northern pies

Pennine Way Teesdale to Baldersdale

2012-01-27T21:36:00.001Z

Today was the day for another reccy for the summer guided walks programme in which I’m planning to do the County Durham bit of the Pennine Way. This was the third of five routes and this one, like the last one, starts in Middleton in Teesdale.

But this one goes South to Birk Hat in Baldersdale and then returns by a different route. Birk Hat is the farm once occupied by Hannah Hauxwell who’s land management techniques have accidentally preserved some fine examples of Northern Haymeadows which are now managed by Durham Wildlife Trust. Its no coincidence that our guided walk will take place next July when the haymeadows should be in their full flowery glory.

But today, me and superdawg got plastered by some very large snowflakes although the sunny bits in between the showers had a little bit of warmth. There was a fair covering of squeaky fresh snow, which cheered Bruno up no end. I followed the Pennine Way past Kirkcarrion and caught up with a couple of walkers. (The diet must be working, I caught up with somebody. This could be significant. I caught up with somebody….. )… anyway, I decided to let them do the navigating and followed them at a discreet distance. Unfortunately, they went the wrong way. Just a tip here, for budding navigators – following somebody else may well not be the most efficient navigational technique.

I relocated the Pennine Way a bit over there -------> and the couple followed me instead – I followed Bruno who seemed to know the way. We duly arrived at Grassholme reservoir, where two things happened. Firstly, the couple disappeared, presumably on their own route and probably not by some kind of space/time continuum accident as per Doctor Who (but you never know, innit…?). And secondly, it started snowing in a really mad and enthusiastic way – and the world disappeared in favour of some kind of white swirling thing. As I arrived at Birk Hat, it stopped and the sun came out as if nothing had happened. We sheltered in the bird hide which is handily placed at Birk Hat for the efficient watching out for birds and the even more efficient scoffing of a wensleydale cheese butty and a banana. Bruno had a peek out of the window but there were no pussycats, apparently.

I did see five hares today. All in different places, so it probably wasn’t the same one. Bruno noticed the scent of a couple of them, but failed to spot them bounding off into the distance.

Next was an easy plod along the shores of Blackton and Hury reservoirs where we turned North once more over an outrageously sloppy moor which finally got my socks wet, to go along with everything else, and down to the Teesdale railway path which goes almost back to Middleton.

We did 13 miles. Next time I won’t get lost. next time I won’t get wet. Next time the sun will be shining and the skylarks will be up and singing. Next time, I will be drinking pop instead of hot coffee…..

Its a good walk, though. More walkies on Sunday. In the meantime, the radiators at Knipetowers are occupied.

Pennine Way Weekend in Teesdale

2012-01-23T14:02:00.001Z

One of the projects I’m proposing to do in the summer as part of the Durham County Council guided walks programme is to complete County Durham’s bit of the Pennine Way from Tan Hill Inn to Cauldron Snout. I think this will take five walks, each of which will be circular.

So this weekend just past, and after one weather-related postponement, I’ve been exploring circular-ish routes in Teesdale to see what happens…. Bruno came too, and on Sunday, I was joined by Louise and her collie pup Rosie.

Saturday’s ramble started from Forest in Teesdale school, wandered up the Pennine Way to Langdon Beck, Widdybank farm and , finally , scrambled up the very noisy Cauldron Snout, all in a fierce headwind combined with that ever-familiar driving drizzle that’s been a feature of this year’s winter. In fact, it was howling most of the time and, having my hood up and head down and not paying sufficient attention made me miss a turn and, so a small chunk of the Pennine Way. It’ll be all right on the day….

We returned damply from Cow Green reservoir over a bit of moor to Binks farm, down through Harwood in exceptional and unreasonably fierce and unbalancing hail –loaded gusts and back along the Tees. It was nice to be pushed along by the gale for a bit, though. The fields are sloppy and wet, and, taken together, it developed into a bit of a scrap with Mother Nature. Basically, we got a bit roughed up. It’ll be all right on the ..er…. it will be July and the hay meadows will be in full flower and the curlew will be wheeling and calling on the moor in a warm sky…

Anyway, Sunday, and after a night for the kit on radiators, I met Louise and her dog in Middleton and we fought a slightly reduced headwind, but this time in bright sunshine, up the Pennine Way beside the Tees, to Low Force, High Force and up to Forest and back along old back lanes and riverside paths, where it eventually went dark and forced us into a road walk of a mile and a bit, or so. So, I missed another bit of path which I’ll likely have a short walk to see in a week or so. There’s no panic, really. The last bit of path was up a seventy metre hill through pastures, and I think we’d both had enough calorie-burning by that point in favour of a plod down the B6277 with the Petzl on strobe, which is an odd experience and makes reflectors and road signs appear to flash from a great distance. It does make sure you get noticed by traffic, though.

Bruno and Rosie enjoyed themselves once again, bouncing around, choosing sticks and, generally doing doggy stuff. There’s more sheep on the return route, though, for some reason (its probably a bit warmer on the North side of the Tees…?) and canines had to be on leads. Rosie is specially interested in seeing how fast sheep could run, given the chance and does sheep-dog poses from behind gateposts. Bruno, on the other hand, only notices sheep if they make a point of running away. He’s much too old for that sort of thing, really. Its that time of year when flocks of sheep tend to follow us across fields anyway, which is a source of some puzzlement to a canine codger like Bruno.

Anyway, I’ve managed to reccy the Pennine Way from Middleton to Cow Green, so there’s just three more routes to do…

Total miles for the weekend was 12 + 14, (that’s 26, folks…) with 2200 feet of up. (that’s not a lot of up for 26 miles…)

More of this later this week but today I might have a bit of a rest…….

A Bit of Buttermere Birkett Bagging and a Pork-based rant

2012-01-17T23:54:00.001Z

The temperature difference between County Durham and Buttermere was eleven degrees centigrade today – minus 5.5 at the bridge over the Wear at Witton and plus 5.5 at Buttermere. There were still flows of ice over the Whinlatter road, and the Buttermere – Newlands road was closed, which caused a bit of delay at the start.

But eventually, me, the dawg, the bro and his Dutch/Irish co-walker Rea (not sure if that’s the correct spelling) slithered off over the icy path to Scale Force and over the slightly less soggy bit on the left hand side of the Very Soggy bit to the steep little climb up to Floutern Cop – a mainly grassy but distinctive nobble which is a good place for lunch as it provides effective shelter from a nithering wind blowing over from the Isle of Man.

It was about this time that we realised that we didn’t have enough daylight for our original plan which was to climb Great Borne and Starling Dodd, along with three minor lumps, so we went for Banna Fell, which was on the original itinerary. Banna Fell is a nondescript bit of moor with a good view of the foot of Ennerdale. And then we retraced for a bit, but skirted around the side of Hen Comb by a descending traverse, then up for the bagging of Scale Knott, which is but a pimple on the side of melbreak, but with a very fab view of Grasmoor and Crummack Water. It was on this traverse, that Bruno demonstrated his fence-jumping skills, sailing over top wires and landing gracefully and without breaking step, but coming a cropper when crossing the beck by a misjudged leap to the insufficient extent of his retractable lead and receiving a chilly dunking in a small pond as a reward for his lack of planning and, frankly, for being a clever dick.

Back to Buttermere by the outward route – there’s a path from Scale Knott to Scale Force.

We did nine miles and about 2000 feet of upness, and bagged just three Birketts, bringing my Birkett Bagging Total to 482 Birketts out of 541. Unfortunately, the final digit (a “one”) will be Pillar Rock. I am unlikely to be able to bag this, partly because at this rate, it will take me another ten years to bag the rest of the unbagged ones, and partly because I iz a wimp when it comes to climbing about over beetling drops. So, I’ll never finish the Birketts. But am I bothered?

No.

Incidentally, the two pubs in Buttermere were firmly closed, but we did spot this sign outside one of them. Six quid for a bacon butty! Six quid!

Locally sourced bacon, though. And it’s in a rusty bun…. There must be a supermarket selling bacon and rusty buns nearby – probably in Cockermouth or Whitehaven…

Six quid…! Some kind of joke, surely….

Big Pup on the Haute Route

2012-01-15T20:59:00.001Z

Ok, As a route, it’s not very “haute”, in fact, it’s highest bit of hautness is 1153 of her Majesty’s Imperial feet above datum. But, it’s hauter than the other route, which is lower. It is, in fact, yet another walk from Wolsingham to Tunstall, but a different one from before, at least, some of it is different…. Its a reccy, anyway.

After a hurried breakfast, which ended at approximately lunchtime, I bundled Bruno into the back of the knipemobile and hurtled off to Wolsingham.

It was frosty. The ground was frozen hard. The lunchtime temperature was just minus two. We skiddled and skited over the hardened mud up to Baal Hill and Thistlewood and along the High Way towards Salter’s Gate, Tow Law’s premier dogging spot (gays during the day, couples at night). We didn’t visit but battered on over the sunny moors to join with the old railway line which used to go from Crook to Sunderland, collecting iron and steel and coal and fireclay on the way. (There was a coalmine at Saltersgate which is of little local interest nowadays, apparently…)

I noticed that there were cattle on the moor above Thistlewood, and a large herd above Tunstall, right on our descent route. Both me and superdawg sensed bother and prepared for a diversion. I waited by the gate so that the cattle could spot us and so that I could precipitate anything that might happen with a quick escape route. Nothing happened. We walked gingerly through the middle of the herd. A few watched us, most were busy with their hay supply. These are sucklers. There’ll be calves here in the summer. I might not try this again when there are calves… It seems odd not to have these moocows in their sheds at this time of year. But I’m not a cattle farmer, so I have no idea, obviously…

The rest of the route was along the eastern shore of the reservoir and by High Jofless, Park Wall and Fawnlees, a reverse, in fact , of the route we’d done a few days ago. This will be a new County Durham walk for the summer programmes. Its a good walk.

There’s no stock on the high moor and many of the fields are empty too. There were some sheep flocks, who gathered and followed us across their pastures but in the stockless places, Bruno could bounce around, carrying lumps of ice and crunching them up; finding sticks and running about like an old dog should know better.

I did eight miles. Bruno did about twenty.

Sunny Walk to the Border

2012-01-13T20:29:00.001Z

Finally, after what seems months of wet and windy, warm and muddy, and, frankly, ‘orrible non-winter weather , we get a pristine day of blue skies, bright sunshine and frozen ground.

Today was the day for doing the walk that me and Louise did (along with Bruno and Rosie) last week – the one where I broke me specs… you remember…. I had an egg butty…

Anyway, there were nineteen people on the walk including me and the two stewards Ray and Richard and a bunch of other, off-duty rangers who have appeared in the pieblog on previous occasions.

This time, the bogs that we’d squelched over were mainly, though not entirely frozen and the mud of the riverside paths and fields had dried out a bit and/or frozen. And we took the lunch stop in a sheltered lane, and, the sun was actually quite warm. And there was an over-enthusiastic skylark singing. How good is that?

And, this time I managed a few pictures although if I’d been by myself I’d have taken more.

We had a good day, although we completed the route a bit quicker than I’d planned.

I’m hoping this weather sticks around for a while. If the winter finishes like this it will be just perfect and I have plans. I always have plans. You need to have plans. Just a tip for anybody who doesn’t have any plans – Make Some Plans. Do it tomorrow after you’ve cut your toenails and been to B&Q. Gwan!

Plans!

Cold Fell… where it was cold actually…

2012-01-10T21:10:00.001Z

Cold Fell is a boggy, soggy, heathery lump at the very top end of the Pennines. It is, in fact the very last Pennine you would come across if you were walking up the length of the Pennines. After this, it’s Hadrian’s Wall.

And another thing about Cold Fell is that it’s part of the RSPB nature reserve Geltsdale. This is a Good Place if you’re a hen harrier or a black grouse. Geltsdale also goes by the name of the King’s Forest of Geltsdale, an ex-hunting forest belonging, at one time, to the Scottish crown.

And it’s got an ancient cairn on the top which has been fashioned into a big, neat cairn and a small and scruffy wind shelter just big enough for three people and a small dog.

And so it was today that three people and a small dog sploshed up from the car park at Clesketts into that familiar Pennine Driving Drizzle and into the sheltering arms of the Cold Pike’s Cairn. The three were, of course, me, John and Brian and Bruno. We only stayed long enough to scoff a butty and a mars bar and to take a pic of some lichen which was flowering on the stones. I suppose that this is exactly the kind of weather that lichen likes. It seems likely.

Lashed by a bit more driving drizzle, we descended a different way over a windy and drizzly moor to better visibility and an old tramway which lead back to where we’d started.

It was all very damp and the Belted Will public house nearby was firmly closed.

We did six and a half miles. Longer walks are available when there’s more daylight and less precipitation. It’s always going to be soggy underfoot, though.

Onwards and upwards…..

Tunstall Signs say “Look, Just Pack It In Will Yer?”

2012-01-08T19:29:00.001Z

Stile? Call That a Stile? This is a Stile….

I have loads of these pre-reccy walks to do for the Durham County Council guided walks summer programme. There’s a couple at Wolsingham which go to Tunstall and, whilst I was pretty sure that this one was all right, I went and did it today anyway. Bruno came too.

The pools on Waskerley Beck.

This one starts at Demesne Mill picnic place,, which my sprogs know as “Wolsingham Pools” and which the Ordnance Survey has as “Waskerley Beck” Coz there iz pools innit? We swam here sometimes and floated on things at other times. It was usually quite refreshing. The main pool is quite deep but the waterfall above it seems smaller somehow. I have seen local kids wandering past here carrying some very large and dead salmon wrapped in their jumpers. They swim up here in the autumn. The little waterfall would be a really good place to watch them jump.

Weardale from near Fawnlees Hall

Me and Superdawg slopped through the clart alongside the ancient park wall, up past the ex-Pet Shop Boys house at Fawnlees and over the biggest stile in the whole universe, including that really big one on Zephilon Seven, the one that the Great Magrab of Dumple fell off and broke his flipper…. Anyway, despite his superpowers, Bruno couldn’t quite manage this one without a bit of a push….

No! Don’t! Stoppit!

And then down to Tunstall Reservoir which is quite pretty and has lots of interesting signs telling you to stop doing whatever it was you were thinking of doing. There’s quite a nice, but very short walk around the reservoir, suitable for a warm summer evening destined to end in the Black Bull.

Tunstall Reservoir

A quick zip around the reservoir and back to the dam and a short road walk followed by some nice but muddy meadows beside the beck and we’re back in Wolsingham in just about three hours, including lunch and shouting at some geese.

Quite an easy and pretty walk. I seem to remember getting stung by wasps or bees or something last summer on one of these paths, though.

It was seven miles. Quite a nice day, really almost spring-like – I noticed there was much more bird song today

More Tunstalling later.

Looking In To Holes

2012-01-06T19:58:00.001Z

As part of my strategy for turning myself from Mr Wobbly into Mr Six Pack, I’ve started exploring a bit further afield from the immediate environs of the Knipetowers Deer Park – just a couple of miles or so, making a, more or less, daily six mile dog walk. Sometimes, this means entering some of the woodland which graces the area just to the North of Crook – and the outcome is that I’ve started finding stuff. This is what I found the other day, and today, with fairly new batteries in the camera, I went to take some pictures.

I think I’ve found the remains of part of the complex that once made up the coalmines of Josephine Pit and No. 1 Drift. Josephine Pit was initially owned by the Pease family and operated for around a hundred years from the first decades of the nineteenth century till November 1911. No. 1 Drift was a little to the South and worked from 1955 to 1968. Some of the area has since also been open-casted. Nowadays, there’s the Deerness Valley walk from Crook to Langley Moor at Durham, on the trackbed of the old railway line, and dense woodland and nature reserves, so it’s much better.

