A wet wild camp in the Brecon Beacons

7/8.5.14
Walking with; Nathan

  Although my Granny has lived in the area for over twenty years my experience of walking in this area is pretty limited, although I enjoyed my trip there this time last year http://www.comewalkwithmeuk.co.uk/2013/05/south-wales-wanderings.html. We were well aware that the forecast was pretty poor so were pleasantly surprised to arrive at the remote parking spot on Gospel Pass (the highest road pass in Wales) with hints of blue sky still peeking out from the cloud. The Pass is apparently named after the 12th Century crusaders who preached and raised funds on the pass. It's a desolate spot but an iconic one within the park.
  We set off onto Twmpa or Lord Hereford's Knob and tramped across the marshy land watching the Wild Ponies and foals and crossing our fingers that the weather would continue to hold. We were looking for a protected spot to camp given the forecast and eventually came to the conclusion that although it meant some more mileage if we could cross the valley and make our way up to the Mynydd Du forest we'd be liely to be able to find a sheltered and protected spot. We passed the Capel-Y-Ffin monastery, now a riding centre, and after a short, steep switchbacked scramble made our way over to the forest where after some searching we found a patch of pine needles flat and wide enough to accommodate my tent and Nathan's bivvi! After tea we had a quick night nav before the conditions started to move towards inclemency and we retreated to our respective shelters!
   Breakfast done, tent packed and then the rain started! It stayed with us for most of the day as we made our way along the forest edge before dropping down to the valley floor and coming across the beautiful ruined abbey at Llanthony. The abbey is an abandoned Augustinian Priory founded in 1100 on the site of the ruined chapel of Wales's patron saint, St David. It's a beautiful spot and well worth a wander around. Leaving the abbey we headed up on to the Hatterall Hill ridge and followed the six odd km ridge back to Hay Bluff and eventually the car! The conditions were grim. The rain was persistent, the wind gusted brutally and continually threatened to knock us off our feet and the path was mired in bog and water. It was reminiscent of The Pennine Way, miles of boggy marsh with the real feeling of something potentially nasty, but the flagged path providing a degree of security. The Beacons weren't shown at their best in these conditions, but I've seen more than enough to justify a return visit in the not too distant future!

