Wet, wet, wet.

The Cambrian mountain area has always been a popular spot for me. After my recent foray in to the area with Mike, (northernpies.blogspot) My interest in the area was rekindled. Thus it was that on the Wednesday I was on an early morning train to Machynlleth. There was also another reason. Mike and I had been somewhat rebuffed on our attempt to explore Pumlumon and with the idea of another trip later in the year I wanted to explore a different route in and out. However, arriving late morning with the intention of walking several miles in the afternoon, I was greeted with light rain. To the north the sky was dark and heading my way. Following the Glyndwrs Way up above the town it was obvious that the rain was setting in for the afternoon. Rather than push on under worsening conditions, I decided to camp early. With the tent snugged down close in to a forestry plantation, I got the kettle on as the heavens opened. Heavy rain and a blustery wind continued for most of the night.
Thursday morning was a grey dreich one. The rain had eased, it was now more of a fine drizzle being driven on by the windy conditions. The first of my pre-planned options was scrapped. The intention had been to loop around Glanmerin. Instead I headed up through the recently clear felled forestry and continued on over the lovely ridge by Myfrydd Bach. Quite atmospheric it was too, water streaming off the hillsides and bubbling out of the saturated ground. Low cloud and wet swirling mist closing and opening, offering glimpses of the rolling hills. It was a long plod up the steep track that leads up by Pen y Darren. The wind was stronger and the rain heavier on the higher ground. Following the track around to the forestry by Esgair y Gog, after clambering over two heavily locked gates it was noticeable that the weather was worsening. My original idea had been to camp in this area on the Wednesday afternoon and then continue over to Llyn Cwm byr and down the Hengwm valley. If  I continued on it was likely I would face a high camp in bad weather. Not a sensible idea. Reluctantly I headed up the Lon Las Cymru track that runs past Hyddgen. Once out of the forestry it swiftly became apparent how much the weather was deteriorating. Rain was now sluicing down driven by a rising wind. This was not the weather to be camping out in open country. As reluctant as I was,there was little alternative but to head over to to the small bit of forestry where Mike and I had camped previously. To be honest it felt a rather squalid place, with half burnt wood from fires that had been lit, bits of rubbish lying about. There was little alternative though, the ground was saturated. With the tent up in a corner of the wood I headed over to the river for water. The wind now was becoming very strong with vertical driving rain. It is in times like this that I am glad that I have the entrance of the tent configured to an A pole set up using both trekking poles. This means a very stable setup and more room. Lying in a small tent in the dark listening to a big wind roaring in the trees can be a tad unnerving. Mental images of trees crashing to the ground and the such do not make for a good night's sleep!

Friday morning and although the wind and rain had eased a few heavy squalls where passing through. The surrounding tops where cloaked in ragged ribbons of grey. A quick decision was  made, put the kettle on and have a lazy morning. By late morning the weather was rapidly improving and by early afternoon the wind had eased, the rain had stopped and the sun even attempted to break through the clouds. Here was an opportunity to head up the hill. However, after the events that occurred last time a camp was made here, I felt very uneasy about leaving the tent unsupervised. Instead I went for a potter, making sure I kept the wood in sight.
Saturday was a totally different day, a cold night with frost but a wonderful surprise, a sunrise! Unfortunately I was not feeling my best, (I will explain later). With the weather being dry I was determined to do something.Studying the map, I decided to head out the way I had originally planned to trek in. The route looked a fairly long one. Possibly doable in a day but it would have been a long one. Splitting it in to two days gave some good walking without pushing any limits.

For reasons I am unsure of, I began by wandering up Banc Lluestnredd. The view was worth the detour. From there I dropped back down in to the Hengwm valley. There is the semblance of a path leading up the valley. Oh my, it was wet though, local shepherds had obviously been this way on their quad bikes. Deep ruts and in one or two places holes, where they had bellied in and partially sunk. Pleasant walking, or partial paddling? Somehow though I found  the valley to be a long one and was glad to see Llyn Bugeilyn. From there the walking was on well made tracks. Geese nesting in the reeds on the edge of Llyn Cwm byr made a clamorous racket as I passed. The track climbed steadily up by Waun To. Pleasant, steady walking, with sunny periods. A chilly breeze  ensured my windproof stayed on but I was content with that. A steady drop down through the forestry by Esgair y Flordd. It was a steady uphill plod from there, retracing my route up past Esgair y Gog. Once out of the forestry I started to look for somewhere to camp. Not so easy and I finally opted for a flat bit of ground right next to the track. It was still fairly early, I was aware though that there where few spots for the next few miles.