The Durham Mining Museum website records forty deaths in and around Josephine Pit – from 13 year-old “drivers” to a “delicate” man dying from a minor leg injury or the chap who got blood poisoning from an abrasion caused by uncomfortable boots….. Anybody who has any thoughts about ghosties may consider wandering around these parts (at midnight with just a hand-torch) to be a little risky. And the pines do creak and groan…

What I found, along the sides of Stanley Beck was first a new hole which has appeared next to the beck. This isn’t very deep but seems to have a

passageway in it. I daren’t slip down into it to have a proper look in case there was a much deeper shaft underneath…

Next – the beck runs through sections of culverting and has old culverts running beneath some very old spoil heaps which block the little valley.

Further up, there’s a huge culvert with cream-coloured brickwork with the word “Pease” stamped in. The cream coloured bricks are identical to those found, and, probably produced in Peases West colliery and brickworks at Roddymoor. Most of the older houses in Crook and the villages around are made from these bricks in favour of the soft and porous sandstone which makes up Knipetowers. Its these bricks which make me think of the older mineworkings rather than the NCB’s 1950’s and 60’s workings.

Around the big culvert, there was also the noise of what I thought was a water pump. I followed the beck, found a small entrance which must lead to the big culvert, some more old workings – and, at the end of the plantation, where there’s natural regenerating woodland, I found the source of the rythmic noise – four lovely, white wind turbines.

Retracing along the path, I found evidence of more sensible developments. A little bower with a seat, defended against the nithering breeze by pine branches. A little table and some strange scribblings and a cartoon of Prince Charles….

Poking around, y’see….. I might have to have a better look inside the big, arched one….

A Shivery Border Walk – Reccy Sans Specs

2012-01-05T20:45:00.002Z

I was joined on this little pre-guided walk reccy by Louise (whom we met in the breakfast hole the other day – she was the one covered in mud, or, rather, one of those covered in mud…) and her collie pup Rosie.
The idea was to walk from Cowshill in Upper Weardale, up to the Northumberland County Boundary, across a bit of moorland and back to Weardale, following the River upstream back to Cowshill. So this is what we did.

I’ve put pics in of the same walk taken last July because my newly installed camera batteries failed immediately and those taken from my GPS didn’t have enough power to take a picture, so there are no pictures. This is a pity because the day quickly developed into a sparkling winters day with fabulous views and some fairly daft doggy antics from Rosie the pup and Bruno the codger who, frankly, should know better. Rosie seems to particularly enjoy staring at puddles, then biting them. Rosie also likes running around in large circles very very quickly and Bruno follows her as fast as possible, barking like a pup and, occasionally, cutting a corner. Bruno is a little bit stiff tonight from all this running about…. If he was a person, I’d prescribe a good dose of tasty beer, but as he’s a mere dog, he’ll just have to confine himself to watching me drink it vicariously. I don’t mind, really. In fact, I’m completely OK with this idea.

I should also add, for clarity, that the title of the post refers to the fact that whilst ramming my specs on through the resistance of my hat, I snapped them in half. They're now sporting a temporary, selotape reinforcement.

The walk is a good one, I think, and goes up to the Northumberland Border at 600 metres, and then contours across the moor at just the right level to get cracking views into Weardale. Its a bit exposed, though and landmarks are out of sight of each other, so no handrailing can be done. But, I’ve got the bearings and I’ve marked five places as waypoints on the GPS, so this should do the job if its foggy. There’s a wall shelter a little way across the moor which turns out to be a fine suntrap with a fine view, so we stopped for butties and coffee just here. (Another good place for a solstice “do”, I think)
After the moorland part, the walk follows Sedling Rake, on the line of the Slitt Vein then descends to Ireshopeburn on a quiet and very steep lane, followed by a riverside ramble back to Cowshill.

This pic’s not from July, obviously…. Cowshill waterfalls…

At the end of the walk, I celebrated by mending my broken specs (they don’t make them like they used to…) and scoffing a healthy orange before driving home. ….er………. actually I ate a mars bar. But I can eat the orange later. Look, I know that the doctor and the cardiac nurse and the fat nurse all say that I’m much too short for my weight, but this is my fourth walk this year so far and it’s only the 5th of January. I need sustenance. I need sustenance that’s a bit more entertaining than broccoli and carrots. This is why I’m off to Crook Boozerama in a minute…. I’m probably wasting away here, by the way; I’m almost down to clinically obese. I could be in danger or something.
I hope somebody turns up on this walk – Its on Friday 13th starting at 10:00 o’clock at Cowshill in bright sunshine. It’ll be fab.

Justaminnit, though…. Friday the 13th…….

There may be trouble ahead……

2012-01-02T16:06:00.001Z

New wire across a stile on footpath 20

Oh dear oh dear oh dear…. what have we here? ( I like to sound like a traffic warden every now and then…) A blocked path. A path barricaded off with barbed wire. Tsk Tsk. I couldn’t get across. I wouldn’t allow Superdawg to even try, remembering the damage done to Mr Sloman’s hand back when we did some Peebles to Moffat walking - and not wanting any similar brutality to Bruno’s naughty parts. So we diverted.

Bruno expresses his feelings at a derelict stile on footpath 25

This is Footpath number 20 in the parish of Crook and Willington and today was my adopt-a-path walk around Crook, the purpose of which is to discover things just like this. There will be bother. I’ll have another look at this in a few weeks to see if anything has happened. There’s always a chance that a local dog walker will discover that he’s left wire clippers in his pocket… In the meantime, I’ve told the rights of way peeps at the council. I expect they’ll have a word. These things can get a bit routine if nobody does anything naughty. So, I’m chuffed in a smug petty-official kind of way. It would be more than my jobs worth to let it pass, had I not been a volunteer, that is….

Our new open cast coal mine

It was a really nice day for this type of thing today, though, and I expect that the farmer was just about to reinstate the stile anyway… (koff)

Yes, there were blue skies a frozen crust on the muddy bits and a thin, slicing kind of wind blowing off the Pennines, which seem to have suddenly turned white. This is good, because I have to do a Reccy at the top of Weardale this week and a play in the white stuff would be nice.

A squall with snowflakes on the lens.

There’s some other stiles falling to bits. Same as last time, but a bit more so. Two stiles have received some TLC by the look of them and, towards the end of the walk, there was a brief but lively snow shower.

The walk is about 5 miles and links 3 footpaths and 4 bridleways in a circular walk. The bridleways are always open due to use by local racing stables kids on bikes and dog walkers. The paths all have stiles which have been made from mining timbers dating to the 1960’s and , mostly, they’re not in good condition. many of the paths have been open casted in the past – some are currently being dug up again. And they put one back in the wrong place……. dhuhh….

Howgills Hoolie

2011-12-31T20:25:00.002Z

On the last day of the year, I thought it appropriate, for a blog that’s supposed to be about hillwalking, to walk up a hill. Many candidates presented themselves and, as I’d not been to the Howgills for quite a while, a little trundle up Green Bell and Randygill Top presented itself as The Thing To Do. Parking at the foot of Bowderdale would mean that there would be a bunch of options for returning to the piemobile post hilltop-bagging.
So thats where me and superdawg went.

It was raining in a warm Atlantic blow kind of way when we arrived. It was that sort of driving drizzle that defeats hydrostatic heads. Be plodged off up a bridleway and then on a track over a moor. Contours were crossed. We found the path to Green Bell and plodded uphill, tugged by a wind that was a bit more than a breeze. Sometimes the driving drizzle morphed into a slashing deluge. Things started to become wet.
We passed a group of four very friendly “chaps” descending damply the way we’d come up. I declared (over a now thundering gale) that I’d probably “Just do the first one…..” One chap said something Important which hurled away on the noisyness. We plodged ever upwards.

The wind on Green Bell seemed a bit more gentle somehow. We pressed on into the blankness of the hurtling hillfog. And soon, well, after a bit anyway, the dripping summit cairn on Randygill Top was reached. The driving rain had been stinging my eyes. Bruno rolled about on the heath and rubbed his face in the sphagnum – presumably his eyes were suffering the same. A path presented itself. I guessed it went to Leathgill bridge – a narrow bealach with deep drops on either side. It did, steeply. But here, between the two hills, the wind was extra lively. Side-on it pushed me around and, generally, roughed me up a bit.

We descended over Hooksey, me hoping that it was actually Hooksey and not something else and the dawg considering the possibility of me having my sandwich any time now.
We returned to the car. Everything was wet. I was damp to me undies. My socks were wet. My baselayer was wet. My five pound note was wet.
We went home. Damply.
Note to self: take a change of clothes next time… dhuhh….
We did 8 miles and 2000 feet of up.
No more 2011. We have good plans for 2012, I think.
Happy New Year to All Pieblog readers.

Julie Fowlis Sings

2011-12-30T00:38:00.001Z

This is just for New Year. Gaelic is a smooth an poetic tongue, difficult for English speakers to latch on to... but the music is here and alive and beautiful.... but you have to be aware that some of this is really nonsense... but Julie Fowlis, though - this is really fab stuff.....

Walking on Wolsingham North Moor

2011-12-28T17:00:00.002Z

As part of my defence against my recent diagnosis of incompetent sugar metabolisation, the treatment of which was “Try not to be so fat”, I joined a Durham County Council walk advertised as hard and Long and 9.5 miles.
We gathered at the cafe at Bradley Burn - I’m not exactly sure how many walkers, but I did hear that there may have been at least 38, including Jenny the leader and the three stewards.

We splodged and slithered up through pastures to the edge, where an Very Mucky track took us to the site of the arrest of the Blessed John Ducket in 1643, after which he got quite cut up at Tyburn in as an unpleasant a way as you could imagine. Glossing over this disturbing thought, and being thankful that as a civilisation, we have definitely moved on a bit, we passed beneath rainbows and into the hissing teeth of a violent and stinging squall up on to the heights of North Moor. Here we paused for our refreshments – in my case, some filter coffee, a beef spread and onion butty, an orange, a mince pie (we have several left over) and a slithery bit of cheese I found which appears to have survived the camping trip with Dawn the other day. Not sure exactly how that happened.

Afterwards, there was more mud to be enjoyed but the weather was just windy and not so squally along the contouring path to Baal Hill. I’ll be doing guided walks along here shortly and in the summer…. lovely views by the way.
We passed through Wolsingham and plodded along the less muddy path beside the Wear back to Bradley Burn where all the cars remained in tact but the cafe was closed. But as this was only three miles West of Knipe Towers, the Pieland kettle was not too far distant…..
I measured the walk as 9.7 miles. Thats OK. We like 9.7 miles. Y’see , there’s no need to be fat and wobbly. Just take a Durham County Council guided walk through clinging mud and slutch whilst being batterred (like a fish) by howling maelstroms and all your Christmas calories will be gone. And you get good views and a bit of a chat.

All Day Breakfast in Santa’s Grotto

2011-12-27T17:40:00.003Z

Santa. (Obviously)
There were rumours that a Mr Claus, an itinerant magic reindeer herder and trader of miscellaneous goods had some kind of depot or base deep beneath the Pennines just to the right of Alston….
I went over to Nenthead to meet Brian to join in with this jaunt, calling at Westgate to collect Charlie and Josh on the way.

Going in…..
And so, armed with supplies of sausages, black pudding, tomatoes, bacon, mushroom, eggs, bread rolls and beta blockers a bunch of Cumbria Ore Mines Rescue people and several guests invaded Browney Hill Leadmine just by the river at Nenthead.
After a substantial paddle through cold water, a bit of crawling and some light scrambling up to a higher level, Santa’s grotto was discovered.

COMRU Peeps start cooking on gas (and parafin)

Santa’s snowballs

The glittery roof decs (beads of water, actually…)

Beta blockers are available…
Sixteen breakfasts of the Very Naughty kind (it would be best if one’s cardiac nurse didn’t hear about this) were duly ~~burned,~~ ~~incinerated….~~ finely cooked and scoffed. Santa’s photo was taken as proof of his discovery and, with a promise to provide intelligence next Christmas on exactly who had been good and who had been naughty, we left him to it and reversed the passage back to daylight and the warm scent of the outside world.

Some COMRU peeps
Cumbria Ore Mines Rescue Unit’s blog is here http://cumbria-ore-mines-rescue.blogspot.com/ for those interested in their work.
Don’t try this at home, folks!

Waiting for stragglers to catch up

Louise demonstrates the effect of crawling through mud

Louise and the Oracle.
It wasn’t me in the Santa outfit this time, by the way. It was somebody else although I will admit to performing “The Death of Santa” outside Nenthead First School at playtime on one occasion. Sorry about that…

COMRU members discuss their stents. Nurse Louise supervises.

Solstice Dawn at Kirk Carrion

2011-12-21T10:51:00.003Z

Once upon a time in a land not so far away, but long, long ago – no, I mean, really long long ago. Longer than that. …. there was a Prince called Caryn who died and was cremated and his few remains placed in an urn and the urn was placed on top of a hill and covered with a large cairn of stones.
Over time the cairn disappeared under the grass but the idea that a Great Man had been buried on top of the hill remained and much later, Local Brigantes named the place Carreg Caryn.

In 1804, during the enclosure of Crossthwaite Common, a team of workmen were riving stones from the hilltop for making the walls of the new allotments and one man came upon a stone kist, and in the kist was an urn. He hugged the urn, thinking it contained treasure, and declared to anyone who could hear the “ It’s aa mine.” Unfortunately, on looking inside , he found the urn to contain only burnt bones and some dark material.

Lord Strathmore’s bailiff decided to protect the place and had an enclosing wall built and Scots pines planted
This is Kirkcarrion.
Pennine wayfarers will recognise it. It has fine views over Teesdale and Lunedale. It is said that if you were to spend the night in Kirkcarrion, you would spend it in the company of Caryn’s spectre.

Me and Superdawg visited Kirkcarion this morning for the witnessing of the dawn of the shortest day. From here, it gets lighter each day. The King is dead. And so is Prince Caryn. Long live the King but God rest Prince Caryn wherever he is.
It was very misty this morning. Quite spooky, in fact…….. oooer…….

Advent Adventures

2011-12-20T21:30:00.001Z

Nineteen people turned up at St Catherine’s community Centre in Crook for today’s Durham County Council guided walk. This nineteen also includes the two stewards, Neville and Maria who did a fine job despite some initial chaos centred around the instructions somebody had put out telling them to park in the market place when actually it was market day and only market traders with stalls could get in there…. dhuhh…. I wonder who did that… (koff). I did apologise.

The walk went well. There was still ice and frozen ground but the three arable fields with lovely new barley crops intended, no doubt to be turned into fine liquours, were sticky mud of the kind that increases the walker’s height by about six inches. So we were all much taller at the end.

And at the end, about half of the group warmed up with coffee, hot chocolate, tea and mince pies in St Cath’s

I did spot a bit of fly tipping which I haven’t noticed before. This is a picture. This takes effort. Sluts.

Anyway – Freezing your bits off waiting for the bus to Darlington? Is it a nithering North-eastern day? Then why not nip in to St Catherine’s Community Centre for a warming cuppa and a hot bacon roll and avoid chilly chillblains, ferrrfreeezing frostbite and horrible hypothermia?

That’s St Catherine’s Community Centre. For all your hot beverage needs. There, I done a plug.

This was the same walk I did two days ago. It’s still just under eight miles.

A Weekend for Short Guided Walks Stuff

2011-12-18T19:59:00.001Z

This weekend I are mostly been doing Guided Walks stuff. We had the Saturday Afternoon Special on Saturday Afternoon during which we walked for about two miles in an upstream direction on the inner loop of the Durham riversides path and back again, a very similar distance on the downstream direction on the outer loop. We had very cold and sunny weather and there were six of us, including the two stewards. Two people turned up but went away again when told there wasn’t going to be a coffee stop. The guitar playing busker on Framwellgate Bridge was excellent. This is such a nice walk if you enjoy looking at spectacular views of cathedrals.