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A Wasdale Wild camp

1/2/3.4.14
Walking with; Al

Choosing my favourite Lakeland valley is a little bit like being asked to name the best player in the Welsh rugby team of the 70s or the best pub in Manchester, there are many, many viable options in the frame. However, just as the names of JPR and "The Briton's Protection" end up coming to the fore more times than any other contender can manage, Wasdale is their Lake District equivalent. Ennerdale, Eskdale and Borrowdale all have their qualities and charms but in Wasdale you feel you are properly in real mountain country. It has the deepest lake and highest peak in England, it has "The Wasdale Head Inn" beloved of generations of climbers, the view of the lake from Scafell Pike was voted Britain's favourite and it is home to Joss Naylor, the greatest ever fell runner, it is a land worthy of the superlatives!
  Al and I parked up on the shores of Wastwater and after shouldering overnight packs (a bit of a shock to the system) headed off up Greendale Gill in distinctly un-Lakeland like sunshine. Greendale Tarn is beautifully situated between Seatallan and Middle Fell and after a quick lunch stop it was onwards in the direction of Haycock. The cloud level was low, but there was little breeze and the views down Nether Beck were sublime. The summit of Haycock was attained after a short, rocky scramble and it was on to Scoat Fell masked in cloud. Luckily, the cloud lifted and there stood the magnificent ridge of Steeple jutting out toward the re-wilding Ennerdale, another runner in the race for best valley. Wainwright said of Steeple, “Seen on a map, it commands the eye and quickens the pulse, seen in reality it does the same“ and he is right! It's a short scramble along the ridgeline to reach the summit and it's expansive views over Ennerdale are well worth the detour. From Steeple it was on to Pillar, the eighth highest peak in the Lakes, and a huge, broad summit topped with a wind shelter and number of cairns. The descent from Pillar is hard on the knees and by the time we reached the Black Sail Pass the packs were feeling heavy and our bellies growling, so we decided to set up camp for the night just above the second of the two small tarns in a perfectly sheltered spot. There was barely a breath of wind and the clouds were rolling over the hills into Ennerdale as we sat and cooked up our tea. It was a clear night and under a starry sky I did a little night nav whilst Al enjoyed the utter peace and solitude of this fantastic camp spot.
  A cuppa and porridge pot watching the sunrise....not a bad way to start the day, and then we were away to Kirk Fell. The scramble up Kirkfell Crags is a decent challenge with full pack but it wasn't long before we were crossing the expansive plateau towards the summit with views of the Scafell massif and Wastwater far below. Great Gable came next, a genuine contender for the best mountain in the Lakes and squeaking in at a disappointingly specific 899m! The climb up was not as gruelling as I remembered and it wasn't too long before we were stood before the Fell and Rock Climbing Club memorial plaque, there were still plenty of poppies and crosses remembering the fallen. Last time I'd been up there I'd ended up descending the screes in a state of exhilarated terror but this time we took the steep, but less terrifying route down to Styhead. Styhead is the Spaghetti Junction of this part of the world and as we approached we saw our first other walkers of the day, coming from all directions, we were amongst those carrying on to "The Corridor Route". Having only ascended Scafell Pike from Wasdale before this was a pleasantly walker free route with Wasdale Head sitting far below and the awesome slash of Piers Gill cutting through the rock beneath Lingmell. Ravens circled overhead as we hit Lingmell Coll and slogged up the last ascent to temporarily be the highest people in the whole of England. Scafell Pike often disappoints in terms of views due to cloud and rain but the views today were some of the best I've seen from this particular summit. As the highest peak in the country it is rarely quiet on the summit and it's less than pretty top is also rarely litter free. It's perplexing that anyone willing to expend the energy to climb to the top is unwilling to expend the additional energy to carry their crap off the top with them. It's hardly an original rant, but no less heartfelt for all that. We dropped down to Mickledore and from there descended the scree slope down to Hollow Stones before following the well trodden path down Brown Tongue to the lake and then on alongside the forboding body of water to our cars and a welcome rest.
   Al had to head home but I fancied a wee bit more navigation practice so headed over to the excellent Grasmere YHA for a well earned kip. I left the hostel the next morning and made my way up towards the lumpy, bumpy land between Brigstone and Blindtarn Mosses! It's a great area for navigation and I wrestled with my 1:50,000, which I still find a tougher scale to work with, but eventually had some success finding my way around the area and enjoyed the views from Lang How down towards Langdale. The path that skirts the summit took me round to Silver How and after a final view down towards Grasmere and Rydal it was back to the hostel and home after a cracking couple of days of Lakeland exploration.

