Another Bimble Up Binsey!!

The first thing people probably think about when someone mentions ‘Binsey’ is the little hill in the north of the lakes, and to be fair, compared to the rest of the fells in the Lakes district, it is a small fella.  However, after climbing it a couple of times before the views from the top are quite impressive. 

We were on our annual trip to a well-known lodge site north of Bassenthwaite and we wanted to introduce our new Springer puppy to the fells without absolutely beasting her.  We had taken Alfie, our older ESS, up Hallin Fell when we had bought him years ago so we thought it fitting to take Charlie up there as her first wainwright too, we managed that on the first day and it took approx. 1 hour.  So on the third day we walked from the lodge door and headed towards Binsey.

Now, all the books say a puppy should only complete 5 minutes walk for every month of its life until adulthood.  I’m no expert as such, but if anyone has owned an ESS, or any working spaniel for that matter, you will know that half an hour walk for a 6 month old ESS will be as effective as a fart in a hurricane.  I think these experts who write these books are generalising and mostly referring to either little handbag dogs or very big dogs who have to watch weight stress on their bones. 

So, back to Binsey, the lodge site we were staying is literally across the A591 so we on the morning we had picked to have a look up we throw some cold weather kit on at the lodge and set off out of the site.  We crossed the road and through a gate up a farm track.  The weather gods had graced us with a decent frost the night before and the sun was shining that morning.  In fact the sky was crystal clear which is a treat lakeside, plus this was a week day and the fell appeared to be ‘people free’.  The farm track was a straight approach to the base of the fell stretching east to west, passing through a couple of gates until the ground starts to accent. 

The las time we tried this route, the ground was so frozen and icy it was virtually impossible to walk up the well-trodden path so we abandoned the walk and set up camp in the lodge site bar.  But this time the frost had covered the grass and heather but the ground was softish and was ‘grippable’. 

The accent wasn’t tasking and we were at the top in no time at all.  Both the dogs taking the route in their stride and it’s a joy watching both ESS’s working the heather, running up and down the ghyll and generally running constantly until we reached the top.  I have pondered the idea of fitting a pedometer to Alfie in the past but I can guarantee I’d be replacing it every outing as the amount of scurrying about the dogs do I would lose any attachment down the nearest rabbit hole or off the top of some crag somewhere.  I can imagine my dogs will probably complete 5 times more millage than me and the missus, virtually unbreakable. 

The route up was rewarded with one of the best views in the area.  Like I said, the day was clear and the rest of the Lakeland hills, and thus provides a good spot to look out at the Northern and North Western Fells of the Lake District, as well as the coastal plain and, across the Solway Firth, Scotland. Snaefell on the Isle of Man.  

Some kind souls over the years have built and maintained circular wind breakers out of the tons of stones laying at the summit.  But today it was redundant with only a breath of chilly air greeting us at the top.  We noticed on the way up that a cloud inversion had formed over Bassenthwaite, stretching down towards Keswick and had created quite a spectacle.  So the phones were out at the top and photo opportunities were plenty.  Both dogs were enjoying the sheep free summit which is quite a flat plateau covered in heather.  We were also surprised to see 3 or 4 Christmas trees complete with baubles stood proudly in the heather.  Fell walkers have a canny sense of humour sometimes!

Someone who lost her sense of humour whilst taking pics of the afore mentioned tree was the missus, the temperature was dropping and making handling mobile phones hard, Mrs. Hiker dropped her phone which did land safely on its back on the frosty grass, however the frosty grass was on a slight incline and as Charlie the ESS puppy saw Mrs. H bend down to retrieve the phone, she kicked it down the slope and with its smooth back it set off on its 10 metre journey before coming to rest in some heather, luckily just before a steeper way down which may not have ended well.

Phones retrieved safely and gloves back on hands we set off back down as the clouds were starting to collect in the north and snow was forecast.  We descended the same way we came up for haste and it turned out to be a good call as  when we stepped off the fell through the first gate into the approach field the first flakes of snow hit us and the once cloud free summit was now shrouded in a thick grey hat. 

I do hate to preach as we’re all grown-ups but being able to read the weather before it happens is essential in the hills, we read the weather well that day and both safe and well.  I know Binsey is tiny compared to the likes of Skiddaw and Blencathra, but calling out MR isn’t on my ‘to do’ list on any fell we visit.

We had a few hours out with some very good pics taken.  Charlie’s second Lakeland fell and she took it in her stride.   Small fell with great views!!

Little Mell Fell

First walk of the week and with the weather looking very wet, Little Mell Fell looked like a good idea, and not too taxing to warm our legs up for the week planned ahead.

Looking at the map, parking wasn’t in abundance and after consulting Alfred WAINWRIGHT we decided to park at Thackthwaite to the north and have a nice leisurely  stroll (sheep pending) to the summit and hope we didn’t get too wet.  So, we drove west on the back road past Sparket and looked for a parking space.  We looked, and looked and looked again.  There was nowhere to park, well we couldn’t find it if there was, near Thackthwaite.  

We drove anti clockwise around Little Mell Fell and found a nice space on the southern side and parked up.  From this car park we could see the path to the top so donned the boots and got stuck straight into a climb which didn’t level, until we hit the Trig Point at the summit.

Not the highest hill but the views were amazing and we were scratching our heads when the blue sky burst out of the clouds after being promised rain.  Alfie had fun jumping on and off the Trig Point and we took some pics.  

The walk down was a bit slippy at times but we arrived back at the car about an hour after we’d left.

Great little dog walk and a good start to the week.

 

Bolton Castle and a sheep dip with a difference…

We were holidaying at Westholme Estate yet again so we decided to plan walks from the door as it would be ridiculous not to take advantage of such a great base camp and the walks it offered without driving.  We had purchased a great ‘Dales Pack’ from  walking-books.com and chose a walk up to Bolton Castle from the pack, taking in a quick look at Aysgarth Falls on route.

We walked from our lodge towards the impressive St. Andrew’s Church which looks over High Force Aysgarth Falls.  Crossing the road over the River Ure gave a photo opportunity of the Higher Falls.  Once over the bridge, there’s an area to the left where you can either go to have a closer look at the falls or turn right up a path into the National Park visitors centre.  We walked across the car park and crossed the main road into Freeholders Wood.  We had decided at planning stage to do the route backwards, not a reflection on the route card, just the way the weather looked we wanted to get onto the high ground sooner rather than later.

The track through the woods is well worn and simple to follow, exiting the woods and through the fields heading north towards Carperby.  The fields are open and give you a great view of the surrounding moorland and high ground.  We entered Carperby, a lovely village that looks like a great place to which I could retire, from the village we turned up an incline to Ponderledge Scar.  Then there’s a path bearing right following a fence/wall up onto moorland where it levels out nicely.  I know I do bang on about sheep and yeah, yeah they have equal rights to the hills, but as we reached the top, I saw something which made me think our woolly friends are sometimes just taking the piss out of me.  We saw a line of obviously pregnant sheep making their way into a gate.  I put Alfie on his lead and waited for the Ewes to make to complete their journey.  We waited, and waited, and waited as sheep after sheep trooped into this field in single file.  Initially in a rush but as the merry little bunch grew in confidence the procession became slower and slower, and the gap between them got wider.  So for about 5 minutes we stood staring at this slow moving queue of mutton filing their way through this gate, I’m sure some were laughing and if they had fingers, they’d have given me one.