Sunday, me and Superdawg forayed out from one of the Eastern sally ports at Knipe Towers to reccy an eight mile walk which will happen on Tuesday and which will circumnavigate Crook. I have, in fact, dropped a Spherical Thing in the arrangements for this walk but I’m not going to tell anybody till they notice – unless they notice. Coffee and cakes will be available at the end, though, so whatever it is, it isn’t that.

We had a nice walk today, though, in bright sunshine and with a thin layer of frozen snow, some of which Bruno ate. Views of the very snowy and not very distant North Pennines were enjoyed.

I also solved the mystery of where the path goes on Crook Golf Course and found a bunged-up kissing stile, which I unbunged by removing the vegetation and booting out loose soil with a hefty boot. The kissing gate now swings open and closed just like what it should do.

There are no other problems or issues with the route, although I may divert a little bit at one point for a marginally better course. Or I may not. Who knows?

I expect it to be muddy on Tuesday as the weather forecast is for mild weather which will melt the ice and release the mud.

Are You Ready For Christmas?

2011-12-17T20:12:00.000Z

I've been out doing the riversides guided walk at Durham today. There were six of us altogether. It was a bit icy.
Here's a video to cheer up those who have been having Christmas Tree Challenge situations.

Planning for Summer

2011-12-15T19:24:00.001Z

On a raw North- Eastern day, having finished hiding clutter behind chairs and sofas and having not yet visited Crook Boozerama following my survival of the bilateral medical haematology investigations (blood from each arm) – it was nice to get an email from Maria at The Council for bids for walks for the summer 2012 guided walks programme.

So, I’ve had a day with maps (there’s another one coming up shortly for TGO walk route form completion) – and lots of measuring and cutting and pasting and all kinds of word processing wizadry, and I’ve come up with fifteen walks for next summer’s programme.

I had some requests (no, really…) to repeat some of last summers walks, so I put some of those in.

And somebody in the feedback stuff that gets sent in asked for a series of walks which would complete a long distance walk – so I’ve put in five circular walks which completes County Durham’s section of the Pennine Way from Tan Hill to Cronkley Spout. There’s a total of 67 miles of walking to achieve this.

And there’s some new ones. Almost all the walks are longer than your average Co. Durham guided walks because I’ve been told that there’s a demand for longer walks.

Nine of the walks are new, so I’ll have to plod around those as soon as the daylight gets a little bit longer.

I’m quite chuffed and a little bit smug.

Crook Boozerama here I come…..

Thursday At The Surgery

2011-12-13T21:58:00.000Z

Just reminded myself that I have to fast tomorrow from nine in the evening for the Blurd Nurse to take some finest vintage knipe stuff on Thursday morning. Mince pies before nine....

Here's a relevant video thingy......

Five Pikes in Weardale – Bruno Eats His First Snow of the Winter

2011-12-11T19:28:00.001Z

I could tell that Bruno was feeling a bit cabin-feverish and neglected by the way he was chewing my leg this morning.

So, after a hurried breakfast, lasting about an hour and a half, and involving almost a litre of coffee (coffee machine birthday present) I saddled up the hound with his harness and lead and orf we jolly well went to Bollihope in Weardale, parking irritatingly neatly just by the bridge over Bollihope Burn.

We followed an old mines track on the East side of Howden Burn, through an interesting but devastated area of mines and quarries. THis continues as an estate track up onto the moor at Pawlaw Pike – a heathery drumlin.

There was snow. Bruno likes snow. The first bit we met was but a small patch, which the dog stamped about in and ate. A bit higher, there was hard, thawing neve in big patches – ideal for running about on and digging up. I left this task entirely to the dog.

The met office’s forecast of a cloudy day, brightening up was witnessed by a cloudy day turning a bit dark with lowering clouds and a light drizzle. Close, but no gold star this time. At least it was mild….

We bashed the heather a bit and climbed to the summit of Five Pikes. Now Five Pikes, you might imagine, would be a more dramatic version of a lake District Pike – all rocky and pointed and covered in people. Not so. The Pikes on Five Pikes are old shepherd’s cairns, built by old shepherds who clearly had nothing better to do. Apparently there are five of them. Three are in view from the trig point.

We headed towards the Elephant trees – a copse which has appeared in this blog many times. many, many times…..

And then we went down to White Kirkley and followed Bollihope Burn back to the car which was still there and with it’s lights turned off and all it’s wheels still on. This was good. Not so good were the holes in the footbridge over the burn. these could scare a small dog of a nervous disposition and a phobia about falling through small holes into a raging beck of brown and peaty water and thus getting washed away and ending up in a canine rescue centre in Sunderland (which is where all that water goes eventually). So I’ve reported it to the County Council. Regular readers will appreciate that this is not a waste of time and that sometimes, often, something Gets Done – one way or another.

Anyway, the walk was seven and a half miles. Its a nice little walk.

Durham Riversides Reccy

2011-12-10T20:17:00.001Z

Next Saturday I’m leading yet another Saturday Afternoon Special – this time, a Christmas Special from the Framwellgate Bridge in Durham city, specially for those who would rather go for a walk than blunder around doing Christmas shopping. We will be playing truant along the riverbanks.

Now Durham riverbanks have lots of interesting things to look at and enjoy. there are, however, not very many contours and, if, say, you were to try this walk in summer, say, on a long summer evening, there’d be time to visit pubs and bars and there’d be girls in shorts running up and down. On a dark afternoon in December, very little of this pertains. You could go in a pub I suppose.

Let me just say thanks to whoever it was arranged the safety backup. I appreciate that my previous trip may have looked a bit hazardous and, possibly foolhardy, but , really, having The Team follow me around as discreetly as they could in a big white ambulance with people in red jackets is Not Discreet. neither were the flashing blue lights, siren and the helicopter was overkill. I didn’t mind the lass with the defribillator as she was hiding behind trees most of the time, although on occasion, when I looked back she was tying her bootlaces. Again. Look, I may be getting on in years and in receipt of free prescriptions, but sometimes its nice to take a risk.

There’s also wildlife on the riverbanks. here’s a coot, for instance, just having had his fag break and returning to the coot office routine. That white stuff is ice, by the way.

And some fishermen resting on a weir, maybe waiting for salmon.

The route went well. There are no hazards to speak of providing you don’t enter the water.

Afterwards, I had a wander around and had a whim to visit the cathedral. This was fortunate as there was a proper-job Christmas carol service going on with a proper cathedral choir and readings from St Luke and everything…and the cathedral was packed.

I’ve included a picture of the cathedral door knocker. Just for those who enjoy pictures of knockers.

Next Saturday, Framwellgate Bridge, half one. No excuses. Its only four and a bit miles and you can have a pint after.

A Few Days Camping with Dawn

2011-12-08T23:21:00.001Z

The trip had been arranged for a short while and, maybe, perhaps, it was ill-timed. The signs of an ill-fated trip were there from the start.

From the start, it was snowing in Crook. The travel lady girl announcer person announced that the trans-pennine A66 was partially blocked, down to one lane, with a trapped HGV and otherwise “difficult” I joined it at Bowes in a blizzard and tucked in behind an HGV that was eventually going 20 mph too fast for me, so me and lots of other, more careful people plodded along at 40 in no visibility at all, apart from some vague tyre tracks on a white road.

I got to Kirkby Stephen railway station a couple of minutes early where it was snowing.

The train came in and Dawn got off. It snowed.

On the way to Kirkby Stephen, a car coming up the hill overtook something that wasn;t there and jumped up the embankment, damaging some shrubs and the front end of the car, and the front end of the driver’s pride – it was a really really expensive car, and the attempt to gun it up the hill had turned out badly. We didn’t stop. We couldn’t actually stop….

The snowstorm abated a bit as we made our way up through the muddy woods and on to Hartley Fell – the lower part of Nine Standards Rigg where a pitch behind a sheltering wall presented itself. Finding good water was an initial challenge, but an exploration the next day found something a bit better than the green mossy, but potable stuff we originally found.

The night was cold. And it snowed. And it snowed and snowed and snowed. I got out a couple of times to clear the akto of excess white stuff, but eventually resorted to just periiodically kicking the stuff off from inside with a warm sock full of foot. Nevertheless, the akto grew gradually smaller bit by bit as the long night drew itself out in a very gradual drawing out kind of way.

A bright and beautiful morning followed. The snow was crisp and deep and heavily rutted for some reason. A plodge along Mallerstang Edge would be rufty and not a little tufty in this deep and soft stuff. We decided to wait for a day. I had a little trundle up the hill and found better water.

The lovely day lasted roughly till lunchtime, after which windy, sleety showers plastered the tents and it was nice to get tucked in with brews and snooze – a pastime which is by no means a waste of time. Soon it went dark.

A cold, grey morning with thick mist, driving drizzle and ice mitigated against any kind of movement which wasn’t for urgent bladder relief. After a bit of a foray up the hill, Dawn returned through the post-holing icy thaw to declare that she wasn’t really feeling well at all. She was sent back to bed. Another day of brews and snooze developed. I could get used to not doing anything at all. You’d have thought that this would be the ideal opportunity to think through all those niggly little problems. To plan out solutions. To consider the higher things in life. Not so. I am a very efficient snoozer. I awake to a vague consciousness every now and then to register if its still raining or not, or whether I need to emerge from my aktococoon to do something useful, such as reposition a tent peg or have a nice wee. My major decisions concerned the calculation of the resilience of my water supply when measured against my sachets of kenco 3 in 1, packet soups and hot chocolate. And if the water was low, whether or not I really needed another, given that the inevitable bladder emergency would occur all that much sooner if….

The next night was a bit snowy and occasionally starry. Then, about 3:00 a.m., I became aware of a more determined rattling of the old akto. By grey dawnfall (the daylight one, not the other Dawn…), the akto was dancing around like a firewalker who’d suddenly lost his faith. The rain was also hosing down and the noise from both almost drowned out the artillery fire from Warcop. Pegs were coming loose. The snow under my tent had mainly melted to reveal a sphagnum bog. Sphagnum bogs do not take well to tent pegs. Dawn was making noises from her tent and, which I couldn’t make out due to the thundering noise of the storm, but as I emerged from mine, it became clear that Dawn’s tabernacle was in some trouble with the gale. I decided to pack my stuff, since my akto was in some danger of collapse and some things inside needed to be kept dry…..

After this, I attended to Dawn’s loose ends, which were flying in the gale whilst she packed. It was a bit frantic for a short while.

Not too long afterwards, after a short but brutal fight against a howling hurricane attended by a bit of a hosing down, we were gratefully ensconced in a warm cafe in Kirkby Stephen with a full breakfast and a huge pot of tea.

The drive home over the A66 was even more dangerous with fallen lorries, cars that had hit floods too fast for their little tyres, and consequently ended up in distress, and the odd eeejit blundering on at 100 mph as if nothing was happening.

I suspect that mid December is probably not the most ideal time to try to go for a backpacking trip down the Pennines.

Thanks to Dawn, though. Believe it or not, I enjoyed the whole thing. Everything is on radiators here at knipetowers and the dog is happy to see me.

Dawn’s blog is at http://dawn-outdoors.blogspot.com/ She’s not home yet, as I write this. I’m not sure if she intends to write her own version of this adventure, but if she does, it’ll likely be here.

Advent Intermission

2011-12-04T22:24:00.000Z

Well, against all good advice and terrible weather forecasts, I'm just about to go off on a four(ish) day backpacking trip, up the North Pennines, which, according to best reports are a bit on the snowy side just now. As long as it's not too windy.....
As it's advent, I thought that this little bit of modern rock/christianity/paganism would entertain....

Guard Your Man Weel

2011-12-01T00:01:00.000Z

Unthank = Land occupied without permission.

Bring Down the Government

2011-11-30T23:12:00.000Z

Fixing Cleatlam and Winston Stiles

2011-11-29T16:44:00.001Z

This is nothing to do with anybody called Winston Stiles, although it’s quite a good name for a character in a novel, I would have thought. No.

This is more to do with making a right of way which leaves Cleatlam in Teesdale and goes across a shallow but ancient ditch marking the parish boundary into the parish of Winston. One stile had barbed wire along the top and was falling to bits and the other had already fallen to bits.

Eight of us – four paid County Council staff and four DVCRS volunteers, met a small dog in Cleatlam and poddled off through a muddy field to get to the offending structures.

The little dog – just a pup, really, gave a yelp at the first stile and ran off back home, being chased by a local horse. A bit odd…. till we discovered that one of the strands on the fence – a bit rusty and quite old, was electrified and was putting a jolt out every two or three seconds or so. Many of us felt the benefit of this bonus to our levels of alertness.

Stiles 1 and 2 – Before….

The short version of this tale has us digging holes, putting in new posts and footboards and finishing off the job with some waymarker thingies. Stile 2 had a bit of new fencing and some wire to make it lamb-proof.

The stile 1 working party had a small crowd of horses which came to investigate every now and then.

Stiles 2 and 1 During renovation (and lunch)

It was a nice day. I hope the locals in Cleatlam will enjoy being able to follow this path without ripping their naughty parts on the fences or falling off the dereliction.

Stiles 1 and 2 Complete

Addlebrough On A Fairly Windy Day.

2011-11-27T23:40:00.001Z

A small but select contingent of Clan Knipe (me, the nephew and the nephew’s wife) gathered in Bainbridge where it was chucking it down, despite soothing noises from the Met Office about blue skies and it being a “breezy old day” There was no mention of the multiple rainbows. We set off, damply. The River Bain was on the point of going a bit mad. The little hydro-electric screw thingy was turning at a fair rate and, presumably, producing electricity.

The sun came out and the clouds went wherever clouds go when they die – heaven, probably. Where else would the angels sit?

We walked along a limestone shelf in a strip of ash and blackthorn and then on the road to Thornton Rust where there was more traffic than there should have been. Then we sploshed the draughty bridleway that sneaks around the back of Addlebrough in a nithering headwind.

Addlebrough, I should explain, for those not in the know and who just can’t be bothered with Google just now, is a flat-topped, neat little hill of carboniferous limestone and a bit of gritstone overlooking Wensleydale. It is blessed with some ancient cairns and some cup and ring marked rocks (none of which we saw) and some “settlements” which could be iron age. The outlines of these are fairly obvious from above and remains of walls and enclosures can be picked out. There’s also several legends concerning giants, buried gold, fairies and advice on not swearing or using any bad language should a fairy indicate the location of a chest of gold.

So, it’s a rich landscape.

We lunched in the only bit of shelter behind a wall. Bruno noticed my egg butty. I have a picture of him trying to hypnotise it…. A couple of lads appeared and explained how they’d been blown off Addlebrough by severe and dangerous hurricanes of such ferocity that in trying to light his pipe, the sparks from the over-oxygenated tobacco blew back and ignited the lad’s woolly hat - And that the ladder stile at the top was a windy nightmare with a wind chill that would make a polar bear shiver and that the g-forces involved in fighting against this maelstrom had ripped the very eyebrows off a fellow rambler and that they were off to the Black Bull to calm down and warm up a bit….. This smacked of exaggeration to me.

A permissive path leads across the moor and then steeply up to Addlebrough’s flat top. It was windy. I took a picture, but the vibrations of the breeze on the arms holding the camera have blurred the image.

We approached the notorious ladder stile with some trepidation. It wasn’t all that windy, really and we got over safely and with a full complement of eyebrows (I counted, discreetly at the next gate)

By this time,we were starting to lose the light a bit, so we abandoned tentative plans for a hike around the local green lanes and a ramble by Semer Water for a quick and easy plod down the road back to Bainbridge.

8 miles is what we did.

Nice to see the rellies again…..

And… rest…..

Driech stuff on Knock Fell and, maybe the weather turned.. brrrrr

2011-11-23T00:28:00.001Z

I met the bro and his pal Ian at Dufton and we had a short tour of some back lanes and then hurtled off through the murk up round the back of Dufton Pike and further up to the mines at the head of Great Rundale Beck. A brief jink to the Right, which may well have been South and a clamber through some bouldery scree saw us at the trig point on Backstone Edge. The actual top is a little way over there-------> through some mist where there’s a cairn with a stick in it and is a few metres higher than the trig point at 699 of your Queen’s metres..

