28th – 30th November, Snowdonia Magic

Between Capel Curig and Betws-y-Coed, just off the A5, Bryn Brethynau Climbing Hut was our (a group of Outdoors Magic folk) home for the weekend. Little Miss Maria was the organisator – she’s good at that sort of thing.

From the Friday afternoon the place started to fill up – I gave Jim from Chapel-en-le-Frith a lift, he proved good company.

The hut was quite basic but could have done with a good clean before we moved in, the previous group staying there clearly weren’t too bothered how they left the place. The good news, for the hut owners, is that when an Outdoors Magic party use a place they always leave it in very clean condition.  Whatever, it was warm, dry and it had a hot shower – good enough for us rufty-tufty outdoorsy types.

The advance party: Jim, LMM, Cathy, Carrick and Ed

That evening some went off to the boozer down the road for a meal and some beer. Others, me included, stayed at the hut and ate there.

The Glyders

Next morning a very select group of six set off to wander over the Glyders.

Two cars were used, one parked at the start of the walk at the eastern end of Llyn Ogwen, t’other car was left at the Visitors Centre by Idwal Cottage, at the western end of the lake. Weather conditions were perfect, cool, clear and generally dry underfoot. Views improved as we climbed:

Tryfan

The hills were very busy, a group of Royal Marine Commandos were out on a jaunt:

The power of camouflage

Taz, with Tryfan in the background

There were grins all around, what a superb day to spend in the hills. The views were just so good that were moving relatively slowly – we just kept stopping to gawp and take photos.

Cathy, Chewie, Yavanna and Pete

Lunch with a view

Glyder Fach presented itself as a good lunch spot: tremendous views and nice dry rocks to sit on. Whilst munching our butties we heard the ‘waffa-waffa’ of a helicopter, a Sea King was lurking around the top of Tryfan. The helicopter flew off after a short time, only to re-appear around 10 minutes later. It was circling the tops – the winch-man (winch-person?) was giving Cathy a cheery wave.

Cathy, dead chuffed that the pillion passenger of the Sea King gave her a wave …....nobody else got a wave!

The craggy, rocky outcrops really have to be seen to be believed. My limited photography skills can’t show the area off properly, but I’ll try:

I’ve done very little walking in Snowdonia. It’s an area that I need to spend more time in, the scenery is really spectacular and it’s not too far from Manchester. I feel a backpacking trip coming on, a few days around here will really hit the spot.

Anyroadup, after the excitement of the waving helicopter pillion passenger and the scoffing of butties, we trotted off westwards-ish along the ridgy-thing to Glyder Fawr and more spectacular rocky terrain. Our route off Glyder Fawr was by the side of the Devils Kitchen, a dramatic gash in the mountainside:

 

Looking t’other way:

 Llyn Idwal with the Carnedds behind

A sometimes slippy descent in failing light slowed us down only a little and we were soon down at the car park by Idwal Cottage.

Back at the climbing hut we were surprised and more than a bit shocked to find that the helicopter we’d seen earlier in the day was on a call out. The group led by Maria had decided to go up Tryfan. Geoff (aka Major Cynic) took a tumble as he lost his grip on a bit of a scramble. A 75ft drop, punctuated by various ledges, rocks and other lumpy things had broken his fall – fortunately nothing else was broken, other than pride perhaps. Ogwen Valley MRT were out on exercise in the area and were very soon on the scene. Read all about it.

Geoff was whisked off to Bangor Hospital for his bits and pieces to be checked, X-rayed, massaged etc – all proved to be fine, if a little battered and bruised. He was kept in overnight for observation and was turfed out the following morning, stiff, sore, hungry and thirsty.

Sunday morning: Cnicht….not

Not Cnicht….but Moel Siabod from the hut on Sunday morning

By the time we’d collected Geoff from the hospital and returned him to the hut it was getting late – thoughts of a longer walk had been ruled out. Cathy had a plan: drive a few miles down the road and wander up Cnicht – a hill that has the distinction of being a HuMP, Hewitt and a Minto Nuttall.

An expedition party of three: Cathy, Jim and me, set off from Blaen Nanmor, a very minor road to the north-west of Cnicht. Following a not very clear footpath up to a group of lakelet / tarny type ponds at around the 600m contour we headed south-ish, in the general direction of Cnicht. The ground was generally good although there were some tremendously sloppy, boggy bits. My brand new, no expense spared £3.99 Aldi short gaiters did a good job of keeping the crud off the bottom of my trousers,

Llyn yr Adar

Jim and Cathy

Llyn Llagi

A mixture of failing light, yakking too much and not looking at the map properly meant that we were too late to do the ridge over Cnicht.

it was dark by the time we got back to the cars. Still, we had a nice little walklet:

5 miles and 1800’ of upness. And some boggy bits.

