Category: Places

Spontaneous Surf Trip, Perranporth, August ’18

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Bored of being home for five days straight, I roped some friends into a spontaneous surfing trip. We left Winchester on Friday evening and stopped for dinner on the way, not arriving in Perranporth on the North Cornwall coast until the early hours of Saturday. We were fortunate enough to discover Droskyn car park, which had plenty of space and grassy areas where my friends could (naughtily) pitch their tents.

 

First light on Saturday morning revealed how lucky we were to have found that car park. I looked out of the van window over the long, wide expanse of sand, backed by picturesque cliffs and flanked by the open sea on one side and the colourful little town on the other. There were public loos by the car park (which were unlocked shortly after we got up) and it only cost £5.50 to park all day – much cheaper than elsewhere. A quick tip if you go – get there early as although there were just a handful of cars/vans there overnight (no charge), it got busy during the day.

 

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The view from Droskyn car park

 

We walked down the hill into the town (about 10mins), had breakfast at a little café and found surf boards to hire for £6/day at Piran Surf – much cheaper than anywhere I’d been in Newquay. A 10-min walk to the water and we were splashing around in no time, attempting to surf like the bunch of idiots we always have been and always will be.

 

Bertie brought his own board, although it had been neglected for a long time – I liked its small size but it needed a clean and a sex-wax-up as it was frustratingly slippery. The 8ft foam boards we’d hired were really good (for beginners!) as they were buoyant, grippy and stable, if cumbersome. I reluctantly followed everyone’s advice and wore a wetsuit, which with hindsight I definitely don’t regret.

 

The waves were 4-5ft and spaced fairly nicely, although sometimes they all came at once and then not at all. We all improved as the day went on; I just regret not having a board mount for the GoPro (the adhesive takes 24hrs or so to stick), as the footage from my wrist strap isn’t the best. I did plenty of standing up and surfing around (not into) people – promise!

 

After a full day surfing (except a short break for an obligatory pasty) we hit the pub for dinner and ended up playing pool and making friends in The Deck, an “interesting” bar (I later found out we probably should have gone to the Watering Hole, but that can happen next time). A few too many ciders later and I was “assisted” up the hill to bed.

 

We woke on Sunday to heavy heads and a beach shrouded in sea fog. We met our Cornish friend for breakfast and hired boards again, then messed around on the beach waiting for the fog to clear. Just as Simon, Matt and Bruce were about to give up and go home, the veil lifted and the lifeguards opened the sea. We surfed at the North then the South end of the beach, eventually and reluctantly deciding that we should head home.

 

Our debut album cover
Waiting for the fog to clear

 

I’d recommend Perranporth over Newquay any day, so much so that I wrote a blog post on it – read it here. Overall, I had a great weekend in a lovely place with decent company. Note to self for next time : swallow less a) seawater, and b) cider.

 

Cheddar Gorge in a Day

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Spontaneous trips rarely disappoint. A couple of weeks ago my friend Simon went to Somerset to have a high-top roof added to his VW camper. He asked the previous evening if I fancied a day trip and naturally I did, so I was up and heading West at 6am.

We dropped the van off a few miles from Weston Super Mare and walked half an hour to the nearest village, Banwell. I was vaguely aware that the town of Cheddar (I’ll try and avoid cheesy jokes) was nearby and that Cheddar Gorge was supposed to be an interesting landform, so I told the bus driver to take us there.

Cheddar village is pretty and clearly very touristy, with its plethora of shops and cafes. It’s a short and attractive walk from the gorge itself, its limestone walls towering dramatically above the buildings on three sides. The vast rock faces are interspersed with plenty of lush greenery, and the place has a rugged, isolated feel, like it could be a village nestled away in the Alps.

We had breakfast and did a bit of work in the Costa (Si’s choice) opposite Lion Rock, a distinctive hump of rock at the gorge end of the village. Admittedly it was the most picturesque Costa I’ve ever been in. With no plan to do anything specific, we wandered along the road to Gough’s Cave, a 115m deep, 3.4km long cave system. Si insisted on paying for us both to go in, so we bumbled in like stereotypical backpack-wearing tourists and made use of the free audioguides.

The cave system is really impressive, with its huge, high chambers, sci-fi-esque rock formations and dimly lit, glassy pools (I suspect they’re man-made…). The audioguide is interesting if you’re a huge geek like me, particularly the bits about how the rocks are formed and David Lafferty’s “underground endurance” world record – he stayed in the cave for 130 days in 1966. And I thought I sulked.

Chamber in Gough’s Cave
Stalactites and stalagmites

Gough’s cave took about 45minutes, after which time we were hungry already. We had a nice ploughman’s lunch in Café Gorge a couple of minutes down the road, then walked back towards the village to climb Jacob’s Ladder – the 274-step strong stairway up to the gorge walk along the top of the cliff.

Fast forward up the stairs and along the rocky, uphill route towards the top of the gorge, the path opened out onto a rugged landscape of dramatic, dark grey rock faces and thriving trees, shrubs and grasses. Behind us to the West was the comparatively flat landscape of Somerset, with its green fields, lines of dark trees and red-roofed villages, and we could see for miles out to Bristol Channel.

We strayed off the path towards the jutting out “fingers” of rock that towered above Cheddar. As I got to the edge of one I was taken by surprise at just how high and steep it was – I was surrounded by sheer, vertigo-inducing drops on three sides and I could see down to the winding road way below as cars scooted along like tiny, colourful insects. I found a climbing bolt up there, so I must do some research…

A few cringe-worthy selfies later and we headed back down the way we came, delighted to have made the journey to the gorge. I’d never seen a view quite like it before. After the 274 steps down we indulged in an ice cream before venturing into Cox’s Cave, which they’ve turned into the “Dreamhunters” experience.