The forecast was for the murk to clear to sunshine, but there wasn’t much sign of this as we blundered through the tussocks to Great Rundale Tarn and lunched in the shooting box nearby.

Great Rundale Tarn is unsuitable for swimming at this time of year, I have to report. Just a tip for you there….

A long slog through squishy bogs and teetering tussocks with a few of those brown contoury things (look, I’m sorry for being so technical about this…) brought us eventually through yet more clinging hillfog to the big cairn on the top of Knock Fell at 794 metres.

Normally, navigation through this thick clag could be quite tricky, but John had his fancy GPS thingy with the maps on it and a thick blue line to follow, so despite a few diversions around peat hags and the very very squishy bogs, the electronics ensured success. I had a map and a compass in my rucksack, obviously. In an emergency, we could have eaten the map.

But anyway, the Pennine Way runs past this big cairn and also the much older, square one on the edge – Knock Old Man – so we followed this back to Dufton. At some point, high above the Eden Valley, the sun came out and the clouds drifted away. Our only difficulty was the deep cow muck around Far Close, occupied by some cattle, more intent on feeding than chasing Bruno, who was happily paddling in the sludge anyway.

And that was that. Eleven miles and 2600 feet worth of brown contoury things and not much of a view.

I must say, though, that towards the end, when the sun came out, things did start to look and feel a bit more wintery and the temperature had dropped from 10 to 4 C, so , y’know…. it might just have decided to turn at last.

North Pennine Riverside Trees and Scrub

2011-11-20T18:33:00.001Z

We did the walk by the Wear on Saturday and ten people turned up, including the two stewards Bruce and Eric. I think it went OK; we didn’t get chased by the horses and nobody fell in the river, and we got back in daylight (just).

I took a picture of an oak tree, still with it’s leaves, although they’ve turned colour. Most of the deciduous trees are now stripped and ready for the winter that appears to be refusing to arrive.

But, I’ve had a little insight into what goes on beside these Pennine riversides in terms of trees and undergrowth.

On Friday, I went to the launch of the Heart of Teesdale Landscape Partnership and one little gem of information tickled interest.

And it was this:

The River Tees has, in the past, been subjected to what is known locally as “Rolls”. these are sudden flash floods that happen, or at least used to happen, usually, around twice every year. These flash floods, in the past, have been dramatic and, occasionally, tragic, removing paddling children and browsing cattle. In some places, the spirit of the Tees, one Peg Powler – a River Goddess or, lately a demon or witch, was blamed for this and children were warned not to play by the river lest Peg should rise and take them away.

Peg has also been responsible for removing tree seedlings and undergrowth from along the banks, thus keeping the riversides relatively open. But not any more. Today, if the riverside woods are to be opened up, it needs a team of people with saws and cutters to do it. Peg Powler rolls down the Dale no longer, and the reason is the reservoirs in Baldersdale and at Cow Green. Cow Green finally did for Peg and the Tees now appears from a pipe in the dam in a regular, controlled kind of way. They have recently made the outlet from the dam much bigger lest Peg awake from her slumbers on Meldon Hill

Y’see, you learn something every day, innit?

TGO Challenge – It All Starts Again

2011-11-18T11:20:00.001Z

I’ve just seen my name on the TGO Challenge website list of challengers for the 2012 TGO.

If I manage to complete it, this will be my eleventh TGO Challenge.

I can now start the planning proper. I have a starting point (which I’m going to keep to myself for a while) and a finish point – which will probably be Aberdeen docks – and I have some bits in the middle and some gaps to fill in. This will exercise my slowly degenerating mental abilities over the next few weeks.

The there’s the Annual gathering at the Snake Pass. The Over the Hill club have arranged a meeting which coincides with the date – 9 to 11 March next year. I think this happened on previous years. And I have a Durham County Council walk at Baldersdale on the Friday – so there’s a bit of congestion. I’ll be off to the Snake, though, probably on the Friday night.

So, its all very exciting again.

I know that several bloggers who are being followed by this blog are also on the Challenge next year, so its likely that if I keep banging on about it, Pieblog readers will have had their fill of the damn thing by next May, so after this, unless something significant happens, I won’t be mentioning it again till next March at least.

I expect that this will come as a bit of a relief to non-TGO Challenge fans.

Another Reccy – By the Wear at Bishop Auckland

2011-11-15T23:04:00.002Z

First of all, lets just discuss this interesting graffiti wot I found on a waymarker post. Alan Loves Enid 4 Eva. Does this mean that Eva loves Enid but has delegated the job to Alan? Or has Alan just made some assumptions…. Who knows?
Anyway, me and superdawg had a five mile walk from Newton cap Viaduct at Bishop Auckland, alongside the River Wear for a bit and then back on the Bishop-Brandon walk which is along the old railway line from Bishop to Durham.

We met horses. These two should appear in a caption competition.

There’s a bit where the path climbs up around a crag where the water is deep and still and occupied by ducks and something lurking in the water. Its about that time when the salmon run upstream – so maybe it was salmon. But otters have been recorded here too, so maybe….

The actual guided walk is a Saturday Afternoon Special, starting at Newton Cap pickernick place at half one. Its a bit muddy and there are some enthusiastically friendly horses to scare the timid. It may go a bit dark at the end. My headlight is broken. I put new batteries in and the on/off switch won’t switch it off, so I have to turn a battery around the wrong way to turn it off. This is not a hint to family members considering Christmas presents… but…er……..

This Post Goes to Eleven

2011-11-14T16:10:00.000Z

Here's a couple more pictures around the Castle Crag Remembrance Day service. These are from Brian.

Its also been pointed out several times that a few days ago, calendars and clocks hit the magical 11.11.11.11.11 thingy. This won't happen again in my lifetime, unless I meet that timelord at chucking out time outside the Coach and Horses again. In order to commemorate this event (or should it be commmmmmmmemorate?) - Here's a little relevant video fom youtube.

Lost in the Dark – A Bivi – Remembrance

2011-11-13T21:13:00.002Z

I arrived at Brian’s at about four. We arrived at our bivi site at roughly midnight, What happened in between was partly planned (Brian made spagbol – v.nice), partly spontaneous (pint at a pub in Keswick) partly pratting about (I think somebody may have been slightly drunk) and partly incompetence – which I will now explain.
We parked badly near the old chapel at Grange. It was here that I discovered that my headlight wasn’t working. This is a basic error on my part but the moon was bright… and…er…. we set off into the night.
And ..er.. we didn't actually have one of those map things. Or a compass. Or a GPS. We did have two bottles of red wine but Brian had forgotten his sausages. None of this was a problem. Obviously.

At some point (just after blundering into a bog), we missed a crucial signpost and went merrily along the Cumbria Way and up a vague path to a dead end in a steep quarry. We agreed that this was unlikely to be the way, so we retraced. Hours passed. The moonlight burned down. I didn’t really need a light most of the time, although slippery rocks in the black shadows were occasionally treacherous. An owl giggled.

Having walked a substantial way back to Grange, we started again, apparently up the right path. It was steep and stony. My new boots worked well. As we passed the spoil heaps, I tried to stop Brian barging up the hill but hewasn’t listening. We arrived at the top of the hill. I suggested we went back down again. We went back down. Brian said we were going too far down, this time, Pieman. I didn’t think so. I suggested that he looked where he thought the place was and that I would call him when I found it. We split up.
Very soon afterwards,(about midnight) I found the hole. We communicated through flashlight, shouts and me pressing buttons on my mobile phone. I didn’t like the cave, so I camped outside. Brian settled into the hole in the hillside with a deceased sheep for company.I just had a few spindly spiders to talk to.
The next two hours were nothing short of brilliant. I watched the moon and the stars and the little fluffy clouds forming and dancing as they hurried passed. I sipped wine from a polythene mug. I was toasty in my bag. The owl ghosted by once or twice. There was a warm wind. There were dark moonshadows and a bright and starry sky and almost silence. It was just magical.

In the morning, the sky had clouded over. I lit the stove and used this to light the hexamine – and brewed and boiled NATO hamburgers and beans in their bags. We scoffed. We lit a little birch fire for a while. Then we heaved ourselves up Castle Crag for the service of remembrance. A hundred and fifty or so people also came. The sun shone and it was warm.

Afterwards, I explored a second slate mine a bit further up the hill and found a deep level going into the hillside till I couldn’t see enough to go further. It had a shelf which could be made comfortable with some effort, and a fine balcony for a camp/bivi site just outside.

We plodded back to Grange where, after a cuppa, we returned to the grey and foggy Pennines.

The boots were really handy for preventing accidental wine spillage by the way.

And the Castle Crag remembrance service? – It’s a small and informal affair, but seems to have more depth somehow than the service on Gable. The last time I went to Gable, I got the impression that some people were just there for the tick – to say they’d been, in the same way they climb Tryfan and Helvellyn and Snowdon and have a little book with a list of things to do in it. “Number 10 – Go on a wild camp, Number 11 Join the MBA and get a list of bothies, Number 12 Gt Gable service thingy in ? November…” Indeed, several failed to shut their big gobs during the two minutes silence. This doesn’t happen at Castle Crag and a there’s a prayer or two, a proper silence and a little lass and an Arnhem veteran (aged 90!) read short poems. I may be wrong about Gable – I’m sure most people go there for honourable reasons.
The other thing is, its much easier to get to than Gable!

The Hudeshope Walk – aka Ivy’s Intervention

2011-11-13T18:43:00.001Z

I have two completely different, separate and otherwise unrelated events to report for this weekend. This is the first. There’ll be another along after I’ve eaten some salmon and stuff…..

Some people may recal that I did a reccy around Hudeshope the other day. This is the walk that I did the reccy for. Together with me, El Leaderoni, as I like to call myself, we had El Stewardoni’s Clare and Neville; a Top Team and As wall as this we had a bunch of walkers, and the whole group totalling 21 souls in all –22 if you include the collie. This is probably a record.

We plodged and slithered as elegantly as possible around the extreme mud of the King’s Walk. Several people pointed out how nice this walk would be in the spring…dhuhh… Then we entered leadmineland and made dangerous stream crossings, and examined the Skears hushes whilst destroying a weak stile in the process (I must report this.)

More mud was met on the return through the Elphatory Allotment and still nobody knew what an Elphate was, except to say that it isn’t a large, grey animal with big ears and a trunk. Some small fish obliged El Leaderoni by jumping through a watery pipe just at the right time. They may not have been salmon, but to us, they were piscitarian joy – probably small brownies, I suspect.

More slithering in a muddy kind of way was done through the Northern haymeadows bit and one rambler who’s name is Ivy, indicated a better finish to the walk thatn the one I’d planned, so we all followed her. Next time we do this walk, we’ll go this way – around the back or Ivy’s Alternative as it shall henceforth be known.

It was a bit nearer seven miles than last time.

Afterwards, I went to Nenthead to meet Brian so we could go to the Lake District for a little adventure. We arrived at half nine, after a pint of something foaming on the journey. The next post is all about what happened next.

There is a little knoll in Teesdale which has a round and wooded enclosure. This is Kirkcarrion. Alf Wainwright suggested that it might be haunted. The local legend has it that it is the burial place of Caryn, a bronze-age or, more likely, iron age Prince. This place may well appear in a pieblogpost in the next half a dozen weeks or so…….

There will now be a short interval. Put the kettle on, let the dog out, let the cat in, ring your Aunty about the birthday present and nip to the loo…… Try to get these in the right order.

Boots Boots Boots Boots Marchinup and Downagain

2011-11-11T12:26:00.001Z

Those few of you who have read and will remember the Goodies Christmas Album from nineteen seventy blob, will recognise the title of this post as the name of a firm of solicitors….

Anyway – suddenly I have loads of pairs of boots.

Some time ago, I was asked if I would like to review stuff for Ukhillwalking (note well that I’m not reviewing stuff for the blog) and, never a one to refuse hillwalking gear, I said I would.

A bit later, I was told that TNF wanted to send me some boots. Fair do’s – all my boots are now leaking, except, perhaps my venerable Scarpa’s which I only wear in the depths of icy winter when its require to wear spikes – cos they is stiff, see?

Anyway, the boots never arrived and, eventually , I mentioned this to Sarah at Ukhillwalking. A flurry of emails flitterred around the ether. Boots must have been despatched because…..

Suddenly, a few days ago, a white van appeared at the knipetowers main drawbridge and the chap announced the arrival of a pair of boots from Belgium. Good-oh. They look very nice. I’ll be trying them out shortly and they’ll likely go on next year’s TGO Challenge (If I get on) – or otherwise on various backpacking trips.

Then , even suddenlier, another white van appears across the moat and the man with the van proudly announces the arrival of a pair of boots from Belgium. I accepted, of course.

Justaminnit, though – hasn’t this already happened? I now have two pairs of identical TNF boots – the first were despatched in November and the second, in September. Where’ve they been, I wonder. I’m just waiting to see if they want a pair back.

I’ll be doing a report for Ukhillwalking.com as soon as I’ve given them a bit of a ~~bashing~~ testing.

Fight Club Hikers at Kirkstone Pass

2011-11-06T23:33:00.002Z

Friday afternoon, I took the knipemobile and it’s new tyres over the Pennines to Kirkstone Pass for the occasion of the peacefulhikers – that is to say the Fight Club Hikers third anniversary “do”. I should also add that it is very very close to my 60th birthday…

The Pass was a bit on the dreary side when I arrived, to find Wibble Himself reading the Daily Mirror and drinking San Miguel in a dark corner of the bar. Over time, TDude, Gill (Walkingirl) Mott, Peter Crawford, Nurse Jane and Masey and their dogs arrived from various points in South Englandshire, such as Manchester and Anglesey – and Terrybnd from somewhere up the hill round the back. We drank beer.

At one point some birthday pies with candles were produced for my birthday. I was not disappointed at all at the lack of a stripper nominally dressed as a WPC. BUt these are hard times and sacrifices need to be made.

In the morning, after a night of snoring, farting and the half-hearted attentions of the pub poltergheist, we set off (eventually) up Caudale Head and over to Hartsop.

This went well and the weather was specially kind in a sunny and sparkly kind of way. There were lots of contours, specially down to Hartsop over Hartsop Dodd, which is a bit like walking off the end of the world.

At the outlet to Brotherswater, the group split. Those with appointments with foaming beer glasses headed for the permissive path back to the pub (and very nice it was too) and other, more determined Hikers went for the high level or haute route. At some point, this party also split between those with reasonable characters and the focussed hill-baggers and duped companions (frankly) who went for very high tops with the certainty of darkness and head-torch time. Head torches were used.

Afterwards, we gathered once again in The Bar and drank yet more beer and ate things wth chips and lots and lots of pepper in some cases.
In the morning, which was probably Sunday by now, we had a desperate hunt for Masey’s car keys, dramatically and emotionally and, even suddenly and after protracted searches of personal cavities and unbder beds and stuff – by Gillian who eventually searched somewhere sensible but unlikely and came up with the key keys which were key to Masey getting home without spending £400 on a special lift thingy.

Me and Terrybnd went to bag the subsidiary top of Wansfell in bright and glorious sunshine and, after falling damply on my arse several times (more than three), I decided that these trainers were useless and took Terrybnd to Ingleton where he was determined to camp up Ingleborough whilst I enjoyed a breakfast in Bernie’s cafe. And very nice and cracking good value it was too.
And that was it, really. Cracking weekend. I was sustained spiritually, emotionally and nutritionarily by the pies, specially the meat and potato one. Nom nom nom, as we say in Pieland.

Teesdale Rangering

2011-11-03T22:28:00.001Z

Two bits of rangering to report on.

First was the Saturday Afternoon Special at Barnard Castle. We had Cathy Angel and Walter Taylor as stewards and five walkers.