Apart from Geoff’s little mishap on (off?) Tryfan on the Saturday afternoon, it was a hugely successful weekend. Unfortunately not everyone was able to attend, some dropped out at the last minute, but hey-ho, that’s the way it goes sometimes. Thanks to Little Miss Maria for her efforts in making the weekend happen, and to everyone else for the entertainment  and making the weekend such a success - ‘twas great fun!

22nd November, Black Sail Hut

The Tally-Ho! collective thought that hiring the YHA’s Black Sail Hut for a weekend at the end of November would be a bit of a wheeze. After all, the hut is advertised as being the YHA’s most remote hostel and it’s situated in a stunningly beautiful area. We’d have short days, almost guaranteed poor weather, I’d be assured of sharing a cramped dormitory with a bunch of smelly, sweaty, burping, farting fell-runners…...what’s not to like?

Perhaps foolishly, I rejoined the YHA. My original idea was to travel by train to St Bees, walk to Gillerthwaite YHA, and then walk up to Black Sail the next day. Except Gillerthwaite YHA was closed.

Not to worry, I’d instigate Plan B: travel to Whitehaven and walk to Buttermere YHA, spending the night there instead. It would be a lovely walk to Black Sail Hut from there – through Scarth Gap and all that. Buttermere YHA was closed too.

Plan C then came about. At the last minute the group had decided to meet up at Braithwaite for breakfast at the Coledale Inn on the Friday morning. Being as wot Braithwaite is close to Keswick I decided to spend the Thursday night at the (open) Keswick YHA. Unfortunately this meant that I’d need to drive, something I was hoping to avoid.

A not very flattering photograph of Keswick’s new Wetherspoon’s pub - ‘The Chief Justice of the Common Pleas’, Keswick’s old Police Station.

Anyroadup, Plan C worked out quite well in the end: I needed to call in to see Beryl who lives near Preston at some point to deliver her new Scarp 1, and I was keen to check out the new Wetherspoon’s pub in Keswick – it all went swimmingly.  Wetherspoon’s much lowerer beer prices have had quite an effect on the beer prices at Keswick’s other pubs. And Beryl’s very happy with her new tent.

Breakfast in Braithwaite – and Cheshire’s leanest, fittest runners. Hmmm. 

Arrangements had been made for the Warden of Black Sail to meet us at the Bowness Knott car park in order to transport essential supplies (beer, food, more beer, wine, even more beer, objects of musical torture etc) to the hut in his Land Rover. We arrived at the car park at the appointed meeting time: 10.30am. It was over two hours later when the Warden eventually appeared – Walter (pr: ‘Volter’….he’s from Abroad) wasn’t popular.

Our Plan (Ho-ho!) was to get up to Great Borne and then follow the ridgy-thing to Seat, taking in Starling Dodd, Little Dodd, Red Pike, High Stile and High Crag and then to drop down to the hut by Scarth Gap.

It was getting on for 1pm when we managed to get away, our enforced late start meant we had to dramatically alter our planned walk for the day. Given the weather this perhaps wasn’t such a bad thing. We followed the LRT to just beyond Gillerthwaite YHA and then headed straight up to the top of Red Pike and on to High Stile…and a very quick lunch.

Up to High Stile

The weather was deteriorating and hanging around wasn’t considered A Good Thing.

Visibility wasn’t brilliant and although it was still quite light we got a shift on – nobody fancied the idea of walking in the dark. By the time we were descending off Seat the light had gone and head torches were needed.

We arrived at the hostel around 6.00pm. It was lovely and warm – central heating and electric lighting had been installed since my last visit. Nice.

Bunks were bagged, the woodburning stove fired-up and essential rehydration (tea…what else?) operations commenced.

We had booked a hostel meal for the first night, Volter Walter rolled up with a huge bowl of hot-pot…he then promptly disappeared. The group then performed a vanishing trick on the hot-pot. Very clever.

A very pleasant evening followed, the beer supply took a severe bashing – more beer was clearly needed. This was where Volter Walter actually performed: he went off to a distant supermarket, in a land far, far away, and returned with bottles and cans. Unfortunately he didn’t return with kindling for the fire or more fuel for the hostel’s diesel generator. Oh well.

Fast Taylor’s guitar being eyed-up as a source of kindling 

I’d like to report that I slept very well in the dorm. I’d like to….

Where we eventually went on the Friday:

 7.5 miles with around 2900’ of up. 