When the flow of sheep had subsided we carried on the route turning east and a chance to get dive bombed by Lapwings protecting their nesting site.  I quickly glanced back to the field where the sheep had dawdled into, looked like bloody New Zealand!  From here you can see the dale, which I’m guessing the River Ure has carved out over the years.  The route is clear and with the added bonus of yellow spots dotted on the occasional fence post or wall which some kind soul has placed on for our benefit, for ease of navigation.

The path goes through probably the scruffiest set of farm barns (no house) I’ve seen in many a mile.  However, Alfie found the sheep manure which was spread across the path very exciting.  He found the freshest pile and probably the deepest, and proceeded to roll around in it ensuring a nice thick coat of sheep s@@t to accompany us for the rest of the journey.  My attempts to stop my naughty Springer were met with a scowl from the farmer as he sped past on his quad.  Mind you the air was a bit blue!

We walked through the grounds of Bolton Castle with a definite ‘air’ about us, god knows what all the visitors to the 14^th century castle thought when we strolled through with what sort of looked like a dog, but bared more resemblance to a walking sheep pat.  The castle itself is in really good nick considering, a must for a nice cultured visit if you get the chance.

Just after the castle is the little village Castle Bolton, again looks very ‘retirable’ but maybe a bit out of our price range, but who knows.  The route takes the road down back over the main road and through another field, but this one graced us with not Ewes, but four hard looking Rams who didn’t appreciate the interruption to their sleep.  Down to the farm at Low Thoresbay and along Thoresbay Lane and through Hollins House and back to the sounds of Aysgarth Falls, this time the Lower Falls.  Back in Freeholders Wood and a look at one of the carved seats one of our twitter friends had told us about.

We ended the walk in Aysgarth Falls Hotel for a cider or two.  I shouldn’t laugh but whilst relaxing in the pub two or three people walked passed Aflie, who was still crusty and smelly, and they gave him a good old stroke before we had chance to warn them.  Hope they enjoyed their meals.

All in all, this is a great route, well-worn and marked, amazing views and wildlife plentiful.  Hats off to the author they have captured some good features along the way.

Alfie however, got a well-deserved bath in the beck back at the Estate!

A tough day out up Seat Sandel and Helvellyn!

As usual, the words “I’ve planned a route!” coming from Kel’s mouth usually meant a good thrashing with plenty of thick orange chunks of contour lines to start with. I looked at the map and the Smörgåsbord of summits my beloved wife had set out for me and Alfie the Spaniel. “The weather is meant to be OK and we don’t even have to get up early cos it doesn’t go dark till late!” she stood with a smile on her face. Looking at OL5 I grinned and thought “Not too orange then!?”

“All we need to do is catch a bus from the end where we’ll park the car and get off at the start then finish at the Kings Head, simples!” she carried on excitedly.

“Bus!!?? Bus!!??” I said in amazement. I hadn’t been on a bus for about 20 years and the thought of having to depend on ‘others’ for a route plan made me cringe a bit (I’m weird like that). We had a look at the timings and decided to give it a shot and the route was sorted. Mill Bridge, Grasmere to the King’s Head via Seat Sandal, Dollywaggon Pike, Nethermost Pike, Helvellyn and White Side. A full day!

Sunshine greeted us as we packed the car and headed for Grasmere and grabbed a parking space at the King’s Head. They have an agreement that walkers can park in their car park if you pay £5 for an initial ticket which gets you that amount of drinks if you have a post walk pint at the end of your route. Canny!

So there we were, stood at a bus stop with our daysacks waiting for a bus to Grasmere, which was approx 5-6 miles down a straight road. The sun was blazing down on us and we had a giggle about the fact we’d not researched if dogs were allowed on the bus and thinking of a plan B if the driver wouldn’t let Alfie on. 3 minutes after the due time the bus came rolling from St. John’s in the Vale and things were looking good. I put my hand out, just like 1979 when I used to catch the bus to school, and just like 1979 it stopped and I stepped onto the bus while Kel and Alfie sat down on the closest seat to the front.

“Two adults and a dog please mate” I said searching in my pocket for some change expecting a couple of quid each and half a nicker for the hound.

“£10.60 please!” Dick Turpin replied without even looking at me! You know that feeling where the ‘bus’ spins and you’re grinning to yourself but actually paying. There was some thought that Alfie had cost me even more money the little tinker. I paid up and the driver stopped pointing his musket in my face. Kel budged up so we could all fit on the two seater and I awaited the hostess with the Champers and Caviar which were obviously on route for the fee.

Grasmere came and we grabbed our kit and shuffled off the bus with our daysacks, puppy and a massive hole in my pocket. We’d travelled less than the distance we were about to walk (without the accent)! I sorted my cam and we made our way up through the little cottages at Mill Bridge feeling violated, but at least I felt a bit lighter. We’d decided to take the route up Little Tongue, west of Great Tongue through herds of sheep and the sun burning down on us. Hause Riggs was a short but welcome break as we sat for 5 minutes to absorb the stunning view of Grasmere and the surrounding fells. The going was quite steep but significant height was gained quite quickly before we levelled out at Hause Moss and a small pile of stones with ‘Julian’s’ black baseball cap secured on the top.

The hiking/hill walking community are a canny bunch, if any lost kit is found in the fells it’s put on social media to find the owner. Hence my tweet with the a picture of the afore mentioned cap!

With Grisedale Tarn in view we turned left up a shaily accent up Seat Sandal and the mother of all thigh burners. Slate Shale doesn’t have the ‘gripability’ of any other shale, its one step forward and 4 steps back. The descent was decent and bait welcome looking over Grisedale Tarn and a chance for Kel to do her usual ‘Peak assessment’ of our surrounding view.

We saw people coming down the wall south side of Dollywaggon Pike but we opted to take the Zig Zag route up the South East side of the peak which brought much amusement as we were about to see. We skirted the Tarn and slung a left in and up the windy route up to the summit. About two thirds of the way up we made space for a group of mountain bikers who were making their way down. The first section stopped because they were finding the going too dangerous to stay on their machines. One had gone face first into the stone of ‘Dolly’ and was playing it safe. Further up we bumped into the rear echelon of the daring mountain bikers, one who had a thick ‘Pit Yacker’ accent who stated he’d never seen such a “Mental” descent and had decided to ‘push’ his bike down, putting the blame on videos on YouTube for not fully showing the scale of the best part of a 300m decent in the space of 500m, which to me works out at…… well a canny drop in anyone’s money! Probably the reason why the path is Zig Zagged up the side. Anyway in the 5 minutes we had with the mountain bikers two fell off, I’ll stick to walking!

At the top the sun was beating down and the wind had dropped making the going pleasant, plus a lack of sheep making way for a clear run for Alfie.

Looking west the Wythburn Fells were clear and we worked out exactly where we’d ‘lunched’ with the Dicko’s days before on in slightly less windier weather. From here the path was set and Nethermost Pike looking slightly higher but with Helvellyn peaking over its right shoulder we knew the highest peak in our quest, was in sight.

The top of Dollywaggon was a welcome sight as we’d passed the ‘post’ taking the right to the cairns. The view east was breath taking with a clear view of St. Sunday Crag making a good view stop. We headed north down slightly and then back up onto top of High Crag and sheep. Alfie did well heading up Nethermost Pike to keep his eye off the ‘Herdies’, while I spotted Striding Edge and thoughts went back to that blistering hot April day in 2011 when we’d foolishly climbed Helvellyn after a crate of Fosters and a meat only BBQ the night before, took me ages to get the smell of lager out of my ‘Buff’.

