Not Gairich

After a beautiful day in the hills on Easter Sunday, I managed to get enough reception to check the weather on Tuesday, which told me it was going to get blowy by the end of the week with some gales so I chose to attempt Gairich on Wednesday - regretting earlier decisions to delay, basically, to do it asap!

It was already dauntingly breezy by the time we got to the dam for TSK to drop us off. I got dressed into boots, gaiters & coat in the car & stopped on the dam to add waterproof trousers on top of my paramo waterproofs - not because of any moisture issues but because it was the quickest way to add warmth. TSK left us to it and we spent a pleasant hour hiking into the valley at the base of the climb. It was pleasant until my left foot slid rightwards on a rock, forcing me to slam down on the ground. The shaft of my ice axe hit me on the head and both wrists took a beating. The rest of me squelched noisily into the mud. After a quick self check I decided the best thing was to get moving to avoid feeling cold and damp.  We scurried further along the trail, descending to where a woodland provided some shelter for an early lunch break and to recollect my composure over some pre-emptive ibuprofen. It was a little sparse on wildlife but secure and warm.

The next pitch had superb views over Sunday's route and under the cloud we could see into Glen Kingie with Kjoydart beyond. The path up was easy-going. Lena found a Greenshank paddling in a tarn.  We were soon approaching the sleep rocky section which was described as having "one easy scramble". 

We ducked behind a rock to take another food shelter and cursed the knobed who had left a can of Nurishment on the hillside. We shared/clamoured over rations then went to pick up the litter. We found, somewhat soberingly, that it was a smoke flare, probably used by the Lochaber MRT to rescue some poor person who had fallen (or been blown) of the route.

Sure enough, it felt like all the wind which had been barrelling down the glen was concentrating on our single mountain. After almost being blown off my feet twice I decided to stick to the leeward side & carry my ice axe in my hand rather than on my backpack, where it was catching the wind. This turned out to be a minor stroke of genius because for the first time in around 25 years, I used my axe to claw and scratch my way up the moss, peat and rock, to avoid being blown away by the wind. Thankfully I never tested it fully but it gave me some sense of security as I bbum-slidand crawled my way up the hill. 

For a while the path got deep and sheltered but then I cheated death with a scramble over some rock bluffs. Once it was over we took to the leeward side again and slumped into the grass just to get over the adrenaline. Icicles lay scattered around us where they'd been blown out of the gullies in Tuesdays "heat". We composed ourselves and pressed on, somewhat hopeful that the worst was over, the scrambley bit was done with, but then realisation hit. There was still some distance to go and between us and the final pitch was a saddle with torrential fog pouring over it at what looked like 100 mph There wasn't any way around it. The leyward side didn't really exist or was too steep.  I decided we'd already got away with a lot. We were both scared, Lena was cold and the time said we'd been on the mountain a while and would probably be down just in time to meet TSK if we left now. 

Without any further deliberations I sent a message on my spot to say I was "OK but it was all a bit shit".  This is one of the pre-set messages on my Spot.  I let it send a while as we set off down hill. In the meantime my phone rang. I actually had service for the first time all week, so I sent a text to make a planwith TSK. 

We seemed to avoid the wind better on the descent, though stopped in again at the woodland for a wild wee and the last of our shared food. We were both warmer but still a little grumpy so I hoped food would improve the outlook. It did. Things were muttered about me chasing this & also, things were muttered about this being part of it. 

I thought about wild camping up here and Scotland's temperamental weather. I didn't think I'll ever fully camp in the open if I can help it! Then thought of all the times I have and it's been fine.

Things were also muttered about making Gairich part of a bigger expedition into Kingie, Dessary and Knoydart but I will have to see. 

I pinged the Spot to indicate we were leaving the woods and set out across the path again where the wind fell to a manageable level and we were treated to some spectacular weather light shows, although I wasn't allowed to photograph them well.  Someone realised she was on the return route to resume her throne in front of the fire.

It was a real pleasure to see the lightning conductor for the dam sticking up like a beacon for the Spanish Armada. For 500m we watched 2 people stood chatting by a car and were quite dismayed to watch them both leave, then half way across the dam we looked down to see the familiar view of the Mercu, lights on, trundling along the single track road towards out rendez-vous.  

Near the end of the dam the opposing winds ricocheting off the two sides of the valley were so intense that I could hardly make any progress across the cattle grid and for a moment I was stuck in a legless stasis, unable to step forward or back, but marching on the spot. I think the mercu broke the curse and I escaped. 

After a brief interlude photographing deer I was allowed in the van and, fatigued, I drove us back to base to dream of better, more complete, less exciting adventures to come.

Meall Tarsuinn

I should have made a Munro my first walk of the holiday to get a March one done but instead I faffed all morning and then it was too late.  T5K was motivated to tick off our closest hill, which was probably a Marilyn and do-able from our front door. 

We packed up and set off up the hard- standing /rocky/boggy sometimes-path to our local hydro station and continued above it as far as the associated river dam.  The route was TSK's but the navigation was mostly mine. New trails existed on the map but they veered off in gungho directions towards other mountains, so when a path appeared which went on our route, we gratefully trudged along it - the natural stone-on-moss effect was perfect for progress and dog paws and better than the bog-hop it must once have been. 