The Wild Places by Robert Macfarlane

Just before Christmas there was a post on the "Wild Camping" Facebook page that I am a member of that effectively challenged the notion that "wild camping" is possible on the overcrowded island that is Britain today. It provoked a lot of debate and, to my mind, a lot of comment was coloured by the kind of machismo that is all too prevalent amongst the type of camper who thinks that slinging a tarp over a branch and spending a night snoozing under the stars makes them Ray Mears! However, the basic point is one worth considering, wild camping hotspots like Angle and Sprinkling Tarn can at times seem as crowded as some valley campsites. It's a point that the eloquent and thought provoking Robert Macfarlane explores in this fascinating and inspiring book.
Macfarlane starts with the premise that "Time and again, wildness has been declared dead in Britain and Ireland", that humanity has touched every corner of our homeland and that therefore the landscape cannot be seen as wild in a way, say, such as Alaska or the Australian outback. He then sets out in the company of other outdoorsman such as the wild swimming evangelist, Roger Deakin (to whom the book is dedicated), to disprove this notion and find the wildness in the differing habitats and extremities of the country. Herein lies the beauty of this elegantly written account. Whilst surely nobody would dispute that areas such as Rannoch Moor and Cape Wrath have a genuine claim to wilderness, and Macfarlane's explorations of these areas are inspiring and revel in the lack of human footprint, in many ways the most interesting segments of the book is where he finds wilderness in areas far less remote and seemingly far more affected by human activity.
He explores the hedgerows of the Norfolk countryside nosing his way along Badger trod paths into the heart of thickets. The Holloways of Dorset, to which the author recently dedicated a new book, are explored, the comparison with other human landscapes reclaimed by nature is poignant and instructive, the wild rapidly reclaims that which we abandon. He delights in finding Mountain Hares on a windswept Tor in the heart of the Peak District, the most visited National Park in England hemmed in as it is by the industrial powerhouse cities of the North.
Macfarlane's explorations lead him to draw up an individual map of the wild spots of the country ranging from Ben Hope to Lakeland's Red Pike (one of my personal favourites) and onto Blakeney Spit and Ynys Enlli, many of them places shaped by human contact but places that now have an indefinable feeling of the wild about them. However, the book ends as it starts with the author in the Beech woodlands walking distance from his Cambridge home. In the first chapter he laments "the roar of the nearby road" and the "junk heaps.....brick rubble, water swollen plywood, rags of newspaper" he finds as he explores the area. The book ends, however, with Macfarlane seeing the woodland through fresh eyes. "Wildness was here, too, a short mile south of the town in which I lived. It was set about by roads and buildings, much of it was menaced, and some of it was dying. But at the moment the land seemed to ring with a wild light".
Britain is not Alaska, I am not Ray Mears, but Macfarlane is a man who through this book celebrates those moments where we can find ourselves removed from the humdrum of day to day life and feel as if we are in wild country. Not long ago I was on Loughrigg, equidistant from Grasmere and Keswick, the A591 running along Rydal Water below me, dusk was falling and I found myself in a boggy hollow next to a tiny tear shaped tarn. The stars started to show through the cloud, the wind gusted loudly above me pushing a Raven ahead of it and I could neither see, nor hear any sign of humanity and it felt wild to me....