I digress, I liked the sight of the top of Helvellyn as I, as always, like being one of the highest in England at a particularly time, even for a few minutes. As we make our way up to the summit and the robustly built ‘X’ shelter and the ‘dump’ left that was used to build it, we spotted the memorial Stone placed to point out the spot where the first plane ever to land on a mountain was. There was a steady but not too chaotic stream off people coming up the different routes to take in one of the greatest views in the area. I love the sights, the feel and the sense of achievement when we hit a high peak, the feeling of another well planned trek. What I don’t like is idiots that are stood taking selfies dressed in high tops, ¾ length trousers and no safety equipment. Ok it was a sunny day, but it’s cretins like them that call MRT when they get cold, get lost, feel tired or just can’t be bothered to walk down. I’m sure I’ve said this before, but I pride myself that I carry enough kit to survive at least one night on a fell if ever we need to. Plus I plan even the simplest of routes over a certain height and ALWAYS carry safety kit, if not for me, for others.

Rant over and back to one of the best views in the district and my quest to find the snow we saw from Ullswater a couple of days before. Bingo, just passed Water Crag I find a patch of crusty musky snow about ten metre’s north east off the path. A couple of pics later of a 48 year old kid playing in snow for his 9 year old son then we’re back on track down onto Lower Man and a long decent down. If you look east into the valley you can see the dam at Brown Cove, it’s an unusual sight and it looks like it was built to store water for the mining in the area. My feet were aching and the balls of my feet were sore, feeling like I’d trekked 50 mile not the measly few we had. As we dropped down to the ‘pile of stones’ to take the left North West onto White Side, I could see down the valley to Thirlmere, but even though the it was downhill, the going was painful skirting the side of Whiteside Bank leaving me wishing we’d gone up to the cairn and straight down, instead of side footing down the side negotiating rabbit warrens and land slips kicking the s**t out of my knee and Kel’s ankle, God we’re getting old. Eventually we joined the path that ran down Brund Gill and down the North East side of Brown crag and a cracking view of the ultra-green grass around Dalehead Hall on the banks of Thirlmere. I hate descents like this, I’d rather climb miles up and a gradual way down, the new plantation was quite steep, or seemed like it and the crossing at the un-named gill near the back of Thirlspot Farm was such a relief to hit level ground. Alfie drank about half the water content of Brown Crag and we entered the grounds of the farm, passed the sheep and a Lama, or Alpaca, I was too goosed to care.

The cider at The Kings Head bit into the throat like a welcome friend and the £10.60 bus fare into Grasmere 7 hours earlier was a distant memory, but next time I’ll order a taxi!

 

100th Wainwright just had to be Sheffield Pike!

I realise there are 214 Wainwrights so you’d probably argue that fell 107 is a milestone, being halfway, when we reached 99 on Raven Crag we, sorry I, wanted to make the 100^th be something special. Being from God’s county I picked Sheffield Pike!

A sunny but chilly day met us as we left the caravan site followed by family Dicko and headed for Ullswater and the road down the west side of the massive water that seems to take forever to drive down to Glenridding. The A592 offers twists and surprises at every turn on a sunny day, trying to find a space in the small free car parks that litter the road is an adventure in itself. We eventually settled for a small ‘pull in’ just prior to Glencoyne and met the Dicko’s at the NT car park to start our walk.

As always on meeting our favourite hiking buddies, Kel and Sue check out new kit and colour match and me and Dicko just take the mick. I was sporting my new body cam as I got for a birthday present with which I was experimenting videoing our walks. Sue’s first reaction was to ask if it records audio, I said no but I was lying, she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s a potty mouth. We set off up the straight track to the cluster of buildings which I guess is Glencoyne, the site of Sheffield Pike standing in front of us asking to be climbed. The path goes through the back garden of the buildings which always seems a bit weird to me, tramping through someone’s back garden. Through the very small wooden gate and eventually placed boot of grassy fell as we started the climb up the sheep infested hillside to a quaintly placed terrace of cottages which, looking at the map, is called Seldom Seen. The grass bank up to the stone wall and a gate through gave everyone a welcome early break to vent or remove clothing that was causing an early sweat.

Richard (Dicko’s son) was off up front hop, skiping and jumping his way through the heather and rocks while we straggled behind giving Alfie (our Springer) his excuse to do his hill reps between us and him. I was feeling it, even at this early stage, the medication I was on takes its toll in all shapes and form and early fatigue was one. The climb wasn’t particularly hard but getting to Bleabank side seemed like Everest to me and the sight of Nick Head and the designated sweet stop was more than welcome. I joined the group and plonked myself on a Peat shelf and tucked into Dicko’s jelly babies, my body craved sugar. Alfie was on a peat soaked water fest and doing ’doughnuts’ in the sodden ground was an ideal way of covering everyone in black water. Thanks mate!

We rested and contemplated the summit which wasn’t too far away, approx. 75 metre climb to the 675m summit. Halfway to the top I saw group resting with a few kids running about while the adults rested. As we got closer I recognised my work mate Louise tending a small child and then remembered she was in the area with her family and had obviously also chosen Sheffield Pike as their ‘summit of the day’. We had a bit of craic and arranged to meet at the ‘Rambler’s Bar’ later for a post walk pint. We headed east towards the summit and at last about 500m of level (ish) ground reached the summit fairly quickly and with a cracking view. Ullswater was as clear as a bell and we even got a view of people skiing down Raise. Helvellyn looked amazing, the snow had given it a wonderful coat that had a good few people climbing to the top.

At this point I’d given up on my cam, I hadn’t attached it correctly to my day sack and it kept slipping forward and all I had was cracking footage of the ground and my size 11’s. We headed south east towards Heron Pike struggling to find a definite path. We stopped at the iron post as the ‘path’ had come to drop, a 50m drop! Luckily we could see Louise and the rest of her party nearly at the bottom heading towards the stone wall. Her hubby pointed to our left, I thought it was an indication to the path we needed to take so we headed left and found a small well-trodden area of grass heading down hill towards the wall. It seemed to take an age to get to the wall and ‘The hills were alive, with the sound of Sue screams!’ There were a few scares on the slippery grass, even I had a few ‘Hip jolters!’

Eventually we met the dry stone wall heading north to south and walked in the direction of the ‘Rake’ and crossed the junction with the wall dropping off Glenridding Dodd. We did plan to top Glenridding Dodd but I felt very tired and had slight chest pains, again a result of the medication floating around my body.

I told Kel I didn’t want to go any higher so we decided to take a left then left again to briefly head north east to Mossdale Beck and follow the beck down to the road. If you chose this path be wary that it’s not very well maintained, we had to run the gauntlet of falling trees and collapsed paths. Which meant us getting ‘hands on’ in some parts, which I don’t mind but Sue didn’t look too impressed. Finally we hit the road and a short walk back up to the parking spot just passed Glencoyne Bridge.

We met Louise and her family at the Ramblers Bar for a well-deserved pint of cider and a chat in the sun. A great peak for our 100^th Wainwright and a lovely sunny day to do it!

Hop around High Hartsop Dodd

The last time we placed boot on fell in the Lake District was New Year’s Day when we got a good old drenching on Place Fell.  We teamed up with Dicko and Sue, and also the new ‘Team Hyde’ member, Alfie the Springer to get back into the swing of Wainwright bagging and set our sights on a quadruple quest starting with High Hartsop Dodd.

We all met the night before at the caravan site in Morland due to the Dicko’s becoming new residents at the site, route planned and we were set, although it did take us  4 bottles of red to sort it, we did it.  The next day we packed the Aygo with four days sacks, four lots of boots and Dicko was sat in front trying to keep Alfie in the foot well but failing miserably as we headed for Ullswater and Brothers Water to find the car park at Cow Bridge and the start of a day of bagging.  The route we had planned would take in High Hartsop Dodd, Little Hart Crag, Red Screes and Middle Dodd, which looking at the map looked a nice leg stretch and not too far.

The car park at Cow Bridge was quite full but I managed to squeeze the car into a nice little spot and we got ready.  Getting ready took slightly longer than normal, due to puppy pinching socks.  The moths from Sues daysack didn’t help either.  Anyway, the happy bunch strolled off down the side of Brothers Water and even though the cloud was low, a few bits of blue sky were making an appearance as I felt for my Sig Bottle only to discover it wasn’t in my side pouch on my daysack and a quick run back to the car find it in the boot of the Aygo, followed by a quick run back to the others, who by the way didn’t wait so the return leg of my run was slightly longer than the first leg.

Heading south we took in the sights of Brothers Water and Low Wood then came out into open land and the farm track to Hartsop Hall and a sea of sheep waiting to be sheered, and an angry farmer doing a ‘Fenton’ impression as his trusty sheep dog wasn’t being so trusty and not paying a blind bit of notice of his instructions.  We took a quick left at the farm over a meadow with the most randomly placed boulders and Dovedale Beck to lay eyes on the start of our accent.  The map does show quite a steep start to our route but as soon as you see it up close and personal you don’t quite get the full affect.  It reminded me of Fleetwith, a steep slope that needed to be climbed, and when you see sheep in harnesses you know you’re in for a decent thigh burner.  There’s no getting around these sort of starts, it’s gotta be done to enjoy the experience.  Alfie was bouncing around like a ‘gud un’ and I was keeping an eye out for sheep.  Dicko set the pace and we were soon working our way up and Brothers Water was getting lower and lower, further and further away.  Chins were still up when we hit the little bit of a scramble near the top, Alfie had no fear jumping from rock to rock as he kept us all in check.  The cloud appeared to be getting lower and the tops of Hart and Dove Crag were disappearing to our right. Apparently at the start Kel had asked me if she could tie one of Alfie’s poo bags to my daysack, I can’t remember agreeing to this and only found out as I reached around my daysack looking for my water bottle, only to find something soft and squidgy in hanging for off the front, luckily my nails had been cut and I realised what the foreign object was, I wasn’t happy but the rest of the group said I’d agreed, I beg to differ.

The summit came quick and Alfie had acquired a bone from somewhere, we had come across a sheep that had gone to sheep heaven about 20 metres back so that’s got to have been the source.  The summit brought a heavy mist enough to wet you so water proofs came out as we entered the misty cloud as we plodded on to Little Hart Crag.  We found the summit ok, the cloud had cleared again and this was as good as place as any for bait.  The temperature dropped slightly with the wind so we all sat huddled, a bit unusual for July but that’s the mountains for you.  Alfie was doing the rounds looking for scraps of ham buttie but his luck wasn’t in so he went off to explore, probably looking for his new love, sheep droppings and wool.

Bait was a quick affair and we were back on track in no time, we dropped off the top and the path to Scandale Pass and looked at the ascent up to Red Screes, there were a few other walkers coming off Red Screes looking a bit damp, the top was covered in cloud but I was hopeful the small piece of blue sky which had appeared over Dove Crag would shuffle over to the top.  We set off up and I did a bit of a Bambi on ice impression landing with a thud on the wet peat.  Kel was happy with that as it’s usually her back side that spends its time on the floor.  The weather gods were definitely on our side as we climbed the steady ascent to the top of Red Screes and we were met by blue sky and sunshine at the top.  The view down to Brothers Water was very good and we had a bird’s eye view of our route down, well, we could see the direction we were going but not the actual path.  Looking down the valley the Kirkstone Pass looked like a Scalextric set and cars minute .  Red Screes isn’t the biggest fell but it’s a canny drop down when you peek over the edge.  The summit is a good spot for a wild camp as well, apart from the water; the mini tarn is smelly and peaty.  Sue perked up a bit as we were now going down, if she’d only knew what the ‘down’ would be like I think she’d have called mountain rescue.

We set of down and the first bit of the decent was good going, we still had to ‘top’ Middle Dodd which we did quickly and set off down.  The going became steep and footings were precarious and I felt my ankle cracked a couple of times.  Everyone’s joints were being tested, the only one of us who looked comfortable was Alfie who had been hopping around as Springer’s do.  A bit of advice if doing this route is to turn right at the wall (399102) and walk to the permissible path and take that.  We didn’t, if you look at the map (OL5) there is a small black line about (400103), it’s not a small black line in reality, it’s a sheer drop which creeps right up on you, if it’s foggy there’s a good chance you wouldn’t see it and take a 50 feet nose dive into the ferns.  We took a left at the cliff and walked to the straight wall to follow down to join the permissible path lower down.  As we approached the wall, I spotted a herd of cows near Caiston Beck, they were a good 200 meters away and we weren’t going anywhere near them but Kel told me to put Alfie on his lead.  We are quite good with him and always put him on when anywhere near sheep etc, but these cows were some distance away and we were walking away from them so I just kept an eye on him.  She said, “Ok it’s your call, but if they stampede and eat him it’s your fault!”  The first few seconds were like an old Western film when the town is deserted and the brush wood blows though.  I looked at Dicko whose face was just as confused as mine.  “Eat!?” I said to my worried wife.  “You don’t know what they’ll do!” she replied.  “Well I do know they won’t eat him!” I said laughingly as she stared at the happy herd chomping on the Lakeland grass.  That was it for a good quarter of an hour, all sorts of jokes fired at my embarrassed missus ranging from me singing the theme tune to ‘Rawhide’ to Dicko telling everyone to watch out for the dog eating wildebeest stampeding across the Glen.

We approached the small footbridge across the beck and I saw some killer sheep in the next field, prompting me to put the lead on Alfie in case the woolly canine cannibals attacked my defenceless pooch.  The jokes did eventually die off as we joined the footpath that we walked along to start hours before.  We got to the car and took off wet kit and heated boots, plus I finished of Dicko’s jelly babies.

Sat in the beer garden of the Brotherswater Inn the banter was good, even though I was slightly fuming at the £1 for an hours Wi-Fi that I wouldn’t pay.  We’d had a good day and even though we were not hitting the highest peaks we had worked fairly hard, and for the first time back on the fells it was a canny leg stretch.  Just watch out for the flesh eating Friesians!

 

 

Cleveland Way Part 3. Osmotherley to Clay Bank

After a wet day in the Lake District and a good drowning for the majority of the party, we were glad to have a sunny clear day for our next walk out.  So, instead of hitting the A66 we set off down the A19 to continue with our next attack on the Cleveland Way, Osmotherley to Clay Bank.

The number of participants had fallen greatly for this hike in comparison to Place Fell, only the usual four suspects, Dicko, Sue, Kel and me.  After the usual traffic on the A19 we crawled out of a jam just the other side of Stockton, however I had been ‘resting my eyes’ whilst Kel drove and she’d lost sight of Dicko’s Passat in the commotion and when I woke we were well on our way but no sign of our hiking buddies.  My mobile rings and its Dicko enquiring where we were, stating he was on the A172 nearing our destination of Clay Bank whilst we were still blasting down the A19.  We eventually caught up with the others in Stokesley and after a brief micky take in the Co-op car park we were on our way to drop our Aygo off at the view point Clay bank.  At the car park we piled our kit into the Passat hampered by a thin but equally deadly layer of black ice covering the entire area.

We set off for Osmotherley in Dicko’s car and a chance for Kel to show off her new waterproof jacket to the others.  She’d replaced her ‘old’ one after a good drenching on Place Fell where everyone’s waterproofs had been put to the test.  My North Face jacket had stood well against the driving rain/snow on the Ullswater hill with only my over trousers failing me slightly.  My poor wife had basically been soaked through to her knickers, her jacket, which did cost a few bob I might add, might as well as not have been there hence the purchase of yet another expensive piece of kit at Go Outdoors in Penrith.

We arrived in Osmotherley and struggled to park initially which was unusual for this lovely little village on a week day.  We managed to squeeze into a space and began to don our kit and daysacks.  Sue proudly displayed her new daysack and bragged about how much she’d managed to squeeze into it.  I explained that my map pocket was bigger and congratulated Dicko on finding a daysack for his wife that was actually smaller than Kel’s.

We headed north out of the village and the sun was low and bright.  After a quick left turn just as we left the built up area and headed for Chapel Wood Farm, the views were almost immediate stretching eastward.  It’s hard to take photos on this walk because you’re always saying to yourself, “That’s a great view, no that is!”  The path is so definite on this route and it’s very hard to stray.  We headed north again towards South Wood taking the right in the fork at the start of the forest.  As soon as you lose the view to the west the forest clears and the view east opens up across Hither Moor.  On the left as Arncliffe Wood starts you get a wonderful view of a TV station; it sticks out like a pair of dog’s swingers and not the best view of the walk.  The route comes away from the wooded area near Scarth Wood Moor then drop into Clain wood.

The sun was shining bright and the temperature was comfortable as we crossed the track that leads down into Swainby.  We know this gorgeous little village quite well as it’s always were we finish off a good days climbing at Scugdale with a pint and some ‘real’ chips at the pub.  If we don’t retire to the Eden Valley, then Swainby is second on our list so as you can guess we’re both counting down the next ten years.  We pick up the Cleveland Way on the other side of the track and briefly head south east retracing our steps from our Whirl around Whorlton hike two years ago.  After about ‘1 click’ we take a left across a field towards Swine Park and its lovely little beck and its ford and bridge then a weir.  This is a gorgeous little spot that sees its fair share of Snowdrops and other wildlife, and a good place for Dicko to prove even more that his old leather Brashers are better than his fabric Salamons, dry feet!!  As you leave the woods a track up to Hollin Hill is a festival of birdlife, tits (…stop it!), finches, robins, wrens and more Hedge sparrows (heggies) than you can shake a ‘Leki’ at, which all stay with you until the route crosses the back road to Scugdale and the start of a steady incline up hugging the west side of Live Moor Plantation and stunning views left over the flatlands surrounding the area.  Soon the path shoots east and the start of a quick ‘thigh burner’ up though the plantation to the base of Round Hill.

Over the few years we’ve been walking and me been blogging I’ve had to put up with the barrage of jokes and quips from my old mate Dicko about my Yorkshire roots and background.  I know it’s all said in good humor and I take it the way it’s meant.  But from the top of Round Hill and, to be fair, the views from all the routes we’ve done in my beloved county, he cannot fault what he sees.  I mean, after all, he’s from Stanley where you have to make the most of the views before someone nicks ‘em!

As I said the views from the top of Round Hill were amazing and we couldn’t have asked for a clearer day.  We passed an old boy walking the other way nearing the top and again met an example of good old Yorkshire friendliness who stops and has a bit of craic.  We set back off towards the summit with Dicko making the usual jokes about how nice Lancashire people are, Philistine!   Round Hill, Gold Hill and Carlton Moor come and go with again cracking views and the sounds of gunfire in the distance and “Are we nearly there yet?” in the foreground from Sue.  This leg of the CW was quite hilly and I think Sue had set herself up for a flattish walk and was getting a bit flustered by the ‘ups and down’s ‘ presented by this part of the route.  Dicko, the loving hubby that he is likes to ensure his wife there’s only ‘another K left’ giggling as he tucks into his jelly babies….Oooh jelly babies!  The drop down to Lord Stones Café appeared to cheer Sue up slightly; I even think I saw her looking for the car park.  She weren’t too happy when I pointed at the view point at Cringle Moor and told her that’s our next destination.

So, with Sue like a coiled noodle we started up the short but steep accent to the gorgeous views that the top of ‘the Moor’ offers we trudged up a very soggy path.  The wind greeted us with some great views as we quickly headed towards the top of Kirby Bank and some particularly nice looking crags under our feet.  To the south are some lovely looking moorland again, the CW gives way to some great moorland which is one of my favourite terrains.  For some reason I see it like the Falklands for which I have always thought I’d like to visit.  I did have the chance in 1990/91 but decided to freeze my arse off in the Middle East instead sorting tash face Saddam out.  To Sues delight Dicko and I informed her we were on the home stretch and the mood lightened, we carefully negotiated the steep descent from the top of Kirby Bank and set off taking the path between Broughton Bank and the Wainstones, a popular spot for climbers and home of ‘The Steeple and The Needle’.

The main road on Clay Bank was in ear shot and the end of this leg of the Cleveland Way in sight.  There was just a small little descent down to the road where my mate Dicko decided to see how hard the floor was using his arse.  I short squeal from Sue announced to the North Yorkshire moors that her hubby had come up close and personal with the earth.  Everyone within a mile radius turned their head, only us fortunate ones were greeted with a grassy thump and blue air as my mate was helped to his feet by his wife.  Now, you know that feeling when you know you shouldn’t laugh, but due to the amount of injuries acquired by my buddy during our adventures and the fact we’re BOTH not the best side of 40, it’s always a tongue in cheek affair on the rare occasion we become ‘one’ with the land.  He got to his feet quickly and immediately and announced he was ok, thank god for that, now I can laugh!

I giggled to myself as we joined the road and turned left toward the car park and the awaiting Aygo and the sight of my limping mate you disclosed the fall had given him some grief after all to his repairing fractured ankle.

My guilt for laughing at my mate was short lived as we joked in the car on route back to Osmotherley to retrieve the dubiously parked Passat.  Yet another leg of the Cleveland Way complete’ and yet another walk without event.  After all, what would I blog about if it wasn’t for someone’s mishap!

 

A New Year Plod up Place Fell

New Year is either a full on experience for some or it’s just the other annoyance after Christmas for the ‘bar humbug’ brigade.  So, Kel and I had a look at the weather forecast after the big fat lad in red had squeezed down the Combi boiler and made a decision.  It looked rainy-check, windy-check, and snow on the peaks-double check!  We’d missed a Wainwright on our last visit due to unforeseen circumstances so we decided our quest should be Place Fell.

We decided we’d see the New Year in at the caravan in the Eden Valley, which is only a short drive from Ullswater which was ideal for our chosen fell hugging the bottom of the massive water.  We had mentioned it to Kel’s sister (whose caravan it is anyway) and she and her hubby Stu where up for bringing 2014 in the lakes.  But after a couple of texts, the party that would be heading up Place Fell was hitting 9 humans and a German shepherd.  Thankfully not all staying in the caravan!