In fact, the luxury ran out in the middle of the hillside so we stopped to eat bagin' of cake, banana & crisps and I offered to head back as I was tired. I had realised I'd left my head torch behind and was now concerned about the light since Andrew's arthritis was moving a bit slower today. 

The instruction was to keep going so I switched to glasses that actually enabled Map reading and walking, removed a layer since I was boiling & started the trudge across the bog & the hillside to gain sufficient elevation to be in the river valley below the summits. I tried to count the rivers on the map but since I didn't have them all on the Garmin, we ended up following the main river around & hunting for paths. Time dragged on, so I suggested finding the path heading straight down to base without a sumint. A popular idea.

We overshot on the easy line & I put 2+2 together and realised we were in the wrong valley. It was already too late so I called it too energy-sapping to go around the hill. The best bet was over the top and along the paths so we did summit Meall Tarsuinn eventually. Delight at 664m. 

When we realised the path down was tenable TSK called another rest stop, and no-one was arguing... just to find somewhereout of the breeze. 

Sadly, the redt of the descent was quite slippy and Andrew hit the deck twice. I almost went over twice. He slowed right down but soon it didn't seem far to go to get back. Me and Lena went on ahead to make tea and toast our success.

New year, new tent, new comfort levels

Sometimes a backpacking trip or a camping weekend is just that - no epiphany, no shinning sunrise or sunset, no barriers or records broken. It can just be grey, damp survival - one day becoming the next.

I suspected this weekend's weather might be amazing so I packed up on Saturday morning to go out. It took me most of the morning and I eventually got going at 11, stopped for coffee then "accidentally" walked out via Fulwood a second time. I almost submitted to the god of lost causes & kept walking through this very poshest of" burbs" My cafe stop turned into lunch.

In Fulwood you don't think twice about leaving the dog outside the co-op so I bought some more calories or continued down into the Mayfield valley - where I should really have started out.

I dropped in at Forge Dam but it was busy, full of children throwing seed at ducks and waste food for the dog to be driven mad. I used their facilities then ran away. Just as I was feeling that nature was a little strained I noticed a hobby sitting in a tree at the edge of the field, waiting to feed on anything that sang. It was grey against a greying sky, but beautiful.

We took another afternoon tea break at the Lama farm. For all that the Mayfield valley was lovely, I finally felt like I started my walk when I got away from all the people commenting on Lena carrying her own luggage. I know they're only being friendly but if you think "you should do that for your dog" good for you - get on with it, keep it to yourself - see you soon.

Peace only came on the final climb, passed by a few runners doing their own thing. I watched mountain bikers cross my path, heading up the bridleway. At the Lama caf I moved a chair under the eaves to a dry spot to eat and put on my waterproofs. I didn't want to get too comfortable indoors. The incoming rainbow was beautiful but meant one thing. I was glad it was cold enough to justify wearing fleece trousers under waterproofs.

We joined the Houndkirk road too late for sunset, only just in time to catch the orange glow against the grey skies but Sheffield always looks superb, receding and twinkling in the distance. As the sun finally disappeared from the sky I got quite sick of trudging the wide dirt road and not a fan of powered vehicles at night, I led us off onto a footpath that crosses to Burbage with a stop to struggle into a new head torch. I made a mental note that a peaked hat is great for shading eyes from the sun but shit on a night hike.

Another couple descending in the dark kept us company to the Fox House road, then they were gone. We had the Peaks to ourselves.

I momentarily considered dinner in The Fox House Inn and turned that way. I considered a close-by building bivi but there was too much chance of unexpected company.

Anyway, this hike was all about testing my tent in some harsh(ish) conditions - cold but not too cold. It would hardly do to sleep in a building. Before I went any further up the hill I turned tail towards Longshaw. I could use another Landslide-favourite spot... but before turning in the right direction, my brain thought it might like to have dinner in the Millstone pub instead. I knew they were dog-friendly and welcoming of muddy walkers. The path down the hill was new to me and - so completely engaging that I forgot about the pub - I clearly wasn't hungry enough anyway. It was 530pm. I'd fallen into the trap of believing dark = dinner time then bed. My body clock has gone "back" but my brain still has not and it's a while since I've done this winter camping malarkey.

For 40 minutes) we stumbled through the woods on the lookout for a flat piece of grass or woodland floor between the boulders. I even considered the famed cave bivi but I didn't have the GR. Anyway, this hike was all about testing my tent in some harsh (ish) conditions - cold but not too cold. It would hardly do to sleep in a cave. We followed a few side paths toward the river. One led to some boulders- perfect for a summer swim but not a winter dip in this raging torrent. We cursed our way back up, stepping into a side stream on the way. The second path led to a lovely flat rock, a perfect size for our free-standing tent but on inspection, it leaned too much for sleeping on and the water noise would have been too much. I returned to the main path and memories that a friend had once been moved on from here while out bivyng with her children in the mid- noughties. I looked at the Garmin screen. We were almost at Froggatt Edge and Grindleford Station so I started up the hill and crossed the road - now noisy with normal people fleeing from the darkness. Frogatt held no better answers. Had I been here before with TSK & Landslide. We'd been to a pub then camped elsewhere- couldn't remember where. Was it the Maynard? Wasn't that too posh now?