All quotes are taken from the book itself

Walking and wild camping in Galloway

6-8.10.13
Walking with; Nathan

When I find myself writing that my previous walking experience in Scotland was limited to a family holiday 25 years ago and a straight up and down "Three Peaks" experience on Ben Nevis I feel slightly ashamed and a bit of a fraud. It's like those Aussies who claim to have "done" England when they spent nine months living in a bed sit in Earl's Court or claiming to have visited Thailand when you had a three hour layover at Bangkok airport. So, there was a situation to be rectified and this was the occasion to rectify it and sneak in a couple of nights out in the hills as well.
Galloway seemed accessible for a short layover (although it was still a five hour drive from Manchester) and I met Nathan in Glen Trool. I'd killed a bit of time at the Visitor's Centre learning about the status of Galloway Forest as a "Dark Sky" park....sadly over the three days we were out we barely saw a glimpse of sky, let alone any of the spectacular starry skies the area is noted for. We set off along the Southern Upland Way, a long distance footpath that runs from coast to coast across Scotland. The Way here is basically a forestry road so it was easy underfoot but hardly the most scenic part of what is reported to be a spectacular path. We climbed out of the valley and skirted around the shores of Loch Dee, looking atmospheric with the low cloud shrouding the shores. At one stage we startled a deer which bounded across the path in front of us before disappearing at high speed into the depths of the forest. As the light began to fade we found ourselves looking for a site to pitch our tents but were continually thwarted by the saturated ground and Tussock Grass, it grew darker still and we eventually decided we'd no option other than to seek a spot in amongst the dense ranks of Pine Trees. Headtorches on we struck out into the serried ranks eventually finding a flattish hillock just wide enough for two tents. The accumulated matting of many years of pine needles made for a surprisingly comfy bed and not until I was awakened by the distant rumble of quarry vehicles, (which in my sleepy state I was convinced was a tree strimmer heading straight for our camp), was my sleep disturbed! 
We climbed out of the forest and onto the tussocky slopes of Darrou, somewhere on those slopes I lost my main waterbottle (though thankfully I had a spare), I suspect it may be some time before anyone retrieves it, there was little sign the area sees much traffic. After much huffing and puffing we made the ridge line and continued forth in cloud and high winds over the peaks of Little Millyea, Meikle Millyea, Milldown, Millfire and eventually onto Corserine, the highest peak of the Rhinns of Kells. In spite of the fierce winds and inhospitable terrain we saw a Ring Ouzel and a Peregrine but no sign of other human life. Our map showed a forested descent, but once we hit the lower ridge for some superb views below the clouds it became clear to us that the slopes had recently been cleared, indeed it was here we saw our only other human over the three days driving a bulldozer on the recently denuded slopes. It was tough underfoot but we made the valley floor and after watching another deer made the long, slow ascent to the Nick of the Dungeon. I'd heard many words of praise for Loch Enoch (Icy loch) as a wild camping spot with it's white granite sand beaches and surrounding heights, but the clouds were dropping, the ground was saturated and it was needs must. We crawled into our tents, cooked up some tea and hunkered down for a wild night of wind and rain. It was the first time my Wild Country Hoolie tent had been tested, after the sad demise of the Vango Banshee, and it stood up admirably. It also has the advantage of being exceptionally spacious for a backpacking tent and I was glad of the extra room as I tried to air/dry off kit ahead of our last push up the Merrick the next morning.
Tuesday dawned grey, but as we picked our way round the loch shore we saw a single glimpse of sunshine and blue sky and a taste of how spectacular Loch Enoch might look under Summer skies. However, by the time we started to ascend Redstone Rig, it was back to cloud, mizzle and grey as the loch disappeared beneath us. Merrick, like Corserine, has a large grassy plateau as a summit and it was blowing a gale up there so we descended quickly down the tourist path over Benyellery and back down into the valley.
So, do I have the taste for Scottish adventure now? You bet. It was rough underfoot, wet and cloudy, but it felt remote and wild and I have never gone 48 hours in the Lakes or Snowdonia without bumping into another walker. My appetite has definitely been well and truly whetted!

