Rhinogs pottering

One of the reasons I spend so much time in the Dales is the cost of train fares and the complexity of actual travel. Initially, when attempting to book tickets to Harlech, prices ranged at roughly fifty pounds one way. However, by splitting up the journey, things become much cheaper. Thus, tickets to Birmingham and another set of tickets onwards. How this comes about is beyond the ken of a mere mortal such as I! Mind, overall the journey times means several hours of travelling, some eight hours each way. Returning back involved part of the journey by coach, then train to Birmingham New Street, then a transfer to Birmingham Moor Street.The route to  London was also diverted to arrive in Marylebone rather than Euston. Hey ho, sign on for a magical mystery tour!
Arriving Harlech mid afternoon on the Monday I was feeling very much off colour. In all probability due to a nasty stomach upset over the weekend. The path up from the station toward  Merthyr farm is never an easy one. Steep in places and continuously upward.

By the time I approached the campsite I was feeling light headed and somewhat nauseous. Probably a touch of dehydration? Unfortunately the campsite was closed, officially opening the  first of May. The camping fields being used for sheep with lambs. However, the farmer was quite happy for me to tuck the tent away in a corner. Thus I sort of wild camped on a camp site that at that moment was just a sheep field? Foregoing much in the way of solid foods, I concentrated on downing plenty of fluids and had an early night.

Tuesday morning I was feeling perkier and managed breakfast ok. Dawdling a bit to allow the tent to dry out, I still managed to be underway by around eight thirty. At a leisurely pace, I made my way over to Llyn Eiddew Bach. Taking stock of how I was feeling, which was not too bad, I decided to press on.. It was onwards and upwards. A path led me on to Llyn Dywarchen. Things where now getting interesting.The area was predominately all boulder and rock and picking a route through was to prove tricky. For reasons I cannot explain I opted for a somewhat  tad difficult way up. Zigzagging up through steep,rocky ground I came over Foel Renoleau. Hard work, much puffing and panting It was then an easy shuffle on to Moel Ysgyfarnogod. The sun was shining marred only by a chilly breeze, fantastic all the same. The only problem I had though was difficulty in actually seeing. At the moment I have cataracts and my sight is a bit blurred, made worse in  bright light.

My intention was to stay high and follow the ridge line as such over the Rhinogs. Well that was the plan. However, there is no actual ridge to follow. It is rough, often bare rock, with bog nestling in the hollows. Picking a route often meant threading my up through clefts in bands of rock, sometimes tip toeing along rocky terraces. Fascinating and at times reverting to a wee bit of rock scrambling. Not so so easy with a full pack. llyn Du looked lovely nestled in a deep hollow.

Another scramble to come around by Llyn Carn yste. There was not a lot of mileage involved but a fair bit of navigation and route finding. The other difficulty was deep heather and bilberry which often concealed hidden holes and boulders.

With time running on and the fact that I was getting wearied It was time to find somewhere to camp. Not so easy but eventually I found a small flat area just big enough for the tent.

A still night meant a wet tent on the Wednesday morning. The sun came up briefly and then a a haze settled in. Visibility was still good. My first goal for the day was Bwlch Gwlim and then up to Clip. Not an easy way up. Casting about I inched my way up a narrow cleft in the rock wall, (broke a fingernail as I scrambled up, darn!), a tiptoe along a very narrow ledge and another scramble and up on to a wide area of bare rock riven with deep fractures, some of them wide and deep. As I approached the cairn, the weather caught my attention. Thick mist was swirling through the valley below.

 It rose swiftly and within minutes I was enveloped in thick, damp mist. Visibility was nil. This was not good. Consulting the map I could see I had severe drops on three sides. Any intention of picking my down and over to the Roman Steps was scrubbed. What to do? My only option was to back track on the compass, heading north until I was off this bit of high plateau. That was not easy. It took an age to find my way down off that barren area. Checking on the map, my aim was to bear south and west. To be honest, the map was of little use to me at that point. There where too many nasty drops and bands of rock to thread my way through. Taking it slow and with constant referral to the compass, I worked my way downward. Several times I had to back track when I had nothing below me but a void. At one point I found myself peering at a hideously steep slope strewn with massive boulders and rocks. Shuffling around I came across a steep, heather chocked gulley. A clear sheep trod disappeared down through it. Taking a chance, I followed it down as it meandered and twisted around massive boulders and over slimy, algae covered rocks. It was hard, hard going. However, once down, the ground eased off and I knew I was through the worst of it. Now it was predominately heather bashing and bog trotting with hidden holes and a few concealed rocks thrown in for good measure.

