The Road goes ever on and on; Down from the door where it began;
Now far ahead the Road has gone; And I must follow, if I can;
Pursuing it with eager feet; Until it joins some larger way;
Where many paths and errands met; And whither then? I cannot say.

[JRR Tolkien, Lord of the Rings]

Friday, 27 November 2015

The Wrong Decision

On Wednesday afternoon a decision had to be made: to head for our originally intended destination of Malham Tarn (33 miles away) or to change plan based on the weather forecast and head for the seaside at Bridlington (90 miles away). Being 4pm by the time we got away, we opted to stick with Plan A and in the pitch dark some tiny lanes were negotiated to find ourselves a nice level parking spot with some unexpectedly good amenities (127 TV channels and 3G phone signal).

Peeking out of the blinds on Thursday morning to find that we were sitting within a mizzling cloud, I realised we had erred in our choice and should have listened to the almost unanimous opinions of various friends on Facebook, all bar one of whom had voted for Bridlington. Not to be defeated, we put all thoughts of ice creams and donkey rides out of our heads, killed some time drinking coffee and eating pastries, then set out on our intended walk, over Malham Lings, past Outside and around the Tarn.

The coffee and pastries interlude had allowed the cloud to lift a little, so we did have some limited views as we set out:


Cows, Colin, Cloud and Malham Tarn

Twenty minutes later we were back in the cloud and there we stayed for the rest of our 6.5-mile circuit, meaning that there’s very little I can say about it. We did regain a tiny bit of visibility when we dropped back down to Malham Tarn:


Another walk was pencilled in for today (Friday 27 November), and I got as far as putting my walking trousers on ready to set off. Then it started to rain, causing quite a harrumph, as today’s weather forecast was the best of the week and (last I saw) should have been fine and dry. “I’m not going out in that!” I declared, not just because I’m turning into a fair weather walker, but more because I can’t wear my contact lenses at the moment and I really can’t abide rain on my glasses.

So, we headed to Harrogate instead where the sun wasn’t shining either, but it was dry as we enjoyed a walk around the town. We must go back sometime and explore further. Tomorrow’s forecast is truly dreadful, but hopefully we’ll find the mettle to brave the wet for a stroll around Knaresborough*.

(*When Mick was a lad in ‘Alifax he had a car draw up next to him and the American occupants asked him for directions to a place they pronounced as Kuh-nah-res-buh-ruff. Mick was perplexed until finally they showed him the name in writing, whereupon he realised they were seeking Knaresborough. It was because of that short encounter all of those years ago that, in our house, Knaresborough is known as Kuh-nah-res-buh-ruff. I overheard some teenagers talking about the place today and it took me a few moments to remember that their pronunciation of the name was the correct one!)

Sunday, 22 November 2015

A Visit to the Smallest County (4)

Saturday 21 November

Rutland Water is a sizeable body of water and, whilst in summer we wouldn’t think anything of walking its outside perimeter in a day, there was still enough left on this trip to keep us amused for another morning’s walking, with today’s objective being the reservoir’s tongue: Hambleton peninsula.


In view of the weather (glorious blue skies, but with a very keen wind which had switched from warm to deep-mid-winter overnight) I ditched plans to walk in from Egleton and instead we sought somewhere to park on the peninsula itself. Being early enough easily to find a parking spot, we had plenty of time at our disposal to fortify ourselves with coffee and bacon/egg sandwiches before we stepped out into the wind.


If the wind had been a bit less and the temperature a bit more it would have been a most perfect walking day, but even so, we can’t really complain about such conditions at this time of year, can we?

With just a handful of runners and cyclists seen, and various scientific experiments carried out as to our respective stride lengths, we found ourselves back at a busier village than we’d left, having ambled a modest 4.5 miles.

And that would have been the end of our trip, except that I’d spotted that Bardon Hill lay just a stone’s throw away from a sensible route home, and as it had been pea-soup weather when I made it the first hill of my Marilyn campaign on 18 November 2014, and as Mick hadn’t been with me that day, we made a little detour.

