tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77419017481463039372024-03-06T05:36:25.549+00:00Dawn's pagesDawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-40925152910940384432021-05-30T11:16:00.001+01:002021-05-30T11:16:53.268+01:00Another wee bit of scribbling<p> OS map LR 42 January</p><p>In need of a breath of fresh air, I took the night coach north. Changing at Glasgow, it was on to the Fort William train. The weather forecasts had been good for the next few days, high pressure, dry, with low temperatures and north easterly winds. There were a couple of young guys also heading for the hills. They would be leaving the train at Bridge of Orchy, while I was travelling on to Corrour. As the train pulled out of Crianlarich, there was a bustle of activity from the three of us. Travelling on public transport in winter is a bit of a juggling act clothing wise. Wear your full winter kit on the train and you will overheat. Being hot and sweaty when leaving the train can lead to a rapid chilling of the body. Thus it is a case of waiting until the last moment before bundling in to your kit. Some of the passengers looked on, rather bemused as fleeces were donned, boots laced up with gaiters hooked in. Woolly hats and gloves made ready. All the usual bits of fussing and faffing. The train conductor was a little concerned about me setting off alone. "Do you realise it was minus nine at Corrour this morning?" She asked. Despite my reassurances, the lady remained unconvinced that I knew what I was doing and was well prepared. The track that led down to loch Treig had been heavily churned up. Vehicles had left deep ruts and pools. Fortunately the morass was frozen solid. Loch Treig was also frozen over. Where the Abhain Rath flowed in to the loch was a jumble of ice. It was interesting to see the slabs of ice along the river banks where the river had obviously frozen, when the water level had dropped everything had slumped down. Now the river was partially frozen with the middle semi frozen, a slushy mixture. the going was good, hard packed snow but no call for my crampons. Came by Staoineag bothy, had a quick look in, but my intention was to push on a bit further up the glen and camp. the day had been cold, crisp and clear with sunshine, but no warmth in the sun. Although still early, the sun had set and the temperature had began to drop. The chill had me rapidly zipping up my jacket and pulling my woolly hat down over my ears. Reaching the ruin of of Luibeilt, I cast about to find a spot to set up camp. Camping in winter requires a wee bit more skill than what is needed in the warmer months. Under the ground sheet I place a sheet of polycryo, it looks like a thin plastic sheet but is much tougher and is very light. A very thin piece of camping mat will go under my Thermarest mattress. With the ground being frozen, tent pegs had to be coaxed in with my ice axe. They would require a drop of hot water in the morning to get them out again. With everything frozen, I made up a pile of snowballs to melt. It can be a tad tedious,, but to melt snow down requires firstly a small amount in the bottom of the pot and as it melts, gradually adding more snow, it takes a lot to get a pot of hot water and when one is desperate for a cuppa, it seems to take an age! My tiny thermometer, which is fairly accurate, was reading minus five as I settled in for the night. Have left it hanging on a guy line, it will be interesting to see if the temperature drops further.</p><p>Made an early start in the morning. This being a short, weekend trip, I rather wanted to be in Fort William fairly early to allow myself a meal before catching the seventeen forty three train. The bus service was very limited on Sundays. Thus it was that breakfast and packing up was mostly done by the light of my headtorch. Had to get up during the night for a call of nature. A chilly experience with ice from the frozen flysheet going down my neck. The night was amazing though, the night sky ablaze with stars, everything was still, not a sound. A check of the thermometer, it was hovering around minus thirteen, very chilly! The temptation is always to snuggle down in the sleeping bag for just another five minutes or so! My boots were stiff and semi frozen despite bringing them in to the tent overnight. It was a glorious morning, the first rays of the rising sun turned the tops of the surrounding hills, a deep rosy pink. My tent was still frozen so it was just rolled up a stowed under the rucksack lid. It was tricky going to start with. Having been through this area a few times, I was well aware that there was some rugged terrain to cover.. Taking a chance, I opted for a longer route. I headed down the glen towards an old dam. Turned off and headed up towards Meall Doire na h Achlais. Snow had drifted deep in places, covering all the dips and hollow with just a few rocky outcrops showing. In some places the snow was compacted and quite easy to move over. Every so often though I would break through in to a hidden hollow. Post holing made for slow going but, as intended, I was soon on firmer ground. The snow on the ridge leading up to Sgurr Eilde Mor was hard packed neive and icy. Stopped to put my crampons on. As I did so, took note of the weather, the early morning sun had gone and what been clear blue sky was now grey. the wind had picked up too, coming in from the north east. With the added wind chill, it felt much colder. Just before the summit the ridge becomes very narrow, it was flanked with deep drifts on both sides, I took care to keep to the centre. It felt bitterly cold on the top, my glasses had iced over and I had to do without them. Hunkering down behind a lump of rock, I poured myself a cup of coffee, it cooled rapidly but I needed the fluids, it is easy to become dehydrated in winter. The rucksack was covered in a thin layer of ice and the straps where frozen. The tiny thermometer was reading minus eighteen! The wind chill was pushing temperatures way down. Corie an Lochain, lay far below, it was frozen over. the descent was tricky, steep and icy. As the slope eased off a bit, I took off my crampons. With the hillside being rocky, it was safer to make my way down without them. A fall when wearing crampons can lead to serious injury. Once down by loch Eilde Mor, also frozen, it was just a case of following the track, or at least the outline of it down to roughly were the path turned off, leading down to Kinlochmore. It was a pleasant surprise to see that people had been up the path and I was able to follow their trail down the hill. Once in Kinlochleven, I looked for the bus stop. Working on information given, I had been assured there was a limited bus service. surprisingly, there was a Sunday bus. Unfortunately it was not due until 16:40. Doable but tight on time. Despite the fact that hitching lifts was more difficult these days, I decided to chance it. To my relief I made it to Fort William in two lifts. The first lift was with a retired couple who had moved up to Scotland soon after their retirement. They spent much time walking with their two very friendly border collie cross dogs. They were very happy to have me sharing the back seat with them! The second lift was a self employed carpenter. He too had moved up from the south. He was a climber and his van was both his workshop and his camper. It was dark when I arrived in town, around 16:15. Time for a fish supper and also time to buy a cheap pair of trainers. My boots where soaked and I did not fancy travelling overnight in wet footwear.</p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-11332797995836024042021-05-28T01:34:00.000+01:002021-05-28T01:34:29.259+01:00More tales from old logbooks<p> Maps used Landrangers 50 and 41. Both 1:50.000</p><p>It had been the usual long, tedious overnight run up from the south. Something I have never mastered is to sleep on long distance coaches. A change of buses in Glasgow, no chance of getting some breakfast, it was straight off one bus and on to the next. The advantage of using night buses is that days are not wasted on travel. Got off the bus at Kings House, a rather grey, drab sort of day but that was fine for me, I was just darned glad to get off the bus. A tad jaded, I set off down Glen Etive. Road walking is not something I enjoy and I tried to thumb a lift several times. No one stopped, how things have changed, at one time many folk, myself included, often hitch hiked, always certain someone sooner or later would stop for you. People now seem to be hermetically sealed inside their little cocoon, fearful of strangers getting in their car.</p><p>It seems an awful thing to say, but those miles down the glen were more of a route march. Little time was spent admiring the scenery. The last time I had come this way, I recall coming off the hill, heading down toward Alltchaorunn. My intention had been to cross the river Etive by the bridge. It had been a shock to find a large, barb wire topped gate barring the way. By the looks of it someone else had hit the same problem. Looking closely, I had noticed that somebody had cut a couple of strands of the barbwire. It had been an awful tussle, but I had managed to peel back the strands of wire and finally, with some difficulty and bad language got over the gate. Before anyone asks, I did climb back up to bend the wire back to where it had been.</p><p>Coming around byCoilleitir and feeling hungry I stopped for a break. A squashed pasty went down well, followed by a cheese sandwich. Fortunately I had picked up some extra food when the night coach had made its statutory stop at the motorway services. The steep, rocky slopes of Ben Starav looked a wee bit intimidating, possibly even a little sombre. I noticed a path marked on the map that led up through one of the corries. However, I had opted for a north east ridge which looked doable.</p><p>In actual fact, it was not too bad at all. The ground was steep but I made steady progress. The last bit up through a jumble of boulders was a bit more difficult. Thin, wispy grey clouds swirling around had me getting the waterproofs out. Loch Etive, far below, appeared and disappeared. Visibility was poor but I was well aware of the craggy rocks all around me. A narrow spine of rock led me over to Stob Coire Dheirg. Continuing on across to Meall nan Tri Tighearnan I stopped at the bealach, time was running on and I was tired and felt it safer to find a spot for the tent and camp. The ground was boggy but I found a dry'ish spot.</p><p>Rain during the night and when I looked out in the morning, everything was grey and wet. Thick cloud drifted over the bealach, dreich. Did the sensible thing, had a brew and settled back for a snooze. By late morning things began to clear. The midges were bad but I was glad to get out of the tent and head up the hill. It was going to be a lazy day. Followed the ridge up to Beinn nan Aighenan. Despite the glowering, scudding clouds, the views were fantastic, far below blue grey lochs and lochans dotted the floor of the glens. Rough country indeed! Once back at the tent, I packed up and made my way back to the ridge I had turned off yesterday. As odd as it may seem, I quite enjoyed working my way up Glas Bheinn Mhor. Drifting damp mist swirled around, coming and going, offering glimpses of the glen far below. The descent called for care, picking my way down through rough rock and boulders. Stopped on the Sron nan Cabar bealach. Found a nice spot for the tent. There was a breeze that kept the midges at bay. The weather has turned colder but the rain has eased off. A short but good day.</p><p>Woke to a drizzly morning, but at least it was not clagged in. Spotted a group of deer on a nearby ridge as I packed up. Headed up the hill, how can step slopes hold so much boggy water? My first objective was Stob Coir an Albannaich. It was delight to see the sky clearing and at last I was able to shed the waterproofs. Wonderful views, the river Etive a silvery ribbon, a car moving on the road appeared miniscule from my heady perch.. This is lovely backpacking country, challenging at times and care has to be taken, but it offers so so much scope. The corries and ridges in this area run east-west and I was heading north-south. Thus I had to work carefully with map and compass to find the best route, often up and down steep, rocky ground. There is much pleasure and satisfaction in this. A steady drop off the top and then very carefully eased down a rocky gulley to a watery bealach to then ascent back up to Meall . From there it was a case of working my way down and then up to Meall nan Eun on a broad, rather featureless ridge. Back tracked a little, somehow I had to make my way over toward Meall Odhar, it meant a very steep descent and an equally steep ascent. Heading down to the bealach was not as bad as it seemed, the easiest way was to follow a narrow gully, a lot of the slope was saturated grass and bog, very slippery. The bealach was quite wide small pools, bog and boulders. Working my way up to the ridge was a tussle. Toward the top it grew tricky, I had to hang on to tufts of grass to prevent a fall. An undignified scramble and finally I was on the ridge. That had been the hardest part of the trip. It was worth the effort though, the way on was gentle walking following the ridge over to Stob Bruaich leith and on to Stob Ghabhar. Camped on the Aonach Mor ridge. The weather had been closing in but I managed to get the tent up before a few heavy showers passed through. Watched a buzzard quartering the opposite hillside. Camping high has meant a lot less hassle from the midges.</p><p>The rain cleared away early last night, but a heavy dew meant having to pack a wet tent, a nuisance on my last day. Once again I faced another steep descent in to a narrow corrie. The ascent looked doable. Once down in the corrie I then made my over to bealach Euar Choirean. It was then a matter of threading my way uphill through a jumble of boulders to Clach Leathard. The area was devoid of vegetation it was all bare rock. Low cloud was brushing the tops. A quick check of map and compass and then it was a matter of following an undulating ridge over to an unnamed top (1100). Carried on to take in Stob Ghlais. From there I turned back the way I had come. There was a way down off the ridge, a really splendid narrow, curved rocky spine with steep corries on both sides. It dipped down and then rose up to Meall a Bhuiridh. The weather had cleared up and the views where fantastic. Rannoch Moor stretched out in to the distance, its many lochans and lochs glinting in the afternoon light. A vista of hills all around. Unfortunately the ski tow and the accompanying detritus where something of an eyesore. With a bus to catch, I could not linger long. Followed the line of the tow down the hill. The lower section was still operating, carrying tourists up to the first station. The place looked busy, and I got a few odd looks as went through the car park.. Made it Kings House in time to catch the 15:25 bus down to Glasgow. It will then be a wash and clean up in the coach station loo and a fish supper. and finally on to the coach heading south.