This was an intriguing, bizarre and more than a little creepy walk-through video “tour” that left me convinced there were some funny mushrooms in my ploughman’s. Projected videos and a slightly eerie, slightly sexual (as Simon decided) voice told the story of the cavemen who used to live there. Combined with dim, multi-coloured lights and hanging fur “doors”, this was a highly trippy experience in a place that I think would be put to better use as an avant-garde restaurant or nightclub.

Van roof nearly installed, we headed back down the gorge to the village centre, tried some cheese samples, nosed around an outdoorsy shop and and grabbed a drink in a café before hopping on the bus back to Banwell.

Overall, Cheddar Gorge was way more impressive and unique than I expected. I’d recommend a visit, although at £20 per adult I think the tickets to Gough’s Cave, Cox’s Cave and Jacob’s Ladder are overpriced. You can access the gorge walk for free from other directions and this was the part most worth seeing.

I’ll go back and explore the area more thoroughly another time as it’s just a couple of hours away from Winchester. In the meantime I’ll do some research into climbing those big limestone faces…

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SUP Derwentwater

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Although notably less holy (and probably less graceful) than Jesus, I felt privileged to experience my first time standing on water in this beautiful place. Derwentwater is cradled by mountains on all sides, punctuated by explorable islands and delightfully less touristy than other lakes.

A quick bit of Googling that morning narrowed my search for a lake to SUP on to Derwentwater or Windermere. We’d settled on kayaking Coniston Water and hire didn’t appear as readily available at other places – I would have loved to try Wasdale below Scafell Pike but could only finded guided SUP tours. (We were set on hire due to cost, time and a stubborn, “I can do it myself” attitude).

Well aware of Windermere’s popularity, I called Derwentwater Marina with a few preliminary (probably silly) questions (see Beginner’s Advice: Stand Up Paddleboarding) and booked two SUPs for three hours from midday for £22 each. We left Ambleside and arrived 45 minutes later. The marina people were friendly and gave us a quick safety brief and a basic map, but didn’t bog us down with  rules or admin. Getting sized up for paddles and buoyancy aids was quick and easy, and I was pleased to be on (not in!) the water within a few minutes.

I kneeled until we’d left the harbour area as instructed, surprised by how stable the board felt. I was pleased to find it easy to stand up and balance after an initial, slightly wobbly stage. Then I had to figure out how I was supposed to paddle.

Being used to a kayak, I expected to have to change sides every other stroke or so or end up going in circles. I’m not sure how you’re meant to do it but I found that I had a surprising amount of control over my direction of travel paddling on just one side. It might have something to do with the paddle entering at a steeper angle and pushing through the water almost vertically. You can alter your course by tweaking the “shape” of your pull – this means you can turn right even if the paddle is on your right.

Derwentwater is a glorious location. We passed about six other SUPers in total during our three-hour stint and a few more kayakers, but given the size of the lake this was nothing; most were paddling around near the marina, and we went over half an hour without seeing a soul. We travelled south along the west side of the lake, feeling like we’d found heaven under the clear blue sky, between the hazy mountains and above the calm, dark water. The sun was hot so I relished a dip when we stopped for lunch at a secluded, smooth-stoned beach. The shallows were warm and brownish algae made the stones super-slippery but it got deep and cool very quickly. I didn’t drown, get bitten by a pike or poisoned by algae, so I can also recommend swimming in Derwentwater.

From there  we headed off south east, past a tiny, one-tree island and towards a large, forested island with a child-ridden beach. We paddled around its east side and headed back towards the marina. As the last slog usually does, and given that we were pressed for time having enjoyed the water so much, this was quite hard-going. The headwind disturbed the previously flat water and the sun beared down on our sweaty backs. This bit showed me that SUPing is actually quite a  good workout if you maintain a decent pace for a while – it really works your core, back, arms and legs. Google reckons that a 75kg person burns about 500 calories per hour.

We got back on time and reluctantly returned our kit. Reflecting on my experience, it’s not at all what I expected. I had this idea that SUPing was like a slower, boring version of kayaking – why stand when you can sit? Actually I think it’s incomparable. Seeing the water from a few feet higher up gives you a wider vertical field of vision, a totally different perspective. I’d almost say it feels more liberating as you can move your legs, so have greater control over your body position. It’s easier to twist, bend and lean. You’re more likely to fall in, but neither Bertie or I did and if we had it would have provided respite from the relentless sun! I’m sure it would have been different if we hadn’t been so blessed with the weather (with temperatures in the early thirties for most of the day).

So my final verdict is that SUPing is great, I’ll be going again and I’d recommend it to anyone – particularly at Derwentwater. If you’re thinking of trying it for the first time, see my post Beginner’s Advice: Stand Up Paddleboarding…  Enjoy!

Endnote: Derwentwater marina is at the northern tip of the lake, five minutes from Keswick – a bustling town offering plenty of post-SUP beer. Or you could be like us and climb/scramble Helvellyn via Striding Edge immediately after returning the SUPs and have to rush back to Spoons (last place to serve food) to avoid starvation… But that’s another blog post.

The Norfolk Broads for Adventure-Seekers: 10-point summary

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This year’s family holiday took us to the Norfolk Broads for a week. I didn’t know what to expect  as I’ve never explored that part of England before; family holidays usually took us West to Wales or Devon/Cornwall, and I was a bit apprehensive at the lack of sea, hills and mountains.

Despite this we managed to fit in plenty of activities and do a fair bit of exploring. We travelled around on a boat and moored at a different place each night, so saw plenty of the National Park – I’ll write a brief journal in a separate post.

