Monday 17 December 2007 - Hoary Plynlimon

Today’s jaunt was triggered by a call on Saturday from an old friend who ‘needed a good walk’. He suggested joining us in the Glyders on New Year’s Day, but I perceived a more urgent need. So by Sunday morning we had worked out that Plynlimon, today, was a good choice, it being about half way between Manchester and John’s home in South Wales.
I left home at 6.30 under a dark and starry night with a hard frost, and a weatherman on the radio proclaiming ‘today’s hot spot will be Aberystwyth’, ie just near our day’s objective. By Oswestry I should have been admiring a sunrise like last Tuesday’s, but there was clearly a meteorological problem and the day crept in grey and cold, with freezing fog. I’d not got John down as a particularly punctual sort of chap, so I felt guilty arriving 15 minutes late for our 9 am rendezvous and clasping a hand icy cold from its 50 minute sojourn at our starting point, Eisteddfa Gurig.
Boots and fleece were donned and after parting with a £3 parking fee to the farmer (I won’t repeat here what John thinks of sheep farmers!) we set off on the easy path up Plynlimon, a biting wind tugging at our clothing. Everything had been whitened by a thick layer of hoar frost. John spent all day in his Neutrino down jacket, though I never did see any gloves (Note 1), and I was cosy after donning a layer of Paclite Goretex over the Vapour Rise smock when we got to the summit. It took little more than an hour, but up here at 752 metres we needed to descend some way to the west to a spot where we could enjoy a relatively sheltered tea break.
It was a real battle against the elements to regain the ridge, almost a crawl, and we were nervous about how we would fare on our easterly bearing through the fog in the face of the wind. But the conditions eased a little as we passed above the source of the River Wye, hidden in the mist.
The compass (John had embarrassingly forgotten to bring his) assisted us in transcribing an arc to reach the source of the River Severn. Here, where the county boundary fence turns ENE, John rashly expressed a measure of delight at my success in navigating in the mist.
We never did work out why the new looking boundary stone plinths were engraved ‘w.w.w. 1865’.
The wire fence looked very solid, with about an inch of hoar frost glued uniformly to the thin wires.
If there’s a plaque marking the source of the Severn, we missed it, as I erred to the south before chancing upon the obvious channel with the embryonic river and a well-made path. So we forded the River Severn and lunched on its banks before continuing down the path that soon entered Hafren Forest. Here the trees looked like a different type of fir, as the coating of frost gave them a grey appearance. We enjoyed a kilometre along the Severn Way before continuing on a forestry track in improved, if imperfect, visibility, chatting about trips. Earlier in the year one Jim Wickwire had contacted John and together with two Japanese climbers they had attempted Mount Burney in Southern Chile. Here’s John’s report on an earlier trip to Burney, which possibly triggered the call from Wickwire. It had been a wet trip, and John had become increasingly weary of Wickwire’s seemingly infinite library of tales of lost companions on earlier trips. These people had not been misplaced in the in the geographical sense, as we were now, but more in the ‘Storm and Sorrow’ sense. (Note 2)
Distracted by the chatting about Wickwire and Co, and John’s desire to start a blog to enable him to recount to the world some of his memorable trips, we found ourselves heading north. So we headed back down a path beside Afon Hore and followed ‘Wye Way’ signs. After a while we were going north again. So we turned around and headed back, in the wrong direction, down the hill. I think that by the time we turned around again to head back up the hill, John was probably regretting complimenting me on my navigation skills!
D**n these forest tracks and paths that aren’t on the map. And the fact that I forgot to bring a GPS!
This time we got round the northerly loop and at last escaped from the forest to head south on a good track, past a path to ‘The Source of the Wye – 1 km’, and on past old mine workings, a copse and a farm, to reach a barn a Y Drum, near which we were surprised to see that an entire small copse of trees had recently been felled.
After contouring south then west we disturbed a snipe before crossing a river by mistake. Stubbornly holding our ground, we declined to re-cross until confronted by high fences that forced us back onto our planned route. We then left the track to follow an ancient pathway, indistinct in places, crossing the river for a third time and rising to a col at about 500 metres from where, at last, we gained a splendid view of the sun as it emerged from an orange haze to briefly blind us before drifting down behind the ridge of hills beyond which the ‘hot spot’ of Aberystwyth lurks.
From here it was a pleasant stroll back to Eisteddfa Gurig where we enjoyed the dregs of our tea and the last crumbs of caramel shortbread before wending our ways home.
This was one of those ‘Grand Days Out’ in excellent company. Thank you, John for providing the stimulus. We saw nobody all day, as seems to be the norm in the Welsh hills on a weekday, outside Snowdonia.

Here’s the route, which worked out at about 23 km (probably 2 more than it should have been) with 960 metres of ascent, and took us about 7 hours.

Note 1 –John tells me that an early mentor was one HW Tilman, who when asked by John why was he not wearing gloves on a freezing cold day in the Atlantic, replied “I’m a sailor, John; proper sailors don’t wear gloves”. Hmmm.

Note 2 – A number of John’s friends, who had heard about Wickwire’s reputation for losing his companions, jested on his safe return from Burney – “Hello John, we didn’t ever expect to see you again!”

Sunday 16 December 2007 - Market Day in Manchester

A crowded tram sped into Manchester on this bitterly cold, overcast day. There was a warm ambience of excited children, and once in Albert Square the tightly laid out stalls and the smells of sausages cooking and wine mulling soon dispelled any coldness in extremities. Father Christmas leered at us from in front of the Town Hall,

whilst a skiffle band handed out instruments from a huge box to anyone who wished to join in. The usual bustle of weekday lunchtime workers was today a parallel universe of which there was no evidence whatsoever.

It was crowded but easy going, everyone enjoying themselves. The six of us bought very little, but we think (hope) the children enjoyed the trip.

They certainly wolfed down some drop scones back in the warmth of our house, and were sufficiently energised to construct (it comes in a box from the loft every year!) and decorate our Christmas tree. A big thank you to Christmas Tree Engineers, Andrew (5) and Kate (3), should they read this.

Wow, I've got up to date at last! For how long, I wonder!

Saturday 15 December 2007 - Around Culcheth

It was a lovely calm morning, with a bright winter’s sun trying to raise the temperature to above freezing. But, with jobs to get done, it wasn’t until the afternoon that The Dishy Pharmacist and I could take stock and get some fresh air – much needed in my case after last night’s office party. By the time we had driven down the back lanes to Culcheth, just north of Warrington, it had clouded over, a sharp breeze cut through the air, and at nearly 3 pm the light was already beginning to fade. So there was just time for a brief exploration; we hadn’t been here before, of the following route:
It’s all of 6.6 km, with 19 metres of ascent according to Mr Anquet. The paths were well signed and easy going. They were well used too, the farmers here have been well trained – no slurry filled gateways, and meticulous signage. Well done, people of Culcheth. A blend of tarmac lanes, grassy field paths under hovering kestrels, and woodland such as that shown above, facilitated a pleasant stroll that, all too soon, ended back at the car after an hour and a quarter.
We learnt that in Saxon times Culcheth meant ‘on the edge of a wood’, but as the name dates from between the 6th and the 10th centuries there has been quite a bit of ‘water under the bridge’ and the trees we saw, if I’m not mistaken, were younger than 1000 years old!
The Squire of Culcheth lived at Culcheth Hall, but that is long gone and all that remains is Culcheth Hall Drive with its modern houses, and avenues of grand beech trees together with a surviving gate lodge.
A 17th century visitor to Culcheth was apparently Colonel Blood, a notorious adventurer and secret agent who married a daughter of the Lord of the Manor and involved her in his plot to steal the Crown Jewels.

Friday 14 December 2007 - Showell Styles (Part 2)

I referred to Showell Styles in my brief entry on 4 October when I was (like today but worse) playing catch-up with the blog. This is the man whose book ‘Backpacking in the Alps and Pyrenees’ inspired our trips to the Alps in the early 1980s before the days of step by step guides of the ‘Cicerone genre’. When we followed in Showell’s steps (his precise route was a bit vague) we enjoyed a daily reading from his book covering the area we had walked. It was great entertainment. Showell Styles died at the age of 96 in 2005. He was a prolific author and amongst his writings is this enduring ballad:

THE BALLAD OF IDWAL SLABS

by Showell Styles

I'll tell you the tale of a climber; a drama of love on the crags;
A story to pluck at your heartstrings. And tear your emotions to rags.
He was tall, he was fair, he was handsome;
John Christopher Brown was his name;
The Very Severes nearly bored him to tears ------
and he felt about girls much the same.

