national forests. They could be auctioned and fenced off, run down, logged or turned into golf courses and holiday villages.

We can't let that happen. We need to stop these plans. National treasures like the The Forest of Dean, Sherwood Forest and The New Forest could be sold off. Once they are gone, they will be lost forever.

A huge petition will force the government to rethink its plans. If we can prove how strongly the public are against this, they will have to back down. Please sign the petition now.

Find out more: Visit the save our forests action centre to find out more about the forest sell off and download campaign leaflets and posters.

I would urge you to visit Hen's website to find out more about this remarkable woman, and the interview is available to listen on the BBC website here. (I'm not sure how long for though.)

It's not been the normal start to my mornings but as I write this now, dawn has arrived through magenta and indio skies; the Robin has sung it in.

Physiotherapy - Session 2

2011-01-13T16:55:00.000Z

Yesterday I had the second session of Physiotherapy for my hip, provided free (so far) on the NHS. It was a bit of a shocker for me but I'll come to that in a bit.

Most of the first half hour session was more administrative, but Rachel had left me instructions for stretches which I mentioned on the last Physio post, and which I have done pretty much faithfully.

I wasn't sure what I'd be in for, but altogether it wasn't that different in approach, just less admin. I showed her the stretches I'd been doing so she could correct my technique, telling her how I'd found it easy to engage the piriformis in my left buttock but couldn't find my right ("It's like I've got half a bum", I told her). A bit of wiggling around to try to engage the muscle did the trick so I'll carry on with that one.

Pleasingly I've got a bit more flexibility in both hips when I have the ankle of one foot on the other knee, but it's still not that good (what's happening to me, I'm not that old yet!).

Then to explore the problem areas more, she held each leg in turn, manipulating my limbs away from, down, up and across from my torso as I lay on the therapy table in a state of calmness alternating with gasps of pain or odd looks as it wasn't quite pain but definitely wasn't quite 'right'. She seemed to register these with a knowing sense of, I dunno, something, experience maybe? Learned knowledge? Anyway, then she had me laying on my back and keeping one leg flat while moving the other knee as close to my chest as she could (which is pretty close!), she asked me what stopped it moving further. I responded very naturally (as I do) by just saying "Fat". Well, I could do with losing a bit of weight and it was an accurate answer!

That got us both laughing!

The bit that had the biggest impact on me though was when she had me laying on my side and lifting the top most leg in the air, feet pointing towards the wall, like the old 80's aerobics classes used to do. I thought "No problem, I can do these in my sleep!" I couldn't have been more wrong. I bet I lifted it all of 3 inches when a) I couldn't lift it any further and, b) I yelped! Houston we have a problem. For my own sanity I turned on to my other side and tried the same movement. No problem. My leg could go up and down til the cows came home. It dawned on me that actually it wasn't a titchy problem that I was making a big deal out of. Honestly, little old ladies could do that better than me (no offense to any little old ladies who may be reading this). She wont even let me do that exercise as homework either, instead I have to just keep my pelvis towards the wall and to open from my knees like a wall-facing clam shell. Oh my God! All my life I have been pretty flexible and taken it for granted pretty much. I was often the strongest, even at school. I can sit and reach waaaaay past my toes. It always puzzled me when people could only reach to their ankles; I'd ask myself, "Why?".

And now I'm in that situation and I don't like it one bit. It scares me a bit to think I could be walking and be 8-12 miles from the car and be struck by the pain I felt when I went walking in the snow before Christmas. Every single step had shooting pain. I am sure back sufferers have something similar.

Well my commitment to getting better is there 100%. I'm charting that I do the exercises, not overdoing it, not doing an at home yoga class unless it's dead easy. I just can't afford to over do it and besides which the pain my body sends my brain will tell me to stop anyway. This is definitely not the time for Chopper Reid and his HTFU approach. I'm seeing her again in two weeks time, same time, same place. Therapy for the body instead of the mind, but like my mind, it's surprising me!

Icebreaker Atlas Womens Long Sleeved Top Review

2011-01-12T12:27:00.001Z

It's been cold. I feel the cold. I don't like being cold, unless it's my mouth as it drinks down some ice cold Magners on a summer afternoon.

To help not feel cold I have been in pursuit of something decent to wear as the mercury has been plummeting and as such already have in my not very sweaty mits two Icebreaker tops, one a short sleeved Tech T Lite in Bodyfit150 in a pink 'Fiesta' colour, and the other a long sleeved Oasis Crewe in noticeably different Bodyfit200 in black. Gareth at Webtogs asked if I'd like to review some kit for them, and to be honest I am quite happy to do so as long as it doesn't cramp my style (and my readers patience) and the integrity of my blog is maintained. Which means that I have pretty much free rein to praise or criticise as I experience my use of kit. I have also experienced a fair amount of frustration at the lack of reviews of women's kit; something I may address through my blog too to some extent if there is something I want to say.

So, 6 weeks ago Gareth sent me an Icebreaker Atlas Long Sleeved Bodyfit150 top in 'Icicle'.

With all Icebreaker kit, including this, you get the usual User Manual, and the BAAcode (geddit?) where you can lookup on the Icebreaker website to link to the sheep stations where the wool you are wearing came from; a nice little gimmick. I had four stations listed for this, whereas in the past I've been able to see the individual sheep!

The Atlas tops are all crewe necks with raglan sleeves and flatlocked stitching to prevent chafing from seams. They have a diamond shaped gusset under the arms (which this rather stern lady is demonstrating, rather better than my attempts to photograph myself in the same pose!) which in turn lead down to seams that are set slightly forward to aid movement, although with fabric this lightweight there isn't much resistance to movement, but it does mean the shape is maintained. The gusset is slightly different to the other two tops I have, where the Tech T is a basic T-shirt shape and the Oasis long sleeved top has a gusset but with the insert panel running all the way down the sides, rather than joining to form the bottom of a diamond.

I've used this top all over the place; on overnight trips where the temperature reached approx -6C, to just as a normal long sleeved T Shirt. I've worn it for several days constantly, to no smelly detriment, and I've washed it (no fabric softener) and it dries fast, still maintaining a new appearance. It's a nice colour (the pic below of the wrist area is more true to type) and I would wear this like any other top which is something I appreciate for economy's sake!

The main comment I have on this top is that, given the snow we've experienced, a top of this weight just isn't quite warm enough for me. For someone who runs hotter this may not be an issue. When the weather has been milder I've been happier with the performance. It might be worth noting I have also used it double layered with the Tech T and that was fine, giving in effect a 300 weight Bodyfit over my torso and a flexible approach.

Another remark I have is that the fit seems pretty generous, especially over the shoulders and arms. It is the same XL size (16) as my others which are also slightly on the large side.On the other hand, a great plus factor for me is that the arms are long enough; at 5 ft 9 I'm not the tallest woman on the planet but somehow there seems to be plenty of manufacturers who only cater for short arms!

Material
Bodyfit150 Merino wool
Weight
170g
Size
XL (16)
Pros
Washes really well, dries quickly, packs down small but still looks presentable. As we'd expect with Merino, it wicks away any sweat efficiently and without leaving any nasty smells even after a few days wear. Great arm length!
Cons
I would prefer something warmer for colder months and I think the fit is pretty generous; if you are between sizes I'd order one down.
Summary
A top I would happily use when the weather isn't as severe as we've experienced in November/December; I personally would use this in Autumn and Spring, depending on how our chaotic weather pans out!

At the time of writing, Webtogs sell this at £44.95 with free UK delivery

Woodland

2011-01-09T17:22:00.000Z

Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's amazing that, a week after the last proper snow here, the woodland floor seems to almost spring back into life. The beginnings of beech saplings from last year push up through the damp, matted carpet of leaves, bracken fronds made it through but look exhausted, brambles feeling out as ever. The appearance of rabbits, scurrying away under thick entanglements of Holly, gangly and ever present.

The floating leaf carpet is deceptive, one tread and you could be ankle deep in oozing mud or water. Footbridges wobble and sometimes break, or plain disintegrate under my feet, if they are there at all. The brook boasts of springtime youthfulness, bragging where it's carved deeper channels, higher washes, while the sun looks wanly on.

As clouds turn pink the browns reflect that back, too, basking. Overhead the sounds of jousting antlers as trees clash in the tight knit space. Tiny rustles in the undergrowth, as while I am still and writing this, animals become bold or hungry.

My fingers become too cold to clutch my pen, so I release what I've written and let it go.