The weather forecast on Friday evening had told us of the possibility of a bit of slush lying on Saturday morning in the Midlands, but promised that it would soon thaw, so I hadn’t expected, as we approached Coalville, to see crisp snow in the streets in the middle of the afternoon. We explored those streets a bit more than intended too, having set out from Colin in completely the wrong direction … ooops.


The views were superb from the top, but the wind chill such that we paused only long enough to prove that I really need to work on my selfie composition skills:IMG_0458

A Visit to the Smallest County (3)

Friday 20 November

“Back to Rutland Water!” I declared to be the plan for the day, this time with the intention of taking a stroll along the south side.

Edith Weston* provided us with parking, and west was the direction for which we opted, ambling along under clear blue skies as far as the Visitor Centre, where the cycle track, which circumnavigates the reservoir, leaves the waterside and heads to a road for a short while.

Thoughts of seeing whether dreadful cups of tea were a general feature of the various visitor centres and cafes (really, Wednesday’s offering at Whitwell Visitor Centre was awful) were thwarted when this particular centre was found to be closed**, so with an about-turn, back east we headed.

With the number of yachts we’d seen in land-based storage during Wednesday’s and today’s walks, we had to conclude that if they were all on the water at once it’d be a mightily crowded place. At this time of year there was no crowding evident at all. In fact, the only boats we saw in the water are those in the snap below, and the only ones out and about under sail were dinghies rather than yachts:IMG_0446

Having only covered 5.3 miles we really should have continued east beyond Edith Weston to have a closer look at the church (by appearances)/museum (by what the map says) place we could see, which looked interesting. Unfortunately we didn’t, thus 5.3 miles remained the tally for the day, with 450-feet-worth of undulations. None of the undulations was long or steep, contrary to Anglian Water’s Health and Safety Department’s view, as evidenced by plenty of signs warning of steepness and either requiring dismounting or reminding that helmets should be worn They struck me as being over the top, and it seems that I wasn’t the only one:


Maybe I would be of a different opinion on a warm summer’s day when the vast car parks are brimming and the waterside track busy with families – something it was difficult to picture in our solitude on this trip.

The day was rounded off with a trip to Cottesmore, which now bears very little resemblance to the place Mick remembers from 41 years ago, from where we decided that given the options we may as well go back to Tallington Lakes again and take advantage of the bargain campsite for a third night.

(*Just to clarify: Edith Weston is a ‘where’ not a ‘who’. It’s a village.

** What with closed car parks, prohibitive car park restrictions elsewhere and closed cafes this really was turning into an unexpectedly cheap trip!)

A Visit to the Smallest County (2)

Thursday 19 November

Having noticed on Wednesday afternoon that the Morrison’s supermarket just outside of Stamford doesn’t have any parking restrictions, I thought we may as well take advantage by visiting the town and walking a circuit taking in the river and a bit of the perimeter of the Burghley Estate.

The town surprised me in how attractive it is, how many churches it houses and how big the Stamford School is, but we didn’t loiter for very long, knowing that we would be coming back through at the end of the walk. Instead, we made a beeline for the river and along it we walked, tracing the steps of the Romans, apparently:


The river wasn’t actually very attractive and the riverside path was a mudfest. By the time we struck off across muddy farmland I was hankering after the surfaced tracks around Rutland Water and thinking I’d picked a poor route for this day:


It did get better. Once we reached the woodland visible ahead of Mick in the above snap, the underfoot conditions improved considerably and the surroundings were more pleasing too. The village of Easton on the Hill (if I’d read the name of the village before we’d set out perhaps I wouldn’t have been surprised that we had to go uphill to get there!) was another delight (albeit one of which I didn’t take any photos) and beyond there the view from another good track gave us a bit of history, in the shape of this derelict building, to ponder over:


Wondering what St. Martin was without…


… I had hoped that by taking a little out-and-back along the edge of the Burghley Estate we would get a good view over the grounds and maybe a glimpse of the house (which we would have visited, had they not been closed for the winter). Alas, even though the contour lines on the map looked promising, trees and a bank obscured all views, meaning that most interest along that section was in watching a plethora of poor golfers on the adjacent course.