Till one day, while climbing at Ogwen, he fell (just a figure of speech)
For the president's beautiful daughter, named Mary Jane Smith---What a peach!
Her figure was slim as Napes Needle;
Her lips were as red as Red Wall;
A regular tiger, she'd been up the Eiger...
North Wall, with no pitons at all!

Now Mary had several suitors, but never a one would she take,
Though it seemed that she favoured one fellow, a villain named Reginald Hake;
This Hake was a cad who used pitons,
And wore a long silken moustarsh,
Which he used, so they say, as an extra belay----
But perhaps we're being too harsh.

John took Mary climbing on Lliwedd, and proposed while on Mallory's Slab;
It took him three pitches to do it, for he hadn't much gift of the gab.
He said: "Just belay for a moment---
There's a little spike by your knee-
And tell me, fair maid, when you're properly belayed,
Would you care to hitch up with me?"

Said Mary, "It's only a toss-up between you and Reginald Hake,
And the man I am going to marry must perform some great deed for my sake.
I will marry whichever bold climber shall excel at the following feat
Climb headfirst down Hope, with no rubbers or rope,
At our very next climbing club meet!"

Now when Mary told the committee, she had little occasion to plead,
For she was fair as a jug-handle hold at the top of a hundred foot lead.
The club ratified her proposal,
And the President had to agree;
He was fond of his daughter, but felt that she oughter
Get married, between you and me.

There was quite a big crowd for the contest, lined up at the foot of the slabs;
The Mobs came from Bangor in Buses, and the Nobs came from Capel in Cabs.
There were Fell and rock, climbers', and rucksack,
And the pinnacle club (in new hats)
And a sight to remember!... an Alpine club member,
in very large crampons and spats.

The weather was fine for a wonder; the rocks were as dry as a bone.
Hake arrived with a crowd of his backers, but John Brown strode up quite alone;
A rousing cheer greeted the rivals;
A coin was produced, and they tossed.
"Have I won?" cried John Brown as the penny came down.
"No you fool!" hissed his rival, "You've lost!"

So Hake had first go at the contest; he went up by the Ordinary Route.
And only the closest observer would have noticed a bulge in each boot.
Head first he came down the top pitches,
Applying his moustache as a brake;
He didn't relax till he'd passed the twin cracks,
And the crowd shouted "Attaboy Hake!"

At the foot of the Slabs Hake stood sneering, and draining a bottle of Scotch;
" Your time was ten seconds," the President said, consulting the Treasurer's watch.
Now Brown. if you'd win, you have to beat that.
" Our Hero's Sang Froid was sublime;
He took one look at Mary, and light as a fairy,
Ran up to the top of the climb.

Now though Hake had made such good going, John wasn't discouraged a bit,
For he was the speedier climber Even Hake would have had to admit.
So smiling as if for a snapshot,
Not a hair of his head out of place,
Our Hero John Brown started wriggling down...
But Look! What a change on his face!

Prepare for a shock, gentle ladies; gentlemen, check the blasphemous word;
For the villainy I am to speak of is such as you never have heard!
Reg Hake had cut holes in the toes of his boots,
And filled up each boot with soft soap!
As he slid down the climb, he had covered
With slime every handhold and foothold on Hope!

Conceive (if you can) the terror that gripped the vast concourse below,
When they saw Mary's lover slip downwards, like an arrow that's shot from a bow!
" He's done for!" gasped twenty score voices.
"Stand from under!" Roared John from above.
As he shot down the slope, he was steering down Hope...
Still fighting for life and for love!

Like lightning he flew past the traverse... in a flash he had reached the Twin Cracks
The friction was something terrific---there was smoke coming out of his slacks
He bounced off the shelf at the top of pitch two,
And bounded clean over it's edge!
A shout of "He's gone!" came from all... except one;
And that one of course, was our Reg.

But it's not the expected that happens, in this sort of story at least;
And just as John thought he was finished, he found that his motion had ceased!
His braces (Pre-War and elastic)
Had caught on a small rocky knob,
And so... safe and sound, he came gently to ground,
'Mid the deafening cheers of the Mob!

"Your time was five seconds!" the President cried. "She's yours, my boy...
take her, You win!"
" My hero!" breathed Mary, and kissed him; while Hake gulped a bottle of Gin,
And tugged at his moustache and whispered,
"Aha! My advances you spurn!"
Curse a chap that wins races by using his braces!"
And he slunk away ne'er to return.

They were wed at the Church of St. Gabbro; And the Vicar, quite carried away,
Did a hand-traverse into his pulpit, and shouted out "let us belay"
John put the ring on Mary's finger
A snap-link it was, made of steel,
And they walked to the taxis
'Neath an arch of ice axes,
While all the bells started to peal.

The morals we draw from this story, are several, I'm happy to say:
It's virtue that wins in the long run; long silken moustaches don't pay;
Keep the head uppermost when you're climbing;
If you must slither, be on a rope;
Steer clear of the places that sell you cheap braces---
And the fellow that uses soft soap!

Thursday 13 December 2007 - Bird Life by The Bridgewater Canal

A stroll down the canal today attracted the usual flotilla of Mallard, anxious to find small children with large crusts. The Mallard have been joined for the winter by the noisier Black-headed Gulls. Other water loving permanent residents are the pair of Mute Swans whose young have now dispersed, Canada Geese, Moorhens, Grey Wagtails and occasional Coots and Kingfishers. They will soon get their first taste of ice on the canal – it’s always amusing to watch the puzzled birds landing on the ice! The hedgerows harbour lots of Dunnock, Robins, Blue Tits, Great Tits, Goldfinches, Chaffinches and Wrens, whilst higher in the tree canopy are found Woodpigeons, Feral Pigeons, Collared Doves, Blackbirds, Kestrels, Magpies, Jays and Carrion Crows, and if you are lucky you may catch the undulating flight of a Great Spotted Woodpecker.
To name but a few. I must try find an expert / walk more slowly sometimes!

Wednesday 12 December 2007 - Highlights of the Year – Part 3 – Berliner Hohenweg - 27 July 2007

The Berliner Hohenweg, or the ‘Zillertal Rucksack Route’ as Allan Hartley describes it in his Cicerone guide published in 2003, was my choice for a hutting route with just The Dishy Pharmacist, to follow our week with other friends in the Dolomites in July.
I still plan to do a report on this trip as the guide book appears to have been completed in a hurry and contains numerous minor ‘debatable’ issues. In fact the route is simple enough to do without a guidebook, though I hope to produce an A3 pamphlet (or equivalent, ie 4 pages of A4) that people could print off. For us, the guide book provided evening entertainment with a red pen, but it also contains a lot of information about excursions from the basic route. Allan Hartley is a mountaineer of the climber genus and clearly enjoyed the diversions more than the basic route that we undertook, so people like Ali and Lay would probably benefit from the book, and reach a number of Alpine summits. For the more pedestrian amongst us, the route is clear, well marked and well used, and Kompass 1:50000 map No 37 – ‘Zillertaler Alpen Tuxer Voralpen’ is all you really need.
The whole trip was a ‘Highlight of the Year’ but I’ll focus on just one day, the last day’s walk from Friesenberg Haus to Gams Hut:
We rose at 6.45, as usual, in our small dormitory where the other beds remained unoccupied. But the dining room was full of breakfasting Alpinistes from 7 o clock. It was hazy, with cloud already obscuring the peaks, but warm enough for shorts as we left on the 14 km trek to Gams Huts before 8 am. The first section was bouldery and passed a small lake, Wesendkarsee, at 2375 metres, where last year I camped in beautiful weather with Mark and Juliana, and I also camped there back in 1993. It’s a great spot facing south east with fabulous views.
The cloud engulfed us here, but it was still bright and it soon cleared again, but felt very humid. We passed Kevin and Alison, the only other Brits seen all week. They planned to descend from Kesselalm as Kevin has a cold. Soon afterwards we passed Manfred, a 67 year old from Cologne who is the only person to have been on the trail with us all week. They all started early as the guidebook suggests 10 to 12 hours will be needed, though the signs say it is a 9 hour day. Manfred has seen gamsbok (antelope) but so far we have only seen a large cobweb and have heard marmots whistling. There’s a sharp descent to Kesselalm (no axes needed this year – we had used one to negotiate a frozen gully last year) where two curious grey calves were frolicking in the meadow. An attractive waterfall oversaw an excellent half hour brew stop. Sue ate several handfuls of bilberries – ripe and warm from the sun.
A hot climb followed, through green meadows with loads of flowers. There were fine views from here, and throughout the day, across the main valley to the route we had enjoyed during the first three days from Edel Hutte.
Pitzen-Alm provided a welcome stop, with a small café perched on the edge of the slope dispensing welcome Schiewasser and Apfelsaft on its balcony. They were surprised we had arrived so early; we must have been going well! We were now well ahead of the others on today’s route. We met Alphonse coming the other way, and he promised to say ‘Hello Manfred’ when passing the gentleman from Cologne. We had done this earlier in the week, and Manfred, walking alone, was always chuffed to be greeted like a long lost friend by complete strangers!
Next, we climbed from the Alm, passing through areas of pasture and boulders, not far above the firs. The gradually increasing cloud at least provided shelter from the burning sunshine, and a few drops of rain were felt as we crossed another boulder field.
The final couple of miles were on a precipitous narrow path, high above the valley, with stream crossings requiring care. Here, at last, we spotted a gamsbok browsing in the steep grass just below us. There were masses of colourful wild flowers, from Houseleeks to Harebells, around here.