</p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-23210517300185431222021-05-21T09:21:00.000+01:002021-05-21T09:21:40.654+01:00Exerts from old logbooks<p> These are a few extracts taken from old logbooks written up and outlining one or two backpacking trips taken a few years back. On this trip, map used was OS Land Ranger 40 1:50 000.</p><p>October 18. 2001. A long, tiring day, which involved a lot of travel. My day at 0:2AM to catch a 3:05AM bus to Stanstead airport. This was for a cheap, £10 flight to Glasgow, it departed at 06:05 Am. . A short train journey in to Glasgow and on to the 10:Am Fort William bus. The weather looked bad on the way up, heavy, driving rain, roads awash with water. Fortunately things had eased off by the time we reached FW. A quick dash to pick up gas and a few bits and it was on to the Mallaig bus. My intention had been to grab a meal before heading out again but the chippy had been busy, ditto the local supermarket. Bread rolls and cheese would have to suffice.</p><p> The bus driver was a local chap and knew precisely where I wanted get off the bus, a couple of miles before Lochailort. It was a relief to find that the path marked on the map actually existed. The rough path led me up by the Alt ne Criche. Thankfully the rain had stopped and the afternoon even had some sunshine. Unfortunately the path became increasingly difficult to follow. Stopping to check the map, I surmised I had missed the fork in the path. There ought to have been a divide with one going higher up the hill and a lower path leading down through woodland. After a quick nibble and a ponder, I decided to stick with the lower path, they both led to the track I was aiming for. Possibly this was a mistake! The wood was no planted block of sitka. Rather, it was akin to a segment of a more ancient wild wood. It was situated on the steep slope of a hill. Predominantly it consisted of ancient, twisted and gnarled Scots pines, there was juniper too and oaks that were clearly of a great age. It was obvious that few ever came this way. Uprooted trees, rotting logs, boulders coated in luxurious coats of verdant mosses, made the going very difficult. Also, the ground fell away steeply. Picking my way down made for difficult going. It was welcome relief to finally get down to Lochan Lon a Ghairt. Had to pause there for a wee breather. There is a small building by the loch, a hydro electric system by the look of it. The track that ran up to it made for easy going down toward Meoble, a small, isolated community, what a place to live! found the turning I wanted, initially a track that ran up by the Alt Slaite Coire. The track became more of a path and then faded away completely, A stream swollen by recent rain made for a tricky crossing. Once over I realised how tired I was getting. A further push up the hill to the Staite corrie, a wide, open bowl hemmed in by walls of high hills. It was a joy to find a camp spot surrounded by wonderful vistas. Tent up in fading light, supper and and I was soon asleep.</p><p>A heavy dew overnight meant a wet ten in the morning. The sun was shining on the surrounding tops but the corrie remained in the shade. There was no rush to be away and I was content to sit and gaze around the corrie over breakfast. It felt like a wild place, off the beaten track and I wondered how many gangrels had stravaiged this place? Packed up and away, heading up toward the bealach that would lead me over towards Gleann Taodnail. Ahead of me a magnificent stag appeared silhouetted briefly on the horizon. By the size of him and the spread of his antlers, a very mature chap indeed! It being the rutting season, the hills and glens echoed to the bellowing of the stags. It was steady going up on to the bealach. Off to my right a stream flowed down over rocky slabs, ahead of me was some very rough ground. A morass of bog, water everywhere, pools large and small, brimming peat hags, jumbled, semi submerged boulders, all hemmed in by the surrounding hills. It was somewhat disconcerting to find the ground undulating under my feet as I tentatively threaded my way over to a raised rocky shoulder, which led me down toward the upper reaches of Gleann Taodhall. A bit of tricky boulder hopping to get across the river and I was on to the path, clearly an old stalkers path.</p><p>stopping for a wee break, I looked around me, taking in the wonderful ruggedness of the area. Wild, though I hesitate in describing it as such. Looking at the map, it is clear that the surrounding glens at one time were populated by many small communities. The glens now empty, devoid of people, many forcibly removed, only crumbling ruins remain.</p><p>The morning had started with bright early morning sun but it had become cloudier, the sun coming and going. Autumn was well underway, the glen me a mixture of russet and gold. It was colder too and I did not linger long. The walk down the glen was a delight with the water of Loch Morar glistening below me. The river, river rushing ever downward, tumbling over waterfalls, cascading into deep pools, swirling around boulders and rocky slabs. Ancient, stunted trees, clung to the steep hillsides. The path appeared little used but the skill of those who had constructed it, still evident. Coming around by Oban bothy, padlocked, a note pinned on the door 'closed during stalking season' Fortunately I had already checked and was informed that there was no shooting in that area on the days I was passing through.</p><p>This was the one part of the trip I had most concerns about. My aim was to make my way over to Kinlochmorar. The one problem was that it was across on the other side of the loch. Initially I had hoped that I would be able to skirt around the edge of Sron A Choin. That was not possible, it had to be plan B. After a spot of lunch, cast about a bit and, although fairly wide, the river was flowing quite slowly. Boots off, strip to my undies and I went for it. not the easiest of crossings, at one point I was waist deep, however, I made it. A bit of a tussle getting up and over the hill, heather covered boulders and hidden holes made for caution. A drop down to the AbhainnCean Loch Morar. Almost as deep as the last river, steep banks made getting out a wee bit difficult.</p><p>Kinlochmorar appears to have been occupied until quite recently. One or two of the ruins appear to be fairly modern. The afternoon had turned out quite pleasant. It was an early stop, but there was no problem with that. A time to potter, drink tea and generally laze. There was a lovely flat area that looked ideal to pitch the tent. However, it was also well used by the deer. It being the rut, I decided prudence was best and pitched the tent close in to one of the ruined buildings. Sitting outside the tent with a brew, I listened to the roaring of the stags. There is something almost primordial in their bellowing. What was fascinating too, was the vocal variations of their roaring. Not too far from me, high on the hill, I had glimpsed a large stag with a wide spread of antlers, his bellowing was a deep throated full on roar, seemingly coming from deep within. In comparison the response from a stag on the far side of the loch was still a full on bellow, but somehow not quite the same quality. Somewhere behind me though, further up the glen that linked with the Morar glen, was another contender, he too had a very deep roar. There were several other stags about, but their roaring somehow lacked that that deep resonance. As I settled in for the night, I left the flysheet open and in the twilight dim, I could see the hinds making their way down the hill to graze on the grassy sward. With them came the large stag, he was keeping a close eye on his harem, quickly rounding up any of the hinds who wandered too far. There was an exciting moment when a young stag tried to make of with one of the hinds. A bellowing roar from the big stag, a quick charge and the youngster fled.</p><p>Despite the bellowing of the stags, I was soon asleep. Much later though I was woken up by an unearthly racket, gave me quite a start! Gingerly unzipping the inner tent, I peered out. What a sight, the moon was high in the sky, its soft light bathing the glen, across to where I had first thought of pitching, two stags were squaring up to each other. One was the big stag, challenging him was a slightly smaller stag. Big fella took the offensive, after a bit of posturing and sizing each other up, he lowered his head and charged the interloper. The two of them met head on with a mighty clash of antlers. Eyes bulging, antlers locked, they strained and heaved, big fella tried to throw down his opponent. It seemed to be touch and go as to who would break first. big fella dug deep and with a heave gradually forced his challenger back, suddenly the challenging stag broke free and turned to flee, big fella charged him, hitting him broadside, I winced at the almighty thump, the younger stag almost went down but somehow he kept moving. Big fella let him go, he stood there flanks heaving, his tongue hanging out. His harem, seemingly unconcerned by by all the rumpus, had wandered further down the glen, big fella was quick to round them up, but what a way to win the girls! Nature in the raw!</p><p>It felt quite chilly in the morning and it was overcast. . From the start it was uphill all the way. Having read somewhere that the ridge I was heading for was little frequented but offered a fine, high level walk. The hill grew steeper as I cut diagonally upwards. Rocky outcrops near the top called for care, it something of a scramble. The stunning view from Sgurr Breac was breath taking. Loch Nevis lay spread out far below. The high hills on the far side of the Loch stood in fine relief, low clouds scudding across their tops. It was a fine airy walk around to Sgurr nam Meileach and then across to Sgurr na Aide. With the dark clouds building up, it time to find a way down. The ground fell away steeply below me. Coire Dubh look daunting. keeping it to my left, I began to pick my way down. Picking my carefully around an outcrop of rock, focused on where I was placing my feet, I was startled by a rattle of falling stones. Glancing up, I was confronted by a stag just a few feet above me. Fortunately he took off, back up the slope. Stags can be feisty at this time of the year, but this one was only a youngster and and decided retreat was best. A pause for moment or two to let my pulse settle down a bit and I continued weaving my way downward. Finally I reached the glen floor by Finiskaig, just as it started to rain. A tricky river crossing, on with waterproofs and a stroll over to Sourlies bothy. A Spanish couple where making use of the bothy and they had the kettle on and offered me a welcome cuppa and biscuits. Once the rain eased off, I set up camp a short distance away.</p><p>Heavy showers during the night, rain had eased by morning. It remained damp though with low, brooding cloud on the hills. Headed directly up the hill behind the bothy. This was just an out and back, thus I left the tent where it was and travelled light.. Came by Druim a Ghoirtein, a lovely, broad twisted shoulder with a mixture of several small humps, dips and hollows. The hill I was aiming for was Sgurr na Ciche.. Wet swirling mist made it somewhat difficult to pick out a route and it became a scramble up through steep, rocky slopes. The mist lifted as I worked my way down to the bealach where I was relieved to get out of clammy waterproofs and then headed on up to Garbh Chioch Mhor. Again, steep scrambley stuff and I was glad to be only carrying a light pack. To cap things off, I took in Druim nan Uadhag before descending wet, boggy ground and picking my way down toward the bothy. The afternoon had turned out quite pleasant. The tent had dried out and to save the probability of packing a wet tent in the morning, I moved in to the now empty bothy.</p><p>Was up quite early in the morning but was in no rush, it was time to be heading out. The weather was overcast when I set out. but it remained dry. Cutting across the tidal flats, I came by the ruins of Carnoch. It always feels to me to be a sad place, another deserted community! It felt quite chilly as I came over Mam Meadail. Lovely views from the bealach. It was still grey and overcast, making Gleann Meadail look rather sombre but it is still lovely glen to walk through. There was a surprise further down, the last time I passed this way there had been a ruin close to the path. Someone had been busy, the building has been completely re built. According to the notice on the door it was now a private bothy, one had to pay to make use of it. By the looks of it, whatever machinery had been used to bring material in, had caused a lot of damage. The path had vanished, the area was a mess of churned up mud and deep water filled wheel ruts. Inverie look deserted when I arrived.</p><p>With time on my hands before catching the ferry, I went in to the pub for a bowl of home made soup and bread, most enjoyable. Wandering across to the jetty, I noticed a guy off loading boxes and crates from his boat on to the pier. He was really pleased when I offered to give him a hand. My reward was a free boat trip over to Mallaig. Picked up a few bits for supper and then caught the train up to Fort William. My intention was to book in somewhere, a hot shower and clean clothes where high on my agenda. Ringing one of the town's independent hostels, Calluna, I was assured that I could book in for the night. The person I spoke to on the phone, asked what means of transport I had? As soon as I mentioned that I was on foot, he insisted I stayed put and he would collect me immediately. Not only did I get a lift up to the hostel but I am getting a lift back to the station in the morning. It will be an early start, catching the seven o clock Glasgow bus. The beginning of the long journey south. The hostel is quite amazing, a series of buildings, I have one all to myself! there is a clean and tidy kitchen with all mod cons. Also there is a common room with a small library. A roomy drying room and there is a notice stating that if anyone wanted washing done it would cost £1:50. Impressive, especially since it cost me only nine pounds for the night.</p>Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-55146610768418919132020-03-07T19:10:00.000+00:002020-03-07T19:10:55.045+00:00Brief updateUnfortunately my Parkinson's has worsened over the last few months. There has been a few bad periods were I have experienced prolonged spells of dyskinesea (involuntary movement of limbs and torso) At times it has been severe. The other thing that has given cause for concern is my mobility. Over the last couple of years or so there have been occasions when physically, I have ground to a stop. My legs become wobbly, balance and coordination is affected, breathing becomes heavier and also I become light headed. Usually, after sitting down for a short time it would ease off, leaving me feeling somewhat drained and shaky. It was noticeable that this happened when I was involved in anything needing some exertion, carrying a full rucksack, walking uphill and so forth. at that time it was not a regular thing<br />