A blustery wind brought a few more showers rattling through in the evening. Once more it was a cold night.

Sunday morning was dry with sunshine. My route took me around by Hafodwnog and a steady climb up the hill. This is a route I would recommend, the views north are wonderful,as is the steep valley below, complete with waterfall. A lovely place, having been there before I would suggest that the other path which drops down close to the deep gully is steep and narrow.

A long drop down to Cwmyrhaiadr and a wander down the valley lane. Once again, a pleasant walk. Turning off and another uphill track leading toward Bryn Coch Bach and then another downhill bit of walking to come around by Glanmerin and across by the lyn to the spot where I had camped on Wednesday night.

Trying to pitch the tent with the tail to the wind was a nightmare. The wind was rising and also kept swinging from one direction to anther. On occasion strong gusts would slam in to the side of the tent. In the end I rammed the tent pegs deep in to the ground and hoped for the best. Rain showers in the late afternoon, driven by the wind, drummed loudly on the tent. Once again, it was a night of wind and rain and on occasion, hail. 

Monday morning was a little more settled, at least it had stopped raining. A strip bath in the tent, a clean change of clothes and it was back down toMachynlleth and the train out.

Over the last couple of years I have had an increasing number of medical problems. It has meant a plethora of tests, probes, tubes, minor operations and all sorts of nasties. Since getting back I am now diagnosed as being in the early stages of Parkinson's Disease.That is going to make things on the hill interesting! Certainly, I have already found for example my fitness levels keep falling through the floor, tiredness is a nuisance too. The most obvious physical affect so far is an increasingly strong tremor. Map reading with a shaky hand can be a tad disconcerting!

By the by, if anyone wants a couple of pairs of trekking poles, give me a shout. One pair are brand new. Also I have a set of nesting alloy A poles.

Machynlleth

This was a walk that Mike, (northernpies.blogspot.co.uk) had planned a few months back. Very graciously he offered me the opportunity to join him. After a plethora of e mails and messages, routes where agreed upon as where dates, travel times and where to meet. Thus it was, Mike travelling from the north and me coming up from the south and meeting on the train heading out of Birmingham. A fairly uneventful journey across to Machynlleth, apart from the cockroaches on the train? It was fairly late afternoon when we arrived and managed to get a couple of cups of tea from the station cafe just before it closed. Fortified by a hot drink and a kitkat,  we headed out of town. Our route was all uphill and with rucksacks laden with a week's supply of food we where content to take things slowly. The plan was to camp in the first convenient place once we where clear of civilization. After a wee bit of casting about we found a spot just off the Glynders Way. Wanting to keep my pack weight down, (it came in just on ten kilo with all the food packed) I had opted to take my small tent and lighter sleeping bag.One down side of the baby tent is that it is designed to pitch using trekking poles and I find a pole in the middle of the front porch a nuisance. Toying with the idea of rigging an A pole I had the idea of using both poles on the front. Faffing around with pitching tents when tired and in a rising wind is not a good idea. A blustery wind with some very strong gusts chivied the tents through the night. This was accompanied by heavy showers of rain.

Tuesday morning saw us heading off togged out in wet weather gear. Staying with the Glynders Way we found our route blocked by forestry operations. Rather than add further miles we opted to chance it. There was no sound of machinery running and it looked as if all the actual tree felling had all been done. The bridleway though had been obliterated in places. Deep wheel ruts and copious amounts of thick, glutinous liquid mud, tangled piles of brash that tripped the unwary, made the going difficult. Fortunately, although there was a brisk wind we only experienced the occasional shower. Once out of the forestry the walking was really good. High ridges with splendid views, rolling countryside and wide open spaces. Ascending another uphill bit by Bwich y Groesn we experienced more forestry work in progress. However, the bridleway remained unmolested. Large machinery worked below us, balanced on narrow platforms cut in to the steep hillside. Not a job for the faint hearted!