Here are some highlights and key observations from my Broads trip:

1. Flatness

It’s SO flat. I knew this before we left but didn’t appreciate just how un-flat everywhere else must be – previously I considered the New Forest the flattest place in the UK. It probably didn’t help that I was in the Lake District a few weeks ago.

The landscape and the skies are vast and open, which makes you feel really small in a similar-but-different way to hills and mountain ranges. The nights are dark (not much light pollution), quiet and still.

2. City, towns and villages

Norwich is great – it has a lively buzz, a cathedral, a castle, a nice bit of river, plenty of history and a good indoor climbing/bouldering place called Highball.

Wroxham is apparently seen as “the capital of the Broads” by some, but I wasn’t that impressed. Too many big shops, more zimmerframes and dentures than I’ve ever seen in one place before and a bit tired and scruffy.

Other towns and villages were okay but I wouldn’t say they were picture-postcard, although apparently Beccles in the South Broads is lovely. Ludham and Coltishall were probably the prettiest we stopped at.

The thing I didn’t expect was the “water streets” on the outskirts of towns and villages. Pretty houses of all shapes, sizes and styles were fronted by boats instead of cars, boathouses instead of garages and water instead of tarmac.

3. Wildlife

There are loads of birds – the more “exotic” (coming from a Hampshire girl) ones I saw include the great crested grebe, curlew and marsh harrier. Masses of reeds and foliage of every shade of green line the waterways, so it’s not surprising that it’s such a haven. I wish I’d looked out for more wildlife but I spent lots of time reading, painting and planning.

There are also lots of insects – dragonflies, damselflies, thunderbugs and funny little red things. Oh and midges and mosquitos, expect to be bitten – particularly around stagnant water. Luckily I don’t seem to taste as good as the rest of my family.

4. Wild swimming

90% of my research told me not to swim in the Broads because of a) toxic blue-green algae, b) human waste and c) 42lb pike (big teeth, bitey). I took heed of the other 10%.

Swimming probably won’t kill you, although I’d judge it on how the water looks. The blue-green algae can be irritant and toxic if ingested; it’s really thick in some places, particularly up creeks where the water is stagnant – there were parts of Barton Broad I definitely wouldn’t swim in. I wouldn’t worry about pike as it’s pretty unlikely you’ll get bitten, and re: human waste – avoid swimming where there are loads of boats and don’t swallow anything (particularly solids…). Around Salhouse Broad was a nice spot for a dip.

The thing you should be really aware of is boats, as it’s easy to miss swimmers. Bright colours, paying attention and avoiding busy areas should help you stay safe. A support boat is ideal.

5. Cycling

Don’t expect to go mountain biking – Rocky (my lovely old hardtail) had the gentlest ride of his life on the cycle path between Wroxham and Aylsham. The Broads offers easy, relaxing cycling which will give you a different perspective of the National Park.

6. Kayaking

As a National Park by virtue of its waterways, the Broads is perfect to explore by paddle. You can access creeks beyond the reach of boats, see loads of wildlife and get some exercise – see On Kayaking. I was surprised by how few other kayaks there were and couldn’t believe that I couldn’t hire a SUP anywhere!

I should probably say be careful of blue-green algae, which can be irritating to skin if flicked onto it by a paddle. However, I’ve been in contact with it several times and never suffered any ill-effects, so it’s your call.

7. On foot: running/walking

Plenty of footpaths allowed me to run or walk alongside the water when I got restless. I particularly enjoyed a 12k run between Stokesby and the edge of Great Yarmouth along the Weaver’s Way (and only passed one person), although it was a difficult surface to run on as it was soft, thick, dry grass. I also enjoyed a 5k at Norwich and Coltishall on more forgiving ground.

The terrain is so easy underfoot that it’s more gentle rambler’s territory than thrill seeker’s, and it doesn’t offer breathtaking views in the same way as hiking up mountains. However, I think it’s worth seeing for the novelty. The landscape is attractive, with pretty windmills dotted among swathes of reedbeds and golden fields. I enjoyed the bizarre sight of boat sails gliding across the fields, hulls just out of sight!

8. Fishing

I enjoy fishing but my catch rate is abysmal and wasn’t improved upon here. Apparently there’s plenty of freshwater species such as bream, perch, roach, tench, dace, rudd, trout and pike, but our maggots and sweetcorn failed to entice anything during the evenings. We saw other people haul in decent sized fish (annoyingly!).

You’ll need a rod licence to fish in the Broads (I paid £12 for an 8-day one, which covered two rods) and in a few areas you need extra permission.

9. History

The waterways were made by peat digging between the 12th and 14th centuries, until the ditches flooded and became used for commerce and communication. The landscape is dotted with pretty windmills, which were used to grind corn and drain excess water from the fields into the river system.

There are also lots of lovely churches, thatched rooves, the remote ruin of St Benet’s Abbey and a cute little museum at How Hill.

I could get geekier but basically the history is interesting, not least because this apparently natural landscape is actually man-made.

10. Pubs

Last but never, ever least, there are loads of pubs along the Broads. Most have free mooring and I found that (in comparison with Hampshire) drinks were cheap and portions were generous. Need I say more?

Norfolk Broads trip map

Green line shows our route, with each number corresponding to our overnight spots

How to Impulse trip: Lake District, June ’18

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The weather has been incredibly un-British for the past few weeks and the week before last I (practically) finished my LPC, Masters and a legal work placement. Naturally I was desperate to run away somewhere wild, so on Monday my adventure partner booked the rest of the week off work and that evening we decided to hit the Lake District. After previous stunningly beautiful but grey trips, I couldn’t resist the chance to see the mountains in the sun.

 

Tuesday 26 June

Late-night packing complete, we set off about 5.30am and arrived about midday after a Morrisons breakfast at Newcastle-under-Lyme. We found a basic National Trust campsite, Hoathwaite, by Coniston Water, and were pitched and raring to explore shortly afterwards.