Walking up the hill away from the road noise, I started to see pairs of tiny glowing eyes in the light of my headtorch. A few at first - occasional golden blinks Then more and more, around 30 pairs of eyes, adult deer, watching us stumble into their world. They were eerily silent, not a wheeze, bark or foot - stamp, just watching. Momentarily my heart raced as I imagined them to be demons come to ambush us, then I snapped back to rural England in the 2020s.

Everywhere I walked in the woods around the rocks had paths. I didn't want to camp next to a path and be woken up in the morning by an inquisitive spaniel. I found moorland and peered over the wall - barbed wire, a block-built shed, probably locked. A road beyond the wall with the comings and goings of traffic. We'd be overlooked.

I did a few laps of the open space but everything was tussocky, sloped or boggy to the point of sinking. This wasn't fun anymore. I needed something better. We were both running out of energy. To avoid the traffic I made a beeline for some low, scrappy deciduous trees, bared like twigs stuck in the ground. Beneath the twigs were more boulders, possibly quarried stone. Ripples of land out into trenches then over-grown with moss, lichen, brambles, gauze and trees so tenuous I couldn't identify them. I was glad I'd worn my old waterproofs as I forged my way through spiky things. I paused occasionally to wait for Lena who followed tentatively. If a dog can look worried, her expression said, "I hope you know what you're doing".

Eventually I found it - a flat patch of broken bracken boarded on 4 sides by scrubby spiky things. Even if anyone spotted us, there was a fortress of thorns that might persuade them to leave us in peace. I trampled the area. The occasional rock meant there was just a one-woman-and-her-dog-sized pitch The porch and extras would need to overhang space but that was Ok, the footprint I had with me was only big enough to protect our sleeping area. The less weight we put on the spiky bracken, the better. A good test of my supposedly bomb-proof tent.

I was glad it was at raining as I set down my pack, laid the footprint out then laid myself out to check the spot. I could have fallen asleep then and there. I didn't need to worry about the dog - she'd already started building a bracken nest.

Tent out, poles in. Rucsac in, dog went in, straight to her place she had been shown in the loft at home. She fell down a hole - that worried expression again - climbed out and went and sat at my foot end. I threaded her mat underneath her, dried her paws and covered her with her coat and duvet. Now to sort me out.

I peeled off boots and waterproof trousers and just for a while, I fully shut out the world, closing tge tent door to see how cosy it could be. It really was proper cosy inside. Aware of condensation building up, I opened some vents then set about organising. The rucac tucked out of the way in the dry porch. I climbed out of sweaty socks fettered out my mat and inflated it then fluffed out my sleeping bag and inflated my pillow. As part of the process my stove, mug, coffee and general useful kit were unpacked and stacked for when I felt ready. I hunted for the sleeping bag liner as I knew it would be chilly and put on my thermal layer. I do love that time of year when walking in fleece trousers is the base load and you don't get too sweaty doing it.

I made a list of things I had to do outside the tent so I wouldn't forget:

• pee
• put some tent pegs in
• get some water
• put the rain cover on - we were currently sat under a chimney with the rain cover dangling limply down one side of the tent.

My boots were still dry-what a relief after stepping in the stream earlier.

I could hear the stream behind us so I fought my way through the brush in the opposite direction to go pee. Finding the water was more of a challenge. I retraced our approach route but had to fight my way over 3 rocky ridges & through gauze and briar and still couldn't see the stream. Eventually I found it, plunging 2 feet down through a 6inch hole in the grasses. I had to balance on two tussocks - a foot on each - and lean over the hole with my bottle, trying desperately not to fall in or let go of the bottle as 2 litres per second pounded past my hand. There wasn't much room for pegging out guys but I managed 2 and put in 2 pegs on the ground sheet as a nod to the gods or something. I flipped the rain cover over the vent panel and secured it in the direction of whatever paltry breeze was around. I hadn't actually checked the weather to find out what the wind was meant to do.

Back indoors it felt late and I was tired. The poor dog hadn't moved. She had carried 2 days of food and her own 1st aid kit. I felt a little guilty. I gave her some dry food and offered her water but she stuck her nose away and resumed sleeping.

I could be bothered with cooking. I didn't want the door open so I didn't want to set fire to my new tent yet. I was too busy looking at it. I was also working hard at staying dark and not being picked out by drivers on the road or late evening dog-walkers. The food I packed to "get it used up" would need to wait for another trip. Instead I ate my cold co-op lunch and enjoyed every mouthful. I had carried a bottle of chocolate milk half way across the Peak to make hot chocolate only to be too tired to start the stove.

When I climbed into bed I took off my fleecy layers, slept in my VBL and put all my warm clothes and battery equipment in the bag around me. I played a few games with my dry bag and pillow to try and make camp sleeping more comfy than ever, but gave up.

