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.