The weather was less than promising, but didn’t do much more than a very light drizzle, although it did go quite dark for a while. Nobody died and we didn’t get lost or chased by cattle.

I seem to be attracted to taking pictures of signs lately – and found this example of a tin War Department sign announcing the existence of a firing range deep in Deepdale woods. The ash tree it was nailed to has folded the metal and grown around most of the sign. Its taken it about seventy years, I guess. If I come back in another seventy years, it’ll be a miracle. I suspect that the sign might not be here either, although it looks as though the tree has a chance to outlive both of us.

And today, after shodding the knipemobile with two new Firestones, me and Bruno went off to reccy a seven mile walk along the King’s Walk and paths around Hudeshope. (pronounced Hudzup) This is where I discovered that the walk is only six miles. Maybe nobody will notice.(pronounced shortfall)

The King’s Walk is a long-established permissive path courtesy of the Raby Estate and is very pleasant if a bit slartyclarty at the moment.

The woods would be quite impressive if the sun shines as they’re in autumn colours at last. As it happened, today was dark and Pennine and I finished the walk in the early stages of nightfall.

Some of us quite like dark and Pennine, though.

No real problems with the paths apart from their sloppy state, which will probably not change next week unless there’s a big frost or something. There’s a few beck crossings, one of which could be tricky if the beck floods, and there’s a bit of hillside in the process of collapsing which we’ll have to skirt around.

The guided walk through Hudeshope is next Saturday. If anybody asks, its seven miles, see?

Bob

2011-10-31T23:37:00.001Z

Last year's experience on Carlin Tooth can't be repeated, even if it actually happened. Here's Bob, though.

One Two Three Four Five

2011-10-28T23:48:00.000+01:00

I may already have posted "Making Plans for Nigel (Ooweeyoo)"

I have a Saturday Afternoon Special walk at Barnard Castle tomorrow afternoon, then I'll be off for the train to Halifax (Where the wife has gone with superdawg tonight, so I'm left at home with two autistic cats) - and a family do at Embsay Sunday - for several birthdays including mine, my son's and my grandson's. Its not quite my birthday yet.

And its nearly November, which always seems like the end of the walking year to me, so I'm in the middle of making plans (for Nigel oweeyooo). Plans will include a Pumlumnon backpack, possibly the TGO Challenge, if I'm selected, Cadair Idris and other nearby hillocks, Dartmoor, South and central Wales hillbagging, the South Downs Marilyns and two weeks near Harlech for a rematch.

And I'm considering something spooky for All Hallows...... oooer.....

And I must sort out that competition we had.....

One two three four five...

Romani Domus Eunt Sloe ly

2011-10-26T21:48:00.001+01:00

Apparently, there’s a plan to open up the Roman Fort at Whitley Castle to the public and do a bit of development work such as removing walls from the enclosures and having a hut and stuff. Look, I’m not really sure, see?

Anyway, Whitley Castle is in South Tynedale near Alston and is closely passed by the Pennine Way. It is remarkable for it’s ramparts and defensive works which are both huge and extensive. Me and Brian went for a look. They’re definitely very impressive defences and I’ll look forward to watching developments at the site. Here’s some pics of those magnificent ditches and banks.

After all this, we visited the outskirts of Alston – roughly at the point where the Pennine Way enters from the South and where there are some blackthorn trees. Blackthorn trees have black, very sour berries with a hard centre and, it is rumoured, that if you wash these and put them in a jar with a load of sugar and a substantial amount of gin, and leave it for a long time, that the resulting beverage is both invigorating to the soul and the ruination of housewives.

After visiting several sites upstream of Alston, we came away with a large bagful of this black treasure. I’ve got a few pounds weight of the stuff in the kitchen at this very moment. All that I lack is a jar and a bottle of mother’s ruin. I will sort out those deficiencies in the morning and start the production of the very first Pieman’s Sloe Gin. You have to take an interest in things, otherwise you never learn nowt. Drink responsibly and fairly sloely. It should be ready by April (ish)

DVCRS Guided Walk Westgate to Rookhope

2011-10-25T22:05:00.001+01:00

Today was the day for the County Council walk that I reccied last week. The weather forecast was reasonable, although the Beeb managed to issue two slightly different versions in the same hour, using the same forecaster i.e. “The heavy rain will be slow to clear from North-east England” and “The rain will quickly clear from North-East England leaving a breezy but dry day”

As I peered out from one of the arrow loops in the North bastion of Knipetowers (the one overlooking the deer park and the new moat) – it seemed that version one of the forecast was the most likely. It was dark and wet and glaury and appeared to be set in; the sort of day for drinking coffee and eating toast after having returned to bed with a fresh hot water bottle and a warm dog.

But I could have none of these luxuries and I fended off the dog and set off for mizzly Weardale. The two stewards, Ian and Ray turned up and I had a brief chat with Charlie returning from a dog walk. One punter, a Weardaler and ex Westgate resident turned up, so off we went into a brightening Slitt Wood.

We’ve been to Slitt Wood before haven’t we? We know a song about it. We’d all been to Slitt Wood before, so I didn’t spend much time doing show and tell but progressed briskly to the heaving slog up to the top of the road and the squishy bog down the other side into Rookhope.

The pub was still closed, so we sat outside for our butty stop.

A lady approached and asked if we’d like tea. It was Valerie who owns and runs a bunkhouse in short staggering distance from the public bar. She gave me a tour. It was very cosy and comfy. Most of Valerie’s customers are cyclists following the cycling version of the Coast to Coast route but the bunkhouse holds twelve, with space for a couple of tents outside and the pub is open afternoons and evenings and provides food. There’s a link here: http://barrington-bunkhouse-rookhope.co.uk/default.aspx

Afterwards, we finished off the route in short order by following the Weardale Way. It was a bit muddier than last week, but the sky had brightened and nobody fell off anything or otherwise died , so it was all fine.

We took just short of five hours to do the nine miles.

Onwards to Barnard Castle. I’ll probably give Slitt Wood a rest for a bit….

Deepdale Reccy – Saturday Afternoon Special

2011-10-24T21:34:00.001+01:00

Over the next several months, I’ve got some short Saturday afternoon walks planned for the Durham County Council guided walks programme, each one with the title “Saturday Afternoon Special” and each one starting in or near a well-known County Durham town centre for a four or five mile trundle somewhere nice. The purpose of these walks is entirely and simply to have a walk; to play truant from other traditional Saturday afternoon activities such as shopping and..er… shopping.

The first of these is at Barnard Castle next Saturday afternoon (spooky, that , eh?) starting outside the Post office at 1:00 o’clock and today was the day for doing the reccy.

I took Bruno along, although I’m not allowed to take him on the actual walk.

Today’s route was basically a couple of miles of autumn woodland through Deepdale to Cat Castle and back via Raygill riding centre. Its about five miles.

Its usually pretty muddy with a special kind of extra-skitey Barnard Castle clart on the steep bits which normally means hanging on to trees. But today, it wasn’t too bad. I couldn’t find any hazards, apart from a little bit of exposure over some steep ground and some potentially scary beef cattle. I met the farmer who told me that they might investigate the strange dog (I don’t think he’s all that strange, really….) and the fact that I had a rucksack on might convince them that I’d come to feed them – and that if things got scary, to let the dog go. In the end, they showed a bit of interest but they weren’t really that bothered.

Deepdale is a very popular dog-walking place for Barnard Castilians – they can run about daft and there’s no stock, although there’s probably deer to chase. Its very nice, but some places in the upper parts are a bit precipitous – just a tip there for anybody concerned about hanging over huge drops off bendy saplings……

Catching Up On Causey Pike

2011-10-23T23:46:00.001+01:00

Facebook is responsible for this walk. I recently had a contact from an ex-work colleague and hillwalking pal from about twenty years ago and this week he’s up from Cornwall for a few days in Keswick with his son, intent on walking up a mountain or two.

And so, I met Mark and his son Henry up a street full of B&Bs in Keswick and orf we jolly well went up Newlands for a climb up the front end of Rowling..er…End. This is Very Steep. And a bit slippery due to the rain which had just stopped.

Henry, being but a mere whipper-snapper and not carrying huge amounts of wobbly fat, fair hurtled up the hill and was there long before me and Mark and, without any apparent ill-effects such as wheezing, coughing, whingeing or having a cardiac incident. Bruno also made it in good shape.

We continued – Henry bounding off in front, me and Mark stumbling and cursing behind – on up the also steep nobble of Causey Pike. This has fine views, so we lunched. Mark told me what he’d been up to for the last 20 years, and I gave him the roll-call of early mortality of the staff of South-West Durham Health Authority HQ who were no longer with us and who had shaken off their mortal coils and gone to meet their makers and so on.. This was to confirm just how lucky we were to be alive, specially after all those brutal contours we’d just crossed.

We concluded with a short traverse of the very fine and shapely ridge over Scar Crags but were turned away by the new zig-zags which go up to Sail in favour of a poddle down the mine track back to Newlands and the public bar at Braithwaite. We had a bit of a late start and it was murky and dark and Mark’s bursting thighs had to have some reserve left for the punishment of more contours tomorrow…

But we did five and a bit miles and 2000 and a bit feet and caught up a bit after a twenty year gap.

Facebook, y’see…..

Winter Walks Reccies – Westgate to Rookhope in Weardale

2011-10-18T23:31:00.001+01:00

As my winter programme of Durham County walks is due to start very soon (they go up to eleven by the way) – it’s now time to start doing the reccies. Today’s walk was the first one and the first walk of the season where I’d worn merino wool undies. I had other clothes on as well, obviously….. Justr as well because the max temperature in Upper Weardale today was just four degrees. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr……

So me and Superdawg went to Westgate in Weardale and walked up Slitt Wood yet again. This time the beck was on the point of being in spate and the leaves are turning colour. But the sun shone and the dog seemed to be happy enough judging by the angle of his tail (The angle of Bruno’s tail is a really good mood indicator. Today it was “up” and only drooped a bit towards the end of the day when we were being lashed – that’s LASHED by a specially energetic squall.

The only change up Slitt Wood that I noticed is that the outrageously deep shaft has been capped with concrete and now sports a place for sitting. If people sitting there were aware of the enormous yawning hole beneath their little bottoms, perhaps they wouldn’t be so smug with their chicken and spring onion butties and cadbury’s choccy bars…

Anyway, we progressed happily up Slitt Wood and on to the moor lane where a shepherd and his dog were doing some shepherding. The first lively shower struck at this point and the wind did a bit of howling from somewhere in the rough direction of Alston. We plodded over the moor and down the other side of the hill towards Rookhope, where we met a blind lamb, panicking at the sound of Bruno and running around in small circles. It’s eyes looked like the Master’s in Kung Fu. (“Ah Glasshopper”, “Yes Master what would you have me do?” “Nip down shop and get me twenty B&H. And don’t get into fights” Some people might remember this…..)

There was a series of protracted heavy showers, interspersed with rainbows and the wind was just enough to unbalance. Some cows sheltering behind a wall couldn’t bring themselves to chase Bruno. It must have been bad.

Anyway, an even fiercer show was in progress, so I sheltered in a sheep shelter for a bit, then in a derelict house and, due to the spooky noises from upstairs, I decided that we would be better off in the pub, so we went there. Unfortunately, and despite the notices outside that it was open all day, it was firmly shut. Grumbling under our breath, we sploshed along the Weardale Way ex-railway line, into a headwind and an even yet more worser squall than before. Its at this point that I couldn’t remember turning off a pan of hot water on the stove this morning. I imagined the fire brigade stretcheriing out the frazzled corpses of two cats and a geriatric dog on my return. “”Yoo left the ferkin pan on” accused Fire Chief Dave. “Now look what’s ‘appened, yer idiot.”

I did see the Crook fire engine on the drive home. It was outside somebody else’s house and I had turned the pan off…

We did nine miles today. Bruno was OK. he fluffed one stile, but he stood up to the rotten weather without complaint. I noticed one broken stile, which I’ll report to the council. It won’t be fixed in time, but its not a big problem. The walk is OK. I have another to do at Barnard Castle in a few days. In the meantime, I might go and bag a Birkett or something…..

Now Its dark

2011-10-17T23:33:00.000+01:00

What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet:
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

Gerald Manley Hopkins Inversnaid

Ardgoed Ardgoing (Part 2 of 2)

2011-10-17T12:44:00.001+01:00

…And then the weather got stuck in a drizzly, mizzly, windy grey glaw. For several days. The BBC/Met people were over-enthusiastic about how there would be an anti-cyclone on the Friday and how this would bring a respite from the driving drizzle.

And so, in between beach-based doggy walks (Morfa Harlech is particularly fab, as is the beach at Barmouth if you feel the need for bucket and spade and ice cream and chips action) – I arranged with TGO Challenger and Fight Club Hiker Peter from Anglesey, in a series of broken phone conversations due to the crap phone signal – to meet at the Minfford car park on the Friday for a trundle around Cadair Idris – a fine and classic mountain walk. It became clear on the journey there that the hillfog was quite low and that it was still drizzling.

As I waited for Peter, the drizzle turned to heavy rain at times. After a long wait, I set off up the hill, after deciding that he’d spotted the duff weather and wasn’t coming. On the heave up the steep path, the cloud base lowered a bit more and the wind and rain did a bit of lashing-down. My map case fell to bits and it was late for a fight against a headwind in driving drizzle, so, I bailed out and went to Morfa Dyffryn to let the dawg indulge in ripping up bits of seaweed. Peter had arrived shortly after I’d left, apparently, had set off in pursuit, hurt his knee and gone off home. He didn’t miss much. I got as far as Llyn Cau, about a thousand feet up, and noted it’s potential for a campsite. I’ll be back for Cadair Idris next summer.

Meanwhile, back at Ardgoed, the farm sheepdog and matriarch has settled in to our cottage. There were occasional visits from Jack the Jack Russell and a little yappy thing that attacked Bruno and got flattened as a result. And there was also Larry the Ram, who attended our short doggy walks down the lane.

The mist and clag remained. But a few days later, I ventured up Cwn Natntcol for the bagging of the big, round Marilyn Moelfre. The hillfog base was 250 metres, so there was 1000 feet of clag. It wasn’t nice, really. I don’t know why I bothered. We repaired to another beach and had another bounce around and a splash.

At the end of the fortnight, the Beeb and the Met were enthusiastic once again. There’s something a bit sinister about having good weather forecasts for Fridays. Maybe they’re just trying to cheer us all up and stop us thinking about how those lovely people at the bank are going to spend our taxes this Christmas. Whatever it is, its not good for planning hillwalks. I decided to have a look at Bwlch Oerddrws, a pass for the road from Central Wales to Dollgellau, around which there are arranged some Hewitts. These Hewitts are arranged in such a way as to be problematical for circular walks, so I had two out-and-back courses worked out.

Number one was from the summit of the pass, up an engineered path (probably for some mines further up the hill) – on to a plateau who’s top is the Hewitt/Nuttal Cribin Fawr. This was in mist and drizzle. (Pah! to the Beeb weather forecasters by the way). We continued beside a fence to a deep bwlch, pass or bealach and up outrageously steep grass to the trig on Waun-oer, another Hewitt/Nuttal in deep and driving hill fog ( I spit in the general direction of Ms Tobin, the fiction writer at the BBC weather forecasting service). Then it was back down outrageously steep grass and back over the still misty (I laugh heartily and a bit ironically at your predictions for the weather, people at the Met) and down the pony track to the knipemobile. I noticed once again that Bruno was less than enthusiastic about doing the outward journey, was dragging behind a bit and took every opportunity for a sit down, and was in a rush to get back. This is unusual behaviour for the superdawg.