Only when we rounded the easternmost point of the main ridge below which we had been walking, did we get a view of our destination, the well appointed Gams Hut, at 1916 metres the lowest we had stayed in all week. The path weaved down through more bilberry bushes, with fine views down the ever widening Ziller valley. We arrived at the Hut at 2 pm, after a 6 hour walk including an hour of stops. Interesting in the context of the 9 to 12 hour timings suggested by guide book and signs, especially as we were not rushing.
We enjoyed a cooked lunch in the Hut, as always, and basked in the satisfaction of successfully completing this high level traverse, before providing a welcoming party for Manfred, who arrived tired but happy and much in need of the beer we had set up for him.

This was the only hut we had felt a need to book in advance (Friday night, close to a holiday town) but only a handful of others arrived. It seems that many folk are put off by the prospect of a long day with steep slopes and boulder fields, and they descend to Ginzling from Kesselalm or Pitzen-Alm. The hut log reveals just 5 visiting Brits in the 8 weeks since the hut opened for the summer. The cloud sat at about 400 metres above us but the expected storm didn’t materialise and the three of us enjoyed our final meal together – schnitzel and salad, with Manfred providing Schnapps, which appeared to be the hut warden’s ‘home brew’. We couldn’t resist topping the meal off with apfelkuchen, which left the two of us with just 6 euros to buy coffees on the way into Mayrhofen the following morning.

There is a slide show of this trip (100 images) - please let me know if you wish to view it.

Tuesday 11 December 2007 - Sunrise over Timperley

On a crisp morning we enjoyed this beautiful introduction to a wonderfully sunny day during which the temperature hardly troubled the mercury. Sadly, various chores obstructed the best use of the day, but I’m sure there will be many more days like this to put to good use.

Monday 10 December 2007 - UK Outdoor Bloggers Christmas Pantomime

If you go down to the woods today you’re bound to be in for a surprise.

This may well be a first for the UK outdoor on-line community.
So please be generous with your applause (and boos) as we welcome you to enjoy a walk with the 2007 UK Outdoor Bloggers Christmas Pantomine.
Or is it all enjoyment?
Follow a multiple track route to try to get to the bloggers party on time…..or will all the refreshments have gone by the time you arrive?

“UK Outdoor Bloggers Christmas Pantomine”

Congratulations to London Backpacker, Aktoman, Ali and Lay, John Hee, Weird Darren and The Bearded Git, (and anyone else whose input to the adventure I have yet to discover) who appear to have managed to put this together and upload the intricately linked adventure so that it all works smoothly. Great fun!

Meanwhile, the Cheshire countryside was a bit damp today, as portrayed by the postcard.

Sunday 9 December 2007 - A Sunday Stroll in the Best of Company

Twelve people turned up for the pre Christmas Walk, as planned, though for some reason most of them parked some way down the road. Andrew was blamed for leading them astray.
Waterproofs were donned as there was a fine mist on the Roaches, but once past Roach End we were below the cloud and getting hot, so a pause for tea was welcome. Despite being absent, due to a ‘better offer’ – a day in Lapland – The Dishy Pharmacist had left me with an ample supply of Caramel Shortbread in my bum bag. Tradition dictates that this goes down well.
So we strolled merrily on along the prescribed route to the dark damp declivity that is Lud’s Church.
This natural cleft is over 100 metres in length and over 20 metres high in places. The light of day rarely reaches and damp mosses curl down from the walls. Even on the sunniest of days, it is possible to hear the drip, drip of water from the ferns which cling to the sides of the cleft, which has been identified as The Green Chapel – the very place where Sir Gawain met and battled with the Green Knight one New Year’s Day long ago.
Graham seemed convinced that half the party was likely to be sucked into the glutinous pond near the entrance, and some guidance was given to enable the less agile amongst us to plot a delicate route across the half submerged rocks and log in order to effect our escape.
My photos on this dark day just didn’t turn out, so those fearing exposure to these pages by way of a group photo need not have worried, they were always to fast for the shutter!
A pleasant hour by the banks of the River Dane brought us to the sanctuary of The Ship Inn. Although the ‘Golden Jackal’ had now been drunk, the Landlord’s Bitter was excellent and we arrived to find the Hikers Bar full of people apart from our reserved table for 12, in front of a roaring fire. This proved to be a fine venue for lunch. My ‘hot beef sandwich on freshly cut granary bloomer bread with prime sautéed beef, caramelised onions, salad garnish and handcut chunky chips’ was tender and succulent, and the rectangular orientation of the table meant that everyone was within earshot of each other, so it was a most convivial hour and a half, discussing the triumphs of 2007 and our plans for 2008.
We were sorry to have to down that last chocolatey mouthful of fudge cake and discard the blue hospital bootees, before continuing our tramp. But the weather was warm and dry, if a little dull, and the planned route was followed up to Hanging Stone (see last Wednesday’s blog), where Keith kindly posed for today’s ‘Postcard’.
Then everyone headed on along the concessionary path to Roach End, ignoring my feeble murmurings that this was not actually the intended route. Never mind, it’s a nice path that I’d somehow never been on before, and certainly much drier than the lower route through fields, and 2 km shorter (just 16 km for the day). I gave in gracefully to Graham Illing’s ‘Don’t do Boggy Fields’ dictum on this occasion. By the time we got back to Roach End, everyone was more than happy to stroll down the quiet lane back to the cars, idly chatting in the gathering gloom of the December afternoon.
A lovely day out, in excellent company; thank you everyone for turning up on a day when the dire weather forecast turned out to be a tad misleading but would have discouraged less committed souls!

I wonder whether any other ‘Outdoors Bloggers’ will turn up on next year’s pre Christmas stroll...

Saturday 8 December 2007 - The Battle of Culloden - April 16, 1746

Is this suitable subject matter for an Outdoors Blog? I don’t know. But it did happen in the outdoors, so here goes.
Whilst in Madeira in November Alan pulled out some of his old maps etc of the island. He collects documents relating to the history of the island. On the back of one of these documents, a copy of the London Illustrated News from April 1844, was a report on the 98th anniversary of the Battle of Culloden. These days I would head to Wikipedia to find out about such events. Here’s a link to the relevant entry (and it has many further links, you could spend hours on this one topic!), from which I’ve borrowed the reproduced painting by David Morier. Wikipedia says that some 50 ‘Hanoverians (English) died in the Battle, with 1250 Jacobites (Highlanders) being killed. It’s odd how over the years the stories of such events can be differently reported. I reproduce below the 1844 version of events, from which you will note that 600 deaths on each side were reported. Though the Wikipedia entry is much more comprehensive, I wonder which version is more accurate.
But after reading this I can only marvel at our modern day ‘free passage’ to Scotland and am saddened by the ongoing conflicts in such potentially wonderful parts of the world as Afghanistan.

THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN
“Drummossie Muir, Drummossie day,
A waeful day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear and brethren three.”

Tuesday last was the 98th anniversary of the celebrated battle fought on the estate of Culloden, about three miles north-east of Inverness, on April 16, 1746, and which is memorable as having put an end to the Rebellion. On the night preceding the Highlanders had intended to surprise the Duke of Cumberland, in his camp, at Nairn; but this scheme having failed, they took up a position on the Moor of Drummossie, their left wing towards the house of Culloden, where the declivity of the hill was soft and marshy, their right slightly protected by a stone wall. The ground was unfavourable, and the Highlanders were weakened by hunger and fatigue, so that it had been judged expedient to withdraw to the hills; but the difficulty of finding subsistence for the men, and the importance of protecting Inverness, determined the Prince Charles Edward, and his councillors, to venture a battle. Drawn up in a line in the position above mentioned, while waiting for the signal to charge, the Highlanders suffered greatly from the English artillery. Exasperated, at last, beyond endurance, the centre rushed forward; and the last charge of the Highlanders, under their patriarchal discipline, and with their peculiar arms, is thus vividly described in Chambers’s “History of the Rebellion” :-

“A lowland gentleman, who was in the line, and who survived till a late period, used always, in relating the events of Culloden, to comment with a feeling of something like awe upon the terrific and more than natural expression of rage which glowed in every face and gleaned in every eye, as he surveyed the extended line at this moment. Notwithstanding that the three files of the front line of English poured forth their incessant fire of musketry; notwithstanding that the cannon, now loaded with grape-shot, swept the field as with a hail-storm; notwithstanding the flank fire of Wolfe’s regiment, onward went the headlong Highlanders, flinging themselves into, rather than rushing upon, the lines of the enemy, which indeed, they did not see for the smoke till involved among their weapons. It was a moment of dreadful, agonising suspense, but only a moment, for the whirlwind does not sweep the forest with greater rapidity than the Highlanders cleared the line. They swept through and over that frail barrier almost as easily and instantaneously as the bounding cavalcade brushes through the morning labours of the gossamer which stretch across its path; not, however, with the same unconsciousness of the events! Almost every man in their front rank, chief and gentleman, fell before the deadly weapons which they had braved; and although the enemy gave way, it was not till every bayonet was bent and bloody with the strife.
“When the first line had been completely swept aside, the assailants continued their impetuous advance till they came near the second, when, being almost annihilated by a profuse and well directed fire, the shattered remnants of what had been, but an hour before, a numerous and confident force, at last submitted to destiny by giving way and flying. Still, a few rushed on, resolved rather to die than thus forfeit their well-acquired and dearly-estimated honour. They rushed on, but not a man ever came in contact with the enemy. The last survivor perished as he reached the points of the bayonets.”

It is said, that in one place, where a very vigorous attack had been made, their bodies were afterwards found in layers three or four deep.
The right wing of the Highlanders, advancing at the same time, was attacked in flank by the English cavalry and broken; the left withdrew almost without sharing in the fight. About 600 men were killed on each side. The battle, however, was decisive; the Prince fled to the mountains, and some days after, gave notice to his partisans to provide for their own safety, declining to continue the contest with 8000 men, who were ready to meet him in Badenoch. This memorable event has given rise to many plaintive popular songs; a verse from one of which, pathetically lamenting the horrors of war, has been quoted above.

Friday 7 December 2007 - The Munro Society

A surprise item in today’s post was The Munro Society Journal – No. 1, 2007.
I’m not an active member, having joined following my ‘compleation’ of the ascent of the designated 284 of Scotland's hills over 3000 feet in height in 2004 – I think I just filled in a form sent by the Scottish Mountaineering Club – and the effect of a standing order and inertia is that I remain a member. So it’s nice to receive something other than a routine newsletter. This ‘Journal’ is a nice little 50 page booklet in A5 format – a mixture of articles and poetry together with some striking photos.
The Presidential Remarks refer to accusations of the Society being ‘elitist’. I do recall Roger Smith, former editor of TGO, and the main man behind the TGO Challenge, bemoaning in his TGO column the fact that he had been declined membership, and suggesting that given his wide experience and other ‘qualifications’ this rejection was perhaps unfair. Whilst I have great admiration for Roger I do feel that the President may be correct in his assertion that the Society is in fact the reverse of elitist, requiring but one condition of membership (a round of the Munros) and being open to all beyond that single stipulation.
The Journal does in fact embrace contributions from non-members. In particular I was entertained by an article from Dave Hewitt, whose ‘Baggerwatch’ column (axed by TGO a few years ago) is missed by many and who edits Scotland’s Hillwalking Fanzine, The Angry Corrie (TAC). Dave writes about ‘When is a round not a round?’ and likens a round of Munros to a round of golf. The latter does not really cater for repeating holes during the course of a round, so arguably a round of Munros should only start when the previous round has been compleated. This leaves those who have repeated numerous ascents during our first round in a bit of a quandary! Dave refers to one chap who has climbed 6000 Munros in total, but has completed only one full round. So should he complete a second round, the ‘Golfer’s Method’ would require him to make a further ascent of Ben Lomond in order to qualify for a third round, despite the fact that he has already climbed that hill 1300 (yes, one thousand three hundred!) times.
It’s an interesting debate, but I have to say I checked this out with the Clerk of the List in 2004 and was told unambiguously that repeat ascents made during earlier rounds could be included in the tally for future rounds, so there is no need to start again unless you wish to utilise the artificially purist Golfer’s Method.
My reason for referring to Dave’s article is that he clearly doen’t share Roger’s view. He is happy to contribute to the Journal despite being a non-member; his own obtruse, individualistic, way of becoming a Munroist is to complete his round on his 1000th Munro, and he has just a few to go, so 2008 could be a good year for Dave.
Having referred to TAC, I would normally provide a link to TAC’s home page, but the first thing I came across on TAC’s website was this, Graham Stephens’ long awaited report on Graham Illing’s final Munro epic in July 1994. This event was before I had met either of these Grahams and is the stuff of legends, so it’s great to see a report on the actual legendary day, which more modern tales of distress (even Weird Darren’s) struggle to match (certainly in terms of alcohol consumption).

Well done, Munro Society, I shall enjoy reading the rest of this Journal.

Thursday 6 December 2007 - TGOC Issues and ‘Digital Challengers'

Alan Sloman’s blog on 3 December – please do read it – most eloquently describes a process of preparing for a particular outdoors challenge, in this case the annual two week TGO Challenge walk across Scotland.
Through the ‘noise’ of the Message Board, The Digital Challenger “…wonders, if after all their detailed inquiries as to how boggy a path will be, or how rough a certain bealach may be or how heavy their pack should be or how much water they should carry, what sort of socks they should wear and the length of their shoe laces (round or flat?) if they will ever manage to drag their corpses from one side of Scotland to the other if it rains and their plimsolls get soggy...”
Next year will be my second year of doing the Challenge. This year I asked a few questions about food parcels and the ferry across Loch Ness, camp sites, etc, and received some very sympathetic and helpful responses to my naïve queries.
I have not yet planned next year’s route in detail. I want to do that together with Sue, when she has time, so that we can take joint responsibility should it ‘all go wrong’! However, after last year’s experience as a solo walker (the report is here) I have a clear idea of sensible daily mileage and ascent targets, and as it’s only my second challenge we can choose an excellent ‘new’ route without any duplication of last year’s ‘thin blue line’ (that’s reference to the line plotted on the digital map on the computer). We’ve had the first two days planned for ages, as Sue wants to bag the seven Munros of the South Cluanie Ridge.
This brings me to another issue concerning Digital Challengers, especially those from overseas. Mark Alvarez from the USA has actively joined the TGOC ‘fraternity’ and the message board is potentially of particular help to people like Mark who may not have first hand experience of Scottish hillwalking. It quickly became evident to Mark that questions of gear – waterproofs, footwear, tents, etc – are very much open to personal opinions, a wide range of which can be seen in response to a simple question such as “what type of waterproof?” So the ‘Digital Noise’ is fine, but it does sometimes have to be taken with a pinch of salt, especially where the writer is of the ‘Digital Macho’ type with a name like ‘LeonardoX’ or 'Boom Boom’ with no email address and sometimes extreme or controversial ‘angles’ on topics on which their writings show little evidence of expertise.
Here’s a message I sent to Mark concerning one of these peculiar little jokey messages:

One correspondent on the Message Board states:
"Mark, whatever figure you arrive at as elevation gain for your chosen route, the amount of climbing will still be the same.
And when walking, if you encounter a feature known as a Munro, then walk around it, rather than over it. That's what the old drovers did and they were clever fellows."
He or she is joking, obviously, but this could be misleading and whilst I don't pretend to understand the first sentence, I would point out that the 'drovers' had a completely different agenda to that of the modern-day Challenger. If the weather is good, and it often is in May, the high level ridges can be absolutely magnificent. It's pretty easy to work out from the map where high level camps may be feasible (the Message Board can be a help) and personally I would always give myself the option of a high level route, reserving the lower level, and often much boggier, midgier and perhaps tick ridden route for poor weather - the ‘Foul Weather Alternative.”

My advice is that anyone seeking genuine helpful assistance could do worse than contact stalwarts such as ‘Mr Grumpy’, Alan Sloman, Ian C, Derek Emsley, Ian Shiel and Phil Lambert (and there are many more) and treat some of the jolly jesters with the suspicion they deserve!
As regards gear, you could do worse than contact Bob and Rose (pictured above with Loch Ness on this year’s Challenge) of backpackinglight.co.uk for guidance. They are well informed as to what might currently be the best gear for the intended purpose and they can usually supply it at a competitive price. They are always happy to discuss the pros and cons of any particular item.

That’s all the Digital Noise you’ll get from me today!

Wednesday 5 December 2007 - The Ship Inn and The Hanging Stone

A break in the weather gave me the chance to nip out to The Ship Inn at Danebridge for a little circuit to clarify this coming Sunday’s route. There was one short impassable section encountered on our 10 October recce, and I just needed to check the way around this.
So I parked outside The Ship and strolled across the bridge over the River Dane and on up to The Hanging Stone, a prominent landmark in these parts, and a splendid viewpoint to boot.
A crossing of the River Dane at Danebridge was first recorded in 1190, where it was known as Scliderford, meaning a slippery ford. In 1357, Sliderford Bridge was constructed, but was rebuilt in the seventeenth century, using stone. Unfortunately, this was washed away by floods in 1631 and replaced a year later by another, more sturdy, bridge. The present bridge dates from around 1869, and was funded by the two Counties of Cheshire and Staffordshire, with each paying £1,000 for its upkeep; materials being supplied by the Brocklehurst family, of Swythamley Hall, who were major landowners during the eighteenth century.
The Hanging Stone perches on the hillside like a giant fist, a sentinel overlooking Swythamley, on the Staffordshire side of the River Dane. Swythamley Hall stands in a fine park and was originally a mediaeval hunting lodge belonging to the Abbey of Dieulacres near Leek. The hall was granted to the Traffords by Henry VIII in 1540 and became their home and that of their successors, the Brocklehursts. Unfortunately the original house burned down in 1813, so the modern building is a rebuild dating from then. The Brocklehursts had an adventurous history. One of them accompanied Shackleton to the Antarctic. The Hanging Stone bears a plaque to Colonel Brocklehurst, who was killed in Burma in 1942. A game warden in the Sudan, he started a private zoo at Swythamley when he returned to Britain, and during the Second World War the animals were released into the countryside because there was no food for them. The wallabies from the zoo survived and bred around the Roaches until the late 1990s. Sightings of them have surprised many walkers and climbers over the years. The plaque reads:
“Lt. Col. Henry Courtney Brocklehurst. 10th Royal Hussars and Pilot in the Royal Flying Corps, 1916 - 1918. Game Warden of the Sudan. Born at Swythamley, May 27th, 1888. Killed Whilst On Active Service, in Burma, on Commando. June 1942.
Horses he loved and laughter, the sun. Wide spaces and the open air.
The trust of all dumb living things he won, and never knew the luck too good to share.
His were the simple heart and open hand, and honest faults he never strove to hide.
Problems of life he could not understand, but as a man would wish to die he died.
Now, though he will not ride with us again, his merry spirit seems our comrade yet.
Freed from the power of loneliness and pain, forbidding us to mourn or to forget.
Erected by his devoted brother – 1949”

There’s a second, earlier stone plaque at the foot of the stone:
“Beneath This Rock
August 1, 1874 was buried
BURKE
A Noble Mastiff
Black and Tan
Faithful as Woman
Braver than Man
A Gun and a Ramble
His Heart’s Desire
With the Friend of his Life
The Swythamley Squire”

Swythamley has been convincingly identified as the castle of the Green Knight of the classic mediaeval poem "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" and nearby Lud's Church as the knight's 'Green Chapel'. This probably means that the unknown author was connected with Dieulacres in some way.

I continued on past Back Forest to Roach End, then through modern day ‘access land’ to gain the Roaches ridge. Dropping past the rocks I stopped by the BMC’s Don Whillans Memorial Hut for a flask of tea. There were numerous parties of schoolkids, climbing or lunching in a brisk shower of rain; there were no less than 7 school minibuses in the lay-by.
My route then took me easily past Pheasant’s Clough to Green Lane to complete my recce by finding an easy way around the impassable path.
Continuing by a boggy route past Turner’s Pool, I watched a fisherman land a 9 pounder and then return it to the pond. A short stretch of tarmac past a converted chapel brought me back to The Ship Inn, which is believed to date from the sixteenth century.

There are numerous stories associated with the pub, mainly concerning the name. It is presumed that a relative of Sir John Brocklehurst, who owned nearby Swythamley Hall, Sir Philip Brocklehurst, sailed with the explorer Shackleton on one of his many expeditions to the Antarctic, as an Assistant Geologist, although history states that he may well have been a paying guest. It was often thought that the sign on the Ship Inn related to the famous Endeavour, a 1914 expedition, but it depicts the Nimrod in Antarctic Ice. Others say that the Ship is named after another vessel, known as the Swythamley, which was owned by a close friend of the Squire, and that the pub was named in his honour. These days it is renowned for the fine real ales on sale, and a popular restaurant. I enjoyed a glass of Golden Jackal to conclude this pleasant stroll.

Tuesday 4 December 2007 - A New Camera

At last. Sue has chosen her long-awaited birthday present. Here it is, and it looks fantastic. But the images will be huge, so careful editing will be needed (or another external hard drive!).
Good news as well for a local business, Equipment Express in Altrincham. This small retail business, established in 1989, now competes with internet prices (and achieves most of its sales over the internet), and given the ‘extras’ and a three year warranty I couldn’t find a better deal anywhere.
The free case appears to be the weak link, it’s awkward to use; but luckily we have a spare, if rather aged, Camera Care Systems case that should provide all the protection that is needed.