 

Saturday morning dawned, after a fashion. The Tally-Ho! Catering and Washing-up Corps did a splendid job of doing the decent thing of providing excellent breakfasts and packed lunches…

…and doing the washing up 

Plans had been drawn up for a couple of walks for the day, I chose to do Haystacks, Innominate Tarn and Brandreth. Not a  long walk by any means, but given the mizzle, poor visibility etc it seemed to be favourite.

Cheshire’s finest….er, runners

The alternative walk was to the south, over Great Gable, Kirk Fell and Pillar. Although a number set out on the walk, poor weather had them shortening their route – although when the cloud allowed they had some great views.

 Black Sail Hut from the west

This is a popular route for walkers – cyclists too!

Mapless Taylor, Old Markham and I set off up Scarth Gap as the B Team headed south up Black Sail Pass to climb Kirk Fell. As they disappeared into the cloud I couldn’t help thinking we’d got the better deal with our lower route – we avoided most of the low cloud. 

Old Markham and Mapless 

Buttermere and Crummock Water

We decided not to bother with Brandreth, the weather was worsening and the ground was a gloopy, boggy mess of bog and gloop. The top of Brandreth, which isn’t THAT much of a top had become shrouded in cloud – norralot of point going up there. So we beat a retreat to the hut.

Black Sail Hut in the wet

The B Team arrived back soon after us, they had decided to give Kirk Fell a miss, it was just too murky and grim up there – although when they got breaks in the cloud the views were good.

Where the A Team went:

5 miles / 2000’ of ascent

A pleasant evening followed: good food and good beer – the Catering Crew did us proud. The high class (?) entertainment was, er, entertaining too:

Val Doonican eat your heart out!

The excellent Dick Turpin Ale lasted until mid evening, after which the back-up supplies were called into service.

Next morning, after a good breakfast, we gave the hut a good clean before heading back down the track to pick up our cars from the Bowness Knott car park. We’d had a brilliant weekend – so much so that we’re looking to do it all over again next year.

17th November, A bit more Dales Way

Bridges and Bodgers from Grassington to Bolton Abbey

I collected Rick at the unearthly hour of 7.20am (the 7.20am in the morning) for the drive up to the Yorkshire Dales and the arranged meeting with Bella, Stuart and Peter. It’s a long drive to do such a short walk but it’s an attractive route, we don’t race along, and we enjoy each others company = a lovely day out.

Leaving Bella’s Jeep at Bolton Abbey, 5 walkers squoze into my much smaller car for the drive to Grassington and the start of the day’s walk. Observant readers will notice that we’re doing this route in easy stages (VERY easy stages!) and that we’re walking North to South rather than t’other way around….nor are we walking West to East.

 Off we jolly-well go

The first few miles was on the eastern side of the River Wharfe. The river was a bit full, rain had been raining quite heavily:

The Wharfe, just outside Grassington

Bella

Crossing the suspension bridge over the Wharfe at Hebden

Lunch stop No1, Loup Scar

17th Century bridge at Burnsall

Barden Bridge

A mile or so south of Barden Bridge, the river suddenly narrows quite dramatically at The Strid. The broad and relatively slow flowing River Wharfe is forced through a narrow rocky ravine resulting in a maelstrom of churning, choppy waters. If you fall in it’s unlikely that you’d survive.

 The Strid

Right in the middle of Strid Wood we happened upon this bodger’s workshop:

Nobody at home 

The bodger’s handiwork

The path climbed away from the river to give us a nice view of Bolton Abbey:

 

 

The final river crossing of the day and we were given a choice – footbridge or stepping stones. Guess which way we crossed?

Two sheep 

A tree

A lovely day out in great company…..and scones and flapjacks. And a beer before heading for home.

This is what we did (sort of):

17.5km, with 286m of up and 364m of down.

15th November, Tally-Ho! from Nangreaves, Route v4.2

The real thing..

A number of exploratory / recce trips to this area were needed in order to finalise this route, mainly due to the large number of illegally blocked Rights of Way (Right of Ways?), completely unmarked footpaths and generally difficult to navigate ground. An a lot of mud.

Anyroadup, this is what happened on the Big Day…

 

The Lord Raglan, Nangreaves

The choice of this pub as a venue for Tally-Ho! had absolutely nothing to do with The Leyden Brewery. Nothing at all.

First to set off from The Lord Raglan at Nangreaves were Ding Dong and Whitworth. They had arranged to meet at the pub at 12.30, thus ensuring an early start. After a leisurely tour around the lanes of South Lancashire, Ding-Dong arrived promptly at 1.30pm thus ensuring a not terribly early start.

Rumours of a collection in the pub to raise dosh to buy Ding-Dong a map are completely false….I think they want to buy him a SatNav so his navigation prowess could match that of Whitworth’s…..and he NEVER gets lost. Well, not very often – especially now he has a new Merc with a built in SatNav.