I’d recommend the campsite any day: with direct access via a footpath down to a lakeside beach, it’s perfect to take your own kayak or SUP. It has toilets, showers, washing up basins and water taps – basic but clean and an absolute luxury for us, having got used to wild camping. The Old Man of Coniston cradles one side of the campsite, and there are lovely views over other mountains, trees and the glistening lake. It’s on a hill, but there are plenty of flat spots to camp, no marked pitches and plenty of space.

We walked the half-hour footpath to Coniston, along the lake and across big fields, to explore and recce the pubs. It’s a really pretty town with dark stone buildings and a lively centre, with about four pubs, three small supermarkets and a couple of outdoorsey and gift shops, cafes, a bakery and a butcher. We walked around, got some shopping and went back to the campsite.

We cooked early, semi-planned the next few days and went for a gentle 5k run (I’m still recovering from injury) back towards Coniston, stopping on the way back to skim stones on the water. Tired from late packing and early rising, we went to bed early and slept like sloths.

 

Wednesday 27 June

On Wednesday we drove to Ambleside to get a map of Helvellyn. I’ve always used Ordnance Survey but a helpful man in Blacks told me that Harveys maps are sometimes more practical, so I welcome any input on this. There are four OS maps of the Lake District and we only had the Southern two, so we invested in the others and briefly walked around the town. I remember liking Ambleside before; it has a really lively atmosphere, plenty to see and an abundance of outdoorsey shops which make it seem like a hub for adventurous, active people – more so than tourist-saturated Windermere.

We’d never been Stand Up Paddleboarding before and I’ve been desperate to try for ages, so we hired a couple of SUPs for three hours from Derwent Water Marina near Keswick. We chose to explore Derwentwater over Windermere as it’s quieter and wilder, and had an amazing time surrounded by clear water and blue mountains, stopping at a beach for lunch and a swim. I’ll write about this separately as I definitely have more to say.

After SUPing we drove to Glenridding to climb Helvellyn via Striding Edge, setting off about 4.30pm in 30 degree heat. There’s a tourist path straight up the Western side but I wasn’t interested – I’d read about approaching from the East in The Great Outdoors magazine and insisted on the more picturesque, lengthy and difficult route.

Although sketchy at times, I loved scrambling up Striding Edge (much more so than Bertie) and reaching the clear, sunny summit of the tabletop mountain (third highest in England) at about 7pm – I couldn’t find words to do the clear blue and lilac, layered mountain panorama justice. I’ll write separately on the route we took. We got back to the car about 10pm and made it to Wetherspoons in Keswick with 10mins to spare, thanking heaven that they serve food until 11.

 

Thursday 28 June

We got up with the sun and walked down to Coniston Water to have breakfast by the lake and read books. We’d planned to hire bikes for the day and explore as far as we could get, but drove an hour through tiny country roads to Eskdale to find the place closed. Although a lovely drive, we’d seen that area before and I was cross at the wasted morning. I’d wanted to call to book but Bertie just wanted to get there, and he took about ten years searching the car for his lost wallet (because he left it in a stupid place) so he secured a place in my bad books.

We had a drink at the Woolpack pub and used the Wifi to find an alternative bike place. It was between hiring from Keswick and cycling the roads/bridleways, or from Whinlatter forest and doing proper mountain bike trails. I wasn’t aware of Whinlatter until then but had loved Grizedale previously, so it was a no-brainer for me.

After another hour-long drive, we picked up a couple of nice Cube hardtails for three hours and did the North loop of the Altura Trail (graded red / “difficult”, 9.5km) in 1-1.5 hours followed by the Quercus trail (blue / “moderate”, 7.5km) in less than an hour. I would have loved to have done the Altura South loop too but we didn’t have time, and I think Bertie – being less keen and confident than me (but probably equally skilled) – had had enough of expecting to die at any second. He was back in my good books as I loved it so much – long, fast, swooping sections of singletrack, tricky technical sections and berms to die for. That’ll be another post too, and I’ve sworn to return to the South loop.

That evening we walked to the Yewdale Inn at Coniston, ate pizza (which I highly recommend, generous amount of cheese) and drank cider while England lost to Belgium.

 

Friday 29 June

On Friday morning we packed up, got some barbecue food for lunch and took the kayak out on Coniston Water. Once again, the sun was blaring down and it was so peaceful; there was barely anyone else on the water. We stopped at Peel Island, which could have been straight out of a holiday brochure; leafy, rocky and surrounded by clear water. I swam around, not thinking of the Coniston pike I’d google imaged that morning.

We left and paddled back under a clear blue sky, surrounded by forests and mountains. It was surprisingly hard work against the breeze and we were starving. Eventually we got back to the beach, barbecued sausages and burgers, read for a while and went for a swim around the clear water. It was warm in the still shallows, but it was such a hot day that the cooler, deeper water was a relief. It shelved steeply and I came across a few small perch. The algae-covered stones were really slippery, and being naturally un-graceful I fell over and cut my leg. Dignity shattered, I dragged myself away from the water and packed up sadly.

The drive home was uneventful; we left about 5.30pm, had a meal deal at Preston and otherwise only stopped at Warwick Services, arriving home in Winchester just before 1am (thanks to loads of 50mph limits and a partially closed A34). We were up quite early on Saturday and spent the day enjoying our annual charity golf competition but already missing the North. We’d been blessed with mid-twenties to early-thirty degree heat the whole time, did loads of activities (the only disappointment was that I ran out of time for bouldering) and saw a lot of the Lake District under clear blue skies. I can’t wait to return.