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A Snowdon wild camping trip

8/9/10.7.13
Walking with; Nathan and Tim

What better to way to break another illness enforced lay off than a three day/two night wild camping expedition in the heart of Snowdonia. The scorching forecast proved to be accurate and there was plenty of blood, sweat and tears, but, more importantly, some stunning views, fewer than expected people for the majority of the walk, a couple of lovely campsites,some very necessary swimming and the odd bit of gorgeous wildlife.
Nathan and Tim were heading down from the Lakes and I was coming up from Manchester to rendezvous in Rhyd Ddu, the inevitable traffic delays meant we didn't get going til noon, but you know what they say about mad dogs and Englishmen.......It's been a long time since I did a full pack walk and setting off up the steep, slippery slopes of Y Garn with temperatures in the high 20s reminded me that it can be substantially more challenging than a short dander with a lightly loaded daypack. The views back towards the Snowdon range were outstanding, there was not a cloud in the sky and by the time we hit the top for lunch we were already feeling it in our legs. The coastal views and the flapjacks provided by Tim's Mum revived us though and soon we were scrambling up the Nantlle Ridge and watching the landscape open up below us. Ravens soared on the thermals, Swifts and Swallows displayed their aerobatic skills and in the distance Moel Hebog sat imperious waiting for us on Day 2. I'd walked the ridge once before (http://www.comewalkwithmeuk.co.uk/2012/01/nantlle-ridge.html) in very different conditions and had sat next to the Obelisk on Tal-Y-Mignedd with my hands freezing to my cup of soup, this time we were battling to squeeze into the shade cask by this enigmatic landmark. It was seriously hot and so after watching the Rescue chopper hovering above Drws-Y-Coed we decided to descend into Cwm Pennant where we'd identified a tempting looking reservoir (no longer used) in the shadow of Moel Lefn. We descended the steep slope, through the remains of an abandoned mining village and found a superb pitch on the marshy flats below the mine buildings and above the reservoir. A waterfall tumbled down the rocks behind us, we swam in the "bracing" waters of the pool, watched a couple of climbers on Bwlch Sais, got examined by a very inquisitive Buzzard and cooked up a storm on our gas stoves, "What bliss it was to be alive......."
We'd decided on an early start to try an get some mileage and height under our belts before the worst of the sun and after breaking camp we followed the climber's path up onto the scrubby lower slopes of Moel Lefn. It was rough walking for a while, rocky underfoot and we plodded up the steep, heathery ground acquiring a collection of nicks and scratches for good measure. We followed the edge of the Beddgelert forest around Moel Lefn, trying to hug the shady margins and enjoying the occasional patches of cool air found in the mouths of the multiple caves and mine entrances that dotted the hillside. After another hour or so we struck up the slopes onto the breezy ridge and followed into up onto the summit of Moel Yr Ogof where a fruitless search for the cave of Owain Glyndwr, last of the great Welsh warrior princes, detained us....as did the views, the cool breeze and the thought of the slog up Hebog still to come! We stopped at a beautiful pool between the two mountains, Cotton grass dotted the valley and we watched Newts swimming in the peaty waters of the pool, but Hebog awaited us still. I'd been up it only a few weeks before from the other side (http://www.comewalkwithmeuk.co.uk/2013/06/a-snowdonian-overnighter.html) but, even so, the views from the top were still breathtaking and worth every ounce of effort it took us to get to the top. After a day and a half of near solitude our descent into Beddgelert was littered with sweating, red faced walkers struggling their way to the top! Eventually we reached the village where we took advantage of refrigerated drinks and killed another superheated hour swimming in the River Glaslyn. Our plan for the night was to camp in the lumpy, bumpy area above the village and after the odd navigational blip and some interesting industrial heritage rusting in the wilds we eventually located the small lake we'd planned to camp at. Unfortunately the swathes of Cotton grass and Spagnum Moss told us that the whole valley bowl was saturated. Exhausted, heather scratched and sweaty this was not good news.....Nathan scrambled up a steep slope however and found a gem of a site on a saddle with some protection from the wind (what little there was) and stunning views in all directions! Eventually the nesting Ravens on a neighbouring crag took the hint and stopped "Cronking" and after eating a Chicken curry with views all the way to the coast and a couple of hands of cards we retreated from the midges into our tents.
Day 3 dawned and although we were on the move by shortly after 8am, it was already seriously warm! The path marked on the map didn't seem to be marked on the ground so we tramped, slithered and slid through marsh, bracken and heather before emerging on the tiny lane that led us towards Nantgwynan and the foot of The Watkin Path up Snowdon. Road walking is rarely my favourite activity but as we passed the odd farmhouse and a few fields of cows and sheep it was nice to get some easy miles underfoot. Eventually we hit civilisation once more and after wandering up the first section of The Watkin Path past the National Trust work on their new Hydro-Electric programme we angled off towards the pass back towards Rhyd Ddu. It was our final ascent and the cloud (for the first time in three days) did us the favour of gently drifting across the sun. We reached the pass and began the gentle descent through substantial slate workings back down to Rhyd Ddu where a  much needed ice cream from the tiny tea room provided a fitting end to a thoroughly excellent trip!
It was a truly exhilarating three days of proper adventure and shows just how wonderful and wild Snowdonia can be as soon as you take even one or two steps off the most beaten tracks.....It was also the first outing from my new Wild Country Hoolie tent and I am pleased to report initial impressions are very positive. It's spacious and easy to put together although it didn't really have to deal with any challenging conditions, still, so far so good!

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Mountain Leader Training

Off on my Mountain Leader Training on Saturday morning with Thornbridge Outdoors. Five days in the Peak District and an overnight expedition in Snowdonia! Should be an interesting and challenging couple of days!