Monday 3 December 2007 - Highlights of the Year – Part 2 – The Canadian Ski Marathon (CSM) – Saturday 10 February 2007

This, my fourth CSM, was a great day.
We were up at 6 am in our hotel in Montebello. After breakfast in the room shared by 5 of us we got the bus to the start and the four of us in the ‘Scrabbled Skiers’ team set off at around 8 am together with 100's of others in good weather with occasional snow flurries. The skiing was fairly easy. Michael shot off ahead, Helen dropped back, and Sue crashed. Ken, as a ‘Coureur des Bois’ had an earlier start.
Due to poor snow conditions in the east, this year’s route had been changed. It now comprised 4 sections each day, Sunday’s route being a straightforward reversal of Saturday’s. It was just 70 km each day instead of the usual 80 km.
I had never even dreamt of completing all the sections in a day, due to early cut off times and my inability to ski at any speed. But Sue and I stayed together and whilst she had quite a few falls over the two days, including one incident with a bush from which it took ages to untangle her, I discreetly removed my skies to deal with the trickier icy sections. (This is Not Cheating!) Towards the end of the third section I was baulked by a number of folk spreadeagled down a steep hill. Sue had dodged them but I’d stopped to allow them to tidy themselves away before flying down this exciting hill in what I thought would be my last action of the day.
But at the checkpoint Sue was shouting ‘they haven’t closed it’, so without a second thought I went straight through, being the last person before the 2.30 ‘cut-off’. Whilst Sue ended her day with refreshments at the checkpoint, I was now ‘last man’ having missed the refreshments, at the start of the 17 km section.
Time for some adrenaline to kick in!
I soon started to pass groups who had started between one and two hours earlier than us and had clearly rushed through the checkpoint before taking a break, so I was encouraged by all the overtaking. And then I spotted Linda, usually one of our team but this year attempting the whole course as a ‘Coureur des Bois’. I knew that she was taking the event very seriously and that her training had been completed before ours had even started. She wasn’t at all impressed to hear my cheery ‘hello’ – I was not someone she had expected to see at this point! Anyway, with the aid of a couple of drinks stations and a few chocolate covered raisins, I managed to maintain a good speed to the finish, in the tracks of Ken and Michael, who had been much quicker over the 70 km course that had taken me about 8½ hours.
The hot bath followed by a delicious a la carte meal at La Lanterne Restaurant concluded a brilliant day.
The following day Sue and I enjoyed a leisurely 56 km, knowing that we couldn’t possibly ski fast enough to manage the 2.30 pm cut off due to the configuration of the course and today’s short final section.
Even speedy Michael failed to make the cut today, but Ken, with his early C de B start, did succeed in completing the whole course and got the medal he’s been trying for over the past few years. His moment of fame came later at The Banquet, when he went ‘on stage’ together with all the others who had succeeded in this not inconsiderable Challenge.
[For those who do the TGOC, the CSM Banquet is a Canadian version of the Thursday night dinner, buffet style, but otherwise the same trusty format, with a French Canadian clone of Uncle Roger.]
Later we discovered that Linda was sufficiently traumatised to have stayed in bed on Sunday, having retired from this event ‘for ever’.

But Sue and I had got Silver and Gold individual awards, and our Scrabbled Skiers team actually received the Bronze Medal in the mixed touring team category. Wow!

Sue and I are sorry not to be able to take part in 2008; this event has produced some memorable days, not least my first attempt in 2004, recorded in all its gory detail here.

Sunday 2 December 2007 - Il-Quccija - A Maltese Celebration

The Quccija celebrates a baby’s 1st birthday. At the Quccija guests consisting of relations and close friends are invited by the parents to their home. When the guests are assembled the child is brought in and if it is a boy he is traditionally presented with a tray containing corn, sweet meat, coins, an inkstand, a candle, a rosary, a book, a sword and other toys. If the child is a girl, needles, silk ribbons and an egg take the place of the sword and the inkstand. Nowadays other items are included on the tray such as a stethoscope, a computer, a calculator and such like.
The choice the baby makes on this occasion is believed, according to Maltese tradition, to give an idea of his future disposition and the profession which the child will follow. For example, if the child chooses corn it is a sign of a liberal character. If the inkstand is picked out it points towards an inclination for trade or the bar. If the choice falls on coins, commerce or industry is indicated. The choice of an egg means that the girl will have a house full of furniture and children.
It was a pleasure to see Will and Caroline, and their 1 year old, Drew, who we had not met before. They have moved into the Surrey countryside so it was our first visit to their new home in Hindhead, where they have taken on the derelict ground floor of a substantial old property and have spent the last year making it habitable. After having no garden in London they now have extensive grounds, and though today’s weather wasn’t conducive to exploration, Sue and I did spy a grassy tennis court that will entice us back to this lovely spot.
The afternoon’s ‘formal business’ found Drew, encouraged by his elder brother and sister, choosing most of the toys on the tray – the modern boy must keep his options open, perchance – but he did keep returning to the coins, for what it’s worth.

Saturday 1 December 2007 - Center Parcs

The Dishy Pharmacist and I headed across the Peak District to Sherwood Forest on a beautiful morning, the sun doing its best to burn its image onto our retinas as we sped eastwards.
On arrival we dashed off to villa 713 after our usual wrestling match with the giant, but full, car park. Then our feet hardly touched the ground on the way to the squash court, followed by archery, flexiball, badminton, and short tennis, before most of us adjourned to the swimming pool for a break before dinner. Somewhere in the middle of all this, Peg served a sumptuous lunch back at the villa.
We left Stuart to find a stranger to partner him in the Badminton Tournament; he did well, returning later with a winner’s certificate. We heard a lot about this unexpected triumph.
The lamb was delicious, and the bread and butter pudding was obviously appreciated as it vanished in a trice.
The traditional slide show followed, though this year it was in digital form, with pictures from the Dolomites and the Vanoise to entice the others into visiting those fabulous locations. Here’s the Dolomites vista that has graced the foot of this blog during November (prize for spotting the exact location still awaits a home!).

Just waiting for the bill now, Robert!

Friday 30 November 2007 - Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding

Tomorrow is our annual pilgrimage to Center Parcs at Sherwood Forest, where our group of nine will do sporty things all day and then enjoy a meal and a slide show in the chalet. This is one event we don’t get involved in organising – it’s all down to Rob and Lyn – well done and long may your travails continue, R&L!
They even organise the food, and I have volunteered a dessert to follow lamb and apricot hotpot, so I spent an hour this morning preparing this pudding, which needs no further attention until the oven tomorrow night. It’s easy and delicious. Here’s how, for 9 people, but it can just as easily be made for any number of folk. (Excellent for two, actually.)

Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding

Ingredients
14 slices of 5mm thick good quality white bread, one day old, from a large loaf
225 gm dark chocolate with 75% cocoa solids, chopped
600 ml whipping cream
6 tablespoons dark rum
165 gm caster sugar
120 gm butter
¼ tsp cinnamon
5 small eggs

To Serve
Well chilled double cream

Equipment
Ovenproof dish, lightly buttered, approx 15x30 cm base x 5 cm deep (smaller for reduced quantities)

Method
Remove the crusts (whizz them into breadcrumbs for future use) to give roughly 10 cm squares. Cut each one into 4 triangles.
Place the chocolate, whipping cream, rum, sugar, butter and cinnamon in a bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water. Don’t let the bowl touch the water (or allow granny to suck the eggs)! Wait for all the ingredients to melt and for the sugar to dissolve. Then remove the bowl from the heat and give it a good stir to amalgamate the ingredients.
In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and then pour the chocolate mixture over them and whisk again very thoroughly.
Spoon a 1 cm layer of the mixture into the base of the dish and arrange half the bread triangles over the chocolate in overlapping rows. Then pour half the remaining mixture over the bread as evenly as possible and arrange the rest of the triangles over that, finishing off with the rest of the chocolate. Press the bread down gently so that it gets covered evenly with the liquid.
(At this stage it looks like the above picture.)
Cover with clingfilm and allow to stand at room temperature for two hours. Transfer to refrigerator for a minimum of 24 (but preferably 48) hours before cooking.
Preheat oven to 180C. Remove the clingfilm and bake on a high shelf for 30-35 minutes. The top will be crunchy and the inside soft and squidgy. Leave to stand for 10 min before serving with chilled double cream.
Delicious.
[Adapted from the recipe in Delia Smith’s Winter Collection]

Thurday 29 November 2007 - Blogging Spam

After nearly two months of blogging, I had my first incidence of spam on the blog overnight. Someone called Crescenet from Brazil. Now I don’t speak or read Brazilian, so I can’t be sure, but money seemed to be mentioned – perhaps they are selling drugs. Anyway, it ended with a polite request in very good English to add them to my ‘blogroll’. Ha!
The shame is, I may have to employ the moderator facility, so comments (few though they are) won’t appear immediately.
Today’s picture is the genuine article – a ‘postcard’ from Timperley Bridge, taken on my way to work.