 

 

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Brecon Beacons: 3 Days, 4 Waterfalls, 5 Mountains – Day 3

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Inside a tent is my second favourite place to wake up, topped only by outside a tent. Welsh weather dictated that this was an “inside” day. The mist cleared by breakfast and the dewy grass cooled my flip-flopped toes. After porridge and packing up (the new netflix n chill), we headed South West to walk the “must-see” four waterfalls trail.

 

We drove along the road that we’d trudged along, semi-lost, two days before, and it was breath-taking. I’ve never seen the Brecons in all their glory – on previous visits they’d been shrouded in thick, grey fog. I suppose the landscape was the same as it had been on the Friday, but we were slightly higher and could appreciate it so much more. We pulled over to take photos and admire the view: golden, grassy plains edged by dark, evergreen forests backed by protective, sweeping ridges. It wasn’t the wet, wind-beaten landscape I’d experienced before; the unfamiliar sun was shocking Wales into calm serenity and I couldn’t get enough.

 

We arrived at the car park near Ystradfellte an hour or so later and were surprised to find it manned by a handful of forest wardens. We knew it was popular but had no idea it would get so busy. We got there early so had no problem parking, checked the route and set off. The beginning and end of the trail is along a gravel track through the forest. It’s lined by tall, dark evergreens which are far enough from the path so as not to block the sun, and the route is well-marked enough so no need for a map.

 

The first waterfall was pretty but inaccessible, the second was wide and entered into a deep, round, inviting pool, and the third was my favourite. From the woody, leafy bank, we de-shoed and crossed the river onto a sunny, flat slab of rock to have lunch. The water here flowed between deep, round pools, all connected by shallow mini-waterfalls, with the main one on our left. A couple of guys in wetsuits joined us, and after lunch I dived into the pool for a swim.

 

It was lovely (after the initial shock!) – cool, deep and refreshing. I swam around and explored up and down river, scrambling over slippery rocks and scaling the jagged walls, nearly injuring myself only once. Apart from the people walking and sitting on the opposite bank, it was idyllic: the sky was clear blue, the water was cold and fresh and we were surrounded by the bright, glowing green of sun-drenched spring leaves.

 

We could have been there minutes or hours for all I knew, but eventually we packed up and headed off. A semi-strenuous uphill section took us back to the main path, and when we got near waterfall four we had to join a queue of slow-moving traffic to take the stairs down to see it. It seemed like the whole world had taken their children, husbands, grandparents and grandparents’ dogs to look at this waterfall; I don’t know where they all appeared from.

 

The waterfall itself was stunning  – the widest and tallest one yet, with lots of space behind it. However, the sheer number of people devalued it almost entirely. There was a crowd of yellow, blue, red, any-colour-you-can-think-of t-shirts and no space to walk around at all. I couldn’t believe that so many people would choose to hang about or have their picnic in a spot so teeming compared to the rest of the trail. One photo later, we turned and trudged painfully slowly back up the steps.

 

The signpost at the top reckoned it was 55mins back to the car park, but we did it in 35. It was an attractive walk back; forest-ey, but not boring. MapMyWalk says the route was 8.4km and we did it in 1hr32mins, not including breaks and stops. I’m dubious.

 

When we left, the car park and the drive up to the car park was rammed with cars and the wardens looked exasperated. We drove back to Brecon for an ice cream before heading to the Black Mountains – the easternmost of the three mountain groups in the Brecon Beacons. Confusingly, the western mountains of the National Park are called the Black Mountain Range.

 

This area is more agricultural than the wild, central Beacons. After driving along several narrower-than-narrow farm roads, we reached the car park of our target fifth mountain: Lord Hereford’s Knob. At only 690m high, it was the smallest peak of the weekend but it won the name competition hands-down. We’d tried to climb it previously but the weather had been against us and we were pushed for time, so we failed. This time the weather was much clearer and we were determined to find the elusive summit.

 

I enjoyed the walk to what we thought was the summit, clad in a knitted grandad jumper and flip flops (until I took them off a hundred yards in and went barefoot). At the top there was a lovely, panoramic view that was semi-cultivated, semi-wild, with rolling farmland shouldered by dramatic ridges. There was a small cairn but surprisingly nothing to announce the mountain’s glorious name, so we broke a rule and pulled our phones out to check sat nav. We hated the thought of thinking we’d done the Knob, only to find out later that we’d missed it. Unfortunately, Google Maps said the actual summit was ahead of us and to the left, so we begrudgingly followed it downhill and towards the next peak (which looked a long way away).

 

The land we walked through was more rugged, and shortly after passing through a herd of super-photogenic wild ponies the path disappeared and sat nav decided that the Knob was actually in roughly the direction we’d come from. Frustrated, hungry and aware of the fog rolling up the valley to our left, we took what looked like a quad-bike track back towards the ridge we’d started on. The terrain was all bracken and bog, and I nearly lost a flip flop more than once. We climbed the steep side and followed sat nav along the top, back to the very cairn we’d been at about 45mins previously. We couldn’t help but laugh.

 

We walked back down the same way we came. We’d done five mountains and four waterfalls in two days, plus spent an extended period being lost on a hike on Friday; needless to say, the Subway we eventually found open at 10pm in Gloucester was the most well-earned “dinner” I’ve had in a long time.

 

Lesson learnt: trust Ordnance Survey (and your navigation skills) more than Google Maps.

 

Brecon Beacons: 3 Days, 4 Waterfalls, 5 Mountains — Day 2

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I was up with the sun and raring to hit the mountains, but the weather had other ideas. It would  have been do-able in the wet, but I was interested in visibility more than anything and my Met Office app told me it was due to clear in the afternoon. I’ve been up Pen y Fan in the fog before and done enough beautiful mountains in poor conditions to barely differentiate between them, so I fancied taking the chance to appreciate the scenery.