Cheekily we commandeered the bench behind the fifth tee for our lunch break, whereupon it started to rain. Harrumph! The forecast had told us we should remain dry until late afternoon, but it definitely continued as we short-cut back into Stamford and perused the bookshelves of the charity shops. As with the previous day, any inclination to explore the town further was eradicated by the rain, so back to Colin we headed, having walked just over 7.5 miles with around 400’ of ascent.

A Visit to the Smallest County (1)

As much as I would have liked to have headed north or west, to visit a few previously unticked hilltops, the weather forecast for this week suggested that the only way we could escape the bulk of the lashing rain and howling wind would be to head east. Adjudging that north Norfolk deserved more time than we had available to lavish upon it, we selected Rutland Water instead. Or, to Mick, Empingham Reservoir, that being the name by which it was known when it was under construction when he was based just up the road at RAF Cottesmore in the mid-seventies.

Wednesday 18 November

An early start saw us arrive in Oakham before 9am, but having failed easily to find a satisfactory place to abandon Colin for the day, we quickly ditched my original plan to catch a bus from Oakham to Empingham to walk the entire north shore of the reservoir. Plan B was to park at Barnsdale and do an out-and-back walk to Empingham, which is exactly what we did, even with the fly in the ointment of finding the car park to be closed for the winter* (that was some money unexpectedly saved; there turned out to be good on-street parking right outside the closed car park).

It was a bit grey as we set out, but relatively calm after the violent storm which had passed through overnight:


The white sheep of the family?

Empingham was my first taste of the local villages and I was rather taken with it. I was subsequently to find that it is quite typical of the local area; every village we visited looked worthy of adorning a postcard:


By the time we got to the Whitwell Visitor Centre on our return leg (where we spent some of our saved parking fees on two of the most dreadful cups of tea ever drunk) it was still warm enough to sit outside, but the we couldn’t help but notice that the wind had picked up. The white tops on the water were one clue, along with the quantity of leaves rushing across the car park to some unknown destination:


Having walked 7.7 miles, accumulating in the region of 700’ of undulations on our way, off into Oakham we pootled for a look around. That wasn’t so successful. The Long Stay car park didn’t have a single space vacant, and although we managed to fit nicely into one of the many in the Short Stay we then found that we risked a £70 fine, due to being over 5.5m long. A freebie on-street spot was eventually found which only gave us an hour, which turned out to be plenty as half an hour later the onset of a cold rain had us scurrying (via a cake shop) back to Colin.

Calling it a day, off to Tallington Lakes we headed, where the campsite in winter is a veritable bargain: £10 gets a level hard-standing pitch with electric hook-up and the facilities are not only clean, modern and heated, but the water for the push-button showers was positively hot. 

(*There’s lots of information on Anglian Water’s website about parking at Rutland Water. I’d confirmed the prices and that Colin-sized vehicles were permitted, yet nothing told me that some of the car parks are closed over winter.)

Sunday, 15 November 2015

Colin’s Life in Numbers


It occurred to me this morning that it was four years ago last Wednesday that we bought Colin (our WildAx Constellation panel van conversion motorhome), and thus we have now completed four ‘Colin years’. Accordingly, I started looking at some figures related to his usage this year and how that compared with previous years.

After we bought him I played around with some numbers on a spread-sheet (completely out of character, I know…) and concluded that we needed to use him for 34 nights a year to make his purchase worthwhile. So little was he used in the first year (we both found ourselves employed and that hadn’t been in the plan when we’d splashed the cash) that we did consider selling him; fortunately that didn’t happen, as we’ve now more than made up for the slow first couple of years.

Here are the illustrated facts and figures:

Number of Nights

A disappointing 22 nights’ use in Year 1 has risen to a pleasing 106 nights this year.

Type of Night Stop

‘Free Nights’ may be car parks, laybys, on-street parking or friends’ driveways. We have actually paid for some of the car parks, but on all bar one occasion the payment was a voluntary donation to a charitable cause and on the one occasion when it wasn’t a donation, it was only 50p meaning it wasn’t worth creating a new category for it!