Wednesday 28 November 2007 - Highlights of the Year – Part 1 – The Rum Cuillin Ridge

As today is a bit grey, and my bowels are still recovering from Jordan, it’s a day indoors, and I’m short of inspiration.
But Jon Metcalf has emailed me with a request for photos for this weekend’s XXL Club Annual Dinner at the Fife Arms in Braemar. Sadly I can’t make the dinner, but I can recall with clarity a highlight of the year, on 5 May – Jon’s 1000th Marilyn – Ainshval on the Isle of Rum. This was a baggerfest. Even Alan Dawson, author of The Relative Hills of Britain – a book you will pick up again and again - was there. Jon took a low level route whilst 6 of us fumbled our way along the misty ridge and steep ground of the Rum Cuillin. This was not ‘a walk in the park’, but between us we had enough experience of Scottish weather and navigation to see us through to our rendezvous with Jon at 2.45. He was a bit cool, as we were 45 minutes late due to the necessary care that the conditions had required. Here he is, enjoying the moment with a couple of mates (he’s holding them) - and very relieved to see us too. The summit is just up to the right.

Our haste to descend from the final summit left some of the party floundering in the mist, so it was by three different routes that we converged on Dibidil Bothy, where several young ladies were relieved to learn that we weren’t planning to stay. Most of us got back to Kinloch Castle at 7.45, after an 11 hour day. Jon walks more slowly, so we had to delay dinner until his arrival, at 9.15, after an adventure with a river (it was raining hard). A very long day for him, but I think he did get one of the better rooms in the ‘bunkhouse’, like this one I shared with the Dishy Pharmacist for just £14 pppn!

Tuesday 27 November 2007 - Innov8 Roclites in Sand

As reported last week, our desert walk on 19 November was in ‘boots’. Having served me so well in Madeira, I had taken the now broken in Roclites. That was a mistake. The mesh on the Roclites looks solid enough, doesn’t it? I knew it wasn’t at all water resistant. I soon discovered it is not at all sand resistant, either. So the shoes quickly filled with sand and the tight spot on the right heel was immediately a problem. A precautionary plaster following the previous night’s short walk didn’t really help, and I finished up losing about 1 sq inch of skin from the heel.
I’m actually happy with the shoes and can use Sealskinz socks to keep the water out, but they are definitely not suitable for walking in the desert. I used trekking sandals for the rest of the trip, with no problem at all, despite the guide’s scepticism.

15 March 2011 - Postscript:
My initial optimism about these shoes was finally dashed when during 2008 the linings inside the heel split, leaving me with blisters every time I used them.  They had done less than 300 km, mostly in Madeira and New Zealand, before they were abandoned in a far corner of our kitchen.  Very disappointing, really, especially after all the effort taken to ensure that they were the right shoes for me.  They weren't.  Should anyone wish to take them on, I'll be happy to donate them - they are in reasonable condition apart from the heels - UK size 8½.

Jordan Slideshow - 'Happy Holidays'

I have uploaded about 120 snaps to a Photobox album, with invitations to those on the Jordan trip, insofar as I have their details, and a handful of others who I know may be interested. If you have not received an invitation, and you would like to view these photos, please let me know and I'll add you to the list.

....Happy Holidays

Martin

Monday 26 November 2007 - A Surprise from San Jose

One of the items of mail discovered on our return from Jordan was a package from one Thomas Rivell, of San Hose. Enclosed was the Sierra Club’s 2008 Engagement Calendar, with weekly photographs of the highest quality of flora and fauna and fabulous North American landscapes. It is in a similar format to the John Muir Trust Calendar edited by John Cleare that we usually pick up at the Kendal Mountain Festival. But having missed the KMF this year, the Sierra Club calendar is a fine alternative and a lovely present. Thank you, Thomas, who very appropriately wishes us ‘Happy Holidays’. And may you also enjoy many more Happy Holidays, Thomas.
I’ll write about my ‘Travails with Thomas’ on another occasion.

Sunday 25 November 2007 - Orion Marches

The trip to Jordan has inspired me to get hold of TE Lawrence’s ‘Pillars of Wisdom’. Spending time in this part of the world that has been so troubled by wars and unrest (sadly not unlike many parts of the world I suppose) reminded me of another book in my possession, ‘Orion Marches’ a collection of poems by Michael Roberts. Many of the poems, published in 1939, have deeply emotive wartime themes, such as ‘Victory’ and ‘Defeat’. Roberts was a highly skilled wordsmith, his essay ‘The Poetry and Humour of Mountaineering’ being a supremely rich piece of writing. He was clearly an Alpine enthusiast and a skilled climber as well as a deep thinker. Many of his poems have a mountaineering theme. I can’t say I’m a fan of Alpine starts, but this poem is so evocative that the Dishy Pharmacist and I chose an extract from it for the Reading at our wedding. Picture yourself at a mountain hut high in the Alps on a summer’s day:

The Green Lake

Eloquent are the hills: their power speaks
In ice, rock and falling stone;
The voices of croziered fern, wood-sorrel, gentian, edelweiss,
Lead upward to the summit or the high col.

The mountain lake mirrors the hills, and the white clouds
Move in a blue depth, the hut stands empty:
No one appears all day, nothing disturbs
The symphony of ice and yellow rock and the blue shadow.

And at dusk the familiar sequence: the light
Lingering on the peak; and near the horizon
Apricot-coloured skies, then purple; and the first stars;
An hour of bustle in the hut, and then silence.

Only at two in the morning men stir in the bunks,
Look out of the windows, put on their boots,
Exchange a word with the guardian, curse the cold,
And move with a force beyond their own to the high peaks.

Be still for once. Do not sing,
Let the blood beat its symphony unanswered;
Remain here by the lake for a whole day
With the sky clear and the rocks asking to be climbed.

There is music in movement, in the song, the dance,
The swing of the accordion in the crowded hut,
The swing of the axe in the icefall; but be still.
Listen. There is another voice that speaks.

Footnote: The battered state of this book, when I acquired it, bore evidence of its 60 year vintage. However, until then it had never been read! A sharp kitchen knife was required to separate the pages and render them readable. I hope others will appreciate them in the future…

Saturday 24 November 2007 - Run From The Sun

We said goodbye to Julie, who flies back to Canada tomorrow, before embarking on an uneventful journey to Heathrow on Royal Jordanian Airways’ newly refurbished Airbus A321. More goodbyes, a long wait in the cold for a bus to return six of us to Purple Parking, then an easy drive home.
And now to write up the trip. Perhaps a bit more quickly than usual due to the discipline required to keep the blog up to date, but I still expect to take a couple of weeks to catch up. So this is the last Postcard from Jordan, taken near Petra, courtesy of Sue and Phil, featuring L to R: Vicky, Sue, Phil, Martin, Sue (front), Julia and Martin.

For anyone interested, the cost of this trip for the two of us was:
£
Explore fees 1,780
Local Payment 125
Parking 52
Fuel from Manchester 40
Camel Ride 40
Turkish Bath 28
Meals and Drinks 80
Tips 55
Sundries and presents 40
TOTAL £2,240

This compares with £400 for my recent week in Madeira.