Further down I could dimly make out the line of a dry stone wall. Coming closer something caught my eye,an old stile. Despite there being no visible path, the ground was very boggy, however, I was now fairly certain as to where I actually was. Keeping to a rim of rock and deep heather that bordered an area of bog, I kept bearing south. Further down the mist had thinned somewhat. Peering down the hill I could dimly make out another dry stone wall. Aiming for it, I was rewarded with the sight of another ladder style. Off to my left, out of sight, I could hear a river. Now I knew exactly where I was was. My aim had been  Llyn Cwm Bychan and suddenly the mist parted and there it was below me.

A drop down and then on to the path heading over to Cwm Mawr. From there I made my way up the valley. Further up there where one or two nice places to camp. The day had been a hard one. What a joy  to kick the boots off and settle back with a brew.

It rained Wednesday night and was still raining come Thursday morning. This was no problem, I was quite happy to stay put and chill out. Later in the day the rain eased off and I went for a wander.

Friday was a gentle meander back to the campsite, a hot shower, clean clothes and all ready for heading out on the Saturday morning.

Cross country

A sharp rise in train fares makes things restrictive in travelling to desired backpacking areas. This particular trip had been on my radar for a while. East Coast train fares have almost tripled in a very short space of time. However with some juggling I managed a fairly cheap ticket to Darlington. Initially Mike was going to join me on the jaunt. However, he had gone down with a dreaded lurgy, dengue fever, galloping scourge and a variety of other dreadful symptoms. Not able to lug a a backpack over a few days of walking, he opted for a few days of car camping.
On the\Friday Mike duly met me at Darlington with the car. Being unwell, he left the driving to Bruno???Initially our intention had been to camp at Holwick. Unfortunately, it being the lambing season, Bruno was barred.Thus we ended up to the campsite at Middleton. Not the most salubrious of places. The ground, being saturated, it soon became muddy, yuck! Mike set up cafe Atko, amazing, groundsheets and tarp, stove, kettle frying pan. Camping next door, I was certain of a decent breakfast!

Saturday we went for a wander around upper Teesdale. It was enough for Mike and we where back at the campsite by mid afternoon.

Sunday looked as if it was going to be a long day.My intention was to follow the Pennine Way over to Keld. Camping overnight on the way. It had rained on and off for most of the night and was still wet come morning. Breakfast at cafe atko and I was away fairly early. Heading uphill out of Middleton, it quickly became apparent that the going was going to be muddy. Farm traffic had heavily churned the ground, in places it was a morass. The rain continued on and off for most of the day. At times heavy showers with a a few hailstones. This was interspersed with light, drizzly mizzle blown on a blustery wind.

With a constant eye on the map Lunedale came and went.

Baldersdale reservoir beckoned me on. The cries of moorland birds where now blended with the honking of wild geese. It may have been wet and a wee bit unpleasant but the air was alive with the sound of lapwings and curlews. Coming over Cotherstone Moor, I found the going difficult. This is grouse country and quad bikes had criss crossed much of the moor. The saturated ground had been badly carved up and in many places it was a morass of liquid mud. To add to the mix, tracks veered off in many directions. Sticking to the course of the P.W. meant constant  map checking. It was too easy to go adrift as I almost did a few times.

My intention had been to cross the A66 and camp soon after. That though was easier said than done. Time was getting on as I came by Sleightholme farm. The wind and rain had picked up and was blowing directly down the valley. After  some casting about I finally settled on a less than ideal place just off the track that climbs  high on the moorland. Serried ranks of grouse butts had me somewhat uneasy. Grouse moors meant keepers and I was camped right next to the track. A high, L shaped section of wall obviously had been built as a shelter area from the wind, offered me the only suitable place available. It was late and I had been on the go for over ten hours.

Monday morning was wet and murky. A four four had  growled past as I was having a cuppa but no one said anything, for which I was thankful!

Heading over to Tan Hill the ground was once more badly chewed up by quad bikes and at one point tractor tracks and an awful mess where he had obviously got in to difficulties. Swirling mist and rain was drifting across the high ground as I popped in to the pub for a cup of coffee. Having lost contact with Mike, I pushed on down to Keld. Having a wet tent and feeling tired I treated myself to a bed in the Park House bunk barn.