After lunch, we forayed once again up more stupidly steep grass on Camlan and, contouring around a small nobble, with heavy legs, we trudged the southern slopes of Pen y Brynfforchog which has a fine little top on a narrow, grassy drumlin. The mist kind-of lifted a bit. Bruno repeated his unenthusiastic approach to the job in hand, but was excited by the prospect of returning. I also noticed that, at the place where we contoured around a nobble, he was following our outward route very accurately. I wanted the nobble in my bag of ticks, though, so we included Pen Ochr y Bwlch, a Dewey in our walk. As we approached our outward route again, Bruno was nose-down and pulling ahead. He clearly had our own scent trail and he followed this exactly back to the car. I’ve noticed the ability of dogs to follow obscure paths before. My previous dog, Jenny, was specially good at it and I got to trust her to go the right way. It seems that Bruno can do the same thing. The potential benefits of being able to follow an out-and-back route over pathless terrain in bad visibility using a friendly dog, a service which doesn’t rely on batteries, or even on daylight, are dawning on me.

As a reward, we visited Morfa Dyffryn once again to worry some more seaweed and to run around in circles barking for a while.

I’m not sure about the dog’s health. He is eleven years old, which means that he is what you might call “veteran”. He’s a bit grey around the chin, and, I did notice some awkwardness on a couple of ladder stiles. But he can still clear a hill-fence in one mighty bound, and he does still run about daft, given the chance. Many dogs don’t get much past eleven before their in their dotage and, he’s far from that. Its probably just the passage of time. I have quite a bit of sympathy for that.

As we drove home Saturday morning, the sun was shining brightly.

Argoed Adventures in Rhinogau Part 1 of 2

2011-10-15T23:07:00.001+01:00

When we left Crook, it was cracking the flags. By Cheshire and Flintshire it was steaming. I bagged a little Marilyn – Moel Gyw on Offas Dyke in the Clwydian’s whilst Maggie had coffee. It was hot and sultry and a right sweaty do. I determined to start the holiday with a proper hillwalk.

We stayed in a cottage on a beef and lamb farm (wot no pork?) just a bit South of Harlech, so a trip into the Rhinogau for the bagging of hills was juts a few minutes drive.

As well as the cows and sheep (they were lambing in October by the way!) – Ardgoed also has four dogs, two cats and a pet ram. Bruno was perplexed by the ram, who came with us on evening doggy walks and his robustly friendly approach to a dog who’s main experience of sheep is for them to be making off in the opposite direction, was a puzzle to him. He soon got used to it, though and greeted him each time with an enthusiastic wag

I arrived in Cwm Nantcol the very next morning and wandered up a footpath by old miners’ paths past the old mines and the old mine shop where the old miners rested at night (too dark in the mines at night) and told old miners tales about old mines and stuff. I passed Llyn Perfeddau and arrived at Llyn Hywel where the paths all disappeared in scree. The Rhinogau are very rough and heathery and rocky by the way. The next half an hour was a desperate struggle up steep scree and rock and “mixed ground”, not helped by the spooking of Bruno by something or other which made him bark and bark again at the echo…and so on…

Eventually we made it to the connecting ridge between Rhinog Fach and Y Llethr. We aimed for Y llethr by a steep path which avoids a rockier course a bit to the left. From Y Llethr, the ridge continues stonily over Crib-y-rhiw (if you’re having difficulty with these words by the way, its probably because you don’t speak Welsh) – to a grassier climb up to Diffwys. Its much easier from here and Diffwys’s West top is just a boggy plod away. It was hereabouts that I came across several straggly groups of teenyboppers, most of whom looked in a worse state than me and made me feel much much better about being an old fart who heaves and pants his way up steep grass, anticipating at every step the final explosive failure of his thigh and bum muscles.

I followed an old road back to the start. This was probably the only proper hillwalk of the fortnight at 11 miles and 3100 feet of climbing.

A couple of days later, still confident of a good bag of hills, I opted for the outlying Rhinog Y Garn. This was a straight-up-and-down walk up the long South ridge and it was all very pleasant. I finished the day off with a walk alomg the “New Precipice” walk, which contours along the hillside overlooking the Mawdach and very nice it is too, but more of a very steep brackeny hillside rather than a precipice. And we had a trip to Morfa Dyffryn beach for the chasing of sticks and bits of seaweed. The beaches along this coast are specially big and wide and flat and empty.

I did notice that superdawg was much less enthusiastic than usual about going up the hill and if the pause was long enough, a snooze as well. He was more than happy to come down the hill, though, and he bounced around the beach like a daft pup. More of this later, perhaps.

Intermission

2011-09-30T13:13:00.006+01:00

There will now be another intermission of about two weeks whilst I go off to Harlech to bag Hewitts. I’ve got thirty three left.

In the meantime, over on the forum at ukhillwalking.com, htere’s a thread about what was the Beatles best song.

I think this one is high up on the list.

Whats This then?

2011-09-28T21:17:00.001+01:00

Never did like this place. There light coming through a hole in the roof showing up as an odd shape in one of the windows. I’ve cut it out and blown it up a bit.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr………. Who fancies spending all hallows eve here?

Galloway Tour of Tussocks, Bogs and Forests

2011-09-26T21:00:00.001+01:00

The Awful Hand trip being ill-fated and causing pains, strains, disease and discomfort across the United Kingdom (these things hardly ever work out on the first attempt) I determined to go camping and bag a few Marilyns that had been on my list-of-Marilyns-to-bag-in-Galloway list for a while.

The first victim to the ticking pencil was on Friday afternoon – one Hightown Hill, an 820 foot lump of grass with cows on it somewhere slightly to the left of Dumfries. I was going to bag a hill next to it but didn’t because a) I couldn’t remember where it was and b) I didn’t have the map with it on and c) I couldn’t think of a third excuse. This went well and a walk of just under two miles set me up for a celebratory pint of Black Sheep in the Ken Bridge Hotel where I was camping.

The KB Hotel was occupied mainly by hunters and fishers, the hunters being in camouflage and (whisper this) I noticed that over the three days, whilst I wetted out two pairs of boots and covered them in muck, their shoes were always shiny. I took this to mean that, despite all pretence, they actually hadn’t been anywhere at all…..

And so, soon afterwards, it was Saturday. I took the knipemobile over to Glen Trool and parked near the old Caldons campsite where the caldons used to camp. I followed the Southern Upland Way and a cycle route in a roughly Easterly direction, passing through the battlesite of Glentrool where, after watching a spider for a bit, Robert de Brus and 300 rock-hurling Ayrshirites and a few cavalry trounced a force of 1500 English troops under de Clifford – the Lord of Skipton castle no less.

I continued to the watershed and turned off over grassless cow-churned mud and, higher, to heather and tussocks, and higher to beautiful slabs of granite to the summit of Craig Lee, perched on a little tor. Then followed what can only be described as a joyful romp over the twists and rocky turns of the Rig of the Jarkness. What is a Jarkness, and how much do they eat…? This ridge is pure delight, with rocky tors and slabs and little tarns and ends with an unpleasant steep pile of tussocks to a ford and a sloppy path down to Bruce’s Stone. I completed with a road walk back to the start, although there seems to be shoreline alternatives.

On returning to the Ken Bridge Hotel, I celebrated with a little guinness and some scotch and drifted off into Kylieland in short order.

Soon, it was Sunday and the two cock robins who I’d been feeding each time they whistled finally had me trained to showfield standard. I left them a snack on a tree stump and went off in search of a parking spot close enough to Craignell to make a short day, for I heard that rain was on its way for the afternoon and would “set in”.

I parked by the Black Loch, between a wild goat park and a deer range and, not finding the “stepping stones” marked on my map, took a turn around the Loch with it’s strange conical sculpture thingy. I had to cross the burn to get to the “Old Edinburgh Road” which used to go to Old Edinburgh and I followed this to an obscure turn-off into the deep forest. This went further than it said on my map, which is what I wanted. At it’s end, I could see open hillside some way above, but I chose the wrong forest ride and ended up floundering in huge tussocks with deep water in between and, eventually, after an hour or so of toil, came to a dead-end of impenetrable sitka spruce. I decided to call the whole thing off in favour of a paddle and a picnic next to a waterfall I’d spotted. I retraced awkwardly and a bit grumpily through the same floundering-ground.

Then, I thought I’d just investigate the other ride. This was steep, but easy under foot and I was soon out on the hillside, albeit onto outrageously steep heather. I battled up this, grateful that I’d forgotten to take my beta-blockers and wondering how the air ambulance would find me.

Craignell is steep and rough but the top is a great place to be providing it hasn’t just started raining. So I bailed out for a celebratory pint back at Ken Bridge. Some sheepfarmers were in tonight. No idea what they were talking about, though I did catch the word “Gimmer”…

Then the hunters came in. Boots still shiny. What had they been doing all day?

Today I came home. I had soaked two pairs of boots and three pairs of socks so there was little motivation to put them on again. And I’d eaten all the bacon and the robins are resting smug, feet up, little robin slippers on, being too fat to fly just now.

Cracking hills, though.

As far as the leaky boots are concerned – I can feel something in the air which will sort out the problem – hopefuly before the weekend cos I’m off to Wales.

Winter Guided Walks Programme

2011-09-22T17:15:00.002+01:00

Durham County Council's winter guided walks programme was published today.
I've got eleven walks in there altogether, including several "Saturday Specials" for people who don;t like shopping.

http://content.durham.gov.uk/PDFRepository/Country_Durham_Oct_March_2012_FINAL.pdf

I'm off to Galloway now for a few days... Anybody talking or misbehaving will have their names written on the board by Sandra Metcalfe

Hello? What was that? (Nearly that time of year folks)

Jinkie’s Challenge

2011-09-18T19:28:00.001+01:00

I’ve been out rangering today up at Blanchland and Edmundbyers. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again, so I expect that you may be bored with this kind of thing. So instead, I’ll explain the concept of Jinkie’s Challenge, something wot I thought of whilst marching through the heather without a map again. I’ll illustrate this with pics from today’s walking.

The other thing is that I’ve applied for the TGO Challenge next year and there’s always a chance that I won’t make the cut, so a Plan B is always a good idea. (Mr Manning should not read this blog post as I wouldn’t want him getting the idea that a person with a Plan B would be a choice candidate for the stand-by list…)

So the Jinkie Challenge is to visit the three highest public bars in England. These are (as far as I know, but I’m willing to be disabused) The Cat and Fiddle, The Tan Hill Inn and the Kirkstone Pass Inn. This should normally take about two weeks, I would have thought. And a route not completely up the Pennine Way could be made from the Cat to Tan Hill – and, it’s a long-established long distance walk, and a high level route to Kirkstone Pass could be made from tan Hill over Nine Standards, The Howgill Fells and the Shap Fells. I

I considered calling this walk the Three Pubs Challenge, but it seems to me that its more than likely that a lot more than three pubs could be visited between the three targets . So, why not go the whole hog and visit as many as possible? I thought up some rules:

1) The route is not fixed and using the Pennine Way all the way up the Pennines would lose the walker Jinkie Points.

2) The start can be any of the three pubs.

3) A proper boozing session should be had at all three of the three highest pubs.

4) Extra Jinkie Points can be earned by visiting as many pubs as possible in between the other two although there’s no requirement to go mad on the beer at each one. On a rough route I thought up, there are a minimum of twenty other pubs. There could be more since I haven’t looked at a map.

5) Even more extra Jinkie points can be earned for each summit over 400 metres bagged on the way.

This could be the hardest pub crawl in England.

Or not.

In any case, this is my Plan B for TGO challenge time, or I may just do it anyway.

On the rangering, I did 15 miles, got wet twice, found two fallen trees and a bit of duff shoring and they’ve mended a stile that’s been rejecting me. I also found that the Blanchland village deli does a nice cornish pasty.

Jinkie, by the way is a childish word that I use to get Bruno to have a drink from a stream on a hot day – in case there’s no more water for a long way ahead, and may also be an exclamation on spotting a distant pub on a warm and thirsty day.

Competition Time

2011-09-17T16:03:00.001+01:00

This is a reminder to all would-be writists to write a blog post of up to 1000 words , possibly with some pretty pictures in order to win this fantastic rucksack.

This fab bit of kit is a Gelert Nimbus 35 litre rucksack and is supplied by Outdoor Look - See more outdoor clothing and all kinds of gear at www.outdoorlook.co.uk

Your blog post can be about anything at all linked to the outdoors. Have a rant. Pontificate about something… Tell us about your latest adventure in the hills…. Whatever you want.

As I seem to be on holiday at the original closing date (there’s planning for you…) _ I’ve extended the cut-off for entries to 20 October 2011.

Get writing - Its nearly Christmas…..

Bruno’s Interesting Day

2011-09-15T19:51:00.002+01:00

I got the idea for thee title of this blog post from a Topsy and Tim book. I’m working towards being able to read Wuthering Heights, but I realise its a long way off yet.
After an extended severalteen days of writing stuff, none of which is finished, I decided to go for a walk and, it would seem, picked the sunniest day for months either side of today. me and Bruno went to Wet Sleddale, principally to bag the little Birkett Glede How wot I’d failed to do the other day due to a footwear emergency.
We Sleddale is Very Wet. And squishy.

We wandered up a permissive path and across a bridge and up to a farm where Builders Bum was being practised by some builders. We heaved up the hill (I heaved, Bruno pulled). At a stile with a high wire, Bruno did his usual superdawg leap but, (and maybe this is a first sign of age) – his trailing leg caught on the wire and he went down in a big and very snotty heap. He didn’t yelp or whine, but he tried to stand up and couldn’t. I got myself psyched up for carrying 20 kg of wriggly dog the two miles back to the car.
After some massage and kind words and, maybe a mention of next door’s cat, Bruno suddenly recovered and continued up the hill in much the way he’d been doing a few minutes earlier. I kept an eye on him all day and worried a bit at fence-jumping time, but he seems fine.

We plodged upwards and on to a knobby plateau and, after a bit of light navigating involving map-to-ground guesswork and the tossing of a coin, we duly arrived at Glede How. Glede how has a little rocky outcrop and a fine view of the Pennines. We lunched. ….. I lunched, Bruno dribbled. I did let him have a small piece of egg butty as a kind of reward for being a brave little doggy.
We snoozed in the sun for quite a while.
Afterwards, we climbed Seat Robert which has a cairn and a shelter and a little concrete ring for the Ordnance Survey people to dance around in one of their magic contour rituals where they call on the gods to make magnetic North nearer to true North….

Then we wandered over the Shap fells for a long time in a kind of aimless-roughly-back-to-the-car park kind of way. At a rest stop, I heard a deer bark. It barked several times. Bruno noticed. I could make out a small herd of, maybe fifteen red deer about 400 metres away. they were drifting off slowly and letting out the occasional warning bark.

We continued and, on crossing Tonguerigg Gill, we disturbed a herd of sixty or seventy red deer. They made off at speed from about 300 metres away. Bruno went into hunting mode and had to be put on the lead. Bruno’s recall is actually quite good, and I’ve managed to call him off chasing at least one deer in full flight. He’ll even come back to a hand signal, providing he’s looking in your direction, but sixty red deer in full flight, and, probably stinking of mating hormones (its about that time of year, folks) would probably have been too much for his canine self-control.
The herd disappeared over the hill, but Bruno had their scent and he followed with his ears up. I followed at the other end of the lead, just to see what would happen. After a while, we disturbed the same herd again. they’d moved about half a kilometre and had sentries, it would seem. In places even I could make out the scent. I called off the chase. We returned to the car.

We did about 8 miles and 1400 feet but I can’t be exact about our route, so I’m not doing a map. Apart from anything else, when I did the track, it spelled a rude word.
The Shap fells were empty today aprt from me and the dawg and the deer and, somewhere, a shepherd doing some shouting and whistling, and, right at the end, a fisherman on a bike who went off to see the deer after I’d spoken to him. saved a few fish, there, so I’m a piscatorial hero. The Shap fells are not a place for lonely agoraphobics or people who like a lot of noise.

Potery In Motion

2011-09-11T20:47:00.001+01:00

After a bit of a lay-off from the walking due to various family stuff and some writing stuff, Superdawg pointed out, whilst taking a break from chewing the cat, that we hadn’t been doing a vast amount of nice walkies recently.