I’d found out that Brecon had a cathedral and I’m interested in historic buildings (don’t tell my cool friends) so we killed some time wandering round there, then found a pretty, wooded walk by the river. I’d expected (and half-remembered) Brecon to be a bustling, outdoorsy hub like the Fort William of the Highlands or the Betwys-y-Coed of Snowdonia, but it was fairly quiet on Saturday night and totally dead on Sunday morning.

Given the saving we made on dinner the previous evening (see Day 1’s post), we returned to Wetherspoons for breakfast and route-planning. I picked a circular route based very roughly on one described in an outdoorsey magazine that started at one of the car parks in Taf Fechan forest and encompassed the “Big Four” peaks: Fan y Big (719m), Cribyn (795m), Pen y Fan (886m) and Corn Du (873m). It’s an interesting area, geographically speaking: a big, semi-circular ridge linked to six smaller, semi-circular ridges, each with sweeping, sloped sides and long, smooth spines. If anyone ever wants to talk about maps and landforms I’m just a geeky message away.

On the way there it p***** it down and I thought of all the waterproof clothing I didn’t want to wear, but as we drove uphill and into the forest it eased and we were enveloped in thick, blinding fog. We set off in waterproofs but didn’t need them. The first part of the walk took us up a cycle path and along a bit of road. We turned up a steep, rocky footpath past some misty waterfalls, which plateaued onto a foggy, steep-sided ridge. Although we were on the Beacons Way, the route turned off the path and (according to the map) across an open area of land with just “pile of stones” and “stones” marked to prevent us wandering into the middle of nowhere.

Fortunately it was quite easy to follow and we ended up along Craig Cwmoergwm, headed towards peak number one – Fan y Big (behave). Unfortunately we missed the path that led straight there and ended up skirting along the side. After realising we were heading downhill when we should be going up, a quick map check revealed we’d taken a parallel path that took us past the peak; a few paths converged at Bwlch ar y Fan, so we decided to carry on and take a different path up from the other side.

We had jam sandwiches and salad (pre-prepared and super pretentious: quinoa, avocado, beetroot – you get the idea, but mega-nutritious) where the paths met, just as the sun was breaking through. Turning back on ourselves we took the short, steep path up Fan y Big, past a sluggish DofE/cadet group, and only recognised the summit by a distinctive, diving board-esque ledge we’d seen in a photo and a small, easily-missable metal plaque engraved with a picture of some hikers. We admired the smooth U-shaped valley, the river nestled between its shoulders and the long, sweeping sides of Bryn Teg ridge opposite, then realised we were being eaten by nasty black flies and turned back down the steep path.

When we were halfway down, the loud, bleak caw of a couple of ravens reverberated around the valley, so when they landed on the opposite ridge I ran off to take photos. I’d forgotten how large, wild and impressive these fairytale-villain birds are; they cruised and swooped around the valley like majestic, jet-black rangers who didn’t want to be photographed.

Next up (and I mean very up) was Cribyn. Standing opposite Fan y Big, this sharp ascent was the toughest of the route. We powered up earthy footholds that had been toe-punted into the steep side, taking short, aggressive steps and settling into steady, silent rhythms. At the top there was sadly no trig point, and we were sadly attacked once again by hundreds of bitey little f***flies so we didn’t hang about. We didn’t miss the view as we’d wandered into cloud almost as soon as we left the trough of the valley.

We headed to the left and downhill, along the long, steep path between Cribyn and Pen y Fan that follows the curve of another horseshoe ridge. No navigation was necessary, so as soon as we descended below the cloud we could enjoy the sun and the rich, springtime green of the surrounding landscape. What seemed like the “main” valley was to our left, broad, long and shouldered by the horseshoe ridges of Fan y Big & co on one side and a long, straight ridge – Craig Gwaun Taf – on the other.  The glassy water of Lower Neuadd Reservoir was nestled in the valley’s wide, smooth trough, and the black pines of Taf Fechan forest seemed to mark the distant end of the long basin. In contrast, the valley to our right was shrouded in cloud, which crept towards us but was driven upwards in a towering, misty wall by the protective sides of Cribyn.

The adjoining sides of Cribyn and Pen y Fan are like a giant’s half pipe skate ramp, smooth and gently curved. The path is rocky and (in my opinion) easier to climb up than down. Approaching Pen y Fan from the Cribyn path, the last section is a half-scramble up some steep rocks before popping up onto the plateaued summit to surprise the mass of “tourists” who had ambled up from the Storey Arms car park via the heavily-trodden, straight-up-straight-back-down route.

Once again, the summit was swarming with f***flies. I don’t know why but they only seemed to hang about right at the very tops of the mountains. They’re jet black, chunkier than mosquitos and live on a diet of human. A couple of obligatory summit photos later we were keen to get away from flies and people, so headed along the busy ridge at the “head”  of the valley to Corn Du. The section between Pen y Fan and Corn Du is so short and relatively flat that it seems like cheating to count it as the fourth summit, but it’s marked on the OS map so I’ll take it. Again, too many flies/people meant we didn’t hang about for long, so we hit the long, straight ridge of Craig Gwaun Taf (or Rhiw yr Ysgyfarnog?) that lies on the opposite side of the valley to Fan y Big & co.

This was one of my favourite parts of the walk. We came across four people in about an hour (a fell runner, a photographer and a hiking couple with a dog – more my kind of people), ate more jam sandwiches, the sun broke through, we’d escaped the day’s fog and the views were magnificent. The path runs along the top edge of the ridge so I could really enjoy the panorama; the long U-shaped valley that I’ve waffled on about was on the left, cradling its reservoir, opening out onto swathes of dark green-black forest and sided by the foggily elusive horseshoe peaks. A meandering, river-veined valley was on the right, the gracefully sweeping sides of the ridge were ahead and brothers Pen y Fan and Corn Du watched over the valley from behind. All around, the distance was filled with gentler hills, blacker forests and grassy, green-yellow plains.