TGO Challenge Route Planning

2011-01-08T15:46:00.001Z

Since I found out that I'd got a place on the TGO Challenge crossing back in November, to be honest for some reason I've been a bit half assed in planning my route. I don't know why; I'd already been planning it well before I knew I was in. So a kick up the bum was metaphorically self administered and last week I started planning in earnest. Now I have something like a route that I'm reasonably happy with, but which I'll need to tart up a bit yet before I send it off to be vetted. But my choice of route may not ingratiate some people...

I don't know if it's just me, but I seem to find a preponderance for people to be 'Peak bagging' that is more and more turning me off the scene. There seems to be some sort of kudos for doing this as a reason in itself, but which just doesn't do anything for me. What about the spirit of place?

Maybe as a backlash I'm finding myself drawn more to woodlands and glens and going my own way. I enjoy being on hills, if they have meaning to me. I am not so bothered about hauling my backside up a hill for the sake of saying I've 'done it' whatever 'done it' means. Most of my writing is about how I experience being outdoors and I suppose I'm having a rant at people who just seem to go in for ticklists (yeah I know it's up to them but this is my blog!). I just don't get the point though there are plenty of them out there who seem to live for this approach. Maybe because in my working life I am pretty damn well organised, precise, analytical that I like to leave all that behind and just 'be'. Sometimes I may just want to 'be' in one place for a time. And in thinking about my route I am wondering how I am going to accommodate that, if at all. People sometimes have 'rest days' as if it's a second best experience to being out in the hills, whereas I enjoy being relatively stationary sometimes.

I made a comment on Nick Gallop's blog post, Nature's Attitude Adjuster earlier, a fantastic article that I much appreciated. I loved the phrase "tap into the rhythms of what’s going on around you". Taking time to become more appreciative of the environment, of which we are part, albeit with our oil based kit in ninja black and shades (this dichotomy is becoming harder to swallow for me).

Some of my favourite times are just when I wander. I remember just walking from my house one September morning, wandering footpaths, fields and towpaths, picking blackberries along the way and making jam with them the next day. It was unplanned and inspiring and more than 10 years later that memory is still vivid for me. Yes, I bet there are hills like that for many people, their memories of summiting and standing to stare at the views. I've done it myself and enjoyed it. But not usually with a view of 'right, onto the next'. When I have done that I've tended to forget the hill and experience and it just becomes meaningless. Wandering from my house with my overnight kit is something I've mentioned to a couple of people; something I shall do soon.

Maybe all this is reflected in how I seem to be drawn to woods and moorland; I keep thinking I must re-read BB's Brendon Chase, and Muir, and yet more Thoreau, and am finding myself steered towards more bushcraft type of blogs and nature writing, rather than just UL backpacking. Steering away from so many gear blogs and towards experience blogs. So I am so pleased that Miguel is blogging again! I'm thinking about being more in harmony with the environment, resisting oil based kit. After not long ago opening my eyes to silnylon, cuben fibre et al, I'm now starting to feel the need to shut them again. It's a mental wrangle I'm not sure if I'm going to win. Is a few grams worth that much? (I feel like an heretic!)

So yes, in planning my TGO route I am mindful of wanting to experience the sense of place of those I pass through, the stories of the land, not just a tick list "yes, I've bagged x mountain, now to the next". I want to savour it and enjoy it all, not just the A to B + Xn.

First Walk of The Year

2011-01-02T01:04:00.000Z

Picking up on the theme of feeling proud, I got out for a short walk in the Peak District today. Of course I loved it! Not quite every moment of it, but just the act of putting one foot in front of another in a repetitive, rhythmical motion certainly had me feeling bright, breezy and slightly righteous!

I respected the limitations of my hip with keeping the walk short (4.5 miles and on the flat, pretty much) but still enjoyed a bit of springiness with some short hopping from boulder to boulder. That is until the cold wind penetrated, with rain and the start of snow driving across the moors and into me; the first obstacle before the hills.

The views across to Carl Wark and Higger Tor were as mysterious and thought provoking as usual. Different angles revealed different aspects, it's just a place that makes me feel so aware.

Twisting and turning across and inbetween the strewn about boulders, it seemed there were individual micro climates. Well worn areas where sheep nestled in the dips and hollows, descending towards small fords that needed to be crossed. These had their own character and charm.

At one point I came across some puddles fringed with sedges, moss and grasses, reminding me of tropical palms leaning over a beach. I guess it was from this point on that 'Midnight at the Oasis' drummed through my head until I reached the end of the walk...

I carried along Burbage Rocks for about the mile and a half or so to the head of the valley (Fiddlers Elbow) where I could drop down a level onto the shooting party road (I forget the name; it's not a road but just a path that leads through the valley to Longshaw). By now the weather had deteriorated into snow where I was, and looking over the valley where before I could see this end of Stanage, now it was lost in the mist.

Dropping down the 30 metres or so and being sheltered by the rocks was like dropping into another climate. No more driving weather, instead a benign environment with pleasant (though not extensive) views. I didn't really mind either way; it was just great to get outside. I didn't stop for a brew, very unlike me. But I did notice how the snow and ice was retreating in it's thaw, retracting from embracing the ground but still holding the grounds shape in remembrance.

A few people were about now, and it was interesting to tell from their clothing who were regular walkers and who were out for their occasional foray into the outdoors (I wouldn't wear jeans on a day like today). Most said "Hello" and a couple even said "Happy New Year", which I returned before looking at the ice on a tumbling brook.

But a cup of tea was calling me back to the shelter of the car, and soon I moved off on a beautiful walk through the twisted Beechwood with the fairy tale stones and silent pools.

Resolutions? Or Something a Little Different?

2011-01-01T09:27:00.000Z

A New Year, a New Decade.

My mind has been a turmoil of what to set for resolutions. I've set mountains to climb, habits to drop, habits to replace them.

But actually I think I might drop that and instead replace it with a different thought.

"What have YOU done today to make you feel PROUD?"

Yes, I shall make plans; I think it's great to set goals. But, surely if I hold fast to this thought, this question, then I can't go far wrong?

Dances with Marmots - Book Review

2010-12-30T18:34:00.000Z

For Christmas I was given a paberback copy of Dances with Marmots, by George C. Spearing. It's been on my to-read list for ages; I just want to gobble up any books on walking, especially walking the Pacific Crest Trail!

George is a Fire Fighter from New Zealand who decided to walk the PCT after being given a book by a chap called Stephen Pern who walked the Continental Divide Trail (I suspect it is a book called The Great Divide in the UK).

While I found it an entertaining and easy read (I think I finished it over two days of reading on Christmas and Boxing Day, fitted amongst hours of playing games with my family!), I found the writing to be a bit patchy in places. Sometimes there would be great passages but further into the book it almost seemed like a chronological description of just where he camped or resupplied. Not that I minded that per se; it could even help me plan mine! But for people without those ambitions and who expect rather more crafted writing this may disappoint slightly.

And, for those in the lighter-weight echelons of the backpacking world, this likely wont bring beaming smiles as George carries a Macpac Cascade (90L) and Asolo boots. It was produced in 2005 and I'm not quite sure when he walked the trail but even then he could have reduced the weight he carried.

He had a typical antipodean humour (though is English by birth), which showed in his descriptions of town stops, the people he bumped into and the occasional toilet humour (well we all have to go and it's an even more important subject on the trail!). I liked how he relayed his love of Westerns and how that was mirrored in some ways in some of the characters he met. Some of his descriptions were brilliant, but it started to feel as if he got tired of writing it about two thirds of the way in.

That said it is probably a book I would read again, but I would rate The Cactus Eaters by Dan White as a better read. I also very much enjoyed Chris Townsend's account in his Great Backpacking Adventure which also included the CDT. If any of you have recommendations for other books related to accounts of walking on any of the long trails, especially the Triple Crown (AT, PCT and CDT) then please let me know in the comments!

I found Chapter One here, and as well as being available on Amazon, it is also available as download in PDF here.