Making our way over to the sheep pens and sheds at Hyddgen, the ground underfoot was wet and boggy. Notices on the sheds stated "Private, Keep Out" Possibly, in the light of later events,it was understandable?  There is an old concrete footbridge over the Afon Hengwm. Seeking some shelter from the blustery wind we headed over to a small copse. After some wandering back and forward we got the tents up close to the trees. No faffing this time, got the baby tent up pitched taut with the tail to the wind. A brew of tea and I was soon snug. Mike opted for a quick study of snoozeology!?. Late that evening our sense of peace and tranquility was rudely shattered. Loud voices close by filled the air. A group of youths doing the D.O.E had moved in to the copse. Much loud chatter and noise. Smoke filled the air as they attempted their pyromania skills. Neither of us where impressed. The bits of litter and half burnt timber they left behind added further to our low opinion of such groups.
Wednesday morning was a grey dreich morning, grey cloud shrouded the surrounding hillsides.The wind had shifted and moisture laden mizzle was drifting down the valley. Mike peeped out and sensibly returned to snoozing.The group had departed and once more peace had returned. After a short amble I decided to relocate the tent. With the weather now coming down the valley, the tent was facing it directly. Also, there was a distinct hollow where I had been slowly subsiding in to the boggy ground.  The driest pace was in among the trees. Mike decided to join me soon after.

b

By early afternoon the the weather began to clear. We waited another hour or so and then decided to go for it. Mike had a plan, he wanted Pumlumon. With light packs we where soon heading up the hill. It soon became obvious to me that Mike was moving faster than I was. This was Mike's pre T.G.O. challenge shakedown and I was reluctant to hold him back.Thus I gave it best and allowed Mike to head on up while I meandered back. It was a disappointment, Pumlumon was a hill I wanted to do for sometime; however, my fitness levels are currently all over the place. Mike was back by late afternoon, a happy bunny and I was fair pleased for him. Later that night, eleven thirty PM to be precise, there was a profusion of flashing lights and the sound of many voices. It was a group of school kids. At least the guy leading them apologized for the noisy interruption and explained they where setting up a bivi at the other end of the wood and assured us that things would settle down shortly. Soon silence returned and Mike and I breathed a sigh of relief. Unbelievably, a couple of hours later an enormous hubbub started up again. The kids had been off somewhere and had just returned. It beggars the question as to what the group leader had been up to? These where city kids with no hill savvy what so ever. It was a dark night, conditions on the hill where, at best very wet underfoot, a lot of the ground bog. There was a chilly wind and showers of rain. As the noise continued past two AM, Mike finally had had enough and went and had a few words. He is more diplomatic than me!

Thursday morning saw the children having breakfast delivered to them by a four wheel drive. There is a track close by leading up from a tarmac road. Obviously a popular route in to the area. The small copse offers almost the only dry camping spot in the region. We where not in any particular hurry to get moving. The day was going to be a short one, we had two days to get back to Machynlleth. We started out over boggy, tussocky ground with an easy paddle across Afon Hyddgen. If truth be known, Mike would have preferred something deeper with me swimming across, rucksack, in tow!!!? A fantastic action photo, but I was content just to settle for a paddle?? Heading across country, threading our way through bog and tussock we eventually found a faint path. This in turn became a well worn path and finally a track.

 It was all forestry tracks from there, a couple more fords to splash through but nothing serious. Mike's first choice for a camp was not at all suitable and we continued on to the Anglers Retreat. A rather up market fisherman's bothy next to a large pond or small lake. All securely under lock and key. A few heavy showers of rain but after a bit of casting about we found a secluded spot. Ducks out  on the water called back and forward, geese flying overhead also filled the air with their calling.  A short day, but and enjoyable one.

There had been blustery showers overnight, rain, hail and sleet. Temperatures had dropped too. It had been taking a chance but I had opted for my lighter sleeping bag. Suspecting it may get a tad chilly I had also packed an old pair of leggings for pyjama bottoms. They proved useful.