So, pausing only to pick up essentials, such as butties, coffee, a banana and a poet, we set off for Westgate for a brief encounter with all of the interesting stuff in Slitt Wood.

Most of these interesting things will be well known to regular pieblog readers, but just to repeat information given in previous postings from my apparent obsession with the Slitt Vein, the main things are these:

An old mill/fortified house with wheel pit

Lots of nice waterfalls and pools

Wild flowers

A lead mine with Bargain steads, wheel pit, mountings for an Armstrong Hydraulic Engine, an excavated smithy with rock drill testing/proving holes, a damn great shaft, the Slitt vein itself

A tramway

A bench with in memorium leather boots with wooden soles

A wet level

Spoil heaps

A reservoir

Some meadows

Nice views.

All in all, quite a lot squeezed in to a couple of miles.

It rained a bit. Jules the pote pointed at things whilst having his photo taken, and wrote at least one poem (he knocks them out like a Birmingham car factory). We paddled up the wet level till we got scared, wearing the Bareskin booties (not wanting to get wet socks). Bruno stuck his tongue out and made rude signs at a small herd or gang of cattle doing some cud-chewing on the other side of the beck (they didn;t seem too bothered) and we collected a few pretty stones.

Later, we crossed the beck and slithered up a lane trashed into deep ruts by 4WD drivers.

And then we went home.

I think we did about four miles.

On Test – Bareskins Booties

2011-08-31T22:10:00.001+01:00

I tell you what – these things are revolutionary. They’ll change the face of walking. Designed by Big G of Emperor’s New Boots, they’re Brilliant for British Bogs. They dry instantly, are extreeeeeeemly lightweight (I defy anybody to find lighter footwear) – they have some kind self-mending mechanism which repairs any small nicks or itches, they’re really cheap and they’re so simple a toddler could quickly learn to use them.

On the downside, they’re absolutely useless on steep grass or small pebbles or scree. Or thistles.

Bogs present no problem, though and there’s none of this fannying around trying to find firm ground – no, you just plunge on through. Warm cow pats are a joy. Peaty stains just fall off.

All this was because I turned up at the little concrete car park at the foot of Swindale with two proper boots. Unfortunately, these were from different pairs of boots and both were left feet. I started off walking in trainers, so. This was fine on the road, but the first squishy bit of bog after joining the corpse road to Mardale was unpleasant and, as with the nudieboots, they were lethal on steep grass. So I took ‘em off. I walked about four miles over the grassy moors just left of Swindale. Its pretty much all grass and bog, so I managed to get a fair pace on once I’d got used to the tickling. The squishy bits were refreshing. I collected rare sedges between my toes. A Fully Equipped family with a dog did a double-take. It was quite good, really.

I did 8 miles and 1400 feet of upness and bagged the Birkett Brown Howe. I was also going to go for another one on the South side of Swindale but I’d have never got there in one piece. Brown Howe was nice, though and has a fine view of Haweswater and High Stile and stuff like that.

Never mind.

It was the dog’s fault. he makes such a fuss when the rucksack comes out, I tend to forget stuff in all the..er…. thing……

A Wet Weekend at Hardraw

2011-08-29T18:58:00.002+01:00

I was supposed to join the Over the Hill Club “do” at Hardraw on Friday, but it was chucking it down in lumps, and I do mean lumps, so I delayed till around lunchtime on Saturday.

The campsite behind the George and Dragon was a sea of mud and had been abandoned by most for a splodge up Dodd Fell, so there was only Bernie and Pauline cooking rice and peeling onions and stuff in their tent. After a decent but brief period, I went to the pub, returning only after a decent but less brief interlude of light boozing which put me to sleep back at the tent, thus missing the brief but damply wet barbeque. The roaring of the beck, spatefully gushing in a very loud kind of way after all that rain, soothed me to sleep, untroubled by the thought that it might, just might, overflow and wash me and my free tent away towards Kingston Upon Hull.

In the morning, it was announced that Big Dave was to lead a walk up Great Shunner Fell and back down again. By the same route.

It was news of this that prompted me to set off towards Askrigg, being drawn up a lane above Sedbusk and sucked along on a random stravaig that eventually brought me to the top of Lovely Seat, which was Lovely and has a Seat.

I almost fell into the trap of making an active decision about what to do next, but soon found myself tussling with the tussocks on the other side of Buttertubs pass and on up to the top of Great Shunner Fell where the Big Dave party wasn’t. I did chat to some walkers about the view, though and the warming qualities of various kinds of gloves. It was a bit chilly up there to say the least.

I decided not to follow the Pennine Way back to Hardraw, but to investigate the old collieries of the Hearne valley. I found a few spoil heaps and some stonework by the beck, but nothing much to write a blog about. I expect that whoever was funding these mines was soon out of pocket once the railway started bringing in high quality South Durham coal by the truckload to Hawes station. I was soon back at the tent, covered in peat and sipping a bit of French plonk I’d brought from the Crook Co-op.

Afterwards, there was the OTHC dinner in the pub, followed by some more light boozing and some heavy snoozing.

Bernie and Pauline did a good job organising this “do”. Shame about the rain, but at least it made the waterfall more impressive than it usually is. It must be something to do with TGO Challengers that attracts precipitation.

Write a Pie Blog Post – Win a Rucksack

2011-08-23T23:03:00.003+01:00

Here’s a chance for Pieblog readers to win this Gelert Nimbus 35 litre rucksack currently selling for around £42.

Its very noticeable that many outdoor blogger types are receiving tonnes of free kit from various outdoor gear retailers on the pretext of doing a review. I too, must admit to having received a couple of tents recently. Unfortunately, I broke one of them.
But this is all old hat (note to retailers – most of my hats are pretty old as it happens…) but with the pieblog, I’ve decided that the readers should get the chance for some free kit too and they don’t have to write a review for it.
Oh no they don’t.

What they do have to do, though, is write a blog post, with some pictures. The subject can be anything related to walking about in the countryside – a trip report, a rant, or maybe a bit of useful info about something..er..useful.
I have some independent judges who, as ex-grammar school-types, will mark you down for duff grammar unless its deliberate and maybe a bit ironic , or a pun or something. I should OF known will get you disqualified, though. This may seem to be elitist, but,really, we just have standards innit? (see- that kind of duff grammar is OK!)
There’s no minimum length of blogpost but 1000 words should be the maximum number.
This is in conjunction with outdoor clothing pals at Outdoors Look – so Click on www.outdoorlook.co.uk for an indoors look at the good value deals outdoors gear they’ve got going.
Remember, we’re doing this for you.
Good blogposts will be published on the pieblog.
You have till 30 September to enter your entries, which should be emailed to mike.knipe@btinternet.com
Better, less fuzzy pictures and more information about the rucksack is available here:
http://www.outdoorlook.co.uk/gelert-nimbus-rucksack-35-litre-ruc732
If this competition is successful, we may well do a Christmas one.
Get writing. Get a Gelert rucksack for nowt.

Eat More Fruit

2011-08-21T21:32:00.000+01:00

This ditty is for all, or at least, any, of my friends who are currently suffering from the Shingles. Eat More Fruit! You know it makes sense.

Hen Stent in a Tent

2011-08-20T21:13:00.002+01:00

Alert readers will remember that just after posting the stuff about the folkworks, I went to Wales.
Now I’m back and this is what happened:
I used the Primavera 3 tent that was sent to be by Millets for review and which I broke in Scotland whilst showing off to some DofE kids how to put up a tent in a hurricane. Anyway, I mended the over-pronated pole with some sticky-tape stuff and took it to Wales. I also took the little Karrimor tent as well, just in case……

I stayed at Hen Stent, strictly, Coed Hen Stent, which is an old Welsh medical term for an old wooden heart spring thingy. My stent is nearly five years old now, but, not made of wood. (I almost played an Elvis song here...)
Coed Hen Stent is just outside the small village of Llangynog which has two pubs but no shop. Lets get our priorities right, eh? All of this is pretty much at the head of Dyffryn Tanat aka the Tanat valley, who’s major town seems to be Oswestry, which is in a different country.

But never mind – it’s very beautiful and looks not unlike the Lake District with lead mines and old slate workings and everything.
My mission was to bag stuff, and I started with a little Marilyn – one Mynydd-y-briw, a right steep little beggar with a chapel at the bottom. Its just about half a mile from the chapel to the summit.

Tuesday was a horribly wet morning, so I stayed in bed quite late and eventually dragged myself out for Cyrniau, a hill looming over the campsite in a steep and looming kind of way, and occupied by a nervous herd of sucklers who ran away, followed me and ran away again. I followed this up by a Fford Gefn, where a gang of fencers were fencing in the top. They’d left a gap for me to bag the summit which is a fifteen –foot high sitka spruce in the midst of lots of closely packed sitka spruce. On the up side, I got my hair combed. A path returning to Llangynog proved to be a jungle of high bracken and fallen trees. I cheered myself up from this with some of my Sainsbury’s whisky. In fact I was a lot happier for quite a long time.

Wednesday was the day for Hewitts – Post Gwyn and Foel Cwm Sian Llwyd – all very heathery and a bit sloppy in a friendly Pennine kind of way. On Wednesday, I was sustained a little by the enormous crops of sweet bilberries which I had by the handful. The best of these hills is, I’m afraid, the views of other places…. Unless you like sloppy slutch and bilberries. It was a very hot and sweaty job with lots of big black flies with red legs. They swarmed around but showed no inclination to bite or sting. One was accidentally transported back to the tent. I let it go. I hope its OK… A few drams of Sainsbury’s whisky were allowed afterwards by way of a victory celebration.

More Hewitts fell to the knipe ticking pencil on Thursday. A long drive on stupidly narrow roads, happily without any traffic, brought me into Cwm Maen Gwynedd – an outrageously beautiful green dale which ends in the steep black wall of Y Berwyn.
It is said that the word “Gwynedd” may derive from Gwyr Y Goggledd – the men of the North –warriors from Goddodin who rode to save Wales from he naughty barbarians. The Goddodin were the Votadini of the Cheviot Yeavering and the Tweed. So there’s a Northumbrian link here, it would seem. Mynyd Tarw translates as “wha’rs me whippet ya bugga….?” or so I’m told.
The forecast was for rain, but it just got a bit dull and cold – so I managed to bag Mynydd Tarw, Foel Wen and it’s South top, and Tomle before rambling back down the dale to the waiting knipemobile. On drive back , the Cwm Maen Gwynedd rush hour started and I met four cars coming the other way. each one was driven by an old lady (different old ladies, it wasn’t quite that strange). All of these old dears had several things in common:
1) Other old lady passengers
2) A big and powerful car
3) A frightened look.
4) An unwillingness to stop, reverse, pull into the side or indeed to do anything to avoid a collision. I spent quite a bit of time travelling backwards.
5) A Sat Nav set to “pre-menstrual” commentary.
After returning to the Primavera, I managed to console myself with the odd dram of Sainsbury’s whisky and a bottle of plonk wot I’d bought in the Spar shop at Llanrheadr-ym-Mochnant. I also soothed my nervousness about not being able to pronounce the place of the Spar shop (I worried in case I broke down and had to call the RAC) – with some more of the Sainsbury’s whisky. By ten o’clock, I was pretty well soothed, I can tell you.

Friday was for Foel Goch and Foel y Geifr – a couple of heathery, bilberry, tussocky, sloppy lumps just off the road to Bala from some reservoir or other. Hard work. But short. And, as a final fling, on the way back to the Primavera, I bagged Rhialgwm, a Marilyn with lots of trees at the bottom, many of which were in the process of being harvested, so the place was a mess. I was so upset by the state of this hill that I had to console myself once again with the last few drops of Sainsbury’s whisky. Rhialgwm is just next to Pretendgwm, but is bigger. Obviously.
I’m home now.
I did 33 miles and 7000 feet of up.
And a litre of scotch.

Awful Hand Invites Handled Awfully

2011-08-14T20:36:00.001+01:00

Just sent out details of the Awful hand walk, based on expressions of interest. If you are reading this and you think you should have got an email, or you’d like to walk the Awful Hand ridge in Galloway in September, let me know before we set off…

The details are here:

23 September – campsite at New Galloway

24 to 26 September – Glen Trool – Rigg of the Jarkness – Dungeon Hill range - Mullwharcher – Camp – Awful hand with a camp part way – Glen Trool.

27 September optional camp New Galloway for drinkies and pies.

The landscape involved is wild and rough and beautiful – a bit like me, really….

Transport for Southrons travelling by train or other public transport will be available for a few/couple from Penrith on the 23rd.

Folkworks vid.....

2011-08-13T20:03:00.000+01:00

This is from last year, but it gives you an idea.... I'l post a video of the 2011 folkworks "do" as soon as it appears.....
Fab stuff, though....

No Need to be Alone

2011-08-13T19:26:00.001+01:00

I went to Durham today and witnessed the folkworks free concert in the Market Place. The bands were really good, specially the yoof band (damn them hoodies) - whooda thowt they'd be able to play fiddles after all that looting? The standard of playing of the kids is scarily high. It shouldn't be allowed, really. It would seem that there's lots and lots of high quality music to come from this generation. We're not jealous, obviously, but I was pleased to see that in the middle of some more elderly hippies stripping the willow (its a dance) just by the statue of neptune, a blind bloke with his black dog walked right through the middle, comepletely unaware that he was in the centre of a dance with hundreds of people looking on.
Anyway, I'm off to Wales again. For about a week.
Here's a song. Things that should have been No need to be alone, though.

Green Gable and Great Gable

2011-08-09T23:56:00.001+01:00

All this messing about in the lower reaches of the Pennines with the rangering stuff had me pining for the rocky bits, so early this morning, I had the dog saddled up and orf we jolly well went to the Lake district, parking very prettily down the lane at Seathwaite.

We climbed very slowly and laboriously through all those closely drawn contours up by Sour Milk Gill into the beautiful corrie of Gillercombe. This is a very fine place for a camp, I have to say. And the beck is deep enough for a very cold swim.

But no swimming was done. Onwards and upwards through the corrie to bag the outlying top of Base Brown, followed by the green and rocky lump of Green Gable, where we rested not but pushed on through down to Wind Gap and up through the scrambly bit for a lazy lunch on the top of Great Gable, which was Great.

We managed to find a place behind a boulder overlooking Wasdale and with a fine view of Scafell and Scafell Pike and over there, on the far horizon, way out over the Irish Sea, a thin blue line of hills that could only be the North Wales coast. We got behind the boulder, by the way, because it was perishing cold. It was sunny, but there was a nithering wind creeping down from somewhere just left of Bergen. Brrr…… autumn…….

And so, after a cheese and pickle butty and some ginger cake, coffee and chocolate, none of which was enjoyed or shared with Bruno, by the way, oh yes, and a bit of a snooze… we descended the long slope down to the stretcher box at Sty Head, where it was a bit warmer, so another snooze was had here. This is a long way down on an uncomfortable pitched path. In fact, its more than 1500 feet, for anybody foolishly considering slugging their way up by this route. The views are good, though.

Bruno had a paddle and a bark… bark.. bark (echo) and retrieved a burnt stick a few times but it was soon time to leave and we descended by the Stockley Bridge route back to the knipemobile which was still there with all it’s tyres still on and the headlights off. This was good news, so we went home.

Great Gable was a busy hill today. I guess there’s a lot of people having their holidays. Good day for this sort of thing, though.

We managed just the seven of your Earth miles and 3180 of your Earth feet of upness. I’ve put more pics in the blog post than normal, cos it was such a nice day.

What’s this then?

2011-08-06T23:49:00.001+01:00

Loads of this stuff around the knipetowers parkland, mainly near the moat and some on the south-facing banks of the Ah ha! I wonder what it is…. Here it is in the dog’s play quarry.