We arrived at Pooley Bridge for lunch Tuesday and a taste of what was to come, Ullswater was like the North Sea as its waves licked its shores splashing the A592.   Snow had capped Helvellyn and its surrounding peaks and I had a fuzzy feeling in my stomach as I love ‘good weather’ when we’re hitting the fells.  Kel doesn’t join me in my like for inclement weather on hills but she would prefer to be battered with nature than walking around the shops with the endless ‘sale’ signs.  We joined Ali, Stu and Bruce at the caravan late afternoon and started to bring in the New Year with finger food and wine, lots of wine!!  We were joined by one of our friends Michelle who managed to find the caravan after a few loops around the Eden Valley and churning up the campsite in her ‘Beemer’ looking for a parking space.

Due to the planned route not taking us that far and only 4 hours on the hills at most, a half ten meet at Pooley Bridge was organised to meet the rest of the party.  So, after leaving Pooley Bridge we drove down the flooded A592 to park at the school house in Patterdale to start our attack of Place Fell.  Quick head count:  Me, Kel, Ali, Stu, Michelle, Dicko, Sue, David (Dicko’s brother), Yvette (David’s wife), Richard (Dicko’s son) and of course the big German Shepherd Bruce.  New Year greetings complete we joined the footpath sneaking between the school house buildings heading across marsh land towards Side Farm to start our ascent up Patterdale Common.  The stream that enters Ullswater down this valley was slightly high and the couple of hundred metres to the farm was ankle deep in water which prompted a few ‘girly’ giggles from the female element of the party.  Us blokes just cracked on as usual!  A testament to recent weather was soon upon us as we saw a caravan in the farmland on its roof at the adjacent campsite.  We all found it amusing but I guess some poor soul has had their world turned on its roof quite literally, oh well.

I’d looked at the map and the route wasn’t that complicated, we’d take a right behind the farm and just climb south east towards Boredale Hause.  There were a couple of other hikers heading up and smiles and New Year greetings were exchanged.  It wasn’t long before the hills gave way to the sound of pounding paws and Bruce’s relentless quest to keep his ‘flock’ in order.  The rain was pleasant and cloud cover high(ish) but the wind was getting up.  As we passed Rooking Gill the breeze got a bit more lively and the drops of rain where getting a bit bigger.  Ullswater was clear and the snow on the Helvellyn range looked very inviting making me wish we’d headed up the western side of the valley, hey ho, Place Fell was the goal and we were well on route.

We arrived at Boredale Hause and were met by another group of hikers chewing the fat.  Stu had found a dubious footpath up the fell which was immediately ‘Poo Poo’d’ by our new friends.  It looked good to me but I could see the top of the fell and it looked bleak, I knew the well-established path was clear and wanted a drama less ascent so we headed to the path that Kel and I had abandoned a few weeks before.  As we trudged up the well-worn path the wind increased and the chunks of rain got bigger.  Just before Steel Edge the weather had got quite bad, we’d stopped for a breather but the party had become stretched.  Communication was hard between the group and chins were hitting the floor.  After a brief chat, Dicko, Sue, Yvette, David and Richard decided to turn back.  There’s no point getting higher into worse weather if all you’re doing is looking down and not enjoying it.  There are certain things that people get from the hills, views, exercise, but I like the thrill! I know it’s not Everest and there’s always a way down but I’ve always loved the mountains and hills not matter what the weather, bad weather just adds to it for me.  I carry enough kit to make my ‘stay’ overnight comfortable!

With a good chunk of the party gone we cracked on leaving just the caravan dwellers heading summit wise and the weather getting worse.  Bruce the Shepherd wasn’t happy, he’d lost half this flock and it was doing his head right in.  However, at the top we managed to shelter slightly but we were greeted with a small scattering of the fluffy white stuff.  A ‘re-group’ as I like to call it was in session.  Did everyone like to carry on? Yes.  Was everyone dry? No but ok.  Where the fek had my daysack cover gone? Hanging near my arse.

Happy days and we cracked on after hoying down a Snickers and a reassessment of kit.  The snow was now driving into my unzipped pockets but I was warm and dry.  Vision was very good considering and every one was chipper.  Bruce had got over the fact he had only 5 humans to watch and cracked on negotiating the crags and the driving snow which, even he was struggling to contend with.

‘The Knight and Mortar Crags’ were negotiated extremely well, mainly down to a good path, nowt to do with navigation.  There were a good few moments where Kel had a couple of slips but nothing to write home about.  My daysack cover decided to make another bid for escape on Mortar Crag but luckily moorland to the west of us saved it from joining the waves of Ullswater.  The wind was very strong making all the snow and rain a little bit more extreme.  Michelle had grabbed my attention as we headed to the massive Sheepfold at Low Moss, she pointed out a left turn just before High Dodd which looked good.  Things were starting to be blown about, my daysack cover included plus my underpants were soaked, don’t ask me how but they were.  We banged in a left turn at the junction and headed down the path parallel with Low Moss Gill.  Immediately the wind reduced and we stopped at the disused quarry about a quarter of the way down to have a break.  Kel popped on her white bonnet and Bruce tried to eat Michelle’s sarnies, I found a lovely slate water fall and we headed off down the route.  The surface was slippery under foot and there was a couple of ‘Hip jammers’ as people slipped but recovered without hitting the deck.  We had the joy of Scalehow Force roaring away to our left as we joined another well-worn path just before Scalehow wood and a left turn south west along the side of the lake.

We were still not half way but as the wind, rain and snow were not with us chins were up and conversation was ongoing.  Well between Ali and Michelle it was, very much so, what do lasses find to talk about?!  With the steep crags to our left and the swirls on Ullswater to our right, the pace picked up and jelly babies made an appearance.  Kel was proud to produce a packet of ‘Spogs’ (liquorice with hundreds and thousands on) and smiles were on all involved.  Silver Bay went by with the water a bit closer than usual and it wasn’t long before the end of Ullswater was in sight.  The cloud was dropping and twinkles of Glennridding were inviting us from across the water.  A text from Dicko stating the rest of the party were in the ‘Ramblers Bar’  made the sight of Side Farm and the caravan on its roof very welcome and a pint to make the day perfect.  However, remember the path from the school to the farm at the start being ankle deep, it had now been replaced by a few more inches of water and a prospect of wet feet for the shorter people in the party.  Sod it, we just trudged through what the hell.  We came out the other side laughing and commenting the fact we’d just seen a black Labrador chase a swan in about two feet of water on the path, and Bruce had just stood and watched, probably in amazement. 

I came out the other side with dry feet, so did Stu.  The girls were soaked but the car was in sight and the start of the great ‘De-kit’ and a chance to steam Stu’s car up on the short ride to the ‘Ramblers Bar’ and a welcome from the rest of the starting party.  Stories exchanged and pints downed as Bruce left a dog shaped wet print on the wooden flooring.  The mystery of my wet underpants was solved by realising I’d left the zips on my waterproof over trousers open to the driving rain/snow on the summit.

AW states “Few Fells are so well favoured as Place Fell for praising neighbouring heights!”  This is true; Helvellyn graced us with its white cap the whole way almost inviting us over as if to capture souls.  Even though the weather was ‘wintery’ I wouldn’t have had it any other way!

Cleveland way part 1, Helmsley to Sutton Bank

With the night’s drawing in and the days getting shorter and shorter, day trips to the Lakes to bag Wainwrights is near impossible.  So about this time every year closer, more practical quests are sought with equally satisfying hikes and views.  We’ve completed the Teesdale and Weardale Ways in the past winters, so after great deliberation with our pal Dicko and his long suffering wife Sue, the Cleveland Way looked favourite.  It has everything to ask, hills, coastal paths and only half hour down the A19, plus I get to visit god’s country….Yorkshire!!

For those who don’t know the Cleveland Way it is basically a massive horseshoe up and around the North Yorkshire moors starting at Helmsley and ending in sunny Filey, 110 miles later.  We’ve planned to complete it over the winter, hopefully.

We’d arranged for the Dickinson’s to meet us a ours about half seven giving us enough time to get down the A19 for a fairly early start at Helmsley, but like all linear walks, two cars are needed and  drop a car off at the end, Sutton bank, to ferry us back to the start.

I would’ve preferred to get straight to Sutton Bank quickly to make a good start, I thought we’d sit on the A19 for an hour with loads of other cars and listen to Kel swearing at radio DJ’s for daring to talk in between records whilst attacking my vulnerable Aygo ‘sound system’ with her ever increasingly forceful fore finger.  For the love of god, can anyone who reads this blog and works for the highways dept, please add another lane to the A19 between Newcastle and Stockton.  Rant over and eventually we went from bumper to bumper to just our two vehicles on the road as we drove passed the sign for ‘North Yorkshire’ and clean air.  I’ve driven on this road a few times and the climb up Sutton Bank is a test for most vehicles, especially HGV’s who take the road at their own risk. 

We arrived in fairly good time in the car park at the top of Sutton Bank to leave my car and to jump in Dicko’s car to head to Helmsley, not before Dicko jumping out of his car to run to the toilets and me getting fleeced by the parking meter.  Ticket displayed and Dicko’s bladder still full (toilets closed) we sped off to Helmsley and a chance for Kel and Sue to catch up on hair length only to realise they were both wearing the exact same clothing, ha!

Arriving in gorgeous Helmsley we found a parking spot outside the church after avoiding another parking meter dressed in a striped top wearing a mask.  Boots donned and we had a look at the castle before we headed towards the start of the Cleveland Way.  The hiking gods had graced us with ideal weather, very sunny with a chill in the air.  The night had been freezing and the frosted grass and the frozen puddles gave testament to the low temperatures that had sneaked in overnight.  Unfortunately Dicko managed to find one of these frozen puddles, I had an early scare with a minor skate across some frosty leaves, but the sound of my friend’s arse hitting the tarmac after hitting one of these puddles was initially concerning as he’s just got over a broken ankle, but a quick recovery turned my concern to micky taking and the start of our new fall count of the winter, 1-0-0-0!

Photos taken near the impressive stone monument at the start of this famous walk, we started the leg.   We headed west out of the town straight out into the farmland and the muddy, but frozen, tracks sneaking up between the fields interrupting various varieties of cattle as they grazed on the frozen grass.  The pace was brisk, Dicko’s attempt to warm everyone up I think but it was welcome as the cold nipped at my hands.  The sun was beating down leaving frost in the shadows of fences and heavy hedgerows.  But the mild breeze still carried a minus temperature and hands were firmly placed in pockets.  My constant obs (observations) of my wife are always a pleasant pass time; I think from my army days I need to supplement my love of the scenery with the want to look after someone, Kel is a wonderful distraction!  The night before our walk she had placed all the kit she needed in my daysack, I’m not bothered on these walks as we not too high.  She had a massive smile on her face as she was daysack free and had a skip in her step, which always makes me smile.  However, the usual daysackless Sue had been told by Dicko she had to wear hers today, she hates wearing it and will normally put all her waterproofs on rather than carry it, but today the spring in Kel’s step was only equalled by the slump in Sue’s back.

We reached Blackdale Howl wood which blocked the sun and sent the temperature plummeting down as the path regained its cold hard surface, which was briefly softened going through the exposed fields.  Before you get to Whinney bank wood Griff Lodge appears on the right, god what a gorgeous place to live, the view from the south facing window must be incredible, damn those that live there, ha ha!  Quarry bank wood drops you down onto a small road which takes you to within touching distance of Rievaulx Abbey, or what’s left of it.  One of the good things about the winter low level walks is some of the buildings you come across, this abbey looked particularly grand but all we did was look from afar across the cow field, yep, a cow field!  That was Kel sorted for a few minutes looking at the baby ‘Cooos’ while we stood like spare parts on the road.  Dicko produced some jelly babies which was very welcome while Sue produced some liquorice allsorts that managed to distract Kel from the beef.  We set off across a lovely little bridge crossing an equally stunning stream which also had a cottage siding onto the cold running water, another house on my ‘retire to’ list.  It’s becoming a very big list!

The path stuck to the road for some time, I noticed a large amount of large, posh 4 x 4’s passing us with what looked like very grand looking people in them dressed in tweed.  Back in the forest on Bridge Road the population of pheasants seemed to soar, they were everywhere!  They did their usual trick of running like mad instead of flying away, which as I’ve mentioned before would be my choice of getting about at this time of year for game birds, take to the wing and you could be looking down the business end of a 12 bore held by Harry the Spaniel’s dad.  We passed a few ponds on our right with the world’s supply of mallards, we were obviously in game shooting country.  We hit a cross roads in the route and entered Callister Wood and time for bait.  The owners have provided a wooden bench which was very welcome.  Sue produced an array of lovely sandwiches which Dicko obviously complained about, even though he ate.  I had my lovely broth and some ham and cheese sarnies which went down well.  I didn’t sit down like the others as I’m still waiting for Christmar to get my body warmer that the others don on the breaks to keep them warm, so I scoffed stood up and I wasn’t long before we were back on the path and heading up to Cold Kirby.  It’s a steepish rise up through the forest into the sunshine.  The route was littered with the carcases of various game birds which strengthened my shooting area theory, me and Dicko suggested a day shooting which I thought was a cracking idea, if we were both millionaires as they charge thousands for the day as far as I know.  Maybe clay pigeon shooting is more our bag.

We strolled through Cold Kirby like kids in a sweet shop, pointing at different cottages and houses saying, “I’d have that one, no that one, no that one!”  I think Sue was eyeing up different properties for when Dicko retires soon, I am of course in full support of them spending his ‘lumper’ on a cottage in the countryside!

We pushed on to Cote Moor and our first sighting of deer this winter, another benefit of low level winter walks.  The pair of Does (I think) were stood on the track in Hotel plantation that gave us about 30 seconds of their attention before running off into the forest, not before Kel could get a long distance piccy with her phone.  We crossed the A170 onto High Town Bank Road and made our way down the road towards the Gliding Club and had the pleasure of seeing a few of the flimsy planes taking off and coming into land.  Dicko expressed his desire to go up in one of these toy planes, I admit I do have a hatred for flying in planes, I can spend all day in a helicopter no problem but not planes.  Plus, these gliders have collapsible wings which get closed down to transport them.  If you can collapse them on the ground, they can collapse at 10,000 feet so no thanks.  The route leads you to the top of the famous white horse land mark.  You can’t actually get the gist of the horse from the top but there’s an info board near its ear if you wanna know the craic.  Continue the route towards Knowlson Drop you’re in for a treat, there’s an info board with a painting from Turner, and the view is breath taking.  It’s one of the views in the area where the industrial area isn’t in view, it’s gonna give an appearance later on in the walk which I might mention.  The view of Sutton bank from the top shows the scale of the accent for vehicles, no wonder it’s had so many vehicles grind to a halt hallway up.

We got back to my Aygo a few minutes later and the sun was still blazing down on us.  My car very rarely gets passengers in the back so 4 sweating adults steamed my windows up straight away.  Sue’s bickering with her having to use her daysack continued into the car back to Helmsley and into the pub for our post walk pint.

A good start to this part of the walk, the weather was great, company good as always and the views were absolutely stunning.  It’s great to be back in Yorkshire, I’ve done a few walks on this route in the later stages a few years ago, the eastern side of the horseshoe is fairly demanding but fulfilling.  Stay tuned for the next few miles.

 

Beda Fell

Whenever you put boot on fell, you have to take all sorts of factors into consideration; weather, terrain, route, gear and your party’s ability.  There are plenty of benefits of walking in the mountains and hills, but there are also things that could go wrong.  Our walk up Beda Head luckily didn’t need outside help but it goes to show, even seasoned hikers have problems.

It’s Friday and Kel and me were on dayshift, I was set to finish at 5pm and Kel at 4pm, so it was up to her to get home first, pack my car and get all sorted for a quick blast down the A66 for when I pull up on the drive in her shed, I mean car.  We had a passenger just for the journey; one of my mates had set his family off to Center Parcs in the morning, arranging for us to drop him off on the night so we had a slight detour before settling in the caravan.  We were on the road for roughly half five so things looked good as it only usually took us just short of 1 ½ hours to get to Morland, and the detour wouldn’t add much, so we should be settled for 8pm planning our route for the next day.  The rain was pounding down but, hey ho that’s to be expected.  Process was good until Bowes and the road cone fest, can anyone tell me why the road works are there!?  Bang to a halt and an hour later we managed to come out of the other end and back on our journey.  We drove up the long road to Center Parcs and dropping our mate off to tackle the resorts fierce security while we made our way to our own peaceful, quiet resort, Aaahhhhhh!

As the rain bounced down on the tin roof of our, errgh hum, Kel’s sisters caravan we cast our eye over OL5 map and tried to marry it up with the go4awalk.com route which we’re using to get all the peaks in to accomplish our Wainwright goal before I’m 50!  Route sorted and after a couple of night caps, it was bed time.

Next day driving down the side of Ullswater the weather looked good and as we drove through Howtown there were a few cars parked at the bottom of Hallin Fell so a lot of people were already on the fells.   We parked at Garth Heads (427186) near where the footpath crosses the small road up Boredale.

We planned to take the footpath east up Beda Fell to the ‘head’ then  drop down to Boredale Hause then up onto Place Fell and heading north to High Dodd then back to the car.  This was taking in two Wainwrights and a good few views, plus a post walk pint in the Pooley Bridge Inn and Kel’s favourite cider.  Boots on and straight into a steep climb up to Howsteadbrow and Winter Crag, the temperature was that awkward type of temperature where it’s slightly too warm for a fleece but just too chilly for just a base layer.  We trooped up to the crag and turned right heading to the top and the ground levelled and as we got closer to the top Ullswater revealed itself and with the clear skies every fell in the west could be scene.  Unless it’s driving rain or blowing a hooly I normally like a good little chin wag and it never seems to amaze me that Kel can name most of the fells from every angle.  Our ‘view stops’ are usually a feast of Kel turning a full 360 degrees pointing and saying, “Helvellyn, Sheffield Pike, Gowbarrow etc etc!”  But today seemed very quiet on the stops with Kel just appearing to look down and breath heavily, more than usual.  My concerned questions were met with “Aye I’m alright!” and “just tired, maybe too much Pinot last night!”  Too much Pinot!!??  I was concerned; it’d take a lot of Pinot for her to say it’s affected her the next day.  I remember when we went up Helvellyn the day after a good sesh.  We’d stopped at Parkfoot, which isn’t really our place but we were with camping friends.  Our mates weren’t hill walkers but like a good BBQ and the alcohol that went with a good pile of meat and buns.  Anyway needless to say our attack at Helvellyn was a bit ropey and we were sweating 14% but Kel was still chipper and we still made good pace.

But today was different, her chin was down for her not to be talking, this was a concern.  I knew that if she didn’t perk up on the flat on the summit I’d have to monitor her without making a fuss.  The summit came and went, she’d smashed a ‘Snickers’ in and we’d started looking for the path down to Boredale Hause.  We’d been blessed with cracking weather today and I was taking in the surrounding peaks, but the guided tour of their names was still missing and I was getting a bit worried about my weary wife.

As we dropped off the top over Freeze Beck and to a possible bait stop, I noticed a slight spring in Kel’s step, she’d said on the top that if she felt this rough at the ‘hause’ we’d be cutting short which I’d whole heartedly agreed.  Now, this ‘spring in her step’ didn’t mean all was good.  During my time in the forces I’d had many times where I’d had to monitor individuals who’d just been poorly.  Nothing to do with fitness as I’ve known the ‘Racing snakes’ who ran the fells be taken down by stomach bugs during exercises in the mountains of Wales.  The art is to watch faces and mannerisms; fatigue comes in three stages as far as I’m concerned.  Initially quiet and getting quite tired with more than frequent stops and not saying much.  Then, a second wind where there’s about half hour of “yeah I’m ok now” and picking up the pace.  This second stage is where you have to wait and rest, sit down and have bait.  If you’re walking bud is knackered and has fatigue caused by whatever, they’ll fail whilst resting.  If you don’t clock this this second stage and crack on, it may get serious about an hour later.  I’ve seen the third stage and many people have collapsed and CASEVAC’D (casualty evacuation) off a hill because someone failed to recognised the second stage.  The casualty won’t know and will think life’s good and try to crack on, that’s why it’s important to have a monitor buddy to call the shots.  You might get “What ya goin on about I’m fine!” but take the grief cos if they’d gone up and collapsed you’d be feeling worse.

We sat and started to have bait, it was a busy crossing with walkers coming up from all directions, Patterdale, Boredale and a few coming from Angle Tarn direction.  We perched on a rock and tucked into our butties; Kel just nibbled and nibbled then stopped eating.  I refer back to my previous paragraph where I mentioned mannerisms.  Kel had settled by the side of a small boulder, about shoulder height, and had lent against it.  Next thing I knew her eyes closed for a brief moment and there you go, stage two.  She’s never done that before ever, so with a slightly concerned grin, I told her we were getting off the hills.  She said OK!

The journey down Boredale confirmed my prognosis as Kel admitted she did not feel herself.  She perked up slightly again but I had no concerns as we were dropping down to farm land and a flooded path and watch a big black cloud covering Beda and Place fells ready to bolster Boredale Beck on its way into Ullswater.

I wasn’t concerned that Place Fell hadn’t been bagged, to be fair, it’s not going anyway.  I was just glad I got my wife off the hills before anything bad.  It’s mainly a man thing too, no way am I gonna phone mountain rescue unless necessary, I would carry Kel, her daysack and mine off a fell before I used a much unfunded and overworked resource like mountain rescue.

We reached the car dry and in good spirits for a change and for once, I drove to the pub with my boots on instead of ditching them for sandals for a ‘breather’.

I hope people that read this blog don’t think I’m a ‘know it all’ and a total knob.  I have had past encounters with all sorts of stuff and while passing on my experience, I’m not the font of all, just know some stuff!

PS, my new boots are the dog’s swingers!!