I realised my brilliant peaked fleece hat (great for bright sun on winter days) was actually shit for sleeping and wished I'd brought a beanie. I gradually closed the vents on the tent door with the dropping temperature.

Through my early light sleep I listened to a few showers hissing on canvas and there was an occasional flap when the breeze blew. When I stepped out for one final wee I popped in a couple more guy ropes just in case and tightened down the rain cover. The tent did not say another word all night.

The dog was spark out and refused a short walk. I considered making some notes but fell asleep hard. In he night I woke up a couple of times to a full bladder and each time had to wait for the rain to stop before stepping outside. There was a thick cloud every time I unzipped, the familiar lights in the bottom of the valley took on another eerie appearance and nature seemed cloaked in the visible cloud of silence. There was no noise except mine, the dog snoring and the stream gurgling behind us.

For the most part I was warm in my neutrino 400 and VBL wearing thin layers and no socks. I could feel the temperature difference when I stepped outside. At one point my feet swelled and toes started to hurt so I put socks on to prevent the skin being damp. It seemed to work. The tent never pissed me off.. Feet and head were always well-away from the walls of the tent and the bags I had dangled from the roof stayed out of the way. A tiny amount of condensation built up in the corner that hung down the slope of my not-perfectly-flat tent pitch. The only things down there were spare clothes in a dry bag. Each time I went outside for a moment, I had a wonderful anticipation of crawling back into a warm cocoon and zipping up the doors.

The second time I came back to the tent I secured my VBL at my chest and wore my synthetic down coat for the rest of the night. The VBL still worked to keep my bag dry but a nice, warm coat kept my upper body happy.

I'd set an alarm for 5 to be awake pre-dawn. The end-of-night shivers had set in so I snuggled down and survived another 30 minutes before making the necessary brew and cereal. I did so with the door open then shut it to eat to stay warm inside but kept the vent patch open so I could see the trees.

The inevitable dawn dog walker passed on the path below. For one awful moment I thought they were coming over but they weren't - or my protective cover of gauze and brambles served its purpose. I had a legitimate boring nerd excuse for big out as the woodland outside exploded into dawn chorus and my inner birder threw open the doorway to let the sounds of nature in.

The dog and human passed without comment but I realised it was well over due time to get moving. I checked the train times deciding whether to walk to Grindleford and get the train and bus home. The alternative was to walk home but I'd need to get a pick-up because I really couldn't bear to do the townie bit again. The first train was at 09:47-there was no way I could kill 2 hours 45 minutes. Was there? I decided to get breakfast at Longshaw or see how I felt about the walk home.

While I had the tent up in a safe space, and wasn't actually planning to use it the next day, I decided to have a play and see how dry I could pack it up. There's a lot of condensation because the outer is VERY waterproof but the inner tent prevents the condensation getting inside. My test was to dry the outer with a cloth to "mostly dry", but inevitably, not completely dry. Then I would pack the tent away fully assembled, walk all day, then see if I'd still like to sleep in it again by the time I get home later. The inner collapsed beautifully so I could wipe the outer tent from underneath with the dog still sleeping. In theory this feature leaves space for me to remove wet kit and dry the dog without getting the inner tent wet. Seemed brilliant. I wiped roughly a pint of water from inside the flysheet.

Outside I removed the pegs then gave the whole thing a shake to knock off the molten sleet which had just dabbed down out of the sky. My wet-pack test was turning into a true test as the weather obliged with continuing the sleet-shower as I folded the poles and fabric and rolled the whole assembly together and into the bag. The dog finally woke up and I had to intersperse my packing with leaping on the lead each time it disappeared into the bushes. For one horror moment I thought she was off to say hi to the passing dog Walker that I had earlier seen striding towards us.

Finally we were ready. We set off down the hill to the stream, stopping where there was better access, to filter some fresh water into my camelbak. The dog's saddlebags acted as a good plug to stop her running through the narrow stiles onto the road.

I decided Longshaw was not somewhere I wanted to go to park the dog and wait in a queue so we did go to Grindleford caf and I parked my dog and walked straight to the till. Second breakfast, tea and enjoying sitting under a brolly at the outside table in fresh air because we were (both) dressed for it.

We really, almost, walked back the way we had come in the night which was nice because it was so much more enjoyable in day light. We diverted over to millstone which I had remembered as a single crag but actually it is a whole network of rocky ledges interspersed with green birchwood pastures. There were people there but we all spread out across different levels.  

When we crossed on to higher ground the view opened up across the Hope Valley, Mam Tor and Kinder being the only places swathed in sunlight.

Lena and I made our way across the moors below Burbage and Higgar Tor, traversing to Calow bank and a new path into the quarries where we found the perfect bomb hole for me to brew up lunch and coffee. The dog howled for a while which was odd but I eventually got her to lie on her mat under her sleeping bag and she passed out for the full hour I spent boiling water, eating Goulash soup (Smash, frozen peas and bacon) and drinking coffee. I watched 2 e-bikers pedalling easily up the road climb from Scotsman's pack and their conversation, carried on the breeze, bounced around the listening chamber that we sat in, 250m away. I made arrangements with TSK to meet us at the pub with the van.