Pictures taken from DancesWithMarmots.com

Physiotherapy

2010-12-29T22:09:00.000Z

For the last couple of months I've been plagued with knee and then hip injuries. It's not especially new, I played rugby for a time at Uni and damaged a knee when a scrum I was in collapsed (I was in the second row because of my height). Stupidly I walked the 4 miles or so home from the game and then couldn't walk again for over 3 days!
Eighteen months ago I suffered a groin strain after doing some basic army type training (which I really enjoy!) but which took a few months to resolve.
After having a fall in the Lake District a couple of months ago which twisted my knee, and then (I suspect) adjusting how I walked to compensate, my right hip flexor has been sending me shooting pain when I made an ascent or descent or had to shift direction. As you can imagine this is not great for someone who wants to be out walking, so I was pleased when my GP referred me for a Physiotherapy assessment.
I had the assessment this morning where I was asked a series of questions by a friendly, knowledgeable Physiotherapist and then my posture then limbs were manipulated around. Basically my right hip muscle group seems to have seized up, being massively less flexible than my left side. It means I don't have much rotation for dealing with uneven ground and the automatic adjustments your feet and body makes and which we take for granted unless or until we are injured.
I've been given two stretching exercises to do, to open out the hip and stretch the hip flexor (Psoas major and minor and Iliacus) and a small muscle inside my buttock (Piriformis). Both are to stretch these muscles out before I start to do strengthening exercises. Neither of the exercises are new to me, if you do sport or yoga then you most likely will (or should) do them anyway, but from a recuperative / informative point of view I thought it would be useful to put links to one of the stretches here:

The impact for me on my walking means that rather than 'doing hills' I am going to try to create some routes that are over flatter terrain (maybe like my last walk which I did really enjoy) and limit my mileage to say a 6-8 mile walk in, overnight camp and same out again. The pain at the moment is just too much to do real hills but hopefully with the work I'll be putting in (and not overdoing things) I will be able to satisfy the mental and emotional need I have to be outdoors. Maybe the wandering element will enhance my sketching if I allow myself more time to cover more miles. So I am trying to not get too frustrated (my friends may laugh here) and to go with the flow, allowing my bod to heal. It will make a change...

Meandering miles

2010-12-18T23:09:00.000Z

Ah, well after the impromptu post yesterday I was itching to get out, and fortunately there was a tad more snow on the hills south of Sheffield than I'd had at home.

I drove out about 10 minutes away by car to a hamlet to the south of Sheffield, skated over the black ice and did my utmost to resist 'The Gate' pub. Wouldn't be an auspicious start to a walk with the number of times I usually fall over; I don't especially need help with this. Passing over the first of many stiles I entered out onto a snow covered field surrounded by holly hedges. The views across the valleys north were extensive, almost monochromatic with the sky a curious blend of pale cerulean and gamboge hues.

Quickly I headed off across the first field and over another style into a mature woodland. The leaf litter was covered with a light snowy crust, crunching as I walked through. So much to see, to listen to in this world! Black Russian Pheasants flew away in alarm, their wings thumping together with effort, leaves and twigs rattling as they resumed their positions after they passed.

The clean, cold air filled me with glee! Holly leaves stroked through my hair, leaning over the path, reaching out towards me, not letting me pass otherwise. I happily obliged. I was just so full of delight! Bronzed beech leaves still hung in mid air, evergreens provided a darker contrast to the white, white, woodland floor. Such a sensory experience!

Down to a footbridge led up to exit the woods into a field with small ponies, hardy and probably native to the UK. They looked to me hungrily from their hay, whiskers twitching. Crossing into a narrow track and down to Sicklebrook Farm, the dilapidated barns fascinated me, an old long wheelbase Landrover permanently parked, probably never to move again. At a crossroads I headed west down Owler Car Lane, stepping out from the wide open fields and into the next.

I don't know what it is about woods, but I feel an almost primal urge to be there. There are so many stories and folklore about woods. Some in reverence, some in fear. Imagine being in deep, dark woods that extend for acres, boar and wolves sounding in the distance. Bears, even. That still exists in Eastern Europe where some of the tales would likely still have resonance. Here in England the woods are parcelled, few stretching more than a few miles. So when I have the chance to lose myself for a while I enjoy it!

And as usual my eyes were everywhere, noticing the oak leaves, still tinged with the faint traces of green, crystallised in pools of ice, like stained glass under my feet. Paths leading down to streams to be forded, footbridges abruptly broken. Emerging out of the muffled trees I came across a tree laying directly across the path, as if to say "You shall not pass!". I ended up following some faint footprints and crawling between the lower two rungs of the fence to get through (I didn't want to provoke the barbed wire on the top rung). Moments of decision making like this just add to appreciation of the environment you find yourself in. Yes, man has obviously intervened and his presence is everywhere. But you cannot deny the overarching power of nature, the living world, the seasons.

Having crossed The Moss a couple of times already, I headed out into a snowfield, enjoying the space, the marks of pheasants on the snow, dog paw prints weaving around, hare prints characteristic with the longer hind legs. It felt like a perfect mix for me today, enclosed areas, expansive spaces. I again crossed the brook, up the hill and over a field of winter barley to a bench, marked in honour of someone who loved the land. Following the field edge along the hedgerow, birds were quiet, the odd corn husk marking feeding of game.

Eventually I joined a sunken lane, sliding down the bankside (I knew I'd have a bit of a fall somewhere!) and being hidden from view. The already hushed world became more silent still. I recovered myself and headed onwards. These tiny narrow lanes are the remnants of times of more traffic, when farming was more labour intensive, horse drawn. They link one farm to another in a usually direct route. This route was so direct it headed straight down to a ford and then straight up again. Luckily there was a footbridge next to it; I didn't fancy wading across 8ft of water in this weather with a few more miles yet to tread!

Heading up to another farm I noticed the mullioned windows. Probably belonging to the Sitwell estate it looked to be a classic Derbyshire farm with barns that had grown haphazardly around a courtyard of sorts. I could hear pigs and cattle being fed in the byres, the sound of men muttering lowly, grain being delivered out of the silos. Passing through the farm I carried on towards a wood in the distance where I could hear the sound of a shoot. Even walking down the field it was slippery, ice had formed in the divots and hoof prints, eventually overflowing and joining into a death trap tapestry. Beautiful patterns of concentric ice formed in the larger puddles.

Stranger still was in the next wood I noticed long ice crystals in particular mossy areas, as if the ice had grown upwards from the ground. The crystals were almost 2 inches long and easily shattered along their length. they reminded me of Superman's Ice Fortress, the way the crystals were formed. Now that I'd noticed them here, I started to notice them everywhere!

A late lunch was had in the next wood where I noticed the air temperature was noticeably warmer, even the tinkling sound of water underneath the ice could be heard. I got off the path and took some shelter next to a rangy holly tree. Taking my gloves off I carefully placed them on a mossy branch on the ground, sat down and skidded off backwards! I laughed at myself and repeated the process without the skidding off part, and unpacked my beautiful Caldera Cone to get a brew going. The meths easily lit on first strike which surprised me. While the water was boiling I ate a very acceptable Duck and Hoisin sauce wrap from the Co-op, followed by a Mars bar that was as hard as if it had been in a freezer.

After a coffee I packed up and headed out. Down into one sunken lane and yet another, this last seeming more like a frozen stream bed; I was glad of my walking poles. In the valley I could hear a man whistling for his dogs and the sound of the dogs crashing through undergrowth. As I crossed The Moss for the last time, just up from the Mill Ponds, onto some stepping stones, a gamekeeper appeared. He was friendly and warm, offering me a gentlemanly hand across to his side of the brook and warning of the ice covered last stone. I gratefully took his help and we had a chat about the game (he had a couple of brace of pheasant) and the dogs. He was fully kitted out in traditional garb, too expensive to be a poacher! We parted after a short while and I started out on the last stretch home, becoming part of the tapestry of fields.

Wandering

2010-12-17T21:32:00.002Z

I've been thinking recently about what the attraction of walking is to me. It's not a new musing, but the answers become more clear at different times, then wax and wane almost as with the moon.

There's the obvious link, connection to nature. It's a fundamental part of me, and I suspect, most if not all those who chose to follow what I write. It's a part of me that has grown since I can remember living in Norfolk where I moved to when I was 7. In fact even before then I remember in Nottinghamshire playing in the fringes of the school field, in the scrubby bushes at the intersections of paths running behind houses. Funny to think that those vague memories have had such an impact.

Norfolk was like a Betjeman poem, an age of long lost innocence. Allowed to roam free in the fields, being in effect a young naturalist, knowing the movement and patterns of birds and flowers. The trees spoke most to me; the rivers I swam in in the summer, away from the pike who were supposed to eat young childrens toes!

Moving to Sheffield when I was 12 actually felt like a huge blow. The Sheffield I knew at that time was limiting. I didn't discover the moors for a few years until I started wandering out there after school. Foreign bird life, plant life, smells of the peat. Different to the Broads. My connection with nature was regained to some extent through studying English Lit at O level (I was the last year to study these!), reading Betjeman and other poets of that bygone era. Reading also the classics, Brontes, Eliot, but especially developing an affection for Thomas Hardy. My sentimental nature was developed further by walking alongside Jane Eyre as she sacrificed herself on the altar at Stonehenge. I used to wonder at the characters in Hardy's novels, the distances they would walk across Salisbury Plain, often developing life threatening illnesses in the process.

Fast forward into my more adult life where I discovered other authors through various friends and influences. The inspiration seemed to be more haphazard. I read Patrick Leigh Fermor as he travelled across Europe around the time of the first World War, Nicholas Crane walking his umbrella along the spine of mountains, even travels in Albania (Those Accursed Mountains!), and spiritual quests with Paulo Coelho and Gerard Hughes. They seemed to engage more with the spirit of place than I think I'd allow myself to see recently. I do like to stop and examine and contemplate as anyone who has had the pleasure of my walking company will know. I think this is an essential part of my experience and one that achieving a certain mileage a day may limit.

Recently my yearning has been to walk the PCT; reading Chris Townsend's Great Backpacking Adventure and even this year, Dan White's Cactus Eaters got the wanderlust juices flowing. But how much may my experience be compromised by having to walk?

Thoughts seem to have crystallised more recently in that I find the sense of journeying without necessarily a trail to follow, very appealing. It's a sense of discovery, of myself and the surroundings. The same passage of miles under my feet, but maybe not in a sense of being so planned.

I personally don't know if this is the right 'path' for me, and I am aware of a certain naivety perhaps. But at present that is what draws me in. The journey. The wandering in the truest sense!

This post is pure indulgence for me, and without regard almost for any readership. It's an expression of my current thoughts and feelings and where I gain and may seek spiritual nourishment from, as it is indeed a very spiritual experience for me. Maybe something I will write further on in the future.

Norfolk
by Sir John Betjeman

How did the Devil come? When first attack?
These Norfolk lanes recall lost innocence,
The years fall off and find me walking back
Dragging a stick along the wooden fence
Down this same path, where, forty years ago,
My father strolled behind me, calm and slow.

I used to fill my hands with sorrel seeds
And shower him with them from the tops of stiles,
I used to butt my head into his tweeds
To make him hurry down those languorous miles
Of ash and alder-shaded lanes, till here
Our moorings and the masthead would appear.

There after supper lit by lantern light
Warm in the cabin I could lie secure
And hear against the polished sides at night
The lap lap lapping of the weedy Bure,
A whispering and watery Norfolk sound
Telling of all the moonlit reeds around.

How did the Devil come? When first attack?
The church is just the same, though now I know
Fowler of Louth restored it. Time, bring back
The rapturous ignorance of long ago,
The peace, before the dreadful daylight starts,
Of unkept promises and broken hearts.

Snow!

2010-12-01T18:45:00.000Z

The past week has seen the UK mainland transform under a blanket of snow. Once familiar landmarks disappeared under a mantle that softened edges and reflected light back from all angles. Trees are bowing under the weight, birds coming up to the door step and people talking to other people that they've hardly seen before, let alone actually spoken to.
So while many in the walking and backpacking world are excited and optimistic about the possibilities for walking (if they can actually make it out to the countryside), I took the opportunity to walk around the village where I live, on the South East fringe of Sheffield, and to enjoy this rare time.

On this particular wander I passed an ancient orchard in the village which has been under the preserve of a local environment group. It is carefully managed with many varieties of apple suited to the area, and the grass under the trees, and now under the snow, being carefully grazed by Highland cattle and sheep. Coming across the orchard today I was more in mind of a much more northern landscape, not one just north of the Midlands. It was startlingly beautiful, the light clear and crisp and threw into relief the shapes formed by the snow.

Later in the day I walked to the local church, the sunshine had long gone and was replaced by flat, grey, snow laden clouds. I had to kick steps into the steps leading up to the churchyard; large flag stone steps had been replaced by a slick slope where others had been a day or so before. Unexpectedly the pattern of snow on the gravestones seemed to appear almost random. Some had snow towering over, some were wrapped in it, some had shed much with only a thin veneer, though soon to be replaced.

The avenue of trees leading towards the church was transformed into a magical, inviting procession, the rows of gravestones beyond forming marching lines.
Snakes of snow wrapped around crosses, accentuated points of needles and contrasted with the sinewy trees. The world became a lithograph, monochrome. And then blurred with snow as another blizzard came.

It was a joyful experience to see, and be part of, people connecting with one another in the streets, strangers sharing stories and families bonding. With schools being shut there were a few children out playing, though not as many as I expected, making snowmen and chucking snowballs in glee. Adults seemed to be migrating to the local park with sledges and the odd snowboard, or later to the pub, hoping one of the four in the village would be open! Older people were not, as you'd expect, much in evidence; I had checked on my neighbour if he had needed anything, knowing there are many who are vulnerable at this time of year. Sometimes just a "Hello" is enough, but clearing a path or fetching groceries gives them a feeling of being thought of and cared for, and may be the only contact they have for days... And while I am wandering freely around, clad in my outdoor gear, I know that just 5 miles away, men and women have been stuck in their cars for more than 24 hours, assisted by the local Mountain Rescue Teams, although this is actually just off the M1!

So while snow invokes different feelings for different members of our society, I am hoping to make the most of it, appreciating the different forms to see in this world, different skills needed. I want to make snow angels, snow men and women, snow caves and igloos and to kick steps and slide down hills. To listen to nothing and to hear shrieking laughter and the thud of a snowball. To paint skies that are darker than the land, to seek sanctuary in snow covered churchyards with their dead and to appreciate the world around me.

Not the Lake District...

2010-11-16T16:54:00.000Z

A brief visit to Ambleside to allow Steve Horner to buy the brightest shoes he could find, followed by a chat in a pub, ended up with a sharp, northwards diversion into Scotland to the southern most Munro, Ben Lomond.

Reacquainting myself with the familiar place-names of Drymen, Balmaha and Rowardennan was welcome but strange, reminding me of the West Highland Way I'd walked back in the summer. It felt like years ago, though in fact was only 3 months previous. It was strange to see these places with little effort other than Steve's driving; I hadn't had to walk there this time and that lent a distinctly different feel to the place. It was exciting in a sense but looked so different to the warmer days I had spent walking to and around the Loch. The Clansman bar at Rowardennan was revisited too, of course, before setting off around 1pm up the Ptarmigan route, dehydrated from the night before and tired before walking. BUT! It was fantastic to slowly, steadily gain height and to catch sight of what we'd driven up to Scotland to see; SNOW!

The views out over Loch Lomond were stunning, with a sweep of cloud streaming from the east, allowing shafts of sunlight to pierce through to the many islands. The hillside was shining ochers and umbers and the cloud colours reflecting back in the water. Further north the hills were teasing with sugar icing caps and the promise of more in the distance...

I haven't done any real winter walking for many years and I was concerned at the kit I'd got. Because we had been overly optimistic about the snow (i.e. there wasn't really that much of the stuff) I again opted out of wearing my now usually discarded Brashers in favour of my almost tread bare inov8 Terroc 330s. This despite my incredible falling over ability. It was a reasonable decision as it happens, though I managed a record 5 times I think! I also was making do with a number of thinner baselayers and my fleece, with either my Montane LiteSpeed windshirt or my Mountain Equipment Seraph jacket. One day I'll buy a primaloft or down jacket, but that time isn't now and I have to make do with what I've got! This was fine for on the move (albeit slowly) but as soon as we stopped for any length of time I would start to get a bit chilly.

This was also the first bigger outing for about 4-5 weeks since I messed my knee up when I last went walking in the Lakes, so was going to be a good test. The walk up the Ptarmigan route is pretty easy but unfortunately I was wiped out before getting to the last approach to Ben Lomond, so at about 3:45 we found somewhere decent enough for two shelters to be pitched on pretty flat ground (yippee, no NeoAir surfing for me this time). It looked to be a reasonably sheltered spot if the wind acted as predicted, plus I very generously gave Steve the benefit of my Trailstar giving his some additional protection (well, I moved to a flatter spot in reality!).

Rather than using the Team IO tarp I'd used on my last overnighter, I had decided on the MLD Trailstar. I want more practice using my tarp in less exposed conditions whereas I hoped I'd be camped on the side of a hill at some point over the weekend and at present feel more confident with the protection the Trailstar provides. It was a decent decision although as it turns out the weather wasn't especially harsh, just cold. I could have used a low pitched tarp but it was pretty pleasant to be in the Trailstar, secure in knowing it was pretty solid, especially when my warm breath condensed on the shelter, turning into frost by the next morning!

Using my lovely Caldera Cone (I wonder if I could ever be parted from it!) and using the burner rather than Steve's Prodigy like approach with his exploding Esbit and GramCracker (it seems he nearly set fire to his shelter the next morning) I quickly had water for coffee and dried Chili Con Carne. Steve popped in my shelter to eat the rest of his food while I was still waiting for my food to be ready, being careful not to spike my NeoAir with his new banana shoes (woe betide him if he did that!!). My food was welcome and I could feel myself getting a little warmer as a result. I don't feel any qualms about using the Caldera Cone set up in the middle of the Trailstar, near the centre point next to the pole. For me, I think if you are careful and aware then using this in the shelter is reasonably safe. My exit was clear (apart from Steve) so if I needed to bail I could, but it is such a contained system that I felt perfectly happy brewing up there rather than in the doorway or outside.

A little later and settling down for the night I embedded myself with a silk liner, a Golite Adrenaline 3 Season sleeping bag and the Rab Survival Zone bivy bag I'd used tarping. When I returned home I found this had generated a few tweets in my absence after Steve broadcast I'd been cold. I'd not used the sleeping bag before, and I do sleep pretty cold, even for a woman, so wanted to try out a different approach to see if I could find a way to sleep a bit warmer. (The bag is rated to 20F, or -7 degrees C.) I think I need to try a different approach again (or get some down booties) as, not that long after I got in I started to not feel my feet so well! It was at freezing point at about 4pm, just before dark; I didn't record temperatures after that but am pretty sure it went reasonably below that. Trying to recall how others managed the cold, I restarted the Caldera Cone and heated some water to part fill my trusty Tango bottle and popped that down to my feet. Ah, bliss! I was pleased with my resourcefulness, though I know it's something other people also do. It's things like that that make me feel more self reliant, that, despite Steves mention to wake him up if I was too cold and we'd walk out, I was capable of managing a situation with enough thought.

I repeated this process at least twice more through the night, enjoying the feeling of warmth once again permeating through me...

With almost 15 hours to pass in darkness I had brought my iPod with me and listened to a series of podcasts umpteen times before switching to listening to some music. I prefer to listen to music I know reasonably well because then I know most of the lyrics and my brain isn't guessing what the words are; it can relax and switch off. Which it did a few times during the night (ie through sleep)!

The next morning I'd been awake for a while, hearing Steve stirring. I made a brew, trying not to disinvest myself of my sleeping bag too much to keep the warmth in. Hot chocolate and porridge was warming and energy giving and after a few minutes I felt more spritely. It sounded as if he was packing up so after confirming this by yelling at him(!) I did the same. We both got to the point where we'd packed everything apart from the shelters, which took a bit of a shake to get our created 'snow' off them, being rather crunchy. The frozen white particles span off, the Trailstars revealing negative patterns on the hill.

We'd pitched not far from the snowline so very shortly got to wander on something with a little more substance than a dusting. It was great fun to feel the snow under my feet and far easier walking on the snow than it had been on the ice. Different bird and animal tracks were evident and I enjoyed trying to work out what they were. It wasn't long before we made the last climb up to the top of the hill and the trig point sought for a Kuksa photo. The views over the hills towards the Cobbler and farther North were enticing, different cloud formations snaking around the tops and creating false ridges into the air and causing some debate.

Although thoroughly enjoying the views, it wasn't long before we headed down again on the path that would take us back to the car park at Rowardennan. I was a bit disappointed to leave the snow behind. It's so interesting! Virgin snow sparkles and glitters, where other snow looked as if mountain bikers had been up, with some pretty fat tyres too. Paw prints were about, some very much dog like, but some more reminiscent of cat prints. It looked as if hares had been around, and on the way up we had also seen a Ptarmigan almost in it's full winter white plumage.

Before we left the snow for good I said I wanted to boil some up, just 'because'! One of the great things for me is that I have chance to do all this for myself now, rather than someone else taking over and running the show, so Steve waited while I gathered snow, enough for two very small espressos! The Cone again performed brilliantly. It was a bit tricky to light the meths but once alight it didn't seem too long to me to wait for a brew. Plus we had ringside entertainment, watching more people heading up the hill as we were headed down. I always find it interesting to look at what rucksacks people are carrying and wasn't disappointed in seeing a couple of very old Karrimor packs, of the days of the late 80's when design was clean and functional. Steve provided the ubiquitous Starbucks Via which always tastes great and soon we were on our way again.

I often feel a bit sad towards the end of a walk. I seem to easily integrate into a mind set of just wanting to keep going and enjoying the scenery around me. But on this occasion a last visit to the Clansman was a reward before heading back down south to England (and trying to ignore a dump of snow south of Glasgow!).

As a last point, all credit for photos on this post should go to Steven Horner...who took many photos of me and my kit without my permission ;o)

My Inspiration

2010-11-07T15:07:00.000Z

Last night I caught sight of a short discussion on Twitter where a couple of my friends were commenting on the TGO magazine content, that there wasn't much in the way of coverage non 'pointy bits' walks. It was added to with passionate description of walking on wild moorlands, forests, through arable lands with wide open spaces and skies.

During the day I had been wrestling with something in my mind and I needed release. I had planned to go into the Peak District but the proximity of people and the familiarity with the hills just put me off. I felt dissatisfied and anxious. I set off in my car for the opposite direction towards Sherwood Forest but again felt that dissatisfaction and 'angst' of wanting to spread my wings but feeling confined. It was as much about some personal circumstances for me as to the available countryside. I turned the car around and came home.

So reading that discourse was useful to me. It reframed different environments for me, helped me value what is available on my doorstep and so I set off this morning for a short 5 mile walk around Clumber Park.

My enjoyment of the countryside is not limited to mountains. I have been lucky enough to walk in Alpine environments (though not for some time; I will rectify this soon I hope), as well as the flat lands of Norfolk. I remember walking with a partner in Thetford Forest, maybe 15 years ago. We had kit for an overnighter and came across a load of soldiers on exercise. They laughed at us two and said "We get paid to do that" (ironic as I almost joined the Army out of University), but they also took the time to point out a very idyllic spot to camp, next to a deep pool, surrounded with mixed deciduous and coniferous forest. For some reason the slug I found in my boot the next morning really sticks out in my memory but I will never forget that weekend...

I positively enjoy walking in valleys, woods, classic English arable countryside as well as higher places. They each have something very valid to offer my soul. The walk this morning in Clumber salved my soul, too. I wasn't especially early; got there about 9. But I wasn't bombarded by hoardes of people (as I imagined in the Peaks) and largely walked in areas less frequented by others. The scenery consists of manicured parklands as well as heath, plantations, old deciduous woodland and the famous avenue of Lime trees. With a bit of planning I walked for about two hours and saw just a handful of people, most just out for an early Sunday morning stroll, unhurried, no agenda, just there for pure enjoyment. Isn't this what it's about? An elderly couple passed me and looked in amusement as I could barely wrestle away my attention from the jewel like Yew berries to say hello. I had such fun listening to the crunching sound of beech nuts and leaves underfoot as I kicked and stomped through them! I enjoyed one potentially boring, dead straight walk towards a plantation, where I saw a Jay bathing in a sunlit pool. It wasn't keen on being disturbed and the raucous hack it gave clearly showed that. I saw plump, furry squirrels up close. Canadian Geese, Berwick Swans, listened to woodpeckers, noticed the light cast through the leaves. Woodland fascinates me. I remember watching as a kid and then a few years ago reading, BB's 'Brendon Chase'. The idea of running away and living in the woods in a log cabin is still one of my dreams!

When I go to the hills I do it for pure enjoyment too. I feel exhuberant about the sensations I find there, maybe in a slightly different scale, but often the detail on high is just as relevant to me as down low. They all have their own qualities. Different birdlife, trees, shrubs and plants. Different geology. Different sounds and smells. The walking surface is different.

I could have gone to the Peaks and found lesser frequented areas, but I think it did me good to do something a bit different for me and to go and kick fallen leaves around and enjoy the vibrant colours still found in the woods.

Thoughts on Tarping and Caldera Worship

2010-10-29T17:29:00.007+01:00

Last night I spent outdoors, under a Team IO 8x5 ft spinnaker tarp that @Fenlander2 has kindly given to me. I've been thinking about tarping/basha-ing for a long time now. Various guys I knew had talked about it, in fact it goes back further than that into my late teens / early 20s reading John 'Lofty' Wisemans book, the SAS Survival Handbook. It's certainly been enhanced by watching too much of Ray Mears and of course Bear Grylls.

So once Robin said he was going to send me a tarp I got all excited. I was on the phone to him as I unwrapped his parcel, finding a Caldera Cone and meths burner for my MSR Titan Kettle, along with a very green tarp and a bundle of hanked cordage and 8 Akto tent pegs. What a lucky girl! I think he knew how excited I was over the phone, as indeed I was and couldn't wait to play with it all, the first stop being to make numerous cups of coffee with the cone!

After watching watched BPL's Tarp DVD (extremely useful and informative) I had a go pitching the tarp in different configurations in my back garden, until I trampled my grass well enough that I don't think it'll recover til next spring...best get out and do it properly!

The following day (yesterday), I went out into Derbyshire to a place I'd eyeballed for bivying before. It was an old, overgrown and abandoned millstone quarry area that silver birches had taken over. In fact there are so many opportunities for wild camping, with or without a tarp. Some areas have clearly been used in the past, and even with this being National Trust land, campfire rings are still in evidence in a couple of places. I didn't anticipate seeing anybody though, given we're towards the end of October in mid week.

Pitching the tarp was pretty easy; once you've got it in a basic A frame with low set walking poles and a bit of tension on the guys you can then manipulate it into a variety of shapes. Because it wasn't howling with wind and rain and I wanted to make the most of the openness, I opted for a lean-to shape with a lip. Setting it up was simple and once I'd moved the poles out to the appropriate eyes I quickly got tension on the fabric and set the pegs. Unrolling my polycro groundsheet and then the neoair, Rab Survivor Bivy and my Softie Elite 3 sleeping bag in it, I was set. I'd timed it right for me as it was getting pretty dusky so I got into my bag and thought, "Now for the cone!"

I know these have been out for ages and a lot of readers have probably moved on to other things, but for me, after hankering after one for months now, to be given this and it fitting my Kettle and, and, oh, I could go on. Believe me I was and still am excited about it. I'd actually had to get some more meths off my Dad because I'd run out, messing about with it at home. That's how excited I was. I had a cup of coffee and heated up some chicken soup I'd made earlier and then watched the flame dance the meths away (I need to sort out measuring it out).

One of the great things about using the tarp was the obvious exposure and closeness to nature. The last night I spent under cover was in a Trailstar on Grassmoor in the Lake District. That had felt very different to my old TN Trisar. This was going another step further. Laying there with the tarp at ground level behind me, shooting towards the sky with the lip hanging over towards the side, it was brilliant to feel open to the environment, much more part of 'it' than I had done before. I felt safe (from people) and secure in how I'd pitched it. Sending a few tweets out haphazardly (I had either none or one bar of signal) I let Robin know I was sorted and happy and had a couple of well wishes from Twitter friends; thanks guys! It was funny to engage with them as I was laying there in the dark with towering rock around me. But after a while I withdrew and settled in.

Being more open your senses do work harder. One of the unexpected things I experienced was that in paring down the shelter, my thoughts seemed to be pared down. I happily lay there listening to the wind in the trees as it swirled around me, occasionally being funnelled down the bowl of the quarry and dancing over my face. The last of the birds were singing. I heard the Manchester to Sheffield train once or twice, it running through Totley Tunnel. At one point my imagination started into overdrive and I thought of the men who had died in it's making, imagining them coming on the hill to get me (this is why I don't watch horror films!). I controlled and dismissed that thought pretty quickly. Instead, maybe because of the physical space I'd found, my mind started to relax and instead of the teeming thoughts I'm usually occupied with, I started to really relax. It was as if by removing all the dross I surround myself with, all that had fallen away and I really could see different things in my life with some clarity. Giving me focus and purpose again. Making clear some things I need to let go of. Thinking about my motivation to do different things.

Friends have asked me recently why I want to do the PCT and after unravelling the layers, underneath it is a sense of paring down life to its absolute basics. I just want to walk the trail, to camp, to eat, to sleep, to walk again. Walking for me is about connecting with nature and the wider world. Not the internet, not spending my money and time in a shopping mall so that I fit in. I am not sure that I have ever fitted in in a conventional sense, certainly not as a girl/woman/lady (I hate these labels). I just want to be connected to the outdoors and to live, really live in it. Connected, using my 5 senses. Using my body (I am so frustrated my knee is still painful after Coledale!). Using my mind in a constructive way; problem solving, being creative, sharing experience, learning from others, forming deep friendships. All this from tarping...

Waking in the morning after the best night sleep outdoors for a long, long time, I worshiped the Caldera God again with a cup of coffee and porridge and quickly packed up. I wandered around the quarry, climbed up the quarry walls (not good...) and out into the sienna landscape.

Coledale Zen

2010-10-21T18:49:00.000+01:00

Rather than writing the usual trip report, I want to give focus to the thoughts and feelings I typically engage with on walks. I have a propensity to fall over usually once a day, mostly because my attention is held by something else than where I'm next placing my feet. That something could be a huge view or tiny detail, birdsong or internal musings about something. I often am absorbed into another state of mind, usually stimulated by the environment I find myself in; being connected to nature in some form is a very spiritual experience for me.

This weekend was a source of great stimulation, with a mix of deciduous and then forestry plantation, challenges of route finding (I took us the wrong way twice at the start but it was interesting to sort that out), overnight camping on the hill and great company. One of my favourite quotations is from the film 'Into the Wild' where Chris McCandless realises, when near death, that 'Happiness (is) only real when shared'. While I greatly enjoy my solitary wanderings, I have also greatly enjoyed walking with Steve Horner in the past few months. Instead of experiencing nature in a very private, singular way, recently I have been able to express my sense of wonder and connection with someone who has surprised me. Steve is a fit young man, capable of walking many miles with a lot of ascent in all sorts of conditions. I often compare this with me, being a fair bit older, less fit, less experienced. But for me the value I can add is to share my experiences of nature and the landscape with him; showing him a different way to experience connecting to nature and the environment; absorbing and being present at the time and not necessarily in a serious way. Often I am gleeful, moved or exhilarated in what I experience when I'm outdoors. Sometimes I feel like whooping with delight (I usually manage not to in company!); at other times I am taken by a sense of wonder. Sometimes I want to paint what I see; at other times I just want to sit, breathe it in, try to understand.

The initial part of the walk from Braithwaite took us along a footpath on the cusp of meadows and woodland.

This is proper, deciduous, English woodland with ivy and bracken and fungus and decay, blackberries and elderberries still clinging on. The smells of the woodland are so different to that of meadow where grasses and freshness predominates. Woodland is damper and mustier and unsurprisingly, 'woody'. This is in stark contrast to my memories of back in the summer, emerging out of woodland towards banks of bracken and being hit by both the particular smell of bracken and the warmth it holds, almost oppressive.

Steve pointed out the way the moss grew around some of the trees, almost enveloping them in the darkness of the shadow of the tree canopy, and mentioning different wives tales and country lore that he had learned as he grew up in a rural community.

Following the path took us alongside a beck, dried up now, but from the look of it once carrying a mass of water. Bordering the track were huge conifer trees which seemed unusual in their girth compared to the immature telegraph pole specimens abound in Forestry Commission land. Stopping to pay attention to this allowed thoughts and questions and answers to form in our minds. What sort of tree was it? How old was it? How come it had been allowed to grow so large? We had noticed an old Oak tree earlier which was gnarly and twisted and bent with age whereas this was sturdy, upright, processional, dignified.

As I noticed waterfalls, Steve noticed blackberries; it was interesting to wonder why different things hold different peoples' attention. Further on as we headed through plantation areas up towards Black Crag, I enjoyed the deep pine needle beds, dark and mysterious and unwilling to be entered. They receded under the lowest branches, away out of sight. Finding the path and using the map was a case of having a bit of faith, and features on the map weren't as obliging on the ground. It was great to emerge into the open and have the landscape confirm where we were, and to turn the tables when Steve traced routes across the opposite fells, in a sense fleetingly owning that Landscape as he identified it.

I did my usual stop, start routine of being out of breath, but didn't feel as badly about it as I had done on previous walks. With the emphasis on this weekend being mine to plan and 'be in charge of' (!), while I felt the responsibility of making it a decent walk for someone else, it also meant that I felt more comfortable to say I wanted to stop. In fact I'd forewarned him that there would be more brew stops and I'd brought my sketching kit with me. Maybe that's just getting used to walking with Steve instead of being on my own. Maybe it's being more comfortable in myself and relaxing in the knowledge that Steve doesn't walk with me because of how extremely fast I go!