Total Costs

Oooh look! In Year 4 we spent approximately 3 times more nights in Colin than in Year 2, yet the accommodation cost wasn’t much different. The LPG cost for Year 2 looks high, but the reality is that the vast majority of that gas was used in Year 3. The amount of gas used has a direct relationship to the number of non-winter nights spent in free locations, running the fridge on gas.

Average Costs Per Night

I suspect that we may now have bottomed out on the average accommodation costs per night (i.e. the cost of campsites). The overall cost is a less reliable measure as it is heavily affected by the price of diesel (as well as depending on how far afield we wander for what duration). In Year 2 we paid around £1.45/litre for diesel on more than one occasion. This year we’ve paid as little as £1.04/litre.


All very interesting (to me, anyway!), but the key thing, which I can’t convey in a graph is how many trips we’ve had, places we’ve been, and hills we’ve climbed, that wouldn’t have happened in the absence of Colin-type accommodation.

Saturday, 17 October 2015

A Short Week in Wales - Thursday

Moel y Golfa (SJ291125)

Another fine morning greeted me so off I pootled the few miles to the village of Middletown, where a car park that I adjudged to be a general use one (rather than belonging to the nearby pub), offered a safe haven for Colin whilst I trotted off up my fourth and final Marilyn of the trip.

It looked for a while like my attempt was going to be thwarted, when I came across some very clear and prominent ‘No Footpath’ signs exactly along the line I wanted to investigate. I did ignore the first sign, but when I came to the next I lost my nerve. It felt rather indefensible to be trespassing in the face of such signage. I considered giving up the attempt for another day, when a different approach could be used, and contemplated whether I fancied a very round-about walk using footpaths, but the final decision was to trespass anyway, but following the route I remembered reading about in people’s logs on

The route worked well, but the earlier “Don’t come this way under any circumstances” signage had me nervous enough that I almost trotted up the hill and breathed an enormous sigh of relief when I got to the sign below, indicating that I was all legal again:IMG_9732

I was into woodland by then, where I stayed almost until the top. I knew that I was going to find a memorial on the top (as the description of the highest point was ‘rock on knoll 20m NNE of memorial’) but I hadn’t expected it to be quite so big! Nor had I anticipated the quality of the views, although I’m not sure why, considering the shape of the hill.


Apparently the chap who erected the memorial (who himself died in 1986) was never beaten in fisty cuffs from the age of five to sixty, amongst other things:


I had initially been confused, as I’d misread the above, and thought that it said that the memorial was erected for Uriah in 1986, which didn’t tie in with the visible age of the palings surrounding it. It was only when I wandered over to the next knoll across that I noticed this inscription, dating the memorial back to 1960:


Opting to follow public footpaths down the wooded south side of the hill for my descent, I experienced a phenomenon the opposite of what I used to regularly experience back when I ran regularly. In those days I often returned from a circular run feeling like 90% of it had been uphill. On this hill I descended steeply for so long that I felt like I’d lost twice the height I’d gained on my way up, then I looked at the map and realised that I wasn’t even half way down, and descended steeply some more. 


And that was that. My hills had been bagged, my parents’ memorial visited and the weather had been fine throughout. Thus the trip declared a success and off home I went.

The modest stats for this day were 2.5 miles walked with 1000’ of up.

A Short Week in Wales – Wednesday

Y Golfa (SJ182071)

Vaguely coming to and looking at my watch at 0620 I was pleased to have woken early, as it meant that I could text Mick before he set out for work, so I made an effort to wake up properly and groped for my phone, only then to remember that I had no signal. I made do with sending an email via the BT hotspot, and in so doing came to realise that it was jolly well parky! A quick peek out the window at a very frosty world had me decide not to capitalise on the early hour, but rather to snuggle down under the duvet until the sun had risen enough to hit at least one of Colin’s windows.

