Montage

Finally, after much hassle I have managed to download a few photos from the camera.
A mixed hodgepodge of place.

Dartmoor

Dales

Langholm

Scotland

Kit and stuff

As I am sure most outdoor folk do, we all collect gear, That odd bit of stuff on sale, special offer. The odd must have item that seldom ever gets used!
Well, given my circumstances, I need to revise and download my kit. Weight has become even more important, as has the need for stuff that is simple to use with no faffing about. There is the added factor that my sleeping bag needs replacing. It is some ten years old and my winter one is a throw back to another era, somewhere around the nineteen seventies.
 I have placed adverts in various outdoor sites. Disappointedly with no response. Now then, Mike is holding a MacPac Microlight for me. Not the lightest of tents but reliable. More importantly, I have a MLD Duomid almost new, complete with an Oook nest. To be honest, given medical conditions, I need a tent that can be thrown up in a hurry. This tent requires a tad of faffing. There is also a Thermarest, four season Prolite plus self inflating mat. Brand new, never been used. There is also a pair of brand new Mountain King trekking poles. There are a few other things I am happy to throw in to the mix. A Golite Shangri La2, used but still serviceable. There is a baby trangia and so forth
Possibly someone knows of a youth group or runs one??. Please, I really do not want to just to give this stuff away. Make me a reasonable offer and the lot can be yours. If you are in the London area you could come and collect. Say around £260 for the lot? Mind, I am willing to haggle. Thanks folks

Failed

It was a long journey up to Mallaig. Leaving London on the Wednesday night and arriving early Thursday afternoon. Mike arrived later in the afternoon and we wandered off to find something to eat. There was a tangible air of excitement and anticipation as folk gathered on the pier waiting to board the boat that was to take us over to Inverie. Boarding the boat I noticed a little difficulty in my coordination. Nothing much, just a slight hesitation in my movement. It happened again when leaving the boat. Something I mentioned to Mike. Leaving Inverie I felt good and the little incident was forgotten. It was a long, steady plod up to Mam Barrisdale. We stopped for a few breathers on the way up, a nibble and a drink. The showers of light rain forecast turned in to a steady downpour Nothing untoward though. Overall I was comfortable and enjoying the walk. Once over the bealach the rain was heavier and the wind was picking up. Descending down the path I was aware I had slowed slightly and Mike was pulling away from me. Moving to step up the pace a little, I suddenly lurched off to one side and my legs buckled under me There was no warning, I just went down. It was a struggle to get back on to my feet. All movement and coordination   where gone. Maybe I ought explain here a little about Parkinson's It is a neurological condition caused by by some of the  nerve cells in the brain dying and not producing a chemical called dopamine.. It can affect balance and coordination. It was a long hard struggle to get down the hill Movement was excruciatingly slow and there  where several more collapses Mike was obviously extremely worried and shepherded me down the hill Collin, another challenger who had passed us earlier, came back to assist. He had ensured there was a space in the bothy and that was where we ended up. It was initially thought it was a case of low blood sugar, in hindsight that was not the problem Low blood pressure, problems with medications and the Parkinson's itself where all contributing factors
Obviously my challenge was over Mike and Colin where so kind and helpful, getting me in to my sleeping bag,providing hot tea and ringing the police Ministering angels.Next morning I was air lifted out to hospital. That was the end of my trip. There is little else to say, there are many questions running through my mind and at the moment I am darned upset by the whole mess.

O

Langholm wander

Meeting up with Mike (nothernpies.blogspot.com) at Kirkby Stephen station, we headed north over the border to Langholm. A visit to an award winning pie shop and two pies duly purchased. Our route led directly uphill and it felt steep in places. Trying to ignore the semi naked, barefoot runner who was scuttling up the hillside at a faster rate than us, we arrived at the prominent monument and trig point. The boisterous wind ensured we did not linger long. It was a short walk to the Litttle Tarras water, our intended campsite for the night.
Finding an actual place to pitch was difficult. Everything was wet and boggy or covered in large tussocks. Finally we opted for a nearby sheep pen. There was still more tussocks and spongy moss. Not really wet though, damp. It took some juggling to pitch the tents. Both looked a little askew because of the lumps and bumps.Pies and peas for supper. Heavy rain during the night but by morning it was mere mizzle.The spongy moss was now saturated, making it wet under the tent. My own personal bit of bog?
With no big rush to get underway it was late start.. Pleasant walking over to Tarras Lodge and then a steady plod up to Lodgegill. Once past the farm the going underfoot became wet and muddy. We where keeping our eyes open for a possible camp spot. Finally we opted for another sheepfold. At least this one was grassy  and made pitching easier. A short days walking. Mike was being gentle with me!
After a somewhat disturbed night, just the usual problems, we packed up in dry conditions. Mike had changed the route a wee bit. Thus it was an uphill start to the day. We where heading up and over to Mosspeeble. It was steady pull up the hill with old drainage ditches, large tussocks and dense heather. Mike assured me this was good for one, character building?? A  group of goats grazed the hillside  below us, seemingly unfazed by our presence. Crossing a steep gully, saw me floundering around a wee bit. A steepish drop down and a grass clutching, thrutch up the opposite bank. Mike was beaming with pleasure (or amusement?) Yes, yes I know, it is good for one!
Once down by Mosspeeble it was a case of nipping down the main road to Bush Fortunately there was a cycle path alongside the road which made things much easier.A pleasant walk up by Wolfhope burn. Ash and gnarled old hawthorne dotted the hillside. Unfortunately I suspect the heavy sheep grazing limits the new growth of plants.. We found a pleasant place to camp and settled in for the evening.
Things got off to a disastrous start on the Friday morning. There is no need to go in to the gory details. It saw me at around five in the morning bailing out of the tent.There was a ground frost and it was perishing cold. Suffice to say I ended up in the beck having a bath and clean up. My body was shuddering with the coldness. Fortunately the sleeping bag was unscathed. Mike was a little bemused at my comments when he emerged from his tent later on. A hot drink had got some warmth back to me. My feet where still suffering though. Our way was up and over the coll and down toThe  Rigg. The ascent steep and we zigzagged slowly upwards. A wee bit more of bog and tussocks. Descending we came to a track.... Actually more a road. A hideous scar on the hillside. This was no farm access track but a stone road built for heavy traffic. Other roads where to be seen on neighboring hills. Possibly in relation to the forestry planting that was takng place in some areas......
Hail showers accompanied us as we walked back to Langholm. From there we headed back over the border to a campsite near Kirkby Stephen Snow showers during  the evening.. Thank you Mike for a pleasant trip, although I suspect our actual mileage was somewhat low?.

Gales in T'''' Dales

This was a wee trip that had been on the back burner for a while. It was well suited as a pre challenge trip. Travelling up on the train on the Monday though, I was mulling over my original plan. That had involved getting off the train at Horton in Ribblesdale and walking up to Ling Gill. An easy enough afternoon walk.There was one downside though. It meant a shorter walk the following day, which involved following the Pennine Way over to Hawes. My aim was for a longer walk not a short one. Horton to Hawes measured out at roughly fourteen miles Thus it was that I ended up in the campsite at Horton. It was run by a delightful, eccentric chapppie. The campsite was basic, nothing fancy, which suited me fine.
A student group from Burnley came in later in the day but they where polite and well behaved. A blustery night with showers of rain. Tuesday morning was dry, and not wanting to hang around, I was up and away shortly after half past eight. The wind was fairly strong but no problem. The day was overcast but not cold. It was good to be out and on the move. Encouragingly, I was managing quite well going uphill? A slow, steady plod. The air was alive with the piping calls of lapwings, curlews and peewits. Ground nesting birds, they would be rearing their young before long. Stopping at Ling Gill for a break, it was noticeable that the wind was now much stronger. It is a long pull up past Cam End. Upwards, ever upwards. No shelter to be had from the gale that was now blowing.Gusts of wind causing me to occasionally stagger. Coming to a gate, I had a struggle trying to open it. The  wind wrenching it out of my hands. Eventually getting it open enough to wriggle through, the wind slammed the gate against my back. Fortunately the pack took the brunt of the blow, but I was momentarily pinned up against the gatepost.
Stopping for a quick break by Hestor Hole, I hunkered down behind a dry stone wall to take stock of the situation. My  intention had been to camp at Ten End. There was no chance of that now, it would have been crazy to try. The wind was most certainly gale force, roaring loudly across the hills. It was also predominately side on and making the going very difficult.It would have to be Hawes for the night. My concern was that I was tiring and fast running out of energy. Another handful of chocolate raisins and a drink,  heft the rucksack and stagger on. Snowdrifts across the path added to the difficulties. Unfortunately the dry stone wall that offered a degree of protection, stopped. It was now wide  open moor, exposed to the full force of the elements. This was pushing my limits and I was really struggling to make any headway. Blast after blast bludgeoned me sideways. Suddenly I found myself airborne and I was thrown several feet, landing heavily. Two guys who had passed me earlier had felt rather worried about my well being and had decided to wait for me. They had actually seen me take off. They told me later that I had bounced on landing!! The pair of them had fought their way to where I was trying to get to my feet. One of the chaps, half expecting broken bones actually had his mobile out to call 999! Certainly I was hurting but  nothing felt broken. The three of us battled onward. It seemed to take an eternity to get down off the hill. All three of us took a few tumbles. Everything was a howling, roaring maelstrom of  wind.. Eventually we made it down to the road. Somehow I made it to the youth hostel where my two Samaritans where also staying.It is an odd thing but my Parkinson,s affects me badly when I run out of energy. my shakes are much worse, also I tend to go  a tad blank. This happened when I attempted to check in. Firstly I could not remember my details and then my pin number could not be brought to mind.. A bottle of fizzy drink helped bring up my sugar levels and restore a bit of compos mentos. Later, when I reached Kirkby Stephen, I discovered that wind speeds for the area had been recorded at sixty eight to seventy miles an hour with occasional gusts exceeding that. Impressive, a lot of wind going from one place to another in a hurry!
Wednesday turned out to be an odd sort of day. Bruised and hurting from yesterdays drubbing, my intention had been to do little and generally take things easy. The hostel had posted up a weather forecast. It was more gales for both Wednesday and Thursday. My intended route over Great Shunner Fell and the Mallerstang ridge on the Thursday, was now out of the question. Also, a wild camp up near the crags by East Side. Far too exposed to the wind. There was an alternative plan in mind. Taking a slow stroll over to Hardraw, I pondered on what to do. There was a campsite in the village, behind the tea room. Staying there would involve some sixteen miles plus walking to kirkby Stephen the following day. Doable, however, the idea of a day spent in a campsite did not appeal to me. Thus I ambled on, heading over to Collier Holme farm and the path that led up to the High Road. Aware that there  was a short, rather steep bit of hill leading up to the high ground, my thoughts where that if I could manage that, then a camp higher up would be ideal. Also I knew that a good, sturdy dry stone wall ran close to the path. Excellent protection from the gale that was blowing strongly across the fells.
The path was as steep as I remembered, the upper part churned up by off road motorbikes. There where some excellent spots to camp, but alas, no water. Finally I pushed on over to Hell Gill Bridge. Still large, lingering banks of snow drifts across parts of the path.  A couple of wild ducks taking off, beating hard in to the gale but making no progress. Eventually,  bowing to the inevitable, they turned and dove earthward once more. A most  inviting spot to camp, sheltered from everything. The downside was that it was right next to the track. Worse, it was next to a gate where it was evident that a shepherd came through on a regular basis to tend his sheep. Rather than  risk upsetting the shepherd, I pushed on a tad further. Rain was now coming in as well. There where places to camp but exposed. The sheep had muddied the ground close in to the wall. and the ground was wetter. With no choice the tent was pitched as close in to the wall as possible.
It was a storm tossed night with torrential rain hammering down, colder too. Early Thursday morning and all hell broke loose. The wind had swung and was now pounding the rear of the tent. So much for my leisurely lie in and late start! Standing pools of water gave evidence of the amount rain that had fallen during the night. Thankfully it had eased by morning. The tent was rapidly dropped and I sat on it while pulling out the tent pegs. The whole lot was unceremoniously bundled in to the rucksack. No finesse, just rammed in any which way. Bursts of icy rain occasionally skittered across, but nothing too much. A long, steady drop down to Mallerstang and then it was a gentle low level stroll to kirkby Stephen. The fell sides where streaming with water. Where farm machinery had been entering fields and using tracks, there was mud. Thick, glutinous goopy stuff. Following a footpath by the river Eden, I crossed a style into a field full of sheep and lambs. There was a shifty eyed sheep watching me intently. Next thing I knew she was heading for me at rapid speed. It was the signal for pandemonium, sheep came running from all directions. They surrounded me on every side. Sheep and lambs, all yelling at the top of their voices, what a din! They wanted fed and demanded feeding immediately. Life can be hazardous at times, mobbed by sheep, a risky business?
It was early afternoon when I arrived in to Kirkby Stephen. Unfortunately the hostel was fully booked. The local campsite did not appeal to me. Loads of caravans, open and exposed to the wind and probably the ground would be saturated. This was getting expensive but it had to be B&B. My room was a nice one with a plush carpet. Unfortunately, sorting out the rucksack, bits of grass and debris littered the carpet. It was a hands and knees jobby, meticulously picking up every last bit of debris!
A short but eventful trip. My computer is running on only one hard drive, it has two. It refuses to allow me to download my pictures.
Addendum
Arriving back Friday evening, I had a two day turn around. My flat descended in to chaos.. Everything unpacked, kit washed, aired dried. Food to be packed for next week. Kit to be sorted, repacked. Monday I have shopping to do, prescriptions to pick up. Also I have two hospital appointments. Tuesday I am off early morning to link up with Mike for another wee trip.

Dartmooor

Finally, a trip away slotted between two hospital appointments. Dartmoor was an area I had been considering for some time. Arriving at Ivybridge on the Thursday, it was noticeable how cold it was. A mile and a half detour in to town for a few bits and then it was a plod up the hill toward the moor. The lane that leads to the open moor was badly washed out in places. Deep ruts, rocks and stone made for some careful footwork. The wind was noticeably stronger as I headed out on to the open moor and it was a cold easterly one.  Basically I was heading for the old tramway that once served several industrial workings in the area. Having been here once before,, many years back, my concern was the lack of sheltered spots to camp. The moor is wide and open and offers little in the way of sheltered spots to camp. A stand of trees below the track failed to configure with anything on the map. There was a farm close by and it was evident that the place was heavily used by the farmer to tend his sheep. Finally I opted to pitch by Hangeshell Rock. Not an ideal spot although there was some protection from the wind. A few snow flurries whirled through as I pitched.
Unfortunately the wind swung around to east, north east during the evening. It lead to a wind tossed night, not at all comfortable. By Friday morning all was frozen. Water left in the cook pot was solid, the water bag was largely ice as well. The gas cylinder  had to be placed in the sleeping bag for a while to get it functioning in a somewhat hesitant manner. It had been a bitterly cold night. Setting off in the morning I was wearing almost all my layers. The wind buffeted me as as I plodded up the track. The old tramway does not aspire to exciting walking. As it was I ambled past the turn off for the Abbots Way and had to backtrack. Fortunately the wind had eased a tad.. Not so the cold.
Coming around by Dry Lakes ford I spotted a possible camping spot. It was still early, however, after a few of the usual stomach problems  earlier in the day and with a dearth of camping spots, it was an easy call. Another perishing cold night. Not helped by having to dive out of the tent twice in a rush. Sheer purgatory, enhanced by showers of ice crystals cascading down the back of the neck.
Saturday morning saw everything deeply frozen. There was no wind though and then something miraculous happened. The sun came up and it soon became warm  It had been my intention to carry on over to Princetown. Somehow though I wandered off toward Great Gnats Head, and Nakers Hill and a meandering circuit following a ridge line. At one point I was heading across country, using a boulder in the distance as an aiming point. Unfortunately it got up and walked away. One of the many ponies that frequent the moor.  Coming around by Green Hill I then descended down to Erme Pits. The cold weather had meant that the bogs where largely frozen and one could traipse with some impunity through what would normally be difficult ground.
It was an easy call to stop and enjoy the afternoon sunshine. With the tent up and sleeping bag airing, it was an afternoon to be savoured. Mind, as soon as the sun went down so the temperature plummeted. By morning everything was frozen once more and the cold east wind was back. It was decision time, Monday morning I was heading out and needed to be in close to Ivybridge. Having only had a cats lick of a wash over the three days I felt dirty and craved a hot shower and clean clothes.. Nipped up Piles hill on the way back. An interesting and massive cairn on top. It was then on to town and a B&B. My mileage was disappointing for the three days. Roughly around thirty miles. There are a few photos but my computer is dying and refuses to let me download them. It is a confidence booster though. Hopefully next week there will be better thing achieved??????

Not dead yet!

After the failed South Wales trip, I felt really down, depressed. The main question was, 'is it time to quit?' Being dogged by ongoing illness was taking its toll. However, there was the TGO challenge. Mike had spent some time coaxing me around to the idea of doing another one. Gradually I had warmed to the thought of it. Excitement grew when we got our placing. Things took off from there. Many e mails where exchanged. Routes hammered out and agreed upon. There is even accommodation booked. It was too much just to walk away from.
The main problem was that my training program was in tatters. What to do? The urgent thing was to get some mileage back in to my legs. Revising some of my old marathon training routes, I roughed out a tentative plan.  Pounding the pavements is not my forte, I had enough of it in my old running days. With little alternative though, I began heading out early mornings. Why so early? Simply because it is quieter, less traffic and people. It was and is, difficult. Mornings when a bitterly cold easterly wind was blowing, snow and ice. Conditions when the desire to stay in a nice warm bed bed was strong. A gradual start. Two hours of walking then three. That is now up to three and a half to four plus. It may surprise some folk, but in south London there are one or two streets with steep uphill sections.Those where gradually incorporated in to the daily routine. That and six flights of stairs.
One major problem when I first started was the stomach one. It normally meant taking imodeum before setting out. Even then problems occurred. Once I had to nip in to a builders porta loo in someones front garden. However, that has now eased.
Mind, early mornings can be interesting. Foxes casually checking out any rubbish lying about. Early morning workers stoically waiting at bus stops. Coats drawn tight, shoulders hunched against the cold. The there are the runners. Lithe, clad in body hugging Lycra. Head up, chests out. They move in liquid cadence, flowing swiftly, effortlessly over the pavement. Then there are the joggers. Their gait is vastly different, often a slow, shuffling affair. Arms flailing, breathing laboured, faces set in a grimace. Their clothing is vastly different too. Jog suit bottoms are a favourite. Some wear tights and baggy shorts. Light nylon tops of many varying colours. Woolly hats seem to be de rigour. Head gear of all shapes and designs. An early morning bin man doing the ..rounds, gives a broad grin and a cheery "mornin' darlin' "
This is maybe not the best way of doing things but it is a start. Having foregone a backpacking trip over the border, I devised a plan B. Later this week I am off to Dartmoor. Slotting a trip between hospital visits. It is a solo affair. The main aim is to push things around a tad, see what I am capable of. A no frills out and back affair. Hopefully I can slot in two more trips before May?