For a Saturday late morning we had been extremely lucky; all the way through, past Hobcarton End and for most of the way up Grisedale Pike, we hadn't seen a soul close up. Only when we were making our way towards the top were we passed by a couple on their way down. Of course there were people on the tops and ridges but it was pleasantly surprising for a weekend day in the Lakes. I mandated that I was going to have a coffee on the top, which I think Steve thought was just an excuse to play with meths. It wasn't the whole reason, but I do experience more than a small amount of delight in playing with different stoves and fire. I had brought a stove that Robin had given me, a MiniBull Designs Bios#2, that Steve and I had tried out in his kitchen a couple of weeks before. It is incredibly satisfying seeing the jets of blue flame emerge from around the stove as it reaches temperature...

Leaving the top we'd only gone a couple of metres when figure lower down waved at us. Full of childlike delight we recognised Steve's work colleague and friend, Jonathan Craddock. I felt like a big kid meeting someone I hadn't seen for an age. As it happened I'd only met JC two weeks before, but it was such great fun! Even more so as Steve had left a present for him under his windscreen and I was bursting, trying not to give the game away while Steve engaged in a relatively serious way with Jonathan.

The views of the hills had really opened up by now, Steve telling me which were which. I was entranced by the views we had. I'm not alone in this; Steve stopped frequently to take pictures too; this weekend around 340 of them, compared to my 80 odd. I guess his enjoyment of the hills manifests in this way. I will notice things on the hill and point them out; he usually takes a photo and the mick, usually out of me!

After a caffeinated approach to Hopegill Head, which showed sheep clinging goat like to the crag sides, we replenished with water up from Coledale Hause and followed the shallow, grassy valley up towards Grassmoor. I enjoyed the change in scenery; it didn't feel like the Lake District at all; instead it reminded me of the wide open spaces of the bleak moorland of Derbyshire, Yorkshire and the North. I like a sense of expanse, of bleakness, and appreciate that almost as much as the more mountainous terrain that calls me.

A last ascent of the day to the top of Grasmoor heralded stunning views. I had excitedly seen Scotland throughout the walk, thinking of my friend David Bunten and The Merrick and the history the landscape holds. It doesn't necessarily have to be 'old' history; even the shining giants of the wind turbines have their place.

Steve's decision to pitch just before the summit of Grasmoor was well called (yes, he'd pretty much taken over by now). As the seasons have turned and the daylight hours got shorter we weren't left with an awful lot of time before darkness fell. I'd pitched the Trailstar just once in my back garden so expected to not execute perfection this time around. Hey, I had Mr Trailstar himself next to me, pitching his, so I was happy to pitch, get feedback and learn. A bit of adjustment was needed but I wasn't going to hang myself out to dry over it. Steve was very factual and encouraging and gave me pointers for improving in future.

The tranquility of camping on the top of a decent hill is hard to convey. All around us were the tops of big hills and out to sea the Isle of Man was levitating in the sunset. Far below us Lakes and homesteads glinted.

It is a very different feeling, camping and cooking on the hill, to having to hurry back to the car at the end of the day. The experience feels more complete to me and effectively removes me from a sense of society and expectation there, to truly being alive and myself in a real environment. It's not necessarily plain sailing; the night was getting chilly with little high cloud cover and even after having something warm to eat (after almost setting fire to the moor - yes, thanks Steve for tweeting that ;o) and then getting into my sleeping bag I still felt cold. It was dark, chilly, I couldn't hear any noise at all from next door and assumed Steve had fallen asleep, so I got up and went for a wander on the top of the hill in an effort to get the blood moving again. It was starkly beautiful in the bright moonlight, and again when later in the night when I got up another time, the sound of the crunch frosty ground underfoot was a pleasure I wouldn't have had if I'd descended the hill earlier. I felt very connected to a human, primeval part of me. All my senses were engaged and stretched and I felt very much alive.

A pragmatic streak kicked in and I made some hot chocolate and had something to eat again once I was back under cover in the bag. The Bios #2 had guzzled a lot of meths so I knew that if I woke to be cold again I'd struggle to be able to have a brew. But it seemed to do the trick and the walk and the hot drink seemed to warm me more.

Strangely I heard a couple of laughs emanating from the Trailstar next to me which still makes me chuckle now. Steve had been listening to music and then just read a blog post from Jonathan where he'd discovered the present, though hadn't yet attributed it to Steve (or had he?). Now I knew he was awake and we just chatted from the Trailstars. I was concerned that the route I'd wanted to do just wasn't going to be achievable the following day and we remotely discussed and agreed the alternative which would basically be to cut it short, go over Crag Hill and onto Causey Pike and from there down to Braithwaite via a road underneath Barrow. Steve suggested Castle Crag for the afternoon which I was keen on too. Surprisingly to me, he had enjoyed walking through the woodland, as I did, and it would give a mix of that and of hills and crags too, in a relatively small area.

The conversation dwindled and I fell asleep at some point, waking through the night as I surfed on my NeoAir off my polycro groundsheet and being halted by the walking pole at the front. After a couple of goes at riding the waves I did away with the polycro and had a better sleep, especially towards dawn when later I found that Steve had got up to take yet more photos!

Quite late on I was woken by him, asking if I was ever going to get up, which I did, but enjoying the feeling of already being on the hill and wondering what the day would bring. Steve had brought me grey clag to wake up with, in contrast to the beautiful clear (cold) night, but it soon cleared and the views over the tops were staggering. I just felt great to be up there, thoroughly alive, connected, in awe, and part of it all. Watching two hawks hover over heather further down the hill made me stand in my tracks and I just wanted to watch and wait. Luckily Steve seems to enjoy this as much as I do and seemed happy enough to wait. As long as he can get to place his Kuksa on a Wainwright cairn I think he's happy!

The patterns of shifting cloud shapes on the surrounding hillsides was stunning. The sun would hit a peak, highlighting different ridges or making an entire side shine. The valleys below would glow emerald green with the darker shapes of trees outlining fields. The colours of the bracken emphasised the seasons change firmly as Autumn, compared to some areas in the Peaks which are still green. The heather had taken on the darker mantle as all but a few of the flowers had gone. No bees were to be found this weekend. Time has definitely marched on.

I enjoyed the walk along The Scar to Sail. Then with obvious delight, Steve beetled off at a half run on the new zigzag paths downhill, engaging with his inner child and telling me you have to 'lean into the bends'! I caught him up and was rewarded on the top of a hill with an 'Oi' and instruction to perch on top of a rock for a photo. He just makes me laugh and I obliged him on this occasion with not giving him two fingers!

And then just before the final knobbly bit of Causey Pike I did my usual trick and fell down. I think I was distracted by a view or something, but unusually I actually did hurt myself this time so I sat there for a few seconds feeling my knee out before finally getting up with an 'Owowowow!' Well it was bound to happen at some point and thankfully we didn't have too much further to go. A great benefit of walking poles was that I could use them to take the weight off my knee a bit and apart from descending some rocks on my bum (that Steve managed in his usual graceful manner) the rest of the walk down was alright. With him in quiet agreement I made the call to take the smaller footpath at Sleet Hause, rather than follow my heart towards the craggier Rowling End. I was glad I did!

Walking back along the road, dodging the odd car and spotting the Holly berries (abundant this year and as he says, hopefully sign of a cold winter to come) wasn't too arduous as we were both in mickey taking mode, and I'd waved a tenner in front of his face with a promise of a pint in the pub as a way of reintegrating with society. With my knee giving my gyp I was disappointed not to get to go up Castle Crag.

Overall we did the Coledale Horseshoe with one or two extras in a day and a half! Way longer than most people would take, but I'm trying to balance my own expectations of achieving x distance with the quality of experience and what adds to my experience of walking. I would like to be a lot fitter to achieve greater distance more easily and quickly, but how much would that potentially detract from my indulgent pondering wanderings where I feel so utterly connected. I wonder, are the two mutually exclusive or can they be married in some way?

Water, Water, Everywhere

2010-10-15T10:38:00.000+01:00

Today is Blog Action Day, where thousands of people from more than a hundred countries will blog about issues related to water issues in their communities and around the world.

I'm going to take a bit of poetic licence to this and consider how I use water when I'm walking or backpacking.