Eventually I did make a move, in the direction of Welshpool, just before where I deposited Colin in a layby at Sylfaen station (on the Welshpool and Llanfair Light Railway) to head up Y Golfa.

I had good intentions of following Rights of Way the whole way, but when I got into the first field (and I was on the path at that point, even though the recorded track shown below suggests I was a distance out) I couldn’t see a way out of the field in the direction taken by the footpath, but I could see a gate further to the east. Knowing that the farmer’s eyes were upon me, I strode with purpose and like I knew where I was going, hopped over his gate (yes, at the hinge end!) and to my relief found a good trodden line through the bracken from there all the way up to the golf course. So, that was a corner nicely cut!


I would have taken a slightly more direct line across the golf course had it been deserted, but the presence of a man on a mower, tending the greens, had me make some pretence of following the lines on the map.


Look carefully and you’ll see a man on a mower


Oooh, is that my next hill over there?

I did follow the Rights of Way on the way back off the golf course, initially Glyndwr’s Way, then a footpath, at least until the footpath started heading down the middle of a fairway, whereupon I decided that following the perimeter would be acceptable. Then I trespassed back down my ascent route, once again striding across the farmer’s field with purpose as he was still within view, in his yard.

With the outing having only come in at 1.8 miles, with 600’ of up, there was plenty of time left in the day to go and tackle my final hill of the trip. However, I still had a day and a half at my disposal, so instead the afternoon was spent beside the Montgomery Canal, mainly reading a book, but with a couple of hours spent ambling along the canal, where autumn was fully in evidence with fallen leaves littering the water and the towpath:



My chosen parking place for Wednesday night turned out not to be as ideal as I’d hoped, albeit (as is usually the case) mainly due to an overactive imagination. There was a surprising amount of coming and going to the nearby houses, with the visitors using ‘my’ car park as a turning circle (as I left on Thursday morning I realised that I would have been less surprised by the amount of coming and going if I’d appreciated earlier that what I thought was a pair of semis was actually a terrace of four). Couldn’t complain about the amenities, though; I had a phone signal and a BT wifi hotspot all from the comfort of my sofa/bed.

A Short Week in Wales – Tuesday

Glasgwm (SH836395)

Having contemplated the map, I decided not to go back to the layby I’d overshot on Monday, but instead would take a look at the possibility of attacking Glasgwm from the top of the pass (Ochr y Bwlch). I was reasonably sure there was a stile onto the access land and, as the top could be reached simply by following fences from there, it seemed likely there would be some sort of a trodden line too.

What I hadn’t expected was for the car park at the top of the pass to be heaving before 8am such that, as I approached, I feared that there would be no room for me. Thanks to the group already gathered having double-parked, there did prove to be space for Colin, and after a good session of pre-hydrating, off I set in one direction whilst the other group headed off in the other, taking out of earshot the overly-loud man who believed that a certain word (starting with ‘f’ and ending in ‘ucking’) had a home in every single sentence he uttered.

A steep initial ascent (some of which I did twice, having realised a few minutes in that I’d left my water bottle in Colin) took me up onto the ridge and it turned out to be a lovely walk. A good route choice too, I thought, in that there was a stile everywhere I needed a stile to be (and every stile even had a little disk giving its grid reference, which could prove quite handy on a day with poor visibility). As it went, I had gorgeous conditions. In fact, until it got a bit cool up on the ridge once I got up to about 700m, it was difficult to believe that it was mid-October.

There’s a llyn right by the summit, but the sun was in the wrong place for me to get a passable snap of both the water and the summit cairn, so instead here’s a shot of part of the llyn, with a taster of the lovely views I enjoyed:


And looking in a different direction:


Returning largely by retracing my outward route, I couldn’t resist trying a little bit of a shortcut through the forest where my 1:25k map said there was a track lopping off a corner. I’m sure I found its line, as I found one of these over every drainage ditch:


but I don’t think that track has seen much traffic in recent years! Oh, and I managed to find a knee-deep, water-filled hole with my right leg on my way through too…

By the time I got back to Colin, he was the only vehicle which was neither blocked-in or blocking-in, and the verge opposite was also being used. I’ve never seen that parking area so busy! Someone did come and briefly park in front of me whilst I was lunching, perhaps momentarily thinking it was an acceptable thing to do based on the surrounding evidence. Fortunately, he did think better of it before I had to go and point out that it would be a little bit of an ignorant place to park.