Whitworth and Prez Park left the pub in a blur (well that’s what the drunk outside the pub said), heading north along a short strip of tarmac. The money men (Ding Dong and Mapless  Taylor) ran together – leaving a little later than normal.

The dryness of the tarmac wasn’t to last long. Leaving the road, the extremely well-laid sawdust trail led our valiant heroes to a soggy path of a couple of hundred yards (around 183.44m). Damp grass drenched their running shoes comprehensively. Nice.

Other runners followed in their wake, all finding the extremely well-laid trail very easy to follow.

Whilst the hounds were enjoying (eh?) following the trail, the hares were taking great care to leave a clear sawdust & paper trail across some seriously rough and boggy ground.

First obstacle of the day was the illegally blocked footpath at  Croston Close:

A Concessionary Path is offered as an alternative route, but the path through the farmyard exists as a Public Right of Way – the landowner clearly has a different opinion.

Next came the first ‘river’ crossing of the day. In recent weeks the stream that is Cheesden Brook had been a mere 2 – 3ft wide (609.6– 914.4mm….approx), the recent heavy rain had swollen the watercourse quite considerably. This ensured that many pairs of Innovates were suddenly mud-free. For a minute.

An uphill pull to a track led the hounds to Ashworth Reservoir. Once through a heavy metal gate the trail ran alongside a Water Authority-built wall to pick up a minor road at the east side of the reservoir.

The Trail-Layers were on the return leg of the trail and were able to watch some of the hounds, on the outward leg, as they ran along that stretch of road. Fortunately they were too far away to be able to hear the runners cursing, swearing and plotting sweet revenge.

Once across Edenfield Road, Knowle Hill came into full view. Curses were heard to be uttered as it slowly dawned on the hounds that the trig-point at the top was to be their next objective. And so it was.

Mud, bog, streams, windmills and sheep were just some of the hazards to be encountered on this uphill stretch. The sheep seemed intrigued:

 The view south from Knowle Hill

A clear path off the eastern flank of Knowle Hill led the runners along part of the Rochdale Way, (thank-you Wiki!) in the direction of the Naden Reservoirs. The reservoirs only became visible after climbing a stile at Dixon’s Brow. The change of scenery was quite a revelation – so far the views were mainly of moorland, bogs and mud. To see the land open out in such a dramatic way almost caused some to stop and stare for a few minutes. It was either that or they were knackered after Knowle Hill and they needed a breather.

Naden Reservoirs 

Clumps of sawdust and the Rochdale Way made for easy navigation as the route swung south and then west(ish) on the return leg.

Another stream crossing and on through Knowl Farm:

Knowle Farm, used for filming ‘Last Tango in Halifax’ 

Re-crossing Edenfield Road gave temporary relief from the mud and gunge, in fact there was a good 10-15 minutes of relatively clean running. Until a particularly muddy, sludgy stretch of track that led to a particularly muddy, sludgy river crossing. It wasn’t long before Ashworth Reservoir once again hove into view, this heralded some nice running along only slightly horrendously waterlogged ground.

The Right of Way runs through Yates Farm but there was so much rubbish and detritus on the ground that a diversion was needed. It looks like the place is used as a scrap yard, a real mess.

Much nicer running followed once passed the farm: good tracks and paths, a short stretch of tarmac, and then a really gloopy farm track.

An uphill pull to a ‘notch’ on the horizon indicated the last stretch of the trail, although it was only once through the notch that it became clear the running was almost done. A stile and a short stretch of tarmac had us back at the pub.

First runners in 

Next in, Paul and Les 

The trail seemed to have been generally well received – although the beer at the pub got a better reception. It was rather good – just a shame I was driving.

Numbers were a bit low today, only 14(?) members sat down to a filling dinner of stewy stuff and mushy peas followed by fruit crumble. ‘Always hungry’  Blackshaw was unable to stay for dinner due to family commitments, this left Murray in a bit of a quandary regarding his pudding. He needn’t have worried though, help was at hand and his pudding vanished in the blink of an eye.

Layers of trail were Blackshaw and Jocys who had a thoroughly good day out – and even managed to beat all the hounds back to the pub.

This is where we went:

Around 9 miles with about 1200’ ascent

That’s according to Memory Map and my Garmin Etrex20. I felt I could do with a good laugh so I took my SatMap Active10 along too. According to that heap of junk we covered 16.75 miles.

Impressed, eh?

At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month

11am on Tuesday 11th November 2014

The Bravest Little Street in England

Lest we forget. Only 4 people there today. Are we forgetting?

Recessional, by Rudyard Kipling

God of our fathers, known of old--
Lord of our far-flung battle line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the law--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard--
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard--
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!