Friday 23 November 2007 - A Roman Outpost, and a Floating Experience

For a change, I didn’t sleep well, perhaps due to the noise outside and the scratchy sheets, and some stomach pain that a Cipro tablet sorted out.
We were up at 7 am for the hotel breakfast – not much for me. Sue is a bit chirpier today, so that’s good.
Mahmoud had us setting off as usual at 8 am, in a different ‘Rum Tourism’ bus today with a friendly driver (not to say that the one who went to sleep wasn’t friendly!). A 1½ hour drive from Madaba saw us at Jerash (or is it Jarash?), a few miles north of Amman. This is apparently the largest Roman site outside Italy. The brochure advertises ‘Take a Walk Through History’, and what a walk that was. Entering through the massive arch built for Hadrian to commemorate his visit to this edge of his Empire in 129 AD, we strolled past the Hippodrome. Men dressed as Romans were readying themselves for a chariot racing re-enactment around this 245 x 52 metre arena that could seat some 15,000 spectators. Only after this are the City Walls reached at the South Gate. Soon a 90 x 80 metre oval plaza leads to the colonnaded street (shown above) that runs NNE for some 800 metres. This was the main shopping street, with broad pavements, shops, and an underground sewage system.
Half way along this street on the left are stairs leading up to a Byzantine church, now known as the Cathedral, above which lies the Church of Saint Theodore, built around 496 AD. Here there are huge pillars that rock when pushed! We tried it – scary! Higher up are the remains of more churches, and another once magnificent mosaic floor comprising seasonal images and flora and fauna.
A path took us above the site, with good views over modern Jerash, to the South Theatre.
The 3000 seat auditorium has been soundly reconstructed and is still in use. The remarkable acoustics allow a speaker at the centre of the orchestra floor to be heard by the whole auditorium without raising his voice. We enjoyed magnificent views over the whole site from the top row of seats, whilst being deafened by the incongruous sound of some badly tuned local bagpipes attempting ‘Scotland the Brave’ and other tourist favourites.
We could have lingered here all day (once the bagpipes stopped), but “Yallah” – ‘Come on’ urged Mahmoud, coaxing us back into the bus. Not even Phil and Sue’s bid for freedom lasted long, as they were finally tracked down and brought to heel (those who know Phil will realise how difficult that can be, especially when distracted by the large lizards that were sunbathing nearby!).
Then we went to the Dead Sea for a swim (no photos I’m afraid – the camera was left in the bus). It was a tad salty. 30% salt actually. Normal seawater is about 4% salt. Trying to swim breaststroke was a little awkward as your legs wouldn’t stay in the water. I got salt in my eyes trying this – not very pleasant. Much to the amusement of those on the shore, Sue organised some synchronised swimming which ended with both arms and both legs raised high in the air – a position that was not really very stable! You could relax here with a newspaper, as if sitting in a salty liquid deckchair.
The sea was quite warm, though Sue W didn’t find it so; she stood forlornly half in-half out until finally giving up.
On returning to the shower room it was difficult to remove all the salt – some of our eyes and other bits will be stinging for days! We adjourned ‘poolside’, where loud disco music and gyrating locals rather spoilt the ambience for everyone else. We had to move away just to be able to speak with each other. It is about 400 metres below normal ‘sea level’ here, probably the lowest that most of us have ever been. The city of Jericho can be seen not far away.
The holiday was now drawing to its conclusion, and we finally got the ‘shopping experience’ some may have been yearning for. And so, on the way back to Amman, we pulled up alongside many more tourist coaches to an emporium of mainly tacky goods. (Perhaps I’m biased; I’m just not interested in combining shopping with travelling.) The bath salts from the Dead Sea did attract custom from some – on the grounds they would be ‘original’ presents, but on return home Sue noticed that these were cheaper in Boots!
After taking advantage of the full-size bath sported by our room in the Toledo Hotel, we assembled for anaesthetic in the hotel bar in an effort to dull our senses in anticipation of the white-knuckle taxi ride across Amman to the Windmill Restaurant (actually Tawaheen Al-Hawa Restaurant – but it had a windmill outside). More beer? Wine? No chance, this was Mahmoud’s choice of restaurant, another fixed price (D15 this time) meal that actually makes sorting out the bill much easier. There were some locals as well as quite a number of tourist groups at this place, and I have to say, the food was excellent. Numerous salads to start, and some kebab style bits of meat, including delicious small sausages. Then a mixed grill comprising various different meats, all washed down with a delicious minted lemon drink.
A collection had been made and Phil presented Mahmoud with his guide’s tip, as is traditional on this sort of tour – around £150 – not bad for his week’s efforts. We had already provided $450 between us for the other helpers’ tips, so I think we put an acceptable sum into the Jordanian economy in tips alone.
Soon we were heading back across Amman in another fleet of the battered yellow white-knuckle death traps known locally as taxis, flying past millionaires’ houses with ostentatious gold door furniture, towards the Toledo, pausing only to ask the way before further flaying of the suspension on the ubiquitous and very necessary speed bumps.
The antidote…more beer, whilst we said final goodbyes to Mahmoud, who is heading back to Petra either tonight or on a very early bus tomorrow.

Thursday 22 November 2007 - Castles and Mosaics

On Tuesday we met Marguerite van Geldermalsen, a New Zealander of Dutch parentage, who married a Bedouin following an unlikely holiday romance in 1978. She brought up her children in the family cave in Petra. Only a handful of people still live in the caves, and Marguerite has recently written about her experiences. Now widowed, she has moved with the times, and even has her own web site! Her book promises to be a good read.
It was another cool morning, but everyone must have had more than enough sleep as we were up from this last night’s camping before 7 am. Luckily for Sue, it was to be a sightseeing day, with loos never far away. A bus picked us up from camp for the 3 hour journey along the ‘beautifully scenic’ King’s Highway to Karak. Unfortunately low cloud obscured the views, so we resorted to the faster ‘Desert Highway’. On the way the driver of the old Toyota bus fell asleep. Luckily he was ‘under observation’, and a yell went up from a number of people who had been watching his sagging eyelids through the rear view mirror. And so we made it to Karak, where a Crusader castle built in the C12th, as its Wikipedia entry explains…”extends over the southern part of the plateau. It is a notable example of Crusader architecture, a mixture of European, Byzantine, and Arab designs. Its walls are strengthened with rectangular projecting towers, long stone vaulted galleries are lighted only by narrow slits, and it contains a deep moat from the west which completely isolates the site.”
The castle is famous for withstanding sieges, but was finally captured by Saladin in 1189. Its fortifications were largely destroyed much later, around 1840, but recently there has been much restoration work, and a new museum opened in 2004.
Mahmoud, the archaeologist, guided us around the castle in cool, wet weather. It was an excellent structure, with 3 storeys and wide tunnels; a shame that we didn’t have time for a full exploration.


After adjourning to the pleasantly heated museum, it was soon time to re-board the bus and fight our way around the narrow, double parked, hilly streets of Karak. This is a fertile area, with lots of grocery shops, and, as can be seen from the coach window, a selection of goats – still with heads and long ears, with their organs hanging next to them!

It was about two hours to Madaba, on the way to which we crossed Wadi Jubim, a 600 metre deep valley with a new reservoir at the bottom. We stopped at a viewpoint where the usual 1 Dinar stalls were abundant, this time selling bits of local rock, and it was strange to see a river (to the left of this picture) in the arid landscape. [The sellers of baubles were never obtrusive and were easy to deter – reluctantly, as these people were so friendly.]

Madaba is famous for its mosaics, and we headed straight for the mosaic map found in the Greek Orthodox Church of St George, built in 1884 over the remains of a Byzantine Church. The map focuses on Jerusalem with its colonnaded main street, and has 157 captions written in Greek. It dates to around 560 AD and originally measured some 16 x 6 metres and comprised over 2 million bits of rock. The Dead Sea is shown, as well as fish escaping its salty waters by swimming up the river Jordan. We strolled back to the bus down damp streets, occasionally pausing for those enticed by shops, which this trip has (thankfully) rarely encountered.
Next, a short drive to Mount Nebo, where Moses reputedly died. There is a memorial church housing more exceptional mosaics, and the view past the Brazen Serpent monument over the Rift Valley to Jerusalem and Jericho, with the River Jordan and the Dead Sea, was lovely in the sunset light. Mahmoud admitted he had never seen it so clear – the rain had literally washed away the haze.
Our final stop of the day was at a mosaic workshop, where we were shown how the pieces of rock are glued face down onto pieces of cloth on which patterns have been drawn. The borders are created first, then the inside of the figures and finally the ‘filling’ and edges. Then the fabric is turned upside down and set in a bed of grout, after which the fabric is removed and the glue washed off to reveal the pristine shiny rock surfaces below.
The workshop visit was designed to lure us into the adjoining shop, and whilst some of the garden furniture with mosaic tables was very nice, it was extremely expensive (up to £6,000), so nobody committed themselves.
We then adjourned to the Mariam Hotel, where the bath was pleasant but very short, and the D7 set meal brought a few complaints from those who wanted to go a la carte. It was Mahmoud’s first night with us for a while, as he had spent the last two nights with his family in Petra, and he didn’t show any interest in Sandra, Sally and Katie’s requests. In the end Sally got her pasta and chips! And Sally and Katie prevailed upon some Aussies to order them burgers. Nothing was particularly appetising, and the veg was cold. Sue (fasting) didn’t miss much.