Well that's training completed and it was a challenge but brilliant in spite of the worst weather that The Peak District and Snowdonia could throw at us, including eight hours of solid rain on the Kinder Plateau and snow, hail and a torrential deluge on our overnight expedition on Snowdon!!

A Wasdale Weekender

18/19.6.12
Walking with; Greg

Working on Saturdays and Sundays mean my weekends are now Mondays and Tuesdays and with an operation looming at the tail end of next week I was determined to make the most of my last week of freedom and full health. I'd decided to try a wild camp on the Monday night and then meet Greg on Tuesday for an ascent of Scafell Pike as a prelude to his attempt on the Three Peaks in a couple of weeks time (http://www.justgiving.com/Greg-Price0).
I parked up at the Wasdale Head carpark after the fantastic drive along the shores of Wastwater, England's deepest lake. With the sun shining and barely any clouds in the sky it was easy to see why ITV viewers voted Wastwater "Britain's Favourite view". Walking away from the lake I turned in the opposite direction to the group heading towards England's highest mountain and climbed the bridleway above Wasdale Head Hall and soon hit the boggy moorland between Illgill Head and Hard Rigg. Ahead of me sat Burnmoor Tarn with the forboding (and reputedly haunted) lodge standing sentinel above it. The Lodge was built for hunting by Lord Leconfield in the latter half of the Nineteenth century and it looks pretty dilapidated and forboding nowadays! Whilst it looked like a reasonable spot for a wild camp I thought it might be a bit busy so after lunch at the foot of Hardrigg Gill, watching swallows dipping and swooping over the moor, I headed up behind the Lodge onto Boat How for some fantastic views back towards the Scafell Massif, down Miterdale and across to Eel Tarn. Deciding Eel Tarn looked like a decent camping spot I struck off across the marsh and tussock grass which made for slow progress before fording Whillan Beck and making slow, sweaty progress up to the Tarn. The name is apparently nothing to do with what might dwell in the waters but rather a bastardisation of "Evil Tarn" which apparently comes from the ancient Norse name. There were Black Headed Gulls nesting near the shore and Canada Geese and goslings on the water, not to mention Skylarks and numerous Bog Bean plants poking up above the surface. It is sandwiched between the beautifully named, Peelplace Noddle and Great Barrow which I eventually decided would be where I pitched my Vango Banshee for the night.
After brewing up and cooking tea on my trangia, I spent a very pleasant evening sitting in the sunshine reading my book (Last Orders by Graham Swift-recommended) and enjoying the views down to Eskdale and across to Harter Fell.
In spite of the beautifully sunny evening, about 4am I was woken up by the pitter patter of rain that rapidly increased in tempo and volume. I pulled my sleeping bag up over my head and hoped it would go away, but a couple of hours later I was taking down my tent in the rain with views of very little but cloud and a few disgruntled sheep! I headed down into Eskdale and followed the road which ran alongside the Eskdale-Ravenglass Railway, through the picturesque hamlet of Boot before reaching Eskdale Green where Greg was going to pick me up. A few delays here and there gave me time to peruse the village shop and the display of local history in St.Bega's church including the remarkable photos of Mary Fair. By the time Greg arrived the sky was blue and the clouds were scudding into the distance and the world felt like a good place to be! We crossed Lingmell Gill and began the climb, sweating and puffing our way up Brown Tongue and through the Hollow Stones under the stern gaze of Scafell Pike and the marginally smaller Scafell. There was a lot of traffic on the path but we eventually made the summit and were rewarded with a cooling breeze and 360 degree views taking in Buttermere, Styhead Tarn and Great Gable and away on the coast the hulking shape of Sellafield loomed large. The descent was quicker with more wonderful views of Wastwater, a buzzard circling overhead and as we got towards the bottom some welcome shade and splashes of cooling water from Lingmell Beck. Job done and "Good Luck" to all the 3 Peakers in two weeks time!
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