We eventually came to the steep “footpath” that cut left down the side of the ridge and back towards the car park. From a distance it looked more like a steep rockfall than a path, but we made it down and into the belly of the valley. We walked past the half-drained Lower Neuadd Reservoir, which was surreal as it was bordered with bright pink rhododendrons and some unknown shrub with vibrant yellow flowers. The air was as still as anything, not a soul was in sight and a derelict dark stone building on the edge gave the place a Call of Duty-esque eeriness, but it was equally serene and beautiful. The late afternoon sun highlighted the tall pines against the distinctive blue silhouette of Pen y Fan, the bushes were every shade of green and the water remaining in the reservoir was black and as smooth as glass. The only sound we’d heard all afternoon – beyond our own voices, the scuffing of walking boots and the click of my camera – was birdsong; not one road or aeroplane.

The track back to the car park was lined by trees and rugged sheep fields. Sitting down and de-booting after a day’s hiking was (as always) wonderful. It was about 7pm and my head was swimming with the thought of pub grub and a pint, so after a brief and picturesque goose chase (we accidentally found ourselves in a Thai restaurant disguised a pub, still in hiking gear – we realised we made a mistake when the waitress lit a candle) we ended up at the Three Horseshoes near the campsite. The steak and ale pie and cider went down way better than the bar karaoke, and I slept like a log. Little did I know that the following day I’d play around in waterfalls and get lost on Lord Hereford’s Knob… Day 3 to follow!

Mapmywalk reckons we did 19.4km in 4 hours 18 minutes, if anyone is interested. Google / walking forums said that similar routes take about 6 hours, but we do maintain a decent steady pace so I wouldn’t say they’re necessarily wrong. Generally we walk briskly but were by no means rushing – I often faffed around taking photos, having a snack or admiring some bit of nature. I have a feeling the app might take that into account, as it felt like we were out longer. Fitbit reckons I did 35,773 steps.35151289_10216632388587715_7897664822563569664_n

Brecon Beacons: 3 Days, 4 Waterfalls, 5 Mountains — Day 1

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This trip concluded in an unusual way: we accidentally climbed Lord Hereford’s Knob twice. I’ve had worse Monday evenings.

There were some strange bits in the middle too: once we ended up in a field with a bull, twice we got lost (not so unusual), thrice we found ourselves in Wetherspoons (even less unusual) and we got swarmed by “f***flies” four times. If nothing else, I learned to count.

We left about 6am on Saturday and got to Go Outdoors Gloucester for when it opened at 9. I could spend so much money in that shop, if I had so much money. We got to the campsite about midday after cursing our way through the Hay-on-Wye festival traffic and were pitched and heading to Brecon within half an hour, hoping to get some afternoon inspiration from the visitor centre. Turned out the visitor centre had moved, but eventually we ended up parking near Garwnant (a lovely eco-tourist-information-car park-café-woodland-centre thing) and planning a rough route over the car bonnet.

We set out at 3ish in the sun, heading South and admiring the serene black water and idyllic fishing spots of Llwyn-on Reservoir. Before long we veered off the road, across a stream and onto a windswept, golden plain. A little way in we realised the path went slap bang through the middle of a group of cows. Having grown up in the countryside, this didn’t faze me until I spotted an enormous “cow” with rippling muscles, a tree-trunk neck and an unmistakeably un-udder-like undercarriage. We thought it unlikely there would be a bull in a field of cows, but there definitely was. To spice things up there were a handful of calves in the melée, and anyone who knows anything about animals will know that mums don’t like blundering, invasive humans getting near their babies.

Regardless, we gave them a wide-ish berth, survived and came across our next, often-frequented challenge: the elusive, disappearing footpath. As usual we took a blasé approach and headed in “roughly the right direction”, North West across the knee-deep tufty, grassy, boggy, extremely untrodden plain (I had flashbacks to my last Dartmoor trip). I nearly lost them to the suctionney, hidden, black mud a few times, but apart from that my trusty flip flops served me well.

The sun was warm and despite some haze, the visibility was pretty good. Although frustrating to cross, we’d found an extremely picturesque bit of Wales. Pen y Fan and its horseshoe-shaped brothers lay to the North East, ahead and on our right, and an anonymous green ridge sloped and curved protectively behind us and to the West. Black forests broke up the rugged, green mountainsides and we were surrounded by the rippling, golden (deceptively deep and tufty) grass of the open plain, interrupted only by a few anomalous trees and whispering streams. I spent a while fiddling with my Nikon, trying to capture an arty close-up of pretty little pastel pink flowers which cropped up occasionally, alone and peaceful.

I think we crossed the Nant Ffynnonelin, the Garwnant Fach and the Garwnant Fawr streams, as well as about 2km of this wild, beautiful, slow and hugely irritating terrain, before we reached the A4059 and plodded a few kilometres North along the roadside and past a lot of (surprisingly photogenic) sheep.

We’d hoped to be able to cut down into the forest to the East via one of the footpaths marked on the map, or even over the fence and down a firebreak, but the map was a few years old, the fence looked a few years new, it looked like new trees had been planted and naturally we couldn’t see even a trace of a path. It was coming up late afternoon and the pub had been beckoning for a while; it wasn’t the first time I’d half-formed a plan ready for if/when we were lost, hungry, miles from anywhere and facing a cold, dark night.