The outing came in at 6.5 miles with 1900’ of up. This is the route I took:


I’d recommend neither my ascent nor my descent route in their entirety. My experience suggested that the best option would be to follow my descent route up to the edge of the forest, then follow the edge of the forest round to pick up my ascent route from point 656.

Esgair Ddu (SH873106)

Still feeling under-energised after a recent bout of the lurgi, I wasn’t sure I wanted to tackle another hill on Tuesday, but equally, I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my afternoon, so I settled on the plan of parking up in Cwm Llinau* and just taking a bit of a wander to check out the approach route…

… which, of course, translated into me tackling the whole thing and visiting the summit. I got a phone signal up there and, bizarrely, took more phone calls in the next five minutes than I usually receive in the space of a month. It probably goes without saying that I didn’t see anyone during the entire outing, so my temporary use of the summit as an office didn’t cause a disturbance to anyone else.

Here are a few summit snaps:



Walking back across the top for my descent was incredibly boggy, which wasn’t a surprise, given how squelchy my nearby ascent route had been. The map suggested it would be so:


As you can see, a slightly different line was taken on the descent. There wasn’t much in it though; both lines required the same number of fences to be crossed and, unlike my morning outing, I didn’t see a single stile on this hill.

With shins so sore that I walked the final descent down the road backwards, I arrived back at Colin just as the sun was dipping behind the hills, with 5.3 miles walked and 1400’ of ascent.

Later in the evening I did something I’ve not done for years: I used a phone box! My chosen parking place for the night was flat and quiet, and even had a BT wifi hotspot, but there was no mobile signal nearby, so I was pleased as I drove through the  village to spy that it had the rare amenity of a coin-accepting phone box. I may have had to clear cobwebs to get to the phone, but at least it worked (and not bad value at 60p for 30 minutes).

(*This hill can be tackled from quite a number of directions, but my journeys around the local roads on StreetView suggested to me that of the two possible places I could find to park a Colin-sized vehicle, Cwm Llinau was the better option.)

A Short Week in Wales – Monday

Last Sunday it occurred to me that there was no reason that I needed* to be at home this week and thus, with Mick away working**, I may as well take a trip somewhere. I soon came up with a vague notion of a plan, filled Colin’s water tank and threw the necessary stuff into a crate, before I even looked at the weather forecast. By good fortune, the forecast turned out to be excellent, with high pressure sitting over the UK.

Up bright and early on Monday morning, off I set Walesward with good intentions of visiting the top of Glasgwm on my way to the seaside. Those good intentions came to nothing, when I overshot my intended layby (strictly speaking, I could have made the turn, but I didn’t think the van on my tail would appreciate the manoeuvre!) and was unable to turn around in a sensible distance. Having completely forgotten the research I’d done months and months ago, which suggested an alternative start point at the top of Ochr y Bwlch, I continued onwards to Barmouth and spent a nice sunny afternoon alternately ambling around (including a seaside walk and a trip up Dinas Oleu) and reading about the Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst***.

My night-stop for Monday night was perfectly legal, if a little cheeky (to my mind, anyway), but it gave me a quiet night, so that I would be raring to go again bright and early Tuesday morning.


(*There are lots of jobs that need doing at home. The downside of being away so much is that they don’t get done. The upside of being away so much is that we’re not at home being bothered by the deficiencies of the house!

**Maybe one day Mick will truly get to grips with the concept of retirement!

***Thank you Conrad! It had me gripped and I rattled through it in a couple of days.)

Friday, 2 October 2015

Brooks Cascadia Trail Shoes

During our GR10 walk in July this year, Mick’s shoes fell apart. That led to something highly unusual: he put fingers to key board and wrote a blog post; a gear blog post, no less. He wrote it as soon as we got home at the beginning of August, