Good Morning!
There’s nothing likely to be of interest from Timperley today, unless you like cooking or driving up the M6, so here’s a reminder of the view we had on 19 March last year.
Given the numerous distinguishing (or should that read ‘distinguished’) features, there are no prizes for guessing the location.
These ‘Great British Ridge Walk’ ventures seem to be coming thick and fast. Today it was the Lake District’s turn, starting early, with my journey heading in a rather bizarre direction – to Graham’s house in Marple – before the battle through traffic jams to eventually gain the M6 at Preston.
Phew, at least I wasn’t driving today, and could grab a cup of coffee at Tebay that I could sip at my ease all the way to Keswick.
Mike and Bruno were ready and waiting at the more than ample-sized lay-by at NY 237 311 near Bassenthwaite, so by 10.30 we were ambling casually up a small hill called Watches.
A sheep was strolling unconcernedly along a wall. (No trickery here, I promise.)
We took our time, willing the cloud to lift off the summit of Skiddaw.
Today’s views were excellent. Here Mike and Bruno laze on warm rocks during a brew stop with a fine view to Bassenthwaite Lake and beyond.
Some competent cyclists sped down the rocky bridleway up which we had risen; we admired their skill on this technically demanding terrain.
The summit of Ullock Pike yielded more fine views – towards Keswick, Derwent Water and the central fells, but better vistas were available from Carl Side, which summit Bill Birkett strangely omits from his route.
A group ahead was struggling on the snow slope that slanted up to the summit ridge, so we took the direct approach, with less by way of snow and steep drops.
It was easy going, with no ironmongery required. There were quite a few folk on the ridge, but the summit was deserted by the time we reached the trig point. It was pretty cool, with a cold stiff breeze keeping us alert.
Bruno tugged a bit too hard in his quest for snow fights. Mike stood his ground. Bruno’s lead broke. He cried. (Mike, that is.)
An easy descent led to this glaciated valley down which Dash Beck, well, ‘dashes’.
After which we dashed through some fields, so unobservantly that we missed the path at Hole House and finished up going along a metalled lane rather than by-passing the farm at Barkbeth.
“Never mind” said Graham.
”Never mind” said Mike.
”Ruff” said Bruno.
”It’s so nice to have such forgiving companions” said Martin.
We were down soon after 4pm. Mike sucked deeply on a curious cigar (see above) before heading back with Bruno’s guidance to the Great Wilderness known as ‘County Durham’, whilst Graham and I adjourned for fish ‘n chips in Carnforth, where it went dark.
Mike’s excellent report is here.
A slide show (32 images) is here.
And here’s our route for the day: 14 km, 940 metres ascent, taking 5 hours plus stops.
The next ‘Great British Ridge Walk’ will see me venturing into, passport and visa permitting, the wilds of Scotland. Watch this space!
First, apologies to all those insulted in yesterday’s posting. No malice was intended, I assure you.
Do you, like me, sometimes wish you could remember to mark those rare purple passages you come across just before nodding off to sleep?
I usually forget to reference them and find that they soon seep out of my limited capacity for retention.
However, I recently came across such a passage in a book, published in 1958, in which Canadian author Farley Mowat updated the journals of Samuel Hearne, who from 1769 to 1772 explored more than a quarter of a million square miles of Canada’s “Barren Lands” with no other company than that of reluctant and often hostile Indians.
Hearne walked almost 5,000 miles through one of the most forbidding territories in the world. Twice defeated he returned a third time to become the first white man to reach the Coppermine River and the Arctic coast which stretches west from Hudson Bay to Siberia.
The book, Coppermine Journey, appears to be quite rare even in its paperback version, so I have to be careful with the first edition copy lent to me as reading matter for my recent journey home from Canada, but let me know if you live nearby and would like to read it before I send it back.
It is clear that the North American Indians were a violent and unruly set of murderers who massacred Eskimos as a sort of sport. On one of his failed sorties Hearne writes “Nothing could exceed the cool deliberation of these villains”, as they proceeded to rob him of all his possessions apart from soap and a single razor that they felt were sufficient for his long journey back to the safety of the Prince of Wales Fort in Hudson’s Bay.
Anyway, for the final and successful expedition he had with him a charismatic Indian named Matonabbee, without whom failure (and probably death) would probably have been inevitable.
And so to the passage that caught my eye, near the start of this long final expedition:
‘Matonabbee attributed our present misfortunes partly to the misconduct of our guides, but mainly to the insistence of the Governor that we should take no women.
”For,” said he, “when all the men are heavily laden, they can neither hunt nor travel any distance. And in case they should meet with some success in hunting, who is to carry the produce of their labour? Women were made for labour. One of them can carry or haul as much as two men. They also pitch our tents, make and mend our clothes, keep us warm at night- and in fact there is no such thing as travelling any considerable distance without their assistance. More than this, women can be maintained at trifling expense, for, as they always cook, the very licking of their fingers in scarce times is sufficient for their sustenance.”’
Food for thought as this year’s batch of lemmings finalise their arrangements for slogging across Scotland during May?
“We’re here. Let’s go for a stroll.”
“It’s called Woodlands Valley. I wonder why?”
Amongst the crisp pine needles and leaf litter, a wandering hobo appeared. We fed him some Chocolate Caramel Shortbread.
“I feel better now” he exclaimed. Then he wandered off, repeating something about “need my Medication…Guinness”.
Up near Doctor’s Gate, we met a doctor called Martin. “In need of Medication…must go…Rugby…TV…Calcutta…need to watch” he blurted.
A gaggle of figures passed above us as we returned through the forest. They were being led down the dangerous A57 road by an elf with a long white beard who was desperately seeking Medication. “Macallan, Laphroaig, Glen Morangie, Glenfiddich, Glenlivet” he chorused.
Back at the stark white building, some badly pitched Aktos and a Pie Man’s Palace flapped in the breeze whilst the inmates concocted Sue’s expensive stark white dinner, sponsored by Dunlop, featuring sea-life from the 20th century.
There were lots of lovely people there, including an elderly gent with a huge belly. “It’s the Medication…Black Bull Bitter and Potatoes” he confessed, before resuming the fruitless search for his favourite colour.
It was great to see everyone, and we also missed those who couldn’t make it. We look forward to seeing you again soon and hope that all our conundrums will have been discovered and our Medications solved by then. Especially our own!
A leisurely start saw Graham and I ambling away from Beddgelert car park at 10.30 am. The start described in Bill Birkett’s book was simplified by new paths beside the recently restored Welsh Highland Railway. The sun was shining and everything was very peaceful.
There was a lone walker ahead in the distance who we never caught up, but we soon overtook a group of six trainees (they all had map cases, boots with the sizes inked onto their heels, and a weary looking leader who kept halting them for his next words of wisdom).
There was no other sign of human life on the hill.
A position was reached where much needed elevenses could be enjoyed, with a panoramic view towards Snowdon, its nose in cloud, and snow capped Moel Siabod to its right. Cnicht and the Moelwyns are out of frame to the right.
A pleasant, scrambly ridge conducted us to the summit by 12.30, mainly along a thin path through the rocks, though we made our own way really, avoiding hard-frozen slabs of ice and snow – there was not enough to warrant crampons on this occasion.
The views from here are excellent, though the shadows cast by big clouds over the Snowdon massif meant we didn’t enjoy the brightness of our last two ‘Great British Ridge Walk’ outings.
Bright shafts of light lit up Tremadog Bay, beyond Porthmadog.
After slithering down a steep bank of snow that was just right for a lengthy standing glissade, we found a lunch spot sheltered from the cold north-easterly, near the col leading to Moel Yr Ogof. Then we zoomed on up Moel Yr Ogof through a steep looking but easy on the ground defile to the summit, with views back to the broad snow slope down which we had earlier glissaded.
From this second summit we continued through a geologist’s paradise, with big chunks of rock (bombs) embedded in the concrete like consistency of a band of ancient lava.
A ladder stile at the next col led us on to Moel Lefn.
Once down at the next col – Bwlch Cwm-trswsgl – a slightly complex route, vaguely waymarked, led back down to the camp site at Meillionen, where the human activity indicated that the ‘season’ has started. We even saw a Dutch touring car today.
We missed a turn after the camp site and finished up on a boggy path by the river, with an illegal walk down the railway line to finish (instead of a legal but possibly slurrified – and our boots were clean! -path through a farm). It was 4 pm – we were in plenty of time to drive home and enjoy a fine repast prepared by Sue.
I will insert a route description in due course, as Bill B’s needs amending to take account of the restored railway line.
Here’s where we went, in a fairly leisurely 5.5 hours – 12 km with about 975 metres ascent. The more correct route should have been down the path that links point 5 back to Cwm Cioch, but I suppose our accidental variant made for a truer circuit.
It wasn’t the best day for snapshots, but a few piccies, including some of Graham’s (thank you, Graham) are available to be viewed here.
It’s Skiddaw next – meeting at 10.00 am at NY 237 311 on Tuesday 16 March. Be there or be square, as The Pie Man would say.
Here’s my son Mike outside the first home of his own, just down the road from us in Northern Moor.
The living room is as big as his current flat, so he’s quite pleased (an understatement).
There’s a bit of work needed – new boiler, various bits of minor repair work, perhaps rewiring, and complete redecoration.
We start on the ‘Music Room’, the priority for any musician, tomorrow, probably.
I’m not a DIY sort of person, so Gayle (for one) can expect some ‘How do you do that?’ type of emails and discussions.
Meanwhile, crocuses are sprouting beside the canal towpath, despite the cold east wind and constant frosts (there was ice on the canal in Altrincham all day today).
Regular readers may ask:
“Why go for HI-TEC footwear again – the last lot failed?”
The answer can be found in the footnote to this recent posting.
So, I’m the proud owner of these ‘Adventure Sports’ shoes, and will be recording their every move over the coming months. A full review will follow in due course.
Initially the 800gm V-Lite Thunder HPi shoes feel fairly comfy, and rather more substantial than the 650gm Roclites that they are replacing.
They have sole, as well.
Today Ken had set the agenda – a classic circuit from Edale for his ‘YHA Techies’, up Grinds Brook to Crowden Tower, then north past Crowden Head to Kinder Downfall for lunch, returning by the Pennine Way past Edale Cross to Upper Booth and Edale.
The fair weather that was forecast turned out to be a light sort of mizzle, but by the time Sue and I had reached Ken’s ‘secret’ free car park in Edale it was merely cloudy.
We had passed one erstwhile member of the group who had parked below Rushup Edge and was not seen again, so it was just 14 people and two dogs who set off up the Grinds Brook path, studiously ignoring The Old Nags Head as they passed by that hostelry.
Just as if it was one of my walks!
It was pleasant enough, as we ambled on, but then the Manchester mizzle returned, very lightly, so we paused for tea and CCS at the snowline and donned our waterproofs.
It was cool all day, so the waterproofs stayed on though the mizzle soon subsided.
Ken skillfully led from the rear, occasionally waving his GPS in the ether, muttering a few words, and stumbling on over snow laden peat hags.
An agile dog called Boogie appeared to have a much bigger brain than her owner – a chap who kept plunging into deep snow up to his waist.
“He’s doing it for fun” Ken observed. Certainly none of the rest of us could find holes so deep as we trudged on through the gloom.
Several people had GPSs (mine was just a decoy as I’d loaded some Geocache data, but had forgotten to upload the route – no Geocaches were found today), and between us we bimbled seemingly aimlessly past unseen Crowden Head to encounter a well trod path through the snow that led to Kinder Downfall.
Lunch was taken with an icy easterly on our backs despite the relative shelter of the rocks in the Downfall area. I think we were at the Downfall, anyway. Ken said we were. It wasn’t visible. Despite the binoculars.
The afternoon’s stroll saw us heading south along a dirty brown path in the snow called the Pennine Wee.
Past Kinder Low, Ken’s route didn’t meet with universal approval, as the chap with the more intelligent dog became agitated, thinking we were going the wrong way. We weren’t.
“Techies” muttered Ken.
Down at the path that leads to Jacob’s Ladder a tent full of people seemed from the sounds emanating from their tent to be expounding the virtues of watching water boil. Had they come all the way up Jacob’s Ladder just to pitch camp and watch water boil? No, the sight of some trousers draped over a signpost indicated that this may well have been their ‘wash-day’.
Anyway, we continued on down an alternative descent to that of Jacob’s Ladder. Perhaps Ken was protecting his group from being mown down by the mountain bikers who hog that route, though only their tyre tracks were visible today.
In the haven of a bridge over the River Doe the group paused again to drain their flasks and chew their last crisps, whilst watching Holly (a dog) attempt to clear rocks from the river. She was surprisingly successful, but then her owner reinforced the rest of the group’s view on the respective intelligence of the dogs and their owners by disappearing for the rest of the walk.
“We’ve lost someone, Ken!”
“Oh dear, we’ll finish the walk and then inform the Mountain Rescue” quipped Ken. “He was only a Techie”.
So we finished the walk along this incredibly narrow section of the Pennine Way, today sadly subjected to further erosion by an elderly gent in breeches fruitlessly searching for deer for his pot.
Luckily, Mark and Holly reappeared outside the café, by which time the weather had become quite fair.
But sadly it was time to go home.
Here’s our route: 15 km with 600 metres ascent, taking us about five and a half hours plus stops.