Friday morning broke to a sullen grayness. It seemed for a moment that we may have the chance of packing up in the dry; it was not to be. Dark, plum coloured purple clouds where boiling up on the horizon and drawing closer. At first hailstones rattled off the tents, soon this was replaced with thick, wet snow. We waited to see if conditions would ease but finally conceded defeat with wet fly sheets being given a final shake before being bundled  and stowed under rucksack lids.This was an easy days walking following tracks over to the Llyfnant valley. A pleasant, secluded area. Minor roads led up back to our original Monday night camp spot. Amazingly we managed to get out of waterproofs and had the pleasure of some afternoon sun. Boots and socks where laid out to dry, tents where aired and dried, luxury!
Saturday morning dawned after a frosty night, with a vivid sunrise and cloud inversion. Unfortunately a heavy shower of rain dampened things down. A stroll back in to town and a cooked breakfast.  An enjoyable week, a good trip, or, as Mike would say, 'a cracker. Thank you Mike.

New Forest wander

It was one of those serendipitous moments; a lady who I had helped out once or twice in the past, had a house in the New Forest. Being away for a short time, she offered me the use of the house. A generous offer that I accepted.
Monday.
This was a short day. My intention was to travel down in the morning and get off the train at Beaulieu Road station. Few trains stop there and so I had to time which train I caught carefully. Things worked out as planned. Getting off the train early afternoon, it was noticeably warm. It took little persuasion for me to change in to shorts. Amazing, March and I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt! There where only a few miles to travel and I was in no rush. As I headed across the heath toward Denny wood, one could not fail to notice how dry and parched the heath-land was. My walking took me around by Woodfidley Passage and then on by Perrywood Hassely Inclosure and on to Brockenhurst, where I was staying.

Tuesday.
Today was a long one. There had been an overnight frost and the early morning had a chill to it. This though soon went with the sun burning though. By mid morning it was back in to shorts and tee shirt. After much studying of the map I had a plan. Thus heading out of Brockenhurst, up the lane ,past the church and on to the bridleway that leads through Roydon wood. Pleasant walking, woodpeckers where in abundance, doves cooed, everything in the wood was astir, smitten by the spring like atmosphere. Noticeable too was how green and verdant the woodland floor was compared to the open heathland. A constant eye has to be kept on the map. The navigation is not that difficult, however, there are a multitude of paths, tracks and trails and that does require a degree of vigilance. Following the track around by Dilton Gardens and on to skirt around Little Dilton farm. From there it was across open heath, past Greenmoor and around the edge of Bull Hill village. Across the B3054 and back in to woodland to do a dogleg through the woods to the village of Norleywood. Then it was a case of a long, straight bridleway that ran along the edge of fields sown with crops. A short bit of road walk and then down Turners lane which led me to the coast. What a pleasure to sit on the beach in warm sunshine and enjoy a picnic lunch. It had been a long mornings walking and I was hungry and thirsty. For lunch I had treated myself. An unsliced small loaf of fresh bread from a local bakery, local ham from the village butcher. The man had asked me if I wanted the ham for sandwiches and he had done me proud. My sandwich was most unladylike, no dainty cucumber slices these, cut to precision in neat triangles; no, these where a proper, wholesome, thick and filling affair.

Heading back meant a little back tracking to Norleywood and then it was back on to trails through the woods. Crossing the road by Upper Crockford Bottom. Back on to Beaulieu heath there was a profusion of paths leading through dense thickets of gorse resplendent in full bloom. Trying to roughly stay on course, I made my way across Two Bridges Bottom and, by keeping the woods to my left, managed to arrive back at Little Dilton farm. Deciding not to push on much further, I opted to back track through Roydon Wood. Some eight hours of walking today. Mind, constant map reading slows one down a tad! It is amazing the amount of folk out with dogs. My first encounter was a group of horse riders with three Jack Russells, two black Labradors and a collie. Every time I was near a car park there where dog walkers out in force. Over the day I have seen at least twelve black Labradors, more than twelve Jack Russells, three or four collies, a whippet, several spaniels, at least five staffies, a few dogs of uncertain parentage, a couple of tiny white things that where finding it hard going on the rough heath and a hefty dog that looked more like the many ponies that roam the heath.
Wednesday. 
Another quite long day. It had been in my mind to head over to Beaulieu. However, having been that way before, I knew there was a short section of road walking for which I had no liking. A busy road, heavy with traffic. So I opted for a more circular route, avoiding roads, staying with tracks and paths.

Starting out, I followed yesterdays route for the first couple of miles. It was a pleasant area to walk and was the easiest option. My route took me around by Dilton farm and on around by lodge heath. There are old concrete roads through there. From what I have learned, these where part of military activities going back to the second world war.

Keeping a close eye on the map, I cut around the side of Beaulieu heath and across the road on to Hawkshill enclosure. Once again, loads of dog walkers. Took a loop around to Furzey Lodge.Not my favourite type of walking, the track is basically an unsurfaced  road. However,I knew that my route on from the village was through a much less frequented part of the forest. A lunch break was needed and I found a nice little spot to stop just beyond the village. A group of ponies where grazing close by as I sat luxuriating in the warm sunshine. The ponies grazed closer and closer. Soon I had ponies all around, they where not bothered about me. One pony actually was so close she was nonchalantly grazing around my feet! Moving on my route took me up through Tantany Wood. Some lovely walking, the area here is less managed than some parts of the New Forest. Hoary old beech trees and Scots pine, holly bushes, nibbled and pruned by the ponies.

Making my way around by Rowbarrow I spooked a few roe deer. Once more I was heading around by Woodfidlley. There are though several tracks and paths throughout the area and different routes can be followed.It was then a case of making my way over toward Perrywood Ivy Enclosure and back to Brockenhurst. Some seven hours of walking. Mind, constant map reading takes up a percentage of time.
Overall, some good walking in fine weather. Shorts and tee shirt in March is a tad scary and I have gone a distinct pink colour.
Although we luxuriate in such fine weather, there is a flip side to the coin. Wild life is suffering. Many ponds on the heath where drying out. Frog spawn was left high and dry and other pond life life was suffering the same fate. The heaths themselves where bone dry with a high fire risk. Many farmers are extremely worried, their cereal and other crops are desperately needing water. The hay harvest is under threat, I spoke to a couple of local folk who owned horses and livestock. They said that the cost of hay had tripled in a very short space of time. Poor harvests will obviously reflect on the consumer, pushing food prices up. Unsettling?

Strange fungi.

Up the creek

It was a day walk with a difference. Recently, possibly down to long term health problems, I have found my fitness and energy levels constantly dropping through the floor. Rather like an old battery, no matter how long you charge the thing, it will fail to take a decent charge.
Pounding the pavements on a regular basis was playing havoc on my feet. Needing to get out and do something, I opted for a somewhat radical walk. A potter with a difference.
This morning saw me  heading down to Rochford in Essex.Not a hill in any direction, flat land walking, now that is different! Heading out from the town on a fine spring morning in hazy sunshine. There was little need for the map. Some years back I had walked this way. At first a little unsure of my bearing, however, little had changed over the years. Mainly the path runs along the banks of the river Roach. On such a fine morning the walking was quite easy. Boats heading down the river on the high tide and a large variety of bird life ensured the walking remained pleasant. My binoculars where in constant use. One down side was having a pronounced tremor made focusing a tad difficult. Using the camera seemed ok but the binoculars where more awkward. Coming around Bartonhall creek There was a plethora of birds. Being a high tide, few where actually feeding.

Black headed gulls dominated the area all around Stannets creek. A spot of lunch at Blackedge point and I was content to just sit for a while and watch the river. Amazingly I was in shirt sleeves, very spring like!

It was tempting to push on, however,my train ticket was a cheap off peak day return and I needed to get a train around four o clock.

The tide was dropping rapidly as I headed back. The exposed mud flats where alive with birds intent on feeding. It was a scene that could not be rushed through. Curlews probing deep in to the mud. Oyster catchers, avocets, dunlin. There where several types of duck, mallard, possibly shellduck, they where almost the size of a small goose. One small group of ducks had me puzzled, very distinct in black and white and quite small. Also there was a wee tuft on its head. Checking on my bird book, tufted duck is the only one that appears to fit the bill. One group of birds grabbed my attention, little egret, unmistakable.
It was only a quite short walk, but it was something different and it got me for a while. If this spring weather continues it will be shorts in April. Be aware Mike, be very aware!!!!!

Not a hill to be seen!

Isaac's Tea Trail

 Thursday 23rd February

The alternative title may well be as fitting; 'a radical wrinkly's mud fest!' Having heard that I may have long term health problems it was an easy decision to have a few days away to clear my head a bit. My first choice had been the Lake District. Astronomical fares scotched that idea. Mike Knipe, (northernpies.blogspot.com) made a suggestion and a very kindly offer. A quick perusal of the maps and an idea was hatched. The tea trail was something I had noticed before in my travels to the northern regions. Some further reading, a guide book purchased and a few e mails exchanged with Mike. Thus it was that on the Thursday last I arrived at Durham station to be picked up by Mike, who had offered to drive me over to Allendale Town. The trail actually starts at Ninebanks, however, for practical reasons I found the start at Allendale Town easier. A bonus was that Mike had brought along super dawg, Bruno, a fine chap. Mike was going to walk with me for the first few miles. Crossing the Allen bridge the path heads off across fields and rough pasture.Straight away it became obvious that things underfoot where going to be wet and claggy. The path also proved difficult to actually find. There were paths a plenty but staying on the correct path was immediately a navigational conundrum. Our route led us through a farmyard that was a sea of wet, glutinous mud. A few miles out of town it was obvious the wind was rising. Mike suggested I aim for an early camp rather than continue on to higher exposed ground. Heeding his advice we stopped for a bite of lunch at an area  that offered a reasonable spot for a discreet wild camp. With Mike and Bruno heading off to get a few miles in before heading home, I scouted around and found a suitable bit of ground for the tent just on the edge of a small plantation.

Really, it has been a lazy afternoon, just a stroll out, but that suits me fine. Tomorrow  the actual walking starts.
Friday.
A hard day, it was not that early a start, but I was underway by nine o clock. The night had been windy but mild. A mad pheasant managed to blunder in to the tent in the early hours of the morning. The noisome beast voiced it's disapproval loud and raucously while my heart rate rose by several degrees.Checking the guide book it was noticeable how many stiles where mentioned in the first few miles. Please, I am a pedestrian not a hurdler!Clambering over serried ranks of stiles with a full pack becomes a mite tedious! Mind, I found those kissing gates a tad awkward at times too. Trying to shoogle through them without getting jammed in tight was a mite interesting!Things proved difficult almost from the start. Underfoot the ground was saturated, fields with sheep in them where poached to a porridge like consistency. The trail is not well marked, footpath signs abounded but the difficulty was choosing the right one.At one point I found myself heading in the direction of Low Acton and had to backtrack. It required constant map reading and close concentration to keep on course. Footbridge, stile, stile, footbridge, stile. Progress was slow and it was a welcome relief to reach the Black Way track heading up on to the moor. Even then a close eye had to be kept on the map. The Black Way swings off to the left but the trail continues onward over the moor. There is a path, of  sorts, in places it was a tad hard to actually see it. The occasional marker post was certainly a great help. The ground, being so waterlogged was a total bog fest. A strong head wind also hindered progress a little. Curlews and lapwings where in abundance and I welcomed their company. Reaching a junction at Carrshield Moor, I almost went astray. There is a well defined track that swings left. A check of the map and I saw it actually went over to Shivery hill. My route led straight on down and around to Coalcleugh. By now I was keeping an eye open for a spot to camp.It was not to be though; everything was bog and mire. Map reading here was tricky, the trail did a dog leg around by Roughside.Where the actual path went I am unsure. Basically I aimed for the ruined buildings and the track that led down to Nenthead. It was a little reassuring to find at the end of the track a Tea Trail sign. Walking down through the village I found another, Disconcertingly it pointed at a chapel car park, odd! Studying the map closely though I could see that the route actually went down to the main road. There was a footpath leading off the car park and I found it led to where I needed to go. The way on led through the remains of old mine workings, an old mine portal leading into the hill side, heavily gated. Footpaths led across fields that had been heavily churned by horses and sheep. A sticky, wet morass. Inquisitive horses wandered over on the hope of free handouts. Curiosity satisfied and no handouts, they ambled off. By now it was getting late and I needed to set up camp soon. Haggs mine looked a viable option.There was little in the way of remains,but a series of hollows offered a discreet spot out of sight and out of the wind. It was last light when I stopped and I was tired.

Saturday.

Today was a shorter day and that was quite deliberate. My intention had never been to do the trail at a fast rate of knots. Once more careful map reading was required. The path contoured around above Nenthall. There was no uncertainty about the first part of the foot. It went directly behind a couple of building, up a short bit of hill . A sign at a jumble of farm machinery  read, 'No Entry' with the footpath signed off to the left. A drinking trough for the horses grazing in the field was steadily overflowing adding to the texture of the cloying mud.Yes, I know some folk are going to think I have a phobia about mud but honestly, I encountered an awful lot of it and oh my, there is only so much mud plugging a lass can put up with! Fortunately I had chosen at the last moment not to bring my gaiters but had brought my old salopettes instead. They where coated to above the knees. It was a steep descent down to Nenthall bridge. Someone though has started work on building a series of steps. The way on from there is a delightful walk; the footpath hugging the river edge. There was a sign warning that in places, due to erosion there may be no way ahead. Obviously the local farmer did not walkers cutting through his fields. Indeed the river bank had been eroded, washing away the path. A large circular structure, capped over with heavy duty wire mesh attracted my attention. It was an air shaft, a part of an amazing feat of engineering. An underground canal  started in the eighteenth century to drain existing mine levels. It is staggering to think of the sheer immensity of labour and difficulties involved. The path just before Foreshield Bridge had been completely swept away by the river and I resorted to the flooded field. A sign on a field gate read 'Private'. Too late, I had already trespassed! A short up hill road section and then it was back to footpaths. As was now the norm, careful map reading was required. Before heading in to Alston I attempted to clean off the worst of the mud. Mind, I still felt awfully scruffy. There is a good cafe in Alston at the bottom of the hill. Being a good walker, I was not going to pass up on a cup of tea and a bite to eat. The chappy in the cafe was unfazed by my scruffy condition and assured me I need not take of my bib and brace overalls. My old Ron Hill's where fairly respectable!!. Suitably refreshed and stocked up with a large slab of homemade fruit cake I headed out of Alston. The rest of the day was an easy one. The trail and Pennine Way join together out of Alston. A walk through fields to Harbut Lodge, out on to the main road, a short distance and turn left and then an uphill plod and over to the Gilderdale Burn. Studying the map I had it in mind that it may be a decent spot for a wild camp. This proved to be the case. With light, mizzly rain being driven down the valley, it was good to get the tent up and just chill out.

Sunday.
A wet and somewhat windy night. Fortunately he rain had eased off in the early hours. It has been amazingly mild. My sleeping bag was almost too warm. Heading up the hill from the burn, once more I found myself picking my way through bog. There is a knack n treading from tussock to tussock. Momentum is necessary, hesitate and you sink. In places the bog quivered like an excited jelly on steroids. However, I made it through. It was then a walk over rough pasture to descend back down to the main road at Castle Nook farm. A roman camp is marked on the map close by. A couple more fields and then the Trail branches away from the Pennine Way. A steep descent down to Kirkhaugh footbridge. The river here is wide and deep; so different from when I first encountered it as an infant stream way up in Teesdale. Met an old farmer out on his quad doing the rounds. His three dogs came running over to check me out and possibly round me up. They flanked me, one on each side and one behind.The gent called them back, reassuring me "thay'll no harm thee lass, there's nowt to fear." Dogs are normally fine with me and these where no exception. they where happy to have someone give them a bit of fuss and attention. It is a lovely walk along a minor, gated road to Randalholm bridge. A footpath just before the bridge heads off up the hill, across a couple of stiles to Ayle. From there further footpaths took me over to Clarghyll Hall. On the ground there was little indication of where the actual path went. Going by the map, I headed through the farm. A different type of mud here, more liquid, that sort of slurped as one paddled through it!  A walk down to the mothballed colliery and on to a very rough track that led up beside a forestry plantation. A pause for a lunch break, my special treat, the slab of fruit cake bought in Alston.Thick, succulent and rich in flavour, most enjoyable. The Pennine Pottery at Clargyhllhead looked as if it served teas. In my mucky state I was not going to chance it. Just beyond the pottery a large area of forestry had been clear felled.Oh my, what a mess, such devastation, an ugly, nasty mess, an eyesore As much as I dislike the densely packed, regimented columns of forestry plantations, the brutality of their demise offends. The brash, in places already heaped for burning. One would have thought that it would have been viable to make use of it, chipping it for fuel or wood pulp? The way on was straight forward, a land rover track snaking across the open moorland. Although fairly high up, I was keeping my eyes open for a spot to camp. The temptation was to carry on down to the hostel at Ninebanks. However, in some respects it would be counter productive. A hot shower and clean clothes would have been nice. The snag was,  I intended to camp somewhere between the hostel and Allendale on the Monday. Mike was picking me up on Tuesday midday and thus I wanted to shorten distances. Casting about I found a spot close to some sheep pens, off the track and the other side of a dry stone wall.A slightly windy spot but fairly dry. Ironically finding fresh water prove more of a problem. A stream issuing from a bog looked good, however, the rotting carcass of a sheep just above suggested it may not be wise to use the water. In the end I settled for a trickle  of water  that at least had no bodies in it. Mind, I still had to filter it through my wee bit of face cloth to remove the worst of the sediment and other bits in it. A fairly early stop,the temperature has dropped a bit and the wind has picked up with the occasional stronger gust buffeting the tent.

 Monday
Drizzly rain during the night and quite windy. The morning broke with low cloud drifting around the tent. There was no hurry to get underway, the day was going to be a short one. It was mid morning when I finally got going. Descending the hill I quickly dropped out of the cloud and drizzle.From Ninebanks hostel the Trail does a long loop. Up past Keirsleywell Row and then back  along the Mohope valley, following the Mohope burn. Lapwings where in abundance, the air alive with their piping calls. Joining the road by Malakoff bridge, there is a little sign stating that the bridge was named after a battle in the Crimea war. In a way odd, it raises questions as to why; what is the story behind that?  My little potter along the valley  came to an abrupt end at Waterloo bridge; a footpath headed up the hill. A steep little climb that had my legs protesting. Although the path was a tad vague in places, stiles indicated the direction of travel. The path led around the back of  Far Dryburn. A steep drop  down to, what is marked on the map as a footbridge. In fact it is an old, sturdy, stone constructed   bridge with a second, much wider stone bridge off to the left. A packhorse bridge? Once again there is little indication of the actual route of the Trail. Sticking with the map I followed the track to Mount Pleasant farm. Then down to the road and back on another path across to Gate House. Some interesting windows on the end wall of the building, reminiscent of a vaulted  church window. A pleasant walk from there led over to Monks wood. Studying the map, it suggested there may be a spot for a discreet, (very discreet) camp. The wood is on the side of a steep hill but I was hopeful. A bit of scrambling about and some head scratching I opted for a spot  by the Backstone Burn. Not the best of spots, but well above and out of sight of the track. Being deciduous woodland, the floor of the wood was leaf mold and soil, wet too. A further hour or so was spent gathering dead bracken to act as a carpet in the tent and also level up where I was going to sleep.
Tuesday.
Was away fairly early this morning. Had a dawn chorus of pheasants with their mad, cackling cries. The wood was a pheasant breeding area. A strip wash in the tent and a general tidy up. everything packed up and no sign of my camp and I was underway by around nine.It was quite straight forward walking through Monks Wood and up the hill toward Harlow Bower farm. As I hesitated, reluctant to disturb a group of newly fed ponies, the farmer gave me a shout. He waved me over to another gate and thanked me for showing some consideration to his livestock. Chatting to him, he told me his wife had walked the Tea Trail and had experienced problems, as had other folks. Heading up toward Quarry House I was impressed with the massive window that dominated a whole section of the building, rising form ground level to the eaves of the building. Some more careful map reading down to Keenley chapel. Unfortunately locked, a sign of our times! More careful map reading to head down through woodlands and fields. Made friends with two exuberant black Labrador pups. The farmer whistled them back and gave me a wave. More pleasant walking along side the river East Allen. At one point the path led through someone's garden. The clock was striking twelve as I entered town. Mike and Bruno turned up a few minute later. Mike's first comment, offered up with a big grin was "Tha's well clarted up Dawn!" .

Overall it has been a good walk. However, the Tea Trail tends to be vague in places. Constant checks of the map where needed to stay on course. Possibly if it was walked with map and constant referral to the guide book it may be easier. Walking though with one's head in a guide book is not my forte. Camping wise, feasible for wild camping but none too easy. Mind, things would be dryer in the summer months? There is plenty of accommodation on the trail for those who prefer hostels and B&B's.