I like water; as a human being we're composed of between 50-70% water, depending of state of hydration, body size and age. The brain is 85% water, unless on a Saturday morning, after the night before...We are supposed to drink upwards of 2 litres a day to maintain hydration; if we don't symptoms can range from being thirsty, headachy, tired, dizzy, to full on kidney and bodily collapse and death. According to the NHS, "dehydration occurs when there is a 1% or greater reduction in body weight due to fluid loss".

Walking the West Highland Way in the summer I was able, after the first day, to pretty much collect water as I needed it and not carry much at all; my 500ml bottle from the co-op with a small 200ml reserve in my Platypus. I didn't treat any water at all, selecting common sense places to gather it where it would naturally be filtered and unlikely to be exposed to rotting flesh...

This is in stark contrast to my normal walking places. I live on the outskirts of Sheffield and the Peak District is the place I've walked most. I'm used to not being able to have access to potable water and either carrying more, or treating the water I do collect and managing the compromise between the two. Bear in mind that I may walk the entire day without passing a water source unless you count the water that can be squeezed out of peat hags! I do take chances sometimes, in areas that aren't frequented often and where sheep aren't grazing. I've lost count of the number of times I've seen bloated, rotting sheep carcases in streams and unless I know I'm near the spring head then I don't chance drinking untreated water.

There is also the impact of the sheer number of people that visit the Peak District every year. 16m people live within 1 hours drive of the Peak District and there is an estimated 45 million day visits a year. I wonder how many practice 'carry out' or sanitary bury it techniques when they heed the call of number 2s! Sadly I don't believe that many, especially when I see the amount of basic litter, including banana skins, left as a souvenier for the next person to see. (Banana skins take a couple of years to decompose, and their composition is not natural to a mountains and moorland environment!)

I am about to visit the Lake District this weekend and one of the considerations I will make is where I'll be able to collect water, especially as I hope to have an overnight camp somewhere in the hills. Similar issues viz. huge people numbers and risk of pollution apply here.

Thinking longer term and my goal of the PCT, while I have visions of the mighty Tuolumne and cascading waterfalls amongst the mountains, unfortunately treating water is a must in pretty much all areas. There is also the issue of how much to across the stretches of desert where water just is not available.

I hope this post and Blog Action Day makes you consider the impact water has on your body and outings. How much you respect the environment and how much you do, or don't, take it for granted. It's so nice to be able for us to take water from a tap, but in years to come water is said to become a commodity that is more valuable than oil. That time isn't far.

A source of solace

2010-10-07T14:50:00.000+01:00

The last few days have been difficult for me. My Auntie Gina has had a brain tumour and after only a few months from diagnosis, died on Monday night. She wasn't quite 65, and had been fit and well up until a year ago when she suffered what was diagnosed at the time as a stroke.

I 'blurted' a tweet out into the world just after I found out, just after 11 in the evening. It was a cry of pain, that I had wanted to see her before she died, to let her know how much I love her, and my Uncle, and to say a "Good bye". In fact I had organised with my Brother that I'd drive us down south to see her the following day (Tuesday). That wasn't to be.

I tried to delete the tweet, with mixed success. At the time I felt embarrassed that I'd share such a private moment with my 'followers', at least half of whom must be spam. And I also didn't want to make anyone feel awkward that I'd been so forthright. It's not exactly a culturally English thing to do. I had a few direct messages from people who had seen the tweet, which really touched me, and want to say thanks to them again here.

I'd spoken with my Mum (they were Sisters), and seen my Brother, who had turned up on his motorbike just as I tried to phone him. My God, sibling connection! (We fought like cat and dog when we were kids.) In wanting to pay my own respects to my Aunt though, my natural inclination was to turn to the hills for solace.

In fact I returned to the same place that time and again I have returned to when times were hard, and there's been a few!

Higger Tor, Padley Gorge, Burbage Brook. Names so familiar to me, and probably the entire outdoor community of Sheffield, plus a few more besides. But it's a place of contrasts and palpable history, from the stone circles and cairns on Lawrence Field, the supposed Iron Age fort of Carl Wark, the Packhorse Bridges and tracks and the more recent millstones, quarried from the gritstone abound in this area. More recent still is Longshaw Lodge which was bequeathed to the National Trust in the 30s (I think), a seat of the Duke of Rutland.

I didn't bother taking a map; I know the area pretty well. I didn't set off on a specific route; rather I wanted the route to find me. If I'd taken a GPS to track the way I walked, the line would have wiggled all over the place, crossing itself and returning to the same places several times. It was a walk of absorption. But not into myself, rather it brought me out of myself and I felt connected to the world at large. To nature and the environment, no matter that none of it was untouched by man (how much of the UK is actually untouched by man anyway).

Sitting on a rock, making myself a brew and feeling part of this earth was probably the best thing I could do for myself at this time. I wonder at the reasons other people go to the hills. And how other people deal with grief when they don't engage with the natural world in the same way I do.

One of the remarkable things I remember about my Aunt (which extends to my Uncle, too), is a sense and feeling of being loved completely by them. I dwarfed each of them in height and stature, but they still look on me as their Niece, as flesh and blood. I went out with one of my Cousins best friends for a few years, and in that time got to know my extended family more than just as blood relatives I visited a couple of times a year. That feeling of being loved is a precious memory. Well, not just a memory, because it wont leave me. So I don't feel guilty about not seeing my Aunt in her last few days. She will have known how much I love her, and I draw comfort from that.

Fozzie and Pockets on the Pacific Crest Trail

2010-09-29T08:24:00.000+01:00

The November issue of Trail Magazine has an article by a couple of guys I've been following who are walking the Pacific Crest Trail.

The PCT is a trail that starts at the Mexican border, travelling through California and Oregon and then Washington (state) to finally meet the Canadian border, some 2650 miles away.

I somehow found Keith Foskett (trail name Fozzie) through Facebook back in April I guess. Pockets (real name Josh Myers), I found under his 'Trekking Photography" page, and it was just coincidence that they happened to meet each other and the pair teamed up to walk.

Fozzie has a great blog where he regularly posts video footage as he's hiking the trail, plus reviews of his kit. There are also great descriptions of the trail and trail life itself. Great reading!

Pockets already had a website demonstrating his stunning creativity with a camera and his pics have been used in the Trail magazine spread.

The magazine is out today, so I'm looking forward to seeing how the sites I've been following translate into printed matter. Grab a copy for yourselves!

Gonna Fly Now, or at least Run!

2010-09-27T21:07:00.001+01:00

Regular readers will most likely know that I'm not the fittest person on the planet, and I have goals of completing some stonkingly long walks in the next few years. I don't mean a couple of multi dayers either...This combination is not a very satisfying one.

Plus, I look at some 'shorter' walks that my friend Steve does with envy. He's just posted on his blog two walks that I would really love to do, the Ring of Steall and the CMD route up Ben Nevis, but realistically I am probably not fit enough to attempt them at present. I want to do walks like this in summer and winter conditions, to help prepare me for different weather and conditions on these longer walks, and for the sake of the hills themselves too. With the winter coming towards us, the lack of fitness and walking in more exposed areas increases the risk.

I can't remember the last time I regularly run. Well, I can remember a time, when I only did 1.5-2 miles a night, most nights, and got really skinny. I'm not bothered about getting skinny; it doesn't suit me and frankly I'd rather be strong and fit.

But I have started to run again, around my local park. I've only been out three times so far, but already I notice the difference in how well I do from one run to the next. I hesitate to call it running because I walk a bit too, but gradually the walking is becoming less and the running further. I'm pleased by this. I'm also pleased when I have those sublime moments where it just feels so easy and effortless. The moments may not last more than 10-20 seconds, but they're there and hopefully I'll have more of them!

It has a knock on effect in that I notice more what I fuel my body with. I'm reasonably clued up on nutrition having trained with bodybuilders and boxers in the relative recent past, and have a few books on the subject too. So different aspects of my life are being pulled in to support my walking goals; another aspect I like.

I think because I haven't approached this in a negative mind set (the "I'm so fat / unfit" type), I'm enjoying the process and a sense of rediscovery of what I can do, how I can push myself and when I should, how I talk to myself to encourage myself to keep going, what I sing to myself to give whatever I'm doing a sense of rhythm.

Currently it tends to be the Rocky theme tune, "Gonna Fly Now", probably because when I did a bit of boxing training in the past, watching the transformation of Rocky in the first film was inspiring to me. I was lucky enough to have to go to Philadelphia on a training course with work a few years ago and went to the Museum of Art and stood in Sylvester Stallone's tiny foot prints.

So I'll finish off with a clip from the film.