Meeting up with Mike on the Tuesday morning, he had camped at the Keld campsite. He was still unwell and I think was somewhat glad to be heading home?

Not feeling up to doing too much myself, I got Mike to drop me off at the top of Burkdale. My intention had been to follow the bridleway over to Hartley Fell. However, not wanting to arrive in Kirkby Stephen too early, I sort of diverted. Went for a wander toward Nine Standards, found a little path/sheep trod that led me around to a small cairn. Another little path took to just below Nine Standards and a main path heading to the top. A meander down and around Ladthwaite and on to K.S.

Probably all the rufty tufty types would make light of the walking but for me, well, I was tired. Sunday had covered some thirteen or fourteen miles of heavy going. In all probability I had covered in the region of thirty miles plus over the course of this trip.

It is probable Mike will be posting his own account of events. Fortunately superdawg, Bruno was on hand to keep an eye on him. Hopefully Mike will be on the road to recovery before cafe atko heads north.

Poles

Trekking poles are an individual choice. Some folk have no time for them, some find them very handy. For me, personally they are somewhat essential these days. Having Parkinson's has not yet seriously affected my backpacking activities. Yes, I did have a couple of alarming incidents, but that was more the exception rather than the rule. There are times though when I experience a tad of imbalance. Nothing of significance or serious concern. My poles do give me that bit of added security when backpacking. My current poles, some three years old, have been causing me problems for a few months now. They either lock off and are an absolute pain to free. Alternatively they loosen off, which happens on a regular basis.
leki used to be a good name in regard to poles and possibly I have a rogue pair? What annoys me though is that despite several attempts to contact them, directly and indirectly, there has been no response. There is an agent in this country who stocks all Leki spares. They offered to take the poles back and repair them, at cost! Annoying, I am perfectly capable of repairing them myself. A couple of locking thingies are in a not too great a condition. Worse, two sections have splits in them. The cost of spare parts is expensive.
Thus, for peace  of mind, I have had to dig deep and splash out a new pair of poles. These new ones are from a UK firm and I am actually able to speak to a person if any problems occur.
So, if anyone wants an assortment of poles and odds and sods to play with, give me a shout. They will only cost you something toward postage. Better for someone to have something to tinker with than binning them.

A few old photos.

A touch of drama.

Mike picking me up at Kirkby Stephen is almost becoming the norm. these days. The one difference this time was that it was at an earlier time. In pursuit of cheap train tickets I ended up with an early morning train. This involved being up at the unearthly hour of three in the morning.
A late breakfast/early lunch at Tebay and we headed out. Amazingly the sun was shining!.All very pleasant. Some gentle walking, following footpaths and bridleways over the river Lune and on to Roundthwaite. An easy, steady plod brought us up to Burn Gill and an ideal spot for a camp. It was still early and we had only covered a few miles, however, it would most likely be difficult to find a spot higher up toward the ridge. Being early, Mike headed up for a wander to a nearby top while I went for an explore up the gill.

A pleasant, relaxing  afternoon was had by all.

Wednesday morning broke dull with low cloud covering the hills. It remained dry though. We headed on up and over Roundthwaite Common. A few checks of the compass  at the cairn marking Winterclough. A moment of displacement put us on the wrong side of  Crookdale Crag. A bit of tussock bashing and bog hopping brought us back on course. A dog leg detour to avoid a barbwire fence and then we scooted across the A6. Following the line of the wall we headed up the hill toward Gargill and then around by Whatshaw. Common. The water saturated ground made for some hard going.

Aware that rain was forecast for the latter part of the afternoon, we picked our way down to Crookdale and set up camp. Our chosen spot on a bend of the river, set back a tad from the river on a raised area. of ground. Although not expecting any serious weather, the tents where in an exposed position and thus a few rocks where placed on tent pegs, just in case!

Sure enough, the forecast rain duly arrived around tea time. By that time we where snug and cozy.