We ended up pulling away from the road, cutting across more nasty ground and down a steep hill to the East, right along the North-Western edge of the forest that had been taunting us for over an hour. Halfway down the valley, it was a huge relief to find a gate and a disused-looking track heading back into the forest, criss-crossed by fallen pines and lined by half-uprooted trees whose earthy, rooty bases yawned and groaned as the wind pulled the branches back and forth.

Having kept half an eye on the mist that had been creeping up the valley from Pen y Fan way, we pulled waterproof coats on when we felt the sudden, pre-rain temperature drop and stillness of the air. Fortunately it didn’t materialise and we followed the track a long way through the forest, straight back to the car. 13km and just under 3 hours later (it felt like longer, bearing in mind we’d expected to do half that) we headed to the pub, dizzy at the thought of a pie and a pint.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple – several pubs had stopped serving food by the time we arrived (to our horror), so we had to backtrack to Brecon and resort to Spoons. It’s not often I feel underdressed in a Wetherspoons, but half the population of the town seemed to be dressed up and congregating in there while I sat and people-watched in my second hand hoodie, outdoorsy trousers and flip flops. Nevertheless, it hit the spot and saved us enough pennies to warrant returning for breakfast the next morning… Adventures of Day 2 to follow!

Tip of the day: as any other ex-army cadet will tell you, a map is only accurate to the day (the minute, in fact) that it’s drawn!

Overlooking the reservoir
Bluebells by the road
Just before we left the road…
Planning
Spot the bull
In the middle of the plain
My reliable flip flops
It took AGES to get a crisp shot, thanks to the wind
Baaaa
Trying to get some good photos…
An inquisitive foal
Arty, striking etc
Looking out towards Pen y Fan
Heading downhill towards the forest
Halfway down the hill
We found a path!
Wild
Take note, Mammut
Found this along the path
Gwnant centre, love the moving solar panel
At peace

Dartmoor, March ’18

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This was the first time I put a tent up in the middle of a bog, at night, in the snow. Conditions weren’t ideal but without the bitter wind it might have been almost comfortable.

 

I love Dartmoor for its sand-coloured plains, rocky tors and open ruggedness. Although you’re never more than a mile or so from some kind of settlement in Southern England, this place feels really wild – like you could be anywhere. As you enter the National Park there’s a stark, knife-edge contrast between the cultivated green fields of Devon behind you and the vast, untouched moors in front, and then you’re plunged into a bleak, beautiful expanse of wilderness.

 

The main roads through the middle can get busy, particularly during summer, but it’s easy to park in one of the many roadside spots and slip away into the moors. Most visitors don’t venture far from picnic spots, viewpoints and tors within bimbling distance of the car.

 

This time I arrived as the daylight was fading and parked in a Princetown residential road. Dartmoor has a climate of its own, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was snowing heavily despite being grey and muggy when I left Hampshire a couple of hours before. I set off NE towards the mast (a hugely useful landmark) which towers over the town, following a roughly pre-planned route.

 

The wind was bitter and the blizzard was relentless, but I was glad for it. Night navigation was much easier with the snow reflecting any kind of light; I could distinguish treelines, tors and hill brows, which I wouldn’t have been able to do without the white-black contrast. A couple of hours into tramping through mean, rocky, slippery terrain, I found myself on track but in a nasty patch of boggy, wet, undulating ground. The snow wasn’t so helpful here, as it hid what was under my feet rather than illuminating it. I found a semi-flat bit of ground that was slightly sheltered by a low grassy mound; although keen to press on, I conceded that I’d rather camp in a dry-ish spot, so settled down onto my cheap Quechua sleeping mat after a bitter fight with the wind, snow and my cheap Eurohike tent.

 

Top tip: if you’ll be sleeping on snow, spend more than £4.99 on a mat. I should have learnt that in Scotland last year, but investing in a self-inflating mat is still on my to-do list. Fully clothed and curled into two cheap sleeping bags (spot the pattern?) I was still cold, but I survived.

 

Top tip #2: if you think you might be getting a blister, no matter how cold you are, right now is the time to sort it out. This was me half an hour after fight no.2 with cheap Eurohike tent (the weather didn’t ease overnight, by the way). Fortunately Great Mis Tor offered some shelter as I reluctantly stopped to shove a blister plaster on each heel, and I didn’t have any further issues despite wearing my shiny new Salomon Quest 2 4Ds for the first time.

 

It took a while to warm up, but once I did I could finally appreciate Dartmoor in all its rugged glory. After stumbling happily down a windswept slope, I realised that I couldn’t follow my route as a “stream” was less crossable than I anticipated, probably due to a combination of heavy snow and poor planning. I didn’t fancy a) getting myself and my 70l backpack wet, or b) drowning, so I followed it upstream hoping to find a place to cross. I was unsuccessful, so re-routed and ended up slogging through the most awkward, humpy, dippy, tufty, boggy ground I’ve ever walked across. This went on for a while, and despite it being a Saturday in the middle of the Easter Holidays, I didn’t see a soul.

 

After another uncrossable river, a few sketchy traverses across rock edges perilously close to said river and a glute-achingly steep, rough valley climb, I found myself at Lydford Tor and in the MOD danger area (having checked firing times beforehand – please do this). With the original route out the window and the smell of mum’s promised roast lamb filling my head, I adjusted my course  to arc back towards Princetown, using the map as a rough guide and aiming vaguely for the big mast. The weather had finally relented and the hike back was pleasant but uneventful; the landscape opened up and I could see the Beardown Tors, dark woods towards Two Bridges and the ominous granite walls of Dartmoor Prison.

 

I made it back to the car unscathed and, true to form, went straight to the pub (I should probably sort out my spending priorities). I recommend the Plume of Feathers in Princetown – it’s welcoming, cosy and does great steak pie. Fed, thawed and thirst for adventure temporarily quenched, I trundled back to Hampshire just in time for Sunday roast lamb.