Best of Teesdale – The Walk

2011-08-05T20:32:00.002+01:00

This will be a fairly brief blogpost, just to record the walk that was the subject of another blogpost called roughly the same as this blogpost and which has got the same walk in it as the other blogpost. I’m sure you get the gist. The point is that I keep doing the same walk.
There’s only a few pics in this one due to my policy of not posting photos of DCC walk participants in which individuals can be recognised, unless they’re the stewards – so it’s back views and scenery only.

But the walk went well, Ray York was the main steward and his assistants were Doug Moffat and Sheila Pinkney, who’s name I got wrong in another blogpost a while back. Wupps Sorry Sheila.,, dhuhh…. I have a terrible memory for er..em…

Anyway, the route was the same and the weather was a bit cooler than before and the views were better than previously due to clearer, more arctic air.

I think people generally enjoyed themselves, and a few were brave or maybe daft enough to have a poke around in Moking Hurth caves – just the entrances, obviously, we don’t want anybody from Durham County Council having caving elf and safety wobblers. Nothing dangerous was done and roughly the same number of people emerged that went in.
Good walk, I thought. 21 People altogether including me and the stewards.
Lots of flowers……..nice people.

Best of Teesdale Walk – Reccy

2011-08-03T22:38:00.001+01:00

This is another reccy for another Durham CC walk, which happens on Friday, so I was a bit late with this. This was due to many things including a funeral and the car not passing (I hate to use the “fail” word) its MOT. But its all fixed now, so this morning off I jolly well went up to Bowlees, just a bit to the left of Middleton in Teesdale.

The last time I did this walk was on a really perishing cold day in the winter, when the Tees was partly frozen and the snowdrifts were touching places where cold snow should never be allowed. And it was minus echty blob as well. I’ve put a picture or two of that in this post, to contrast to the warm and sweaty day it was. The Dale is still busy with haymaking and the place has that fresh hay perfume that you have when they..er.. Its the Sweet vernal Grass, y’know…

Its called the Best of Teesdale because you have to have a title for the walks brochure, and this has Bowlees, Wynch Bridge, The Juniper woodland, Lots of wild flowers, High Force, some iron age hut circles, The Green Trod, sugar limestone, mediaeval iron workings, the River Tees again, a Victorian pencil factory/quarry, some limestone caves which had bones or sumfink inside and the old road down the dale before they built the current one (as a work creation scheme in a Victorian economic slump) It misses Cronkley Snout but that’s because its too far upstream on the wrong side of the River. Whoever put it on the wrong side of the River needs telling.

So, its full of stuff and its 13 miles and 1700 feet long and up.

Not much happened. I met a bull, who seemed to be asleep, probably just as well – and just a few walkers and some lapwings. Teesdale is lapwing central. They’ll be off to Redcar soon, I shouldn’t wonder. I had a scramble in the cave, but I had no headtorch so it was a bit limited.

I’ll be back on Friday.

Get Cycling! (But not when its drizzly)

2011-08-01T11:48:00.001+01:00

Well, so much for the Get Active! Get Cycling campaign. I turned up at the right time this morning, but the “instructor” said it was drizzling and he couldn’t go out due to “Health And Safety” – those three little words that help people being paid to do stuff excuse themselves from doing anything at all.

So I left. It stopped drizzling, so I returned. He’d gone, along with his expensive van full of unused expensive bikes, all depreciating in a capital depreciation kind of way.

I rang his HQ in Peterlee, managed fairly loosely, it would seem by the County Durham and Darlington NHS Foundation Trust. (Staff at the HQ in Peterlee couldn’t remember the name of The University Hospital of North Durham, naming it as “Dryburn?” (the question mark is important here)… or “That hospital in Darlington?”

He said the ride had started at 10:00 and I’d missed it. I said the van had gone. He said then in that case, it must be that nobody had turned up. I said that somebody had turned up, but instructorman wouldn’t go out because of Health and Safety on account of the fact that it was drizzling.

The Peterlee chap said that rain wouldn’t normally stop the ride going out.

I told him it wasn’t raining now and, in fact, it was sunny. He didn’t seem to know that the “instructor” wasn’t there any more. Where had he gone, I wonder? Was he having a jolly on a cycle path somewhere? Was he drinking tea somewhere else? Had he gone to visit a friend now that he’d got the day off? Maybe he’s taken annual leave….

There were apologies.

There’s a lot of staff salary and equipment and office costs going into this. Get Active by the Physical Activity Health Improvement But Not When The Instructor Can’t Be Arsed Scheme.

They’re about to close the Leisure centre/Gym/Swimming pool in Crook in order to save money by the way.

Joined-up thinking.

A Message From Above

2011-07-30T23:27:00.001+01:00

Odd cloud formation witnessed over the North sea today, just after they’d played “Calling Occupants of Interstellar Craft” by the Carpenters on Radio Sunderland. Was it a message from Outer Space? We are your friends by the way…. Could you lend us ten bob for a bottle of Merlot from the co-op?

Unshackled Navigation – Stuff About It.

2011-07-27T23:14:00.001+01:00

Many people will remember UK prime Minister Mrs Margaret (Don’t mess with me, pal) Thatcher. One of her favourite ways of explaining things to people – in that “I seem to be speaking to a mere child” voice she had was to start with “And you know, many people ask me….” and then go on to explain as clearly as possible whatever it was she wanted to say. Nobody had ever asked her , obviously, she just..er… anyway…

Many people ask me if navigating without a map nor a compass nor a GPS ner nowt reminds me, in some tribal-inherited-memory kid of way of my Mesolithic ancestors and how they used to find their way about.

Even though I can accept that there’s probably more than a mere smidgeon of ancestors with Northern roots even older than the Brigantes who considered what a jolly jape it would be to defy the Roman Empire and shout rude words in proto-Welsh from the top of Ingleborough (given that my great granny was Spanish, though…); the answer is “No”.

I went on a little tour of an archaeological site very recently and the question came up as to how Bollihope Moor, in Carboniferous Weardale could have so much flint – a rock which doesn’t occur in the Pennines, but who’s nearest supply is in the chalk of East Yorkshire – a good hundred and twenty or so Celtic miles to the South, given that this was long before the A1 was turned into a dual carriageway and yer Mesolithics probably had to walk too.

Was there a chap with a bag of flints who turned up every third Wednesday of the seventh moon after the winter solstice, saying, gizza piece of hot wild pig and ramson and you can have a couple of flints?

Or was it that the people up on Bollihope Moor had passed through East Yorks on their way home from their annual holidays in Skegness and gathered a load of lumps of flint on their way?

Or did they just swap stuff with other groups? Or maybe it could have been a dowry, or a religious duty to distribute the stuff – or anything – who can know?

The answer seemed to be, evidenced from other nomadic groups currently wandering around other places, and some local evidence, was that these peeps had a kind of circuit. They went to places at certain times of year to take advantage of certain resources available at those places and at those times. So they would know when and where the deer would be in the valley bottoms and they would know where and when the salmon ran upstream. They repeated the same journey, in other words – year after year, generation after generation. So they had mental maps. They remembered where stuff was and if they needed something else, they could ask.

How you find your way down the Pennines is by remembering where stuff is – hills, dales, fences, public bars, spar shops… and remembering what they look like and, roughly, how it all links together.

If you live in the Northern Hemisphere, you know, almost by instinct, that the sun is never ever in the North. It gets close in the mornings and evenings in summer, but it never goes North. If you follow the sun, you will always go Southish.

Forget the rubbish about moss growing on the North side of trees (few trees on the moors) or that cows always point East at night so that they can read their papers without being dazzled by the setting sun – no – its where the sun is.

I did get drawn towards things – mainly cairns, stones, the sound of a waterfall and estate roads which would provide easier walking than the soggy Pennine Tussocks. I could hear the artillery at Warcop for the first two days. And from the top of Shunner Fell, I could clearly see Ingleborough, with it’s very distinctive flat, tilted top. Ingleborough dominates the central pennines and can be seen from a wide area. Its no wonder those naughty Brigantes had a fort on it. You can imagine the ramparts being visible from dozens of miles away and the threat or promise of fast moving pony-mounted irregulars appearing suddenly out of the wild Dales ashwoods must have concentrated the minds of Roman patrol commanders. I would have thought.

So, there’s no real mystery to this, in fact it’s very simple – even in places I’d never visited before. From those places, I could recognise the direction and I could recognise nearby features – Shacklesborough, for instance is a small flat-topped gritstone outcrop sitting in a flat tussocky desert. You find your way in the same manner as you negotiate the Huddersfield ring road. You just have to remember what comes up next and what it looks like. Have you just passed the Polytechnic (apols – University) – and which lane should I be in for the turn of to Halifax? This wouldn’t be easy in an area you didn’t already know quite well as anybody who has driven through a strange city might know.

And, just like the navigation of the Huddersfield ring road, you stick to things you can follow. In other words, you handrail things – fences, footpaths, streams – and if you wander away from one of those lines, you keep it in view, or choose another, even at a distance. You don’t leave the ring road.

Simple, really.

Another Kind of Pennine Journey

2011-07-25T22:22:00.001+01:00

This could well be the very last time that I go banging on about AJ Brown who wrote this ‘ere book, y’see…. anyway, the point is, I tried to walk one of his long distance routes along the Pennines. This was the one that goes from one serious health and safety hazard (High Force) which needs draining and another health and safety hazard (Malham Cove) which needs banking up with a ramp so that nobody can fall off. I mean ter say, its a very big drop.

And the point of the exercise was to see if I could walk between the two without using any navigational equipment at all, apart from the map in my head and a bit of whatever it is that allows you to make reasonable decisions about which direction to go in.

And it was successful in that I left High Force albeit a day late due to duff weather, and arrived five days later at Malham.

Mrs K. dropped me off at High Force Hotel on Wednesday and I managed to find my way over to the South bank of the River Tees using a handy footbridge I knew about (!)

I then got a bit lost. I wandered up the Pennine Way towards Dufton and, after a bit , turned South, but missed the path over Hagworm hill because I had no bloody map, did I?

I did manage to walk Southwards, parallel to the right of way and got to the top of Hagworm Hill (A Hagworm is an adder by the way. or a woman who can turn into an adder, perhaps.) And not long after this I located the Middleton to Brough road and had it in my mind that if I followed this Westwards, I would get to the Durham/Cumbria County boundary and I would be able to follow this for miles and miles and miles…. This worked well. It was a bit rough, but there were boundary stones (strangely numbered ) and a fence.

A long time passed and so did some miles, when I spotted an estate road -- over there…. and the outline of Great Knipe, a hill overlooking the A66. The A66 was a place to go. So I went.

I camped behind a wall over the brow of a hill in a place where I though I would be out of sight of any wandering shepherds or estate workers. One did pass my tent within ten feet, but didn’t see me….

In the meantime, the gunners at Warcop Range had swapped their really big guns/bangs for withering machine gun fire. Note to self: Never try this on the Warcop range.

Thursday, I followed the edge of the scarp to Great Knipe, trespassed a bit in a sheep field and crossed the dual carriageway. The County Boundary would continue from the summit of the road, so I followed the line of the old railway to Tebay and guessed where the boundary was. I got it right and continued boggily Southwards.

And then I got distracted by a bothy. I had to have a look. It was a grand place for lunch. Very plush, in fact. I’m not going to say where it was. Those whom I know are interested in these things may apply for a location.

I returned to the County fence and plodge on through litterless bog, with a view of tan Hill Inn far ahead. Once again I got distracted by a road over there….. or was it over here…. I plodged towards it and followed it to the sanctity and, indeed, sanity of the public bar. The lass serving asked if she could serve me. I said she could. She said she felt loved. I said that so did I.

I followed the Pennine Way to Keld, applied at the farm and put the akto up on the campsite. There were a few midgies.

Friday, I refused the offer of direction from the Pennine Way – at first, at least. I wandered through flowery uncut meadows towards Thwaite and, once on the road, I came across a sign. “Pennine Way Hardraw 8 Miles.” Eight of your Queen’s miles to the George and dragon. Here be cold cider on a warm day. I gave in and followed the Way of the Pennines over Great Shunner fell to the public bar at Hardraw. It Was Worth It.

I continued to Hawes, to a phone signal, a Spar shop and a seat outside a pub in the sun. Eventually I left and went to gayle and then, turning away from The Way, I heaved my poor sotted body through the steep contours up to Yorburgh – a green hill far way without a city wall. Or a beck. Luckily, I’d filled up the platypus with three litres of cold beck at the bottom. I camped overlooking Wensleydale on the almost very top of Wether Fell. It was a windy night. No midgies at all.

Saturday, I joined the Roman road to Fleet Moss, wandered down the road to Beckermonds and was joined by three venerable ladies with a map for the climb up and over to Halton Gill. They looked at the map a lot. I didn’t.

A nice, teetering path by Penyghent Gill brought me to the foot of Fountains fell where the Pennine Way meets it coming from the South – see how much distance I’ve saved here…. I couldn’t find any water. A rambling club descended. I asked if that green lump up there was flat on top. One said, helpfully, “It might be…” It was, but covered in thistles. I knew another spot, green and pleasant with a nice, clean beck. It was on the other side of Fountains Fell. crossing it, this late in the day would be a trial. It was. A trial. Oh yes. I did some swearing.

I got a signal and told everybody that needed to know (principally Mrs K) that i was just 12 miles from Malham. As it turned out, my nice campsite by Tennents Gill was more like 6 miles, which I covered the next morning, including a brew and a snooze and feeding the Malham Cove jackdaws on my spare cheese… The Buck Inn gave shelter from the searing sun till Mrs K arrived to bring me home.

I would like to thank the designers of Ingleborough for placing such a dominating and distinctive lump in the landscape, without which this walk could have had problems. Malham is just behind the second hill to the left of Ingleborough, y’see and Ingleborough can be easily picked out from Shunner Fell – or even further North.

What happens when you don’t have a map? I need to let this sink in and will probably post something in a bit.

I measured the route, though – it was 62 miles and 8700 feet of up. I could have made it a bit shorter, but it would have been very very rough.

Postponement

2011-07-19T20:58:00.000+01:00

The starting day for the unstructured walk towards Malham has been postponed for a day due to a very duff weather forecast involving little triangles with !exclamation marks and 78mm of rain....

Never mind. Here's a song with some shouting.... I'm off to Crook Boozerama for some cheerup fluid...

Some Things Planned and Some Things Not Very Planned

2011-07-17T17:57:00.002+01:00

As it’s been a wet weekend and I’ve done all the rangering that I need to do for now, I could have been doing some writing today.
But I didn’t
What I did do, was that I planned a TGO Challenge route, or at least, most of a TGO challenge route. This will (or, possibly, would, if I don't get a place), from Strathcarron to Struy, to Drumnadrochit, through the Moanyleegach wind factory, down the Avon and finish somewhere around Stonehaven.

One of the sections is a bit long, but if I can buy dehydrated scoff in Aviemore (and I don’t see why not) – it’ll be fine.
That’s the planned bit. There’s more planning to do, obviously, but it’s mainly there – I have the chords and the words…

The unplanned thing I’m planning starts on Wednesday when, somehow (I need to plan this bit) – I’ll get myself to High Force and start walking South. The destination is Malham, or, possibly Skipton. Mrs Pieman has contracted to pick me up and bring me home from wherever I am four days later.
Regular pieblog readers will recognise the project as one which bans the use of maps, compass and GPS and will not follow the Pennine Way, but will be more direct. I’m hoping/expecting that the fact the Ingleborough should be in view most of the time will provide a handy reference. If its foggy, I could have trouble, I suppose, but the route isn’t very high…..
This folly is inspired by AJ Brown’s 1930’s guide “Moorland Tramping West Yorkshire” which I’ve described elsewhere in this pieblog.
Who knows where it will end?

I’m hoping to hit the Tan Hill pub at some point, but if I miss it, it’ll be my own fault.
I’m not planning to run out of food, and have a fair stash left from my Outdoorgrub order. I’ll buy a little more and some in-tent entertainment, but thats it. Thats the plan.
Some things can be overplanned.