It took me some time to get Lena moving again and I took pity on her and packed her depleted food bags into my (depleted) rucsac. We crossed the road to Stanage North End then clambered past some boulders to consider crossing the Moor. The Edge was bitingly cold. I'd already had to stop to change into my winter gloves covered with a waterproof shell. I wasn't sure our ears could endure the full force of the biting easterly. I checked in with another dog walker who said it was wet. His boots were wetted out but not muddy bt the spaniel was fully soaked. I decided we could make it using the tracks and animal paths that we knew from summer.

By this point we were nearly back and I could cope with wet feet for a while. Through determination and a few detours I managed to stay dry. Lena took a few plunges into armpit-deep post- holes and in the middle I had to stop and wait for her to catch me up as she had lost her way and ended up in deep heather - her least favourite. After that I moved more slowly and she kept on my heels. Following pheasant runs turned into Quadbike tracks then nothing, just tussocks. We reached the drainage ditch which had solid sides and walked along it towards the pole until we found the path from White Edges then had to find one of the leaky dams that have been built to slow the flow. It held my weight. Lena trusted it less and went for an impressive leap between tussocks.

A little bit more tussock-hopping and we were on the White edge path, more sure - footed on the way down to Redmires. As soon as I found a flat rock big enough to support me and my pack I sent a cry for help. My legs were tired and my collarbones were feeling like they were being crushed by the weight of my pack. We set off walking towards the pub in expectation of our ride coming the other way.

People were everywhere: setting out blankets in cars for muddy dogs, standing in the road saying goodbyes, talking with their kids about school friends, delivering drugs, the kind of stuff that goes on at Redmires in the setting sun. We'd almost made it to Wyming Brook by the time the van came to sweep us away. Too early for dinner, we went for cake and coffee instead with a fractious dog who didn't want to sit still on a hard floor.

When we got into the house, Lena went straight to bed. I, on the other hand, set my fatigue to one side for just a little bit longer and went up into our loft to investigate just how well my new tent had fared in the packed-down-wet stakes. Hilleberg recommends suspending it from its guy lines to dry so it was reassembled and I tentatively unzipped the doorways and gave the floor a pat-down. I'd describe its condition as 'mildly damp' absolutely brilliant, given that I'd packed it away in pretty humid (though not chucking it down) "drizzle and sleet". I lay underneath it as it dangled from the ceiling. What I did notice is, despite being tired from walking and an interrupted night's sleep, I wasn't go-straight-to-bed exhausted as I usually am after a lightweight trip.  The tent was generally declared a success, acknowledging that I'd need to get accustomed to carrying it (and more food) for longer trips.

On the surface, I wasn't exactly disappointed with my trip but I wasn't brimming with excitement for it.  Over the next week, however, it grew on me.  I continued to be hit by memories of things which I had filed away for later - the hobby biding its time, the deer at night, the peace of spending a night with a gurgling stream.  Perhaps what was missing was discomfort, pain, the feeling that something nearly went horribly wrong but didn't.  The feeling of edginess that comes from being close to too cold, too under-equipped and y'know what, I didn't miss it.  When I embrace all that was good and recognise what was missing, I'll keep my bombproof tent, the slow pace - even the back-yarded ness of it.  This trip was meant as a training run for something bigger and it delivered.

I can't wait for the next one.

2023 in Pictures and Stats

January

January was there for me to learn about Lena.  I was quite quick to learn that she likes to sniff the breeze and we've been out in no stiffer winds this year than in January above Stanage.  The flap-o-meter reading was high.

 

February

While there were many special moments in Whtitby in February, our visit to RSPB Bempton was mind-blowing - mentally and physically.

 

March

There were a few walks in March that were pretty special, in that TSK managed to come along, or Lena and I were out nice and late to catch the moon, or  just those special, crispy icy days.  Then there was also a trip to Wombwell to the pedal car races, where me and Lena sneaked off with the camera and, until today, I did not know I got this shot.

 

April

 

April was so FULL but our trip to Aberdeen has to take the top spot.  Such wonderful sunshine and great to catch up with friends I haven't seen in years.

 

However, this is my cheat month since there were also some excellent camping trips in April. 

May

All right!  All right! When you've got an incredibly photogenic dog, it's really difficult to chose highlights of each month.  Our camp out for a summer fell race was ideal - secluded, pitched in daylight, undisturbed.  Evesham had more sunshine and smiles than I could shake a stick at.  I can't choose!

 

June

June rolled by in a series of toasting summer days.  Glyn and Marie came to visit which gave us the brilliant opportunity for a lift out to the peak and a dog-walk home.

 July

July had us in Surrey for a visit and no trip to Surrey is complete without some serious forestry.

 

August

August had a lot of good sunshine days and it was difficult to pick one but this day Lena had a photogenic moment and I sat in a deck chair and sketched a landscape for a few hours while she had a nap so it went down as one of the best long days in a while.