Great that Sue coped with a full day out – her first for many months.
More photos, for those who can stomach them, are located here.
The plush Rover swished up the M6 in plenty of time for Graham and me to enjoy a coffee break en route and further refreshments at the Three Shires Inn in Little Langdale.
The final stage of the journey was over freshly laid ice and snow, which provided an excellent excuse for the late arrival of the Pie Man and his chauffeur, Bruno. At first we thought he had parked in Ambleside and walked in, but he disappeared back down the road for a while and returned with the car, a job that Graham and I really thought should have been entrusted to the chauffeur.
By 10.30 we were enjoying another virtually cloudless day, as we tramped down to Slater’s Bridge, with our snow capped destination glowing in the distance in the bright sunlight, as the sun vapourised the frost at our feet.
Once we worked out that we should leave the path above Greenburn Beck, the gradient changed abruptly. In these conditions the chauffeur’s duties mutated to porterage obligations as he dragged his splendidly buffed charge up the hill.
Meanwhile, Graham, oldest and fittest by far of the trio of TGO Challengers out walking today, lurked contentedly on the summit of Birk Fell, surveying the route ahead, thus described by Bill Birkett: “the ascent of the Little Langdale Edge of Wetherlam steepens at the top and involves a few small rocky steps – possibly Scrambling Grade 0.25 if tackled head-on.”
We didn’t necessarily take the ‘head-on’ option, preferring to keep our crampons on snow rather than rock and proceed along a sporting line up the steep slope.
A ‘friend’ from Kirkby Lonsdale appeared on the summit of Wetherlam and kindly took this photo of us, with our avalanche rescue dog (Bruno’s high altitude role once he has discharged his porterage duties) distracted by the fine view towards Crinkle Crags.
Before us lay Swirl How, at 802 metres our high point of the day, accessed by way of an arctic plateau before going down to some avalanche ready slopes before ascending our final 200 metres to the sunny summit.
Earlier, in the shade of Birk Fell, Mike had endured painfully cold hands (Sue really does sympathise), but we were all nicely warmed up by the time we reached the summit of Swirl How. The sun definitely had considerably more warmth than two weeks earlier, and a single layer (albeit a flashy Embers merino wool shirt) kept me lovely and warm for most of the day.
Despite having been stabbed by a crampon, our avalanche rescue dog continued to enjoy his relentless search for bodies in the snow.
Shortly before the summit of Great Carrs, we paused by the memorial to eight airmen who lost their lives on 22 October 1944 when a Halifax bomber that crashed at this spot. There were fine views across to the Scafells, and Bowfell had a magnificent Alpine air to it from this direction.
The sun hovered above high cloud over Grey Friar as we descended to the balmier climes of Wet Side Edge, a cool easterly now having taken control of the thermostat.
Back at Slater’s Bridge I made a determined effort to locate my first (under code name ‘Phreerunner’) geocache. It was hidden in a lunch box and receives frequent visits, containing inter alia a notebook bulging with comments, just like those found on Alpine mountain summits.
It was 5.40pm by the time we got back to the cars, still in good daylight – the days are lengthening nicely just now; spring is in the air, despite the snow. We’d been in no hurry, and other walkers following this route could realistically expect to knock up to three hours off our ‘pensioners amble’ sort of pace.
The hills were quiet today – we probably encountered about a dozen folk, mostly well kitted out with axe and crampons at the ready, though those without such aids seemed equally happy on this calm, sunny day.
The Watermill at Ings provided sustenance, at a price, on our journey home.
Here’s our route – 13 km, 985 metres ascent, in just over 7 hours.
A slide show (45 images) for those with the time / inclination, is here. The Pie Man’s report (more entertaining than this one – I didn’t copy it this time!) is here.
The next ‘Great British Ridge Walk’ will be ‘Moel Hebog by the North-East ridge and a traverse of the North Ridge over Moels yr Ogof and Lefn’, on Wednesday 10 March, starting from Beddgelert Car Park at 10 am. It’s 12 km with 980 metres ascent. If the weather is poor, or Sue decides to come, we may go up Moel Siabod, from SH 734 571 – Pont Cyfyng lane, or from Capel Curig. So let me know if you plan to join us.
Then on Tuesday 16 March we will be tackling Skiddaw via Ullock Pike, descending by Birkett’s Edge. This is 13 km with 1015 metres ascent, starting at 10 am from a small lay-by (if there’s room) at NY 237 311 by Orthwaite Road, a little above the junction with the A591 above Bassenthwaite village.