Last year though it began to become a regular occurance, putting up a tent or taking it down for example, I would do a bit, pause, breathing deeply, wait a few moments and start again. Bending over made me giddy. Things have worsened over the last few months. At times I found myself struggling to even get out of my flat. There were occasions when I was stuck in my flat for a week or more. It was only thanks to members of the Panama swimming club going out of their way to bring me essential bits of shopping, that I managed to cope, many thanks folks.<br />
As things stand at the moment, although still having difficulties, the situation has eased a bit. Next week I have an appointment with the GP. The Parkinson's doctor, is a little concerned and will be waiting to hear what the GP has to suggest.<br />
Last week Mike came and picked me up for a trip across to North Wales. We had booked a cottage for a few days. Two other backpacking folk, Margaret and John joined us. Initially I was hesitant about going. The way things have been recently, I have not been the most sociable of people. There have been times when I have been struggling around the local supermarket, some folk have given me strange looks and being self conscious makes things a tad more difficult.<br />
It was good to get away though. The cottage was lovely, a former farmhouse a large kitchen with stone flagged floor a lounge and four decent size bedrooms and a modern toilet suite with a huge bath.<br />
Mike and John did all the cooking and constantly tried to persuade me I needed more food! Plenty of reading material was taken and while the others went off for a bit of walking, I just pottered about, managing to go for a couple of short wanders.On the Wednesday we headed for the beach. Despite a cold icy wind blowing down the beach, I managed to go for a dip, as did Mike. Cars are permitted to drive on to the beach and park, thus a very welcome place out of the wind to change.. It was a much needed break. being stuck in the flat was becoming tedious.<br />
A few photos taken in Wales.<br />
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Low tide, thus a long walk for a dip. Worth it though.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-27609104696712390182019-11-30T14:51:00.000+00:002019-11-30T14:51:36.821+00:00BorrowdaleA few photos from a couple of days camping in Borrowdale. Many thanks to Mike for all his help.<br />
Over the last few months my Parkinson's condition has worsened. A nasty side of it is something that goes by the term of dyskinesea. basically involuntary and uncontrolled body movements. It is something I have been experiencing much more recently That is a dark and scary place to be. It is beginning to make life difficult.<br />
Mike very kindly took me down to Borrowdale for a couple of nights camping at Chapel Farm campsite. It was a bit of a struggle getting the tent up. However, it was fantastic just to get away for a few days. The weather was a wee bit dreich, but that was no problem.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-27911241080922442912019-09-19T12:11:00.000+01:002019-09-19T12:13:15.531+01:00Trial and errorReally the first tottering steps of trying to get back on my feet. Pushing boundaries a little, trying to define what I can actually do. This post is just a mixture of things that have been happening over the past few weeks.<br />
Gradually, in slow, hesitant steps, I have resumed my swimming, or at least have had a few dips. The Panama Swimming club members are a wonderful bunch of folks. They have been continually supportive. One club member, Emily and her husband, Will, own a small area of woodland. They generously invited me to spend a weekend with them camping in the wood. It must be admitted, I was in faff mode when putting up the tent. However, I got there. It was a good weekend though, most enjoyable.<br />
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Fungi<br />
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There was a visit to Druridge Bay, for a day on the beach and some dipping in the sea.<br />
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Mike had put forward the idea of a two night wild camp. His proposal was to find somewhere that did not involve a long walk in. The idea was that he would walk in with me, carrying my pack, help me set up camp and then return to the car for his own rucksack. It is so frustrating but Mike was right, I could not have managed with a full rucksack.<br />
Things began well, tents set up on about the only fairly level and dry spot in the whole area. That night I experienced a few problems. The following morning saw us storm bound with strong, gusting winds and heavy, driving rain. It was no problem though, we were well battened down and snug. Some extra medication in the morning appeared to bring some relief. Late that night though I was ill and getting worse. Kirkby Stephen MRT stretchered me out. To them I owe many thanks. Special thanks too to Mike for all his help.<br />
The North East skinny dip looms large on the horizon. All money raised is donated to Tyneside and Northumberland MIND. A worthy cause. Last year saw just over six hundred people taking part. As we have done previously, Mike and I will bivi on the beach Friday night to allow for a few wee pre dip sessions. On the Saturday night we will be camping at the visitor centre.<br />
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A gray day viewed from the tent.<br />
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Raindrops<br />
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Much water!<br />
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Frothy, tumbling water in spate<br />
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Water close to the edge of Mike's tent.<br />
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More watery bits!<br />
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Very wet, churned up ground. Large logs installed, flood prevention by restricting the flow of water<br />
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Evening skies.<br />
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Evening clouds.<br />
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Storm clouds drifting away. There was full moon and frost that night.Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-46178689495851424192019-08-18T23:53:00.000+01:002019-08-19T00:15:44.816+01:00ChangesThere has been a long period of silence here. As mentioned in my last post, I have been experiencing difficulties in relation to my Parkinson's. Toward the end of May, through June and July until the start of August, things took a severe downward spiral. To digress a little, let me explain a few factors regarding Parkinson's. Having the disease affects people in a variety of different ways. Some folk experience symptoms that others have very little difficulty with. It is the same regarding medication, some of us require higher and more frequent dosages than other sufferers. One common symptom is constipation. It can be severe, with all the complications that are associated with it. For me, an added problem that I have experienced for a long period of time are continuous spells of bladder infections.<br />
That, in many respects, was the root cause of of the severe illness I recently experienced. In a nutshell, to combat the infection, I was prescribed a variety of differing antibiotics. One or two brought on a rapid negative reaction which made me quite ill. Eventually there was a severe clash between the the high dosages of antibiotics and my regular medications. It was a frightening experience. Everything went haywire. A variety of alarming and sometimes bizarre things were experienced. At one point my whole body began twitching, convulsing with violent spasms over which I had no control. With some difficulty, I dialled the NHS non emergency number. It was surprising that the phone survived. It was dropped a few times. An added problem was that my speech was slurred and and disjointed, making it difficult to communicate with the doctor. An ambulance was sent and the paramedics promptly put me on oxygen as by then I was struggling to breath. Apparently all my vital signs where way out of kilter. Doctors were somewhat baffled. The diagnose given was a reaction due to a chest and bladder infection?<br />
Over the next couple of months other strange things were experienced. Nightmares, hallucinations, feeling I was going be sick at any moment, with dry heaves that, at times, went on through the night and well into the next day. My balance went out of sync, totally at times. Needing some shopping, I struggled over to the local supermarket. People stared at me, obviously assuming I was drunk! Being a regular at the shop, most of the women working at the tills recognise me. Blurred speech made thing even more difficult. One of the ladies, finally realising it was it was a Parkinson's problem not a drink one, quickly put my stuff through checkout and sorted out my cash. It would be another full week before I left the flat to try shopping once more. Again with difficulties. At one point I was really concerned that I was heading for some kind of a breakdown!<br />
Three trips to hospital and admittance to an old folks ward (geriatric!) for a week, a review of my medications and finally an acknowledgement that one of the root causes of all this had been the antibiotics, has seen a very slow improvement in things.<br />
Apologies if all that seemed a little long winded. Hopefully though it will clarify a little of where things are at in regards to my outdoor activities!<br />
Just recently I finally let most of bushcraft and wood carving stuff go. That hurt, some things were like old friends, we had done much together. Not in a Bear Grylls, madcap survival sensational sort of way. More in a Ray Mears manner of things. Going solo, spending the night in woodland under a tarp and being barked at by a Muntjac deer standing close to me. Waking up in the early hours of a winters morning in the New Forest, surrounded by sleeping and dozing ponies. Foxes walking unconcerned, past me as I sat by an old tree. Having badgers almost stumbling over me as I sat quietly blending into the scenery under a full moon. Waking up in a Highland glen and looking out from under a tarp to find myself surrounded by grazing deer. Every so often, heads would turn in my direction, ears flicking forward, checking me out. Obviously I was no threat to them. Visiting various Scottish islands, cooking over a fire on the beach. Those days have passed. It is obvious I am now much more limited in my abilities. The tools have gone to a good home and hopefully they will give someone else much pleasure and enjoyment!<br />
Mike recently spent a few nights at an almost deserted small campsite in the Scottish Borders. As much as I wanted to go, there was no way I could have managed it. Desperate for a break and having consulted with Mike, a lodge situated next to Loch Leven was booked for the second week of August. With continuing bowel and bladder problems, I was limited in what I could actually do. Often it was just a case of sitting on the terrace and doing a spot of bird watching. Being right next to a loch, swimming was high on my wish list. Unfortunately, notices warned of blue and green algae blooms that posed a threat to health. A line of thick, grey scum along a sluice outlet wall also looked a wee bit discouraging. Given my internal state of affairs, I decided it was best not to take to the water. On the Thursday, I really wanted to go for at least a short walk. Against instructions not to take Imodium unless it was an emergency, I took one to settle things down a bit. Mike had suggested a flat, easy walk around Loch Ore, part of the Lomond Hills regional park. A cafe half way around allowed me a quick dash to the loo and to pick up a bar of chocolate for a quick energy boost. Mike estimates we covered in the region of four miles. On the last wee bit I was rapidly running out of steam. However, it is more than I have done for a long while. Things have levelled out a bit, it is now a case of managing the ongoing problems. Currently I am waiting for an appointment to have yet more tests carried out. Hopefully I will be able to spend a night or two at a campsite before too long?<br />
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A few photos from the trip.<br />
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It was raining on arrival.<br />
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What a difference a day makes!<br />
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Evening sky<br />
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River Leven sluice house<br />
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Swans, Loch Ore<br />
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Loch Ore<br />
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Sunset<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-54840923122133178682019-05-01T01:13:00.000+01:002019-05-01T01:13:02.605+01:00Cross roadsRecently my blog has gone very quiet. The last few months have been difficult. My Parkinson's is slowly affecting my life more and more. There has been no major, significant changes, as such. it is more a case of several areas of my life where things are becoming increasingly difficult. Bladder and bowel problems are increasing. Sleep is badly disrupted. Tiredness really hits me at times, feeling fatigued is a regular thing. Ironically, despite going to bed feeling totally drained, I still find it difficult to sleep. Balance is going out of sync a bit as well. Occasionally, when walking I stagger a little. It can look as if I have been on the booze. A very severe allergic reaction to a type of antibiotic, followed not long after that by a fall down a flight of stairs, resulting in a cracked rib and a badly bruised kidney, has not helped things. Of more immediate concern to the doctors are the increasingly number of bladder infections I am experiencing. Each appears to be a tad more severe and more painful.<br />
In turn this has had significant impact on my backpacking. In a couple of earlier blogs it was mentioned that I experienced difficulties on a few backpacking trips. It is quite possible that my backpacking activities may now be seriously curtailed. That hurts, it is so frustrating. There are other options to consider. Much shorter distances. In the warmer months pack weight can be reduced, so hopefully I can still get out a wee bit! Possibly finding a few quiet spots for a wild swim? Hostels, bunkhouses, B&B's and campsites are other alternatives.<br />
Mike has been very helpful. Despite his busy schedules he has managed to come and collect me me for a couple of short wee walks. A few photos from those walks are shown below.<br />
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Following a short section of the Salters Road, Alnham<br />
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Ancient church, Alnham<br />
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Bewick Hill, an ancient hill fort. A superb wee walk in glorious sunshine.<br />
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cup and ring caving on rock<br />
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One more thing, some of kit will be up for grabs. This includes a superb pair of brand new Aku Alp GTX four season boots.Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-66452031515260388362019-02-21T15:28:00.000+00:002019-02-21T15:28:44.705+00:00A few days in WalesIt has been a while since I have been away. With cabin fever setting in, I was glad to to spend a few days in Wales. Mike and I had managed to rent a cottage near to Corwen in North Wales.<br />
For me there was not a lot of walking, although I did manage some.<br />
Here are a few pictures from that trip.<br />
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We diverted on the way back to spend a couple of days in the |Peak District.<br />
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A pleasant week, mainly pottering, although I did manage a couple of nice wee walks.Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-74994597137852451562018-12-05T11:32:00.001+00:002018-12-05T11:32:13.142+00:00A night out in Teesdale.Just a few photos from a night out with Mike in the Upper Teesdale area. It got a tad chilly!<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-43572139871694473542018-11-06T14:16:00.000+00:002018-11-06T14:16:33.770+00:00CheviotA couple of nights away with the tent. Mike and Lucky wanted to dodge the worst of the fireworks over the weekend. It was largely a couple of days of pottering around, reading, drinking tea and snoozing.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-89481643324637830572018-09-25T16:50:00.000+01:002018-09-25T16:50:02.643+01:00What did you do on the weekend?It was that time of the year once more. The North East Skinny dip loomed large on the horizon. This is a charity event held on or near the Autumnal Equinox. Since its concept the dip has raised many thousands of pounds for the mental health charity, Mind.<br />
Mike collected me on the Friday afternoon. Again, this has become a regular thing we do. Travelling up to Ross Back Sands on the Friday, staying overnight on the beach and spending the Saturday having a few pre dip swims and such. Come the Saturday afternoon and we head over to Druridge Bay, where the dip will be held. Camping is permitted for those partaking of the dip.<br />
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A heavy shower of rain hit us we set up our beach shelter, ( camping on the beach not permitted!) Soon we were snugly settled in with a cuppa. A heavy surf boomed on the beach.<br />
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Early evening saw the weather clearing and we were treated to a lovely sunset.<br />
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Sunset.<br />
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Evening skies.<br />
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Evening light.<br />
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Evening prayers??<br />
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Cloud formations.<br />
As we settled down for the evening, skeins of geese flew overhead, their haunting cries filling the air. Later the seals were heard singing their mournful songs. The sky was clear and the almost full moon shone brightly overhead.<br />
Waking early, the morning felt chilly, however, the sky was tinged crimson with the early morning light.<br />
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Early morning skies.<br />
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Sunrise<br />
Saturday morning was a lazy one. With the tide way out and a nithering wind blowing down the beach we decided to wait. Finally though I put on my cossy and headed seaward.. There was a heavy surf running. What I did find disconcerting though was the jumbled sea state Waves came in from several directions, I felt myself being pulled and pushed by confusing currents. It did not feel good and I came out for safety. Mike went for a couple of dips but kept to the shallows and did not linger long.<br />
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Our abode Friday night.<br />
Saturday afternoon we headed down to Druridge bay and set up camp. The skinny dip is a well run event. A band of volunteers work hard behind the scenes to ensure everything runs smoothly on the day. and we arrived to be greeted by some of these smiling folk.<br />
Disappointed in not managing a swim earlier, we opted to try an evening swim at Druridge bay. Large waves were still rolling in but conditions were much better and we had an enjoyable dip and swim.<br />
Sunday morning saw us awake by four fifty, in the morning and having a cup of tea.! Actually, I never sleep well the night before the dip. Nerves and old memories seem to crowd my mind. By around five thirty we were following the throng heading to the beach. This year we were serenaded by a quartet of drummers and entertained by a fire dancer.<br />
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Pre swim and folk begin to gather.<br />
It felt chilly on the beach. This is always the worst time for me. The waiting, the chill gradually seeps in and the body gradually loses any heat it had. My feet suffer from poor circulation and they slowly become numb. Mike is wearing his 'not a onesie' and he looks quite calm and collected.<br />
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Early morning skies.<br />
As the beach fills with people, folk bustle about trying to find a spot for their belongings. A voice calls out, the organiser of the event welcomes everyone and thanks one and all for coming. She leads us in a few jumping up and down exercises to stimulate the blood? Around me folk are quietly shedding their clothing. There is a frisson of nervous anticipation, of excitement! The new day is dawning. Suddenly a great cry goes up, any remaining clothes are rapidly shed and a great mass of naked bodies hurtle seawards. Old, young, fat, thin, it matters not. Yells, shrieks, screams, rent the early morning air as we plunge in to the rolling waves. As I wade in, it is amazing to see the grins and beaming faces, to hear the laughter of the people around me. It certainly is a joyful occasion.<br />
To my own surprise, I find myself out further than intended. There is a heavy swell running and I find myself rising and falling in breaking rollers. Finally, realising I am getting cold, it is time to head out. There was obviously a southerly drift, as I came out it took a moment or two to get my bearings. Mike was already out and dressed. It was a shivery, fumbly affair getting my swim robe on.<br />
The walk back to the tent was a long one and we were decidedly chilled. However, wrapped in sleeping bags and enjoying a hot cup of tea and a bacon roll, we soon revived. Later we packed up and headed out for breakfast. A walk up the Druridge bay beach completed our day.<br />
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Druridge Bay.<br />
We heard later that six hundred plus people had attended the event. Certainly a weekend with a difference!Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-58101214931358277862018-09-17T19:28:00.000+01:002018-09-17T19:28:56.943+01:00FifeThis was something different to the normal backpacking trips. It was something of a surprise when Mike e mailed me, suggesting renting a cottage in Fife for a week. It sounded interesting and I was certainly up for it.<br />
We set off on Monday morning. it was a fairly straightforward run up. We stopped at Upper Largo so that Mike could nip up Largo Hill. The cottage we had rented was at Kilrenny. it was a nice wee place, providing everything we needed.<br />
On the Tuesday we set off to bag a few local hills. These hills were separate individuals, standing alone above the surrounding rich arable lands . Our first hill was Kerrie Law.<br />
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The arable lands of Fife.<br />
It was a steady pull up to the trig point and the wind was strong. Thus we did not linger long.<br />
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Blackthorn bushes allowed to grow without being laid for hedging.<br />
Our second top was Drumcarrow Craig. The remains of an ancient Broch where discernable on the top. The hut circles where far more obscure.<br />
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Trig point, Drumcarrow Craig.<br />
From our high vantage point we could see out across to the Firth of Tay. Something else that stood out was the Eden estuary. Beyond that was the expanse of the Tentsmuir Forest. On a spur of the moment decision, we headed off in that direction. The forest appeared well managed. No dense stands of sitka pines. Mainly a mixture of pines with a scattering of hardwoods. The adjoining beach was a vast expanse of sand, stretching in to the far horizon.<br />
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Miles of Beach.<br />
We set off for a walk along the beach, much to Lucky's delight. It is an ideal area for a dog to run around daft!<br />
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The strong wind sent eddies of sand blasting along the beach.<br />
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A deserted sand blown beach.<br />
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Lucky the dog explores the tide line.<br />
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Storm tossed driftwood trees.<br />
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An incoming tide gradually enveloping the sand.<br />
With one more hill to bag, we headed back to the carpark. We were rather amused when a car parked next to us. The lady driver had scrawled a rough message in lipstick across her side window. it appeared to be in regard to someone stealing her parking space! The last hill of the day was Lucklaw.<br />
Wednesday was a fairly relaxed sort of day. We had one hill to bag, Kincraig Hill. We set off from Elie.<br />
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With the tide out we were able to walk across the harbour and follow the beach around to Earlsferry. At one time there had been a ferry service from North Berwick and had been regularly used by pilgrims on their way to St Andrews. Following the Fife coastal path, we headed across the golf links.<br />
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The path leading up the steep cliffs looked daunting but went ok. Kincraig hill has the remains of a coastal battery. They were part of the Firth of Forth coastal defences in the second world war.<br />
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We had been considering having a swim in Shell Bay, however, it would mean a long drop down and lengthy climb back up. There was a plan B in place though.<br />
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After a spot of lunch, we he headed back over to Elie.<br />
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Despite the white caps and choppy seas out in the Firth of Forth, Wood Haven offered a delightful swimming spot. There was a swell but no large breaking waves on the beach. It was a nice wee swim followed by hot soup.<br />
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Wood Haven Beach.<br />
We stopped at Anstruther on the way back, to pick up a few bits of shopping and wander around the harbour.<br />
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Converted fishing boat.<br />
Thursday morning began with rain. It was forecast to clear later in the morning. Amazingly it did clear. We had agreed on a straightforward walk, an out and to Crail. Once again we followed the coastal path. it was a pleasant walk. We paused to have a look at a group of sandstone caves. At one time these had been used by pilgrims and monks en route to St Andrews. Now they are in a rather sad and sorry condition.<br />
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Weathered sandstone.<br />
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At one time children (and adults) used to try and throw a stone through the hole. It was believed that if successful a wish would be granted. To me it looks more a head. The eye, the deep, furrowed brow, a bulbous nose and jowled chin?<br />
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Low tide, Crail.<br />
It threatened to rain while we had lunch at Crail. Fortunately it was just a few wee spots.<br />
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Crail harbour.<br />
Friday saw us once more heading south. It certainly had been a pleasant change. Nice one Mike!<br />
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Elie harbour.Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-52751961551537910402018-08-25T13:48:00.000+01:002018-08-25T13:48:01.552+01:00ScotlandMike and I had discussed the possibilities of a visit to Glen Callater some time ago. It had been some years since my last trip to that area. Mike had noted a few excellent camping spots on his way through the glen a year or so before. Thus now a plan was made to spend a few days camping at the head of the loch and then proceed on to Glen Shee.<br />
We travelled up on the Monday in somewhat atrocious weather. It was still raining when we set out to walk up to Callater lodge. From there it was another mile or so following the path beside the loch. Thankfully the rain had stopped by the time we had arrived.<br />
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The spot we chose to camp on was quite splendid, offering superb views all around. The deer came visiting during the night. Soft grunts, gentle murmuring and the crunch of hooves on the shingley beach marked their presence.<br />
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Mike had intended to walk up to one of the tops. Unfortunately the distant sound of vehicles, and shortly after, the sound of gunfire, curtailed that idea. Instead we spent the day pottering around our immediate area, drinking tea, reading and generally taking it easy. Later I went for a skinny dip in the loch. Lovely, smooth, silky water, but oh my, so shallow. Even way out it barely came up to my chest. A nice wee swim though!<br />
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Frustratingly on the Wednesday morning I had been quite ill. With no sign of the grouse shooters, Mike set off to bag his hill. In the meantime I ambled down to the lodge, came back to our camp and after a cup of tea, followed Jock's Road up the glen.<br />
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The lodge was shuttered up but the adjacent bothy was clean and tidy.<br />
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Loch Callater is hemmed in by high hills on both sides. The through route, known as Jock's Road, is an historic right of way used at one time by cattle drovers. It came over from Glen Doll to Braemar. The upper glen is a wide strath that offers many lovely spots for wild camping. Time could be spent up there just pottering and exploring the surrounding area.<br />
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Deer could be seen high on the tops. Mountain hares bounded away as I walked up the glen.<br />
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Low cloud drifted over from time to time.<br />
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Mike arrived back shortly after me. He was pleased with his trek up the hill.<br />
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Lofty crags and tumbling waters.<br />
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Light mist drifting down the glen<br />
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Evening sunset.<br />
We had rain and some gusty wind during the night. By Thursday morning though the weather had cleared. As planned, we packed up and set off to the metropolis of Braemar for a wee bit of shopping. Mike fancied an all day breakfast while I had visions of poached eggs on toast. Sadly the cafe stopped serving breakfast at twelve and we arrived five minutes too late. Fish and chips were indulged in instead.<br />
Shopping over, we headed over to Glen Shee. The idea was to head up Glen Taitneach and camp. The rain was back so we set off all togged up in waterproofs. Again I had problems, having to stop, take meds and rest for a few moments. No joke in the pouring rain! it is so frustrating and annoying when that happens! Mike called a halt a mile or so short of were we where heading. It was a fine spot to camp though.<br />
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It rained on and off through Thursday night and heavy showers continued through most of Friday. A day spent reading, drinking tea and snoozing.<br />
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Dark, brooding clouds drifting over the tops.<br />
Saturday proved to be a much better day weather wise. Mike had his eye on a cluster of tops. We set of in high hopes. Initially I felt fine and was looking forward to a good walk. It was not to be though. The first sign of trouble was the increase in my tremor. When it is bad I am unable to use my trekking pole, it hurts, there is no control of the pole and my arm muscles become painful.. Also, my balance was a tad wobbly. With the poles I can counter any wobbly moments. Without them I am in trouble. Also, one side of me felt odd. Unable to keep pace with Mike, I capitulated and let him go on. That is so, so frustrating.<br />
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Frustrated and far from happy, I slowly head back down the glen as Mike headed up.<br />
Taking it easy, I had a look around the area where we had planned to camp. There are some nice spots to tuck a tent in.<br />
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This is Mike's route back down.<br />
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There is a path running up the hill.<br />
Heading back to the tents, I saw the glint of sunlight on a vehicle windscreen. Initially I thought it was the stalker. However, as it drew closer, I saw that it was an almost new, top of the range long wheel based Land Rover. A smartly dressed young lady was driving and all her passengers were clutching cameras. Emblazoned of the side of the landy was the logo, 'The complete'Highland Experience'. Well, each to their own, but I question how one can have such an experience travelling up the glen in a tin box? To roughly quote Nan Shepherd. One has to experience the mountain in all its seasons. To go in to the mountain, to explore its rocky recesses and corries. To sleep upon the mountain. To take time and get to know it more intimately.<br />
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The thing that annoyed me, was when the land rover came heading back down again. We were camped quite close to the track and I was standing by the tents when the vehicle stopped, the windows came down, a battery of cameras appeared, all pointed at me and the tents. Photos taken, the windows went up and the truck headed off again. How rude, they could have asked if it was ok!<br />
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Not in the best of moods, I sat down outside the tent with a cup of tea. Glancing about, I spotted three red deer hinds heading down the hill behind the tents. Keeping still, I watched as they forded the river and came close by. Three heads stared in my direction, ears pointing forward, twitching, checking me out. Obviously not seeing me as a threat, the deer began to graze. Always though keeping a close eye on me. Finally something spooked them and they took off up the hill in that long, gangly gaite that deer have. Five minutes later Mike appeared with Lucky. Obviously the deer had heard them and rapidly took off. Later I plodded slowly up to the waterfall high on the hillside. A narrow cleft with a cascading waterfall. Beyond a jumble of rock and boulder there was a delightful rock pool complete with a small grassy patch beside it. An idyllic spot for a skinny dip. Not enough room to swim but space enough to have a luxurious wee dip.<br />
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A wide open glen.<br />
It rained on and off during the night but had eased by morning. Mind, we still had wet tents to pack! It had been a good week, but not without it disappointments.<br />
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A few more photos<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-76334390363327495422018-08-07T15:30:00.000+01:002018-08-07T15:30:06.613+01:00Once more to the beach!Ross Back Sands is a regular haunt of Mike and myself in the warmer months. As sometimes we do, we began with a spot of walking. These were three tops that Mike had on his wee list. Where they they were, I am unclear. You will have to check out Mike's blog (<span id="goog_901065961"></span><a href="https://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_901065962"><a href="http://northernpies.blogspot.co.uk/">northernpies.blogspot.co.uk</a>).Here too you will find his account of his heroic endeavour to bag one of the tops!</span><br />
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Goat Crag.<br />
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Rolling Northumberland countryside. In the distance combine harvesters work to bring in the harvest.<br />
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An exuberant dog, hot but happy.<br />
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Thick bracken and rocky outcrops.<br />
Later in the afternoon we headed east, negotiating across country to Ross Back Sands. Here we set up our 'beach shelter', drank tea, ate a humungous supper provided by Mike and were lulled to sleep by the haunting cries of seal song. They can sound so sad, no wonder those in the northern isles called them Selkies, shape shifters, seals that could shed there skin and become women, but always they had to return to there true habitat, the sea. Often luring there mortal husbands to their doom. Ancient mariners thought their cries were those of souls lost at sea.<br />
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Small blue jellyfish.<br />
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early morning light and an incoming tide.<br />
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A new day on the beach.<br />
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A quiet, still, early morning.<br />
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Early morning cloud formations.<br />
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The new day dawns.<br />
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In the still of the early morning.<br />
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Ringed plovers feeding on the tide line.<br />
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Calm seas lapping gently on the shore.<br />
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Gradually, slowly, the tide edges ever further up the shore.<br />
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Sand ripples.<br />
There was a light smattering of rain during the night and we had a brief shower during the morning. It did not dampen our enthusiasm. Mike and I had a delightful time swimming in a sea that was flat calm and oh so clear. A rare experience for these northern shoresDawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-14873704513077443122018-07-23T12:34:00.000+01:002018-07-23T12:34:22.333+01:00North WalesThis was a trip proposed by Mike. There were a few smaller tops on his wee list he wished to tick off! To save time and miles, I travelled down to Knipe Towers on the Friday. Thankfully Mike picked me up from Durham station. The week had been busy. On that particular day I had done a pre swim jog, a swim and then back to the flat for a telephone consultation. By the end of the day I was somewhat tired!<br />
The run down to North Wales is a long one. All went fairly well except when we spent some time sweltering in a traffic jam. That, I admit, was down to me having a navigational faff. The NantCol campsite was quite busy when we arrived. Having found a spot for the tents, our problem was actually getting the tent pegs in the hard baked stony earth. It was not easy, every time I hit the peg with a lump of rock, I winced, fearing broken or mangled tent pegs. Decent tent pegs do not come cheap.<br />
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Sunday saw us heading for one of the more out of the way tops. Access is via narrow B roads and one has to concentrate on the navigation a little more, to get there. Thus from the Vale of Conwy, we headed inland on minor roads. The actual road we required clawed its way ever upward out of the valley. Narrow, twisting, with zigzag bends. Mike swears the car was almost vertical at times? To increase the driving difficulties someone had added speed bumps and no ordinary ones at that! They appeared to have a twist in them that threw the car off balance, interesting?<br />
It was a relief to get out of the car and start walking.<br />
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Our actual goal was the high point of Cefn Tal-Llyn Eigiau. A good track led us up by Clogwyn Y Reryr. Soon though we turned of the main track to follow a footpath leading up the hill.<br />
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Mike walks a tad faster than me and on the uphill stretches his better fitness shows. The day was hot but a breeze helped keep the temperature down a bit.<br />
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Dulyn reservoir way below us.<br />
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A lovely rock scarp. Fun to pick ones way upward.<br />
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Mike trying his rock moves, and yes, he is wearing a kilt, a lightweight, hiking version.<br />
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LTD, (Lucky the dog) is not impressed by his dad's behaviour!<br />
A wee bit more route finding up through the rocks saw us at the top.<br />
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It was a fine place to stop for a spot of lunch. The surrounding views were quite panoramic.<br />
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View over toward Conwy.<br />
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Rock hound!<br />
From our rocky perch we headed across to a small grassy hillock that is actually marked slightly higher than the rock outcrop. It was strange to be walking across what would normally be bog and pools of murky water. The drought is hitting hard. It raises the question of what has happened to the wildlife that normally inhabit these boggy places? Frogs, toads, insects and and all manner of tiny creatures. In turn, moorland birds would normally frequent these places as a food source! There are many specialized bog plants that normally inhabit these upland bogs too. Hopefully they will survive?<br />
Our way on meant a steep descent down toward the disused Melynllyn quarry building. It was a case of cutting back and forth across the slope and picking one's way down.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xbL7kNZT21siSzUxdkEQIvkdETVMrwV55lOm9IFWC8w4T8la8mcxVtFHh7Oz0jQHE7jTiEEnaTt202FYi-Krd-_8xDutfoU8LGNnBdbULY01RM46vqR7N4kXY1V4x6fLEEu2sS-DAOI/s1600/P7150019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xbL7kNZT21siSzUxdkEQIvkdETVMrwV55lOm9IFWC8w4T8la8mcxVtFHh7Oz0jQHE7jTiEEnaTt202FYi-Krd-_8xDutfoU8LGNnBdbULY01RM46vqR7N4kXY1V4x6fLEEu2sS-DAOI/s640/P7150019.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
The old quarry building, ruined but it still has a substantial wheel pit and wheel.<br />
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A rocky path led us down to the Dulyn reservoir.<br />
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Mike and Lucky heading down a stony staircase.<br />
A mangled propellor on the shore of the reservoir caught our attention. Later research by Mike revealed that divers had brought it ashore. The propellor is from an American plane on diversion during the second world war. It crashed high up on the rock wall.<br />
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A mute, poignant, reminder of a tragedy.<br />
An intermittent path, that at times was difficult to spot, followed the Pant y Griafolen stream down the valley.<br />
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Mixed terrain.<br />
A track led us on by the ruins of Maeneira and uphill to the track we had followed earlier in the day. A good day out, but I was tired.<br />
It actually rained Sunday night in to Monday morning. Dark, thick, brooding clouds swathed the hills tops. Mike headed off to bag a local hill and I went for a potter in the surrounding woodlands.<br />
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Native woodlands.<br />
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Storm damage. No fancy tidying up here, the woodland left in a more natural state.<br />
With the afternoon brightening up we nipped over to the beach which is part of the Morfa Dyffryn nature reserve. The reserve encompasses a vast area of dunes and wide open beach.<br />
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Big sky wide open vista.<br />
The sea was at low tide and it was a long, long walk to reach the water. A taxi would have been handy! No matter, I was going to have a swim come what may. The sea was flat calm and even after entering the water it took a lot of paddling to even get up to my chest. Looking back toward the shore it was a strange experience trying to ascertain were the actual shoreline was. What did surprise me was how warm the water was. It felt almost tropical.<br />
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Now that is what I call a beach!<br />
Tuesday saw us returning to the beach for a lazy day of swimming, dipping, paddling and generally lounging about.<br />
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A pause for thought, were did this tree originate from, what raging river brought it to the sea to land it storm tossed, high on the beach?<br />
Despite the rain on Monday the fields are parched, the vegetation withered. Listless cattle and sheep nibble on dried grass stems that offer no nutritional value. At a time when livestock ought to be fattening up on lush grass, farmers are having to feed them. This can be costly for the farmer. It is going to take a lot of rain to restore the dried out ground.<br />
Wednesday saw us heading off a little earlier. We were heading for Llanberis. Mike had his eye on Llechog, an outlying top off the main path. It actually rained as we started out. This though soon gave way to sunshine and the return of the heat. It was amazing to see the thronging hoards heading up the track. Their one goal, the summit of Snowdon. Their dress ranged from shorts and t shirt and no spare kit, to sandals, trainers and boots of every type, some would have been at home on Everest! Every age group seemed to be on the hill. Very young children, teenagers to older folk and every age in between. Folk appeared to come from every corner of the globe. Such a confusion of languages, amazing.<br />
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Once again my pace was slower than Mike's and rather than hold him back I encouraged him to push on while I strolled on up the main path.. We would link up again somewhere on the main route as Mike headed back down.<br />
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A group of ladies, arms akimbo, trekking poles flailing the air, stopped me. They were desperate to know how I used my trekking poles correctly. Thus a stop for an impromptu lesson on the correct usage of trekking poles. One gent, red in the face, puffing and blowing and moving even slower than me, was aghast that I was not bothered about reaching the summit. Both Mike and myself have been up and down the hill on several occasions over the years. For myself, I can recall visiting with basic, rudimentary equipment one winter back in the seventies.<br />
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Reaching Clogwyn station, I was content to sit for a while and enjoy the sun and views as the streams of humanity plodded on, ever upward.<br />
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It was not that long before I could discern the figure of Mike heading back from the summit. Having succeeded in bagging three tops, he was pleased with his achievement. Soon we were heading for Llanberis where we enjoyed a cup of tea and chips.<br />
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Thursday would see us heading east once more as we began our return journey. A pleasant time had by all.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-9781930759609230502018-07-05T12:11:00.000+01:002018-07-05T12:11:07.618+01:00Ross Back SandsIt is once more, that time of the year when Mike and I begin our annual visits to Ross Back Sands. The one downside to these visits is the need to carry water in. The sea fret was quite thick on the Friday, not clearing until the evening. Setting up our beach hut, come bird hide was a little tricky with a bad back!<br />
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An enjoyable afternoon dip was most welcome. Shortly after, the evening sun came out to give us a most pleasant end of day. Later that evening we were paid a visit by a national trust warden. A colony of terns were nesting at the far end of the beach and his main concern was dogs disturbing the birds.<br />
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Early morning at Ross back Sands. Miles of deserted beach.<br />
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Sunrise.<br />
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The suggestion of a beautiful day to come.<br />
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Early morning light.<br />
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Haze in the early hours.<br />
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Mist in the early hours drifting over the dunes.<br />
Saturday was largely spent dipping and sun bathing. A lazy day just chilling out.<br />
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The three quarter of a mile walk in, means that Ross Back Sands never becomes busy. It is highly likely that the 'beach pavillion' will soon be called upon for it services once again!Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-12879615932290735042018-06-28T10:50:00.000+01:002018-06-28T10:50:25.282+01:00Langstrath dipping.Mike and I had visited Langstrath earlier in the year. The valley is mentioned in the Wild Swimming book. Blackmoss Pot is a favourite among many people. Mike had an idea, which comes close to having a plan! Thus it was that on the Wednesday afternoon we booked in to Chapel Farm campsite.<br />
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The idea was to leave the tents at the campsite and head up Langstrath on the Thursday taking a bivi sheet and then spend a night high up the valley.<br />
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Rain during the night had meant water levels where up a bit.<br />
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It was a pleasant day. At one point we were entertained by flocks of Herdwick sheep all heading down toward Black Moss Pot. Probably they had been fed there over the winter months.<br />
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The ground was a tad boggy underfoot, however, we found a nice wee spot to set up the bivi.<br />
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The rest of the day was spent, meandering, exploring waterfalls, drinking tea and not doing a lot.<br />
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Friday was mostly spent in the same sort of mode. Also included were some dipping, little swims and chilling out.<br />
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A few people passed lower down but only one or two actually came past us.<br />
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It was surprisingly hot as indicated by Mike's mode of dress!<br />
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More on the watery theme.<br />
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Cool, clear waters and invigorating pools.<br />
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A day to be savoured.<br />
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Tumbling water shoots.<br />
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Clear, blue skies.<br />
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Meet the locals<br />
We made our way back to the campsite on the Friday afternoon, to find it fling rapidly. On the Saturday we headed home.<br />
<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-65924188134929740802018-06-15T18:49:00.000+01:002018-06-15T18:49:17.008+01:00Peebles to Selkirk.Possibly this should read 'how not to end a day of superb walking'! Took the train up to Edinburgh on the Monday and then bus on to Peebles. Fancied something from a chippy before setting out. None to be had, all closed. Went in to a cafe for a cup of coffee and toasted tea cake. Horrors, no toasted tea cake left! Had to settle for a scone. A tad inadequate lunch ! A blustery northerly breeze, but it was dry. Set out around three in the afternoon. The intention was to follow the Cross Borders Drove road. It was going to be a long haul up to Kailzie Hill. Briefly I considered picking up water before I left town. However, the though of lugging 3 litres of water even a short distance up a steep hill was daunting.<br />
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, slowly, with several breaks, I plodded upwards. Yes, the legs were protesting, but otherwise I was holding things together.<br />
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Saw a hare on the way otherwise it was surprisingly quiet with little in the way of birdsong. There was a happy grin on my face as I made the cairn. There was still a way to go but I felt the hardest part was behind me.<br />
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My one concern was water. The ground was was so dry, all the boggy bits were totally dried out. Mike and I had done this route before, that time we had come from the other direction. We had crossed a good stream by Yellow Mire hill. My hope was that it was still running! At first glance it looked bad. By the track there were pools of slimy green gunge. From higher up though I could hear water actually running. It took a bit of thrashing about but eventually I found a mini waterfall of clean water. Last time we had passed through, a lovely grassy spot on the edge of the trees had been noted. Unfortunately heather had taken over and I had to drop a little further down the hill to camp.<br />
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It was just after seven when I stopped. A good afternoon of walking but I was exhausted. Supper was just a snack and a large mug of tea, all I could manage.<br />
The night had been busy with the calls of a couple of cuckoos, the barking of a dog fox, the scream of the vixen, the churring of nightjars. At one point there had been the distant rumble of thunder. A steady breeze ensured there was no condensation on the flysheet, always a bonus. Reluctant as I was to get moving, an early breakfast and a couple of mugs of tea and I was packed up and underway around eight thirty.<br />
Plans had been adjusted slightly. Originally I had considered walking over to Hawick. Bad weather had been forecast for Thursday. Thus I now had planned to follow the Minch moor road, part of the Cross Borders Drove road,, camp fairly high and drop down to the A72 and get a bus back to Peebles on the Wednesday.<br />
A steady descent down to The Glen and then over to Traquair. The Minchmoor road is an ancient road and at one time was the main route through southern Scotland.<br />
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It was uphill all the way and I took it easy and slow, stopping every so often for a breather. Mind, it was steady going and I was shuffling along non too badly!</div>
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memorial slates to horses.<br />
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A top up of water at the Cheese Well spring. My aim now was Hair Law and on to Katy Thirsty spring.<br />
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An interesting sculptor!<br />
Despite keeping a close eye on the map, I failed to find the spring. This was not good. Water was not to been found.. Thin, misty cloud drifted over the hills, bringing with it a very fine dampness. Enough to dampen, not enough for waterproofs. The walking was lovely This part of the Minchmoor road was a stagecoach route and it contoured around and down the hill. My problem was that I was pushing on too far. A peruse of the map and I considered the idea of dropping down to the Gruntly burn and finding a spot to camp. This would mean I could make my way back up toward Lucken head in the morning and head out from there. That idea was quickly scuppered. Machinery was at work lower down and what looked like a new road was being made up the glen.<br />
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Now I was in a quandary. Descending down Hangingshaw Brae would mean a very steep descent and I would have to come back up in the morning. One other idea floated around in my head. Earlier I had met a guy out from Selkirk and he had mentioned Victoria Park, by the Ettrick Water, where camping and caravans was permitted. He had told me that it was never that busy. That would entail more miles than I intended. It became obvious though as I came in to Yarrowford, that Selkirk appeared the easiest option. It was going to be a tidy step to get there though. It looked to be around five miles.<br />
A navigational error did not help matters. Coming out on to the main road I turned right instead of left. Fortunately it quickly dawned on me that the river was on the wrong side of the road and was flowing in the wrong direction, duh!<br />
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As I came down by General's Bridge and on to the main road, there was a sign for a cafe one mile up the road. With visions of tea and cakes, my footsteps quickened a little. There were people sitting at outside tables when I arrived. A quick fumble in the rucksack for my purse and I hurried in to order a pot of tea and some cake, The lady behind the counter looked at me as I eyed up the delicious cakes. What came next was cruel, 'sorry, we're closed' It was five past four and they closed at four. The till had been totted up and I was not even able to buy a piece of cake. That hurt, worse was to follow. When I got to Selkirk, I was horrified to find that much of Victoria Park had been taken over by a funfair. A caravanner who had just arrived, threw up his hands in disgust. 'No way' He drove off in disgust. With quite a degree of trepidation , I mooched about trying to find a quieter corner. As I looked about, a squadron of kids on souped up mini moto bikes, swarmed around the site, engines screaming like a hoard of banshees on a night out.<br />
No way was I even going to even consider camping there. Disgusted, I headed up in to Selkirk. The town is built on a hill and my legs protested strongly as I slowly plodded up. An hour of searching produced nothing. Everything was full or, as at one hotel, the cheapest on offer was ninety five pounds. Aware of a bus service over to Melrose, I decided to head for the campsite there. A bus pulled in as I was checking routes at a bus stop. The driver informed me that the Melrose service had been cut. He advised that I best get on his bus and head on over to Galashiels. Just by the bus station was a B&B sign, with vacancies. The chap who answered the door just gave me a wide grin, 'no,no singles rooms. All I have on offer is probably more than you would be willing to pay!' Alright, I am not looking my best. My clothes may look a little shabby, after all I have been walking all day and by now I was getting a tad shaky. However, my money is as good as the next person's! Some two hours of searching proved fruitless. Coming back to the bus station I saw a bus for Berwick. Much searching there produced nothing either, unless I was prepared to spend loads of money.<br />
About to head for a bivi on the beach, I turned up a side street. A sign, just marked 'accommodation' caught my eye. It was late and the house did not look like the rather typical B&B. With nothing to lose, I gave it a try. A lady stuck her head out from a side entrance asking what I wanted? She did not do B&B as such. It was more of a boarding house for workmen. By now I was rather wobbly, something the lady recognised. Her sister has Parkinson's. A room on the top floor and cash up front, no card or cheque and all sorted.<br />
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An interesting couple of days? Not what I intended but I got some grand walking in. A later check of the map indicates that I walked somewhere in the region of fifteen miles to Selkirk, From there I must have added several miles searching for accomodation.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-16634909218643983762018-05-22T14:56:00.000+01:002018-05-22T15:03:33.621+01:00Peebles via the Pentland and Cloich Hills.Travelling up on the Monday, things did not start that well. Even before starting out I was feeling out of sorts. On the odd occasion, I have a peculiar bit of a wobble where I tend to slightly veer off to one side. Normally easily corrected. Heading across a car park to catch the Newcastle bus, I experienced a rather more significant wobble, almost side swiping a parked car. Also felt a little light headed. Not a good start!. Getting off the train at Kirknewton I was still not feeling right.<br />
Although not marked on the map, there is a well marked footpath over to Little Vantage and the start of the Thieves road and the Cross Borders drove road.<br />
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The path leads up past the camping pods of the Hilly Cow. There are fine views over to the Firth of Forth.<br />
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It was tempting to snuck in to the woods and have a stealthy camp. However I pressed on.<br />
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. The way on from Little Vantage down to the Water of Leith was hard going. The ground was boggy and very wet.<br />
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A rather optimistic sign. Carefully measured on the map, I would suggest adding a couple of more miles if following the drove road route.<br />
Negotiating a way through the quivering bogs and wet ground was tedious.. Arriving down at Gala ford it was an easy decision to find a spot for the tent and camp for the night. Technically speaking wild camping is permissible in Scotland. However, with a farm not that far off, I preferred to to be discreetly tucked away out of sight. A bit of casting around and the tent was soon tucked away among the blossoming gorse bushes, their heady scent wafting on the afternoon breeze. Bumble bees buzzed and bustled from bush to bush.<br />
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After a chilly night, the warmth of the early morning sun was most welcome. It was a fine morning too, however, a north easterly breeze kept things on the cool side. It was a long, steady push up the Cauldstane Slap. As is often the case, from a distance, the way up looked daunting. However, the path gently eased its way up and around the contours and nowhere was it really difficult.<br />
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Taking it slow and easy, apart from a few odd moments, I managed the climb not too badly, with a few stops to admire the views!<br />
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A steady path leading ever upwards.<br />
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An unusual marker made of metal, possibly marking a boundary, another could be seen not far off.<br />
Coming over the top it was noticeably windier and quite chilly. Although the Pentlands are in reality a small range of hills, the tops offer a suggestion of much larger wide open spaces than there actually is.<br />
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A lovely undulating path led over open moorland. These are managed grouse moorlands but at the moment lapwings and curlews were in abundance. Skylarks in full song,soared overhead. All to soon the track began to descend out of the Pentland Hills pasing Baddinsgill Reservoir.<br />
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Below lay the broad Tweeddale valley and beyond stood the outline of the Cloich hills. That, probably would be my destination for the night! It looked a long way off! There was though, no indication of anywhere else where I might find a spot to camp.<br />
The village of West Linton offered quite a few amenities. There was a pub, several shops and even a tea room. Handy to know for any long distance backpacker. My immediate concern was making my way across the valley. The marked path on the map looked odd. It appeared to dog leg all over the place. In reality it was even worse. The road out of the village was a busy one. Once the pavement ended, traffic whizzed past at speed and offered little room for someone on foot. A sign indicating the right of way pointed up a track leading up to the radio mast on Broomlee Hill. the road in to Kaimes was clearly marked, 'Private, Keep out!' Another sign warned 'Keep to right of way!' It was a frustrating bit of navigation that made no sense. Follow the track up to the radio mast, staying within the field, bear right, follow the fence line and bear right again down the edge of the field. Three sides of a square? To add to the fun I was escorted by a frisky herd of young cattle. They where no problem though. Worse was to follow, according to the map, the bridleway followed the edge of Kaimhouse Wood and descened around by Woodend quarry. There was nothing on the ground to indicate the bridleway. Heading down and around by the quarry I did find a sign. Also though I ran in to a herd of cows with very young calves. Not a good situation. One or two of the cows where clearly unhappy by my presence. There was little choice but to press on. Adopting a passive, submissive posture, head down and avoiding eye contact, I shuffled on, talking to the beasts softly. Fortunately the way on from the field was clearly marked and it was straightforward walking over to Halmyre. More private, keep out signs, another dogleg through a housing estate and finally the last hill of the day was in front of me. It looked steep and it was. A padlocked five bar gate made things that wee bit more difficult. This is on a public bridleway and probably illegal? the average horse rider would have a few problems there!<br />
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A steady plod up through the forestry and finally, with a great sense of relief, open ground lay before me. It was then a case of dropping down the hill, finding a place for the tent and setting up camp. The day had been a long one, I had been on the go for some nine hours, had walked some thirteen or fourteen miles and was exhausted.<br />
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Again, another chilly night, nipping out in the early hours I found ice on the tent flysheet. Originally I had considered walking as far as Hawick. The problem was that I would not arrive there until Friday at the earliest. From what I could find out, there were no bus services over the weekend and I wanted to be back by Sunday. Considering everything, the best choice seemed to finish at Peebles. With that decision made, there was no rush to get away early in the morning.<br />
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There was good walking over to Peebles. An eye had to be kept on the map but there where no real difficulties.<br />
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Some of the route passed through forestry. Fortunately Much had been cleared, offering wide open vistas. The only section I was really glad to get through was from Courhope through to Upper Stewarton. Here the right of way passed through mature forestry. Thick, dense stands of trees, the sunlight shut out, dark, brooding and much colder too.<br />
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Meet the locals.<br />
Stopping for a break by a stand of old pines, I found a spot out of the chilly breeze and settled down with my back against a gnarly old tree. Almost dozing off, a movement caught my eye. Not far off to my left a hare was foraging through the undergrowth. He paused, looking in my direction, nose and ears twitching. Not perceiving me as a threat, he carried on about his business. Keeping as still as possible, I became part of the tree as the hare went about his business. It was only when was within a few feet of me that he paused, studying me more closely. Finally, unhurriedly and without concern, he turned and loped off.<br />
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Two campsites in Peebles where marked on the map. From high on Hamilton hill I could see one of them. Serried ranks of static caravans meant that I would give that site a miss.<br />
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It was tempting to find a place to wild camp, especially given the fine weather. However, I wanted a shower and a decent meal, not having had much in the way of supper the previous evening.<br />
Thus I began the descent down to Peebles.<br />
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The second campsite was more scary than the first. Holiday chalets, static and touring caravans, camper vans and manicured lawns. All very nice, for those who enjoy such things, but sorry, not for me! Finally I opted for B&B in a pub. Not the easiest trip but it turned out ok.<br />
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<br />Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-82530817229237451492018-05-02T00:52:00.001+01:002018-05-02T00:52:55.895+01:00Not a daunder in the Dales!This was a pre TGO gear shakedown put together by Mike (<a href="http://northernpies.blogspot.co.uk/">northernpies.blogspot.co.uk</a>) Train cancellations meant missed connections and it was past five in the evening when we arrived at Clapham station and it was raining too.<br />
A quick stop at the pub to pick up Chrissie and John and we headed out. Up past Ingleborough cave and on to Gaping Gill. here we camped. The weather was grey, wet and murky with the light fading fast. Tents up and folk were soon snug in their sleeping bags. Not feeling so good, I missed supper, settling for just a drink and a snack.<br />
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After a wet, blustery and chilly night and with the morning still a bit dreich, there was no great rush to be off.<br />
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There is a long drop down Gaping Gill to an extremely large cavern below.<br />
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Limestone country<br />
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With dark, grey cloud scudding across Ingleborough, Mike revised the route. We set off, heading across country to the Dales Highway. Unfortunately, despite a good breakfast, I struggled. This may be down to lack of fitness? However, I have been doing regular seven mile walks three times a week. To add a bit more umph, I have been trekking up and down sand dunes, walking on loose sandy beaches and also negotiating steep steps leading down to a couple of coves on my route.. My suspicion is that it is another phase of my Parkinson's? This is born out by the fact that over the last couple of weeks I have struggled to get moving in the mornings. Also, dosage of my meds have been increased..<br />
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Swinging off the main path we swung off heading up to the shoulder and the junction of a couple of paths leading up the hill. After a spot of lunch the guys made their way up to the top of Ingleborough. Chrissie and I elected to stay and guard the rucksacks!. Darkening, brooding skies and a rising north west wind were a sure sign of bad weather heading our way. Setting off on the footpath that contours around the escarpment above Souther Scales Fell, we were buffeted by the wind and accompanying hail, freezing rain and a few bits of sleet. Fortunately I had picked up by now and was managing fine. A long descent and a wee bit of walking on the road saw us heading in to the pub at Ribblehead. Shedding dripping waterproofs we hunkered down out of the rain for a couple of hours. Our hope was that the rain would clear. This failed to happen and eventually we nipped out to set up camp on the camping area behind the pub.<br />
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We all opted for supper in the pub and I left early to get some rest.<br />
In the morning Chrissie was unwell with migraine and sensibly opted to catch the train home. A great pity, migraines can be nasty.<br />
With weather still rather dank, Mike, John and myself headed up and over Blea Moor.<br />
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There were a few showers but the weather gradually began to clear. Also, I was managing better than the previous day!<br />
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We stopped for a leisurely lunch beside a small waterfall.<br />
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The sun even came out for a short time.<br />
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Heading down toward Dentdale we passed through a small farmstead with exotic chickens.<br />
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Chicken with attitude!<br />
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it was a pleasant meander down the dale.<br />
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The river flowed over a series of limestone shelves.<br />
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The wee sting in the tail was the three quarter of a mile uphill walk to the station that sits high above the dale. Mind, it afforded some lovely views!<br />
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A couple of days in good company. Hopefully the weather will continue to improve as spring comes in?<br />
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-82555850085025549352018-04-22T14:32:00.000+01:002018-04-22T14:32:40.790+01:00Midweek daunderThis was a circular walk proposed by Mike. it began and finished in the little village of Ingram. An added bonus was that car parking was free. To offer moral support to Mike in his desire to wear a walking kilt, I wore my hiking skirt.<br />
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It was a long, steady plod up out of the village, following the bridleway that leads over to Prendwick. We turned off before that to contour around and up to Old Fawdon Hill.<br />
The wind was quite strong on the top.<br />
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This whole area abounds with hill forts, ancient settlements and evidence of medieval farming methods. A steady descent and then Mike nipped up to bag West Hill.<br />
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It was then a case of heading over to Gibb's Hill, another ancient fort, down through a field of frolicking new lambs and on to Fawdon.<br />
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Turning off the bridleway, we continued on, over east Hill and descended down toward the River Breamish. Farmers were making the most of the spring weather<br />
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. A somewhat boggy path led us back to Ingram.<br />
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an enjoyable day's walking.<br />
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A local resident, a fine shire horse.<br />
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-18218046050174888112018-04-08T13:57:00.000+01:002018-04-08T13:57:51.673+01:00Spring like in Northumberland!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<ol>
<li>There was the suggestion of spring in the air when we left the car by East Woodburn Common in Northumberland. Despite a sharp edge to the wind it was a sunny day. Mike too, was optimistic that spring had arrived, looking resplendent in his new hiking kilt! Underfoot the ground was sodden.</li>
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There was something in the way of a path up to the crags of Staniel Heugh. From there across to Hartside Cairn it was rough going through knee high heather and tussocks. Felt wobbly as I reached the cairn. A quick fumble in the rucksack for my water bottle, one of my emergency tablets washed down with some energy drink and half a snack bar, a five minute breather and I was back on my feet.<br />
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More rough going over toward forestry where a path was actually sign posted. As we entered the dense plantation the path promptly vanished.<br />
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All the way over to Blaxter Lough the path remained intermittent. Navigation was by map and Mike's GPS system. It was obvious the paths in this area are little used. Much of the ground was saturated bog. It could be disconcerting to stand on a tussock only to find it sinking under one's feet. The secret was to pick a route through and keep moving, the ground undulating and rippling as you passed over. At one point Mike hit a very sloppy bit of ground and ended up with one leg plunging deeply in to the quaking bog.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMUKNYB6eMTxveY_6GOeXvOeXQgk6w5PxJpj6vEWFtxUge2UCNGC5YF3Inl0RdUAs_xOKDSdtUlFF5_nuhJc_SsqiE95SXFAMQMMD1LD0xmDmy3e4w4D55sj8Sv_CYQZ5BGPFoZQQuRw/s1600/P1010736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMUKNYB6eMTxveY_6GOeXvOeXQgk6w5PxJpj6vEWFtxUge2UCNGC5YF3Inl0RdUAs_xOKDSdtUlFF5_nuhJc_SsqiE95SXFAMQMMD1LD0xmDmy3e4w4D55sj8Sv_CYQZ5BGPFoZQQuRw/s640/P1010736.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
The water of the lake looked dark and murky. Situated as it is, surrounded by bog, it was probable the bottom would be thick with sludge!<br />
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More navigation by gps and map and the crossing of much boggy terrain led us around by Wishaw and thus back to the car. A fine day of walking. Mike's new venture of wearing a kilt went ok. Hopefully he will grow in confidence and begin wearing it on a regular basis?Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-28508655786582025312018-03-19T14:35:00.000+00:002018-03-19T14:35:30.524+00:00Walking the Malverns.The Malvern hills had been on Mike's to do list for some time. Finally he found time for a few days to visit and invited me along. On the Monday morning we headed off down the A1 in atrocious conditions, with heavy rain and poor visibility. For once we were glad that instead of our normal routine of camping, we had opted to stay at a Travelodge. There was little difference cost wise and, given the conditions, much more comfy.<br />
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Much to our relief, Tuesday turned out to be dry and in fact was quite pleasant. With the car parked at Upper Wyche, we made our way up to Worcestershire Beacon. A chilly wind but all round panoramic views.<br />
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A chilly trig point.<br />
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Steady descents and ascents on mainly hard paths led us over to Sugar Loaf hill and North Hill. There are a plethora of paths covering the Malverns and it can prove a wee bit tricky to ensure that one is on the desired route.<br />
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Fortunately we avoided going astray and contoured around the hills back toward the car park.<br />
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.Continuing down past the car park and across the road, a quick dash in to the public loos and then a steady ascent upwards to Perseverance Hill and then a high ridge walk, taking in Jubilee Hill, Pinnacle and Black Hills. For a weekday there where a fair number of folk out and about. In one area we passed through a small herd of Dexter cattle being used for conservation purposes. They appeared surprisingly placid as we passed through them.<br />
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Looking back I was a little surprised to see a woman approach one of the beasts, throw her arms around its neck and give it a hug. The animal stoically remained unmoved by such behavior. Maybe it is a local thing and the cattle are accustomed to being hugged?<br />
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We turned at Black Hill to head back. A short but rather uphill bit had me stopping at a convenient bench for a breather and meds.Once again we followed a path that undulated around the hillsides passing through steeply wooded slopes to arrive back at our starting point.<br />
Wednesday was windier but remained dry There was a cafe at British Camp by the car park, here we enjoyed a bacon butty before setting off. A slow, steady plod led us up Herefordshire Beacon and the hill fort. It had been a suggestion that this was the scene of the last stand by King Caractacus. However, it appears that there is no evidence of any battle here. It is now accepted that the hill fort was abandoned and king Caractacus toddled off elsewhere.<br />
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The wind was strong on the top and we did not linger long.<br />
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Steady walking took us onward to Hangman's Hill.<br />
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Mistletoe on an ancient blackthorn bush.<br />
A long descent and then around to Gullet quarry which displays some fascinating bands of differing rock layers.<br />
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Gullet quarry, swimming strictly forbidden!<br />
. A very wet path led up up through the woods to join the track leading up to Midsummer Hill. A pause for a spot of lunch and Mike nipped off to visit a nearby obelisk. Wanting to reserve a wee bit of energy, I sat and waited for him.<br />
Midsummer hill fort is ancient and encompassed a large area. Archaeological surveys indicate it was violently destroyed in AD 48.<br />
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A long, steady descent led us down to Hollybush. Mike had his eye on Ragged Stone Hill. It was just a quick up and back. Looking at the steep path I once again opted to wait that one out.<br />
Minor roads, footpaths and bridleways led us back to British Camp and the carpark The steep uphill bit by the reservoir was a little sting in the tail!<br />
A pleasant two days. The Malverns, despite being highly popular, offer some grand walking with many places to explore and wander.There are plenty of contours but nothing extremely steep.<br />
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Looking out over the Severn valley.<br />
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7741901748146303937.post-73641604808764071942018-03-02T19:56:00.003+00:002018-03-03T03:58:54.056+00:00HiatusMy winter trip to scotland had not been the best. Lack of fitness, problems relating to my Parkinson's, all made things a wee bit difficult at times. Recently, on a couple of trips and day walks with Mike, I once again found myself struggling. Partly, I suspect due to blood pressure, eg, feeling quite faint with blurred vision, and finding it difficult to move at normal pace, everything slowing down. That was worrying and somewhat demoralising. The Parkinson's specialists tell me that it is related to the disease.<br />
Recently I went through a whole series of tests and a MRI scan prior to the possibility of surgery to control my tremor and balance things out a bit. The latest recommendation is to be fitted up with a Duodopa pump. This is due to the fact that the alternative will eventually mean taking medication at least ten times a day. This system delivers medication direct in to the intestine via a permanently inserted tube. It is worrying and at the moment I am waiting for test results and further clinical appointments.<br />
Trying to look on the positive side of things, I have been looking at ways and means of adapting to this pump system. The pump itself is quite large, somewhere around the size of a small house brick.It raises odd questions, for example, ensuring that the tube will sit above the hipbelt of my rucksack. How best to carry this thing. Battery life, it runs on two alkaline batteries, not good in cold weather. Daily maintenance will mean adapting tents to give me a bit more space. bathing, swimming and the such will mean disconnecting and reconnecting everything .<br />
Apart from that I have not been away so much of late. One reason (excuse?) is that, though the Cheviots, are only up the road from me, relatively speaking, they are not easy to reach via public transport. It involves catching three different buses and some four hours of travel each way.<br />
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Things have, at least been ticking over. with fairly regular local walks. Many of those have been the trek over to Whitley Bay, giving me an average of seven miles. Once more I have, on occasion have had one or two bad days. To vary things a wee bit I have walking up and down a couple of steep cliffside stairways leading down to two rocky coves.<br />
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Small cove at low tide.<br />
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Old sea stack.<br />
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Receding tide<br />
Over the winter months I have continued with my forays in to the north sea. There is deliberate hesitation here, in that on most occasions it has been a case of getting in, having a dip, getting wet and getting out.<br />
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Taking to the waters.<br />
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Ice on the river.<br />
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A skim of ice on the creek.<br />
Gales, blizzards and sub zero temperatures have made things difficult over the last week. A planned overnighter was scrubbed and the rucksack unpacked due to the severe weather.<br />
Out for a walk on Friday saw an added difficulty. Strong, onshore winds where blasting sand from the dunes inland. Nasty stuff to walk through. Odd in a way too, walking through layers of snow and sand.<br />
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This was once a sandy beach the swimming club use!<br />
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Stormy conditions.<br />
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Choppy sea and dumping waves.<br />
Hopefully, with spring around the corner(?) things will pick up a bit. A kit sort out means a few bits of stuff will be up for sale. This includes a virtually new Shangri La 2 and a new Exped sleeping pad. Anyone interested, let me know.<br />
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Dawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09839157927650251268noreply@blogger.com9