The rain continued on and off for most of the night. Thursday morning saw everything covered in an overall greyness. There was no visibility, a grey shroud enveloped all. Thin, mizzly rain, the sort that rapidly soaks everything, scudded down the valley, driven by a boisterous breeze.
There was little option but to hunker down and wait out the weather. This was a mite frustrating, the five day forecast had not predicted weather such as this. Sunshine and showers had been forecast  By the evening the rain was increasing in intensity, in fact a heavy, continuous downpour. The wind too was rising and buffeting the tents.  The voice of the river had changed from a low, pleasant murmur to a throaty roar.
Several checks of the water levels indicated an alarming rise in its volume. More checks during the night showed that the river was continuing to rise. Another factor I noticed, (being bare footed) the ground was becoming increasingly saturated. Uneasy, I began packing. In the early hours water was flowing under the groundsheet. Mike came over, somewhat concerned about the deteriorating conditions. His tent was just a little higher than mine. As water began to deluge through the tent I nipped over to Mike's tent. he also had packed, ready to bail out. Thankfully we managed to sit it out until first light.By then the water level in my tent was well above the tops of my boots and rising. The surrounding area was now awash too. Another half hour or so and Mike's tenacious perch would also have gone under. Mike warned of a deep channel just behind me but I plowed on through. The water was knee deep and quite fast flowing. The river now was a roaring, boiling malestrom. Quite awesome, it was pity we could not manage a photo but cameras where deep in our packs
It was an arduous climb up the hill as we retraced our footsteps back over to toward the A6. Packs where heavy with sodden tents. Underfoot we floundered through flooded ground and clinging bog. Some more bog wallowing saw us descending Bretherdale and back to Tebay.

Mike was heading home and I booked in to Kirkby Stephen hostel. (kirkbystephenhostel.co.uk) There is always a warm welcome there and Denise is a lovely lady and ever helpful.

On the Saturday I took a stroll up to Nine Standards and back rather just sit about twiddling thumbs.
Not the easiest of trips, however, we did manage to get a little walking in.

Moffat Hills, almost

Having done several forays in to the Northern Pennines, I felt the need for a change. Many moons back in the mists of time, I traversed the back roads of the border country by bike.It is an area often overlooked by many. Much perusing of the map, times and dates agreed upon with Mike, (northernpies.blogspot.co.uk) That is one downside of these trips, having to arrange things in advance. Compatible dates, advance train tickets and so forth.
As it was Mike had arranged to meet me at Penrith train station. From there it was a run north on the motor way to Moffat. A bite of lunch in the 'Rumblin Tum' cafe and we headed out. Our packs where heavy with food, cold weather clothing, snow spikes and such. Following the road that led up toward the Devil's Beef,Tub, signed as the old Edinburgh road. For a minor, no through road, a fair bit of traffic. Just after Russells Brae we turned off to follow the footpath up toward Hartfell Spa. With time getting on a bit we set up camp nearby. Frustratingly, a deer fence put all the best spots out of reach. A cup of tea and then a stroll up to the well, set in a steep sided gully. Mike, being wise in these matters, explained to me what a 'Chalybeate' well consisted of, mineral composites and such.

Foxes nearby kicked up a rumpus during the night. There where also a few flurries of snow. Of more concern for me was that I was experiencing a few problems healthwise (again!) Imodium taken with breakfast would hopefully settle things down for a while?
Our goal for the day had been up and over Hart Fell and down to a bothy. However as we climbed higher it was obvious that bad weather was rapidly moving in. A pause for a nibble and confab, and the obvious decision was made. After a bit of casting about spots where found for the tents. The wind was rising rapidly as we struggled with the tents and thick, wet snow swirled  around us. Heavy rocks where placed on the pegs to anchor everything down.
It was a storm lashed afternoon and night with the wind pummeling the tents. Snow drifted high on them. Fortunately the |SL3 is quite roomy but Mike found the walls closing in on him a tad! During the course of the night the wind swung around and spindrift began to fill the porch of both tents, covering rucksacks and anything stored in the porch areas. Boots soon filled with snow. Worse for me was that I had to battle my way out of the tent several times during the night. Being ill at such times is an awful experience. My feet froze and that was an unpleasant experience as they thawed out. Coldness bit deep in to my very being.Wet and dampness permeated through everything. .It was a night where sleep was at best a fitful doze. Come morning we had little choice but to bail out. There had certainly been a heavy fall of snow overnight. Several times we plunged knee deep in the wet, porridgy stuff,
Needing to dry out we retreated to Kirkby Stephen hostel. (kirkby stephen hostel)The lady who runs it is always welcoming. Tents and sleeping where hung up in the drying room and a pot of tea readily drunk.
Friday saw us heading of for a wander up Birkett Fell and Little Lonrigg Scar. Strong winds harried us as we plodded upwards. By the time we headed back it was lashing down with freezing rain and sleet.
Apologies for lack of photos, camera shake is becoming a problem.Nip over to Mike's blog, he has some lovely photos.