 

September

Everyone's seen my Glen Affric 3-day hike photos but I'm not sure I shared the sunset - from my bivi spot high up on the mountain.  We went on to spend the best high-level day known to man (zero human interaction) and the hike out wasn't bad either.  I realised I'd rather spend a few nice days in the Yorkshire Dales than ever again, repeat the 3 Peaks bike race without any cycling in my legs. 

October

I really enjoyed Autumn flourishing in the Peak. Reservoir pics come as standard but you can't beat climbers on sun-baked rock in bracken.

 

November

November saw the arrival of the scooter but, more photogenic than that, a long, drawn out snap of hoary frost that's not been repeated in December.  For 10 straight days, everything sparkled.

December 

In December, I celebrated a major birthday with the shortest of trips to the Lakes.  Driving half way across the country for one big walk and a couple of nights sleep has been something that's been missing from my life for a while.  Let's call it environmental consciousness.

 

One week later and we've done more hikes from the back-door than is possible to enjoy.  I admit, I tuned some of them out in favour of spending time with my favourite family people... but when we've got outside the edges of the valley, we've mourned for the loss of green, embraced the brown and looked forward to the renewal of the seasons next year...

then we slipped away to the coast to wash the sea into our hair again.

What's in the bag for next year?

 

On the final day of 2023, I packed my old 3-4 season tent, big sleeping bag and a day's worth of food and headed out for a final lap of the valley "fully loaded" to see if it's still do-able and to start my weight training programme for next year one day early.  I'm not big on gyms any more so this way seemed more productive.

I over-packed tent weight and under-packed on food / fuel for a full 24 hours out so I will at least know what the weight feels like - even though we won't be committing to a night out because the dog hates fireworks.  So tonight we'll be sleeping under a slate roof.  

 

Why the backpack? Well this year, I'm aiming to tally up a bunch more Munros, having realised I covered a lot of the hard ones during my twenteens and am now at an age where I relish the more "boring" ones - starting with those that have a big walk-in - while I still can.

Carrying the pack reminded me that I need to strengthen my big muscles some more but also how important my little core muscles are too, to the balance of Trep.  So if I can sneak myself away to the yoga mat a few more times a week, that's also on the cards.  I've had enough of being unfit and "a bit shit" this year so my resolution for '24 is to get back to fitness with purpose and start getting myself "out there" again, back to my happy place (mountains), without the encumbrance of any race performances.

And I'm really rather looking forward to it.  I hope you're looking forward to 2024 too.

In stats (walking this year)

January - 274 km

February - 237 km

March - 298 km

April - 271 km
May - 270 km

June - 164 km
July - 270 km

August - 218 km

September - 264 km

October - 261 km

November - 168 km + scooter - 129 km = 297 km

December - 212 km + scooter - 128 km = 340 km

2023 in Review

Yesterday's blog post wasn't about turning 50, or Christmas - it was about me not wanting to be at work on 22nd December. So I didn't - instead I wrote a grumpy blog piece and did some life admin. I went for a walk in a park to chill out and now I am back, to put things in perspective. 

What I dislike about Christmases at home is the expectation of joy from things that dont excite me much, like baubles, wine and television. Instead, we stay home to look after the cat who is an old dear because we feel terribly sad about leaving her on her own. We then feel bored about going to the same places and inevitably the weather is horrible and not in a flinching biting cold sparkly icicles kind of way but in a howling gale that will kick you off your feet into the sloppy mud-kind of way. It seems like this year is no exception.

This year, however, we have a project to complete - project house-move. I've tried to avoid looking Rightmove but yesterday I had a sneaky peek, just to whet my appetite. I did manage to send some christmas cards this year and was reminded that when we have a home of a more reasonable size I might actually expect to see some more of my friends. Health–wise, this is a great improvement.

In decorating the bathroom, I remember just how much I like the labour of doing something moderately well. I'm looking forward to chosing a home we can love after years of tolerating this one - its space constraints only exacerbated by the addition to the family of a nosey dog.

We have childless friends nearby who, like us, hate having holidays enforced on them during the wicked weather season. They once told us that their Christmas tradition is decorating. This year I am feeling an oddly close and satisfying allegiance to someone else's Christmas traditions. Life can't all be about having Rad adventures. Sometimes it needs to be about more mundane ones and this Christmas I'm all there for that, though I won't be able to resist plenty of short but satisfying Micro-adventures in between.

Yesterday was meant to be my retrospection of the year but it got a bit negative. So here's my 2023.

Although my new job is hard right now, it's also interesting again. I'm no longer biding my time until it ends and hopefully I can inspire the next generations of planet-saving problem solvers to step up and take the mantle forward without it putting me in the grave or rehab first. I never imagined I could be this proud of what I do.

I rambled on yesterday about sport, exercise, getting back to nature and the consistency brought by getting the dog in our lives.

Lets be honest, it's taken the whole year for us all to settle into "normality". Only this week has she started to cuddle on the sofa and consistently pay attention to treats proferred. I had not listened to the books and advice on that matter. There was never any doubt we would stick with it but I am glad she's starting to come around. A year has passed so quickly.

In having the dog, my overall fitness has tanked but I've never been closer to nature. Every day I see the seasons - 3 times a day at least. Recently it's been too hurried - gaps snatched between meetings. We have rushing home to the comforts of a warm house and a cosy bed. I yearn to get back to the calling adventures for long, long days out. They will come, they are out there waiting for me.

So retrospection for 2023 - not to wish away these valuable holidays that haven't even happened yet. It's impossible to look back over every outing without covering the year in Stats but there are some outings that really stand out:

• Trailer rides from Whitby and Aberdeen and the chance to swim in the sea in cold weather. Seeing great  friends that I haven't seen in years.
• A few pedal car events where we camped or Air B&B' d local and got to try out a whole new set of footpaths. In fact, generally-ditching the bridleways for footways was the revelation I didn't realise I needed.
• Hiker camps in the peak district during which I discover my dog is too fidgety for a 1-man tent or a bivvy bag.
• Our Scotland trip, bagging some daunting munroes that have been on my radar for a while but only the HT gave me the confidence to tackle
• Learning about the dog's capability and needs on wild camping trips. Scotland also had more swimming in the sea and rivers with Andrew and the wildlife. My first ever Scottish September trip and some glorious weather.
• Owning my first walking stick - to replace a forgotten bivi pole.
• A slowing-down - in recognition that over the last 2 years a balance has tipped my mind over into the unhealthy and my body is becoming worn out. I stepped away from the bike in the hope that knees and saddle pain could ease. I haven't yet stepped back and for now, I'm Ok with that. Slow really is Ok, its opened my eyes to wildlife and scenery I haven't noticed before.
• Our first trip back to the Lakes together in a few years. 

In the park today I realised I have found myself walking in those places the dog and I took our first few tentative steps last year. This isn't a toned-down future but a reversion to the familiar, a hibernation, to allow us to regenerate into the strength we found in the highlands last summer. It's not half measures, it's hope.

The biggest setback I have to acknowledge this year is not covid but the fall I had while out walking when I decided to scout out a steep-sided bomb-hole as a bivi spot. and turned over on my ankle. A neighbour warned me that it might take months to heel and although it didn't stop me for long, it has taken me until now to be able to kneel again and to take any real load on it without me yelping in pain. It stopped me training for the 3 Peaks and psychologically stopped me committing to carrying big loads over long distances since July. Septembers missions in Scotland were tenuous. They were successful but took their toll and since then I've done little to shape myself up.

My ambitious for 2024 are big - including mountains and furniture removals - so I have some drive at the moment to get strong again. The yoga mat is out in the loft which feels like a force for good.

I started 2023 with old goals, not really knowing where my body would take me. For a while, I felt like this was the year it was going to let me down but, drugs are a wonderful thing, so over 2024 I'll be looking to continue some of my old mountaineering adventures now that I've renewed my relationship with my feet

In the words of John Muir, The Mountains are calling and I must go.

Into my 50's

I made no secret of turning 50.  I'm pretty proud to have got this far, to be honest, and I'm no longer upset about what the ageing process has done to me.  I remain secretly suspicious I'm just slowly dying of something noxious but aren't we all just slowly dying?  So might as well have fun while that's going on.

Usually I hate Christmases at home.  After the initial pizazz of my birthday, I have to race around sorting presents and buying food.  It's a week where I can't spend any money because everything is over-priced. 

I tried to make this year different, be organised in time for my birthday but I failed (as usual) and ended up close to breaking point this week.  In parallel, I've been reaching out to my adventurous side, to try and achieve more, get back closer to nature... and I've failed.  I'm more tired.  I'm running out of steam climbing up the hill at the side of the valley on easy walks and am snapping at colleagues because they're just asking too much of me at year-end.  Today I just sat in the cemetery and stared at the trees while my heart rate settled to something normal and I stopped shaking.  Ageing process? Sick? Not enough breakfast?

I wanted to get out for a solstice bivi but I just couldn't bring myself to set out in the howling wind so I didn't - that's fine though, I will try and do something before the end of the year.

I found myself learning new things about the oceans and waters in 2023, despite now spending that much time in them. I need to rectify that and get myself in there again. Not in a competitive way, just in an enjoyable way.

The scooter has brought me great joy this year - the opportunity to try a new skill.  The scooting bit is easy but learning how far I can go, the best techniques, how to carry my stuff, what affects progress - for better or worse.  It's simple and, unlike my initial urge to attempt something water-bourne, doesn't require too much new kit.

Getting Lena was the best thing I did with 2023 (ok, she joined us in December 2022) and might be the key reason for my lethargy, but I don't, for one moment, regret my decision to get a dog.  For all that she has sapped me of my usual sporting "performance" (tongue in cheek), she's kept me active beyond my wildest plans.

I'm determined not to let the new year suck me into work the way 2023 has.  I've new staff starting next year allowing me to gradually extract myself from the malestrom and instead seek out calmer waters (possibly literally) of lake and oceanside.

In between that we have a new house to buy.  I've been on the fence about this for the longest time (probably years) but have accepted the need to stay "in" the rat race a little longer to find ourselves somewhere that feels more grown-up than student-hovel, more spacious than falling-over-eachother, more like a home than a tenancy, possibly more country-cottage than city-slicker.  All part of getting back to nature, I'd love to get streetlights out of my bedroom window.  

Winds or seas of change.  Only time will tell this year.  I hope it doesn't pass as quickly as 2023.

A much needed day out - an understatement of a title

 After weeks of home renovations at the weekend, this week I decided I needed some time in nature to re-seat my mental health.  It's a lot of effort to keep myself sane and I've been feeling the need for a holiday for a while.  The fact that I have two coming in December, is not enough to sustain me so I decided that rather than house-working Sunday, I was going to have a normal day (in which me and the dog disappear into the wilderness for some time and return home exhausted several hours later).  There's nothing like intense fatigue for making me feel rested!

I set off to scoot along the Trans Pennine Trail from Outibridge towards Dunford Bridge, the intention being to return home the way I'd come.  It's a rail line so none of its steeps are more than 3% (except the bits through Wharncliffe woods which weave up and down for a bit before settling.  Our local parks were pleasantly empty when we set off at 8:30 and we managed to scoot through Hillsborough park before the enthusiastic Park Runners got started.

The fun really starts when you reach Beeley woods.  Lena has been there before but usually in the evening, dodging the boy racers.  It was nice to enjoy the racing river without many people around... until we got to the end of the path where five vans were parked up and people rushed around drying off and loading kayaks onto roofs.  I had to ask: does this happen often.  And only, apparently, when the river is high enough, is it possible to kayak from Deepcar to Oughtibridge.  Lena had a sniff to see if anyone had snacks and then we walked up the steep hill to reach the TPT.

When we got there, we did a lot of sitting about. Trousers on/off/back on again.  We had a bit of a run before the deluge started.  When it appeared to be settling in, I took a break under the underpass and added a wool layer under my coat.  The graphitists were talking to me.

All of the mountain bikers continued on their loops of Wharncliffe while me and Lena headed onto the TPT.  We ignored the turn off for Wortley and continued into the Burger shak at the stables to get lunch.  I've never managed to get to this place when it's open so I was really excited to find they were serving - and also that there was a covered shed complete with picnic tables, wood burning stove and christmas decorations.  We made ourselves at home and answered questions about the scooter.

The burger was to die for.  I wish I'd ordered chips too.  The coffee was acceptable, though not impressive - you can't have everything (at least, not out of the side of a caravan, you can't).  The dog enjoyed her lunch - and trying to steal everyone else's. In fact, she looks like she's trying to tow the table over to someone else's!

When we got back onto the trail, we had it all to ourselves, as far as the eye can see.      The rain had stopped and we were moving well, if a little tired.  We had a little play with the camera and started to think about what to do next.  I admit to being a little alarmed when my 20km notification went off.  Time to start heading home!

I didn't fancy the idea of going back the way we'd come.  If anything, I felt like I'd only just "made it" to the countryside - despite having been in Wharncliffe for quite some time.  Instead, I mentally plotted a route over to Midhopestones and then around to Mortimer road and Bradfield in order to get home.  It was ambitious but we had enough daylight to do it.  The little lanes were pleasant enough to scoot along and most motorists were patient enough to wait behind us while we moved over to the side of the road an let them past the narrow bits.

We were enchanted by this field of geese - probably blown out of the skies last night.  Only when I stopped to watch them did I notice the hawk in the tree, biding its sweet time.

It was... oh, so much... further than I remember from Midhopestones, over to the Bradfield valley and there were so many more river valleys than I remember between each of the reservoir valleys. 

I kicked myself literally and figuratively as I grew tired of trudging uphill and freewheeling downhill with the brakes on so that I was slow enough to avoid pulling the dog off her feet.  If only I'd just turned around on the TPT and had a nice, smooth roll home the way I'd come out.

 As the light started to fade, however, I soon realised the why to our foolery of heading back a different way - we acquired the elevation required to watch the sun set over the Peak moorland and turn the land silver then gold.

We had to sit and take a moment and wait while the beginnings of the Christmas tractor rallye sailed on by (I am sitting in my living room typing this and listening to them driving up the lane on the other side of our valley in Stannington).

the dog can see the pub from 'ere

From this aspect we could see Win Hill in the far distance as the sun set.

Crags above Bradfield I never knew existed because I've never been down this descent at a sensible speed for looking around me.

The final tinges of sunset over Bradfield moors - I couldn't hang around to watch it any longer as we were getting cold.  The constant rush to stay ahead of the light meant my feet were wet with sweat in my boots and my underwear was damp from sweating up the hills.  Lena started to limp on the steep downhill to Bradfield so before we fell into a lack of signal, I called TSK and asked him to come and pick us up in the van and save us.

I rode the brakes all the way down and we took a short cut down some steps to reach the cricket ground and tea shop.  Much to my relief the shop was open and we rushed out to hide from the breeze and scoff biscuits and tea while we waited.  

It was, absolutely what the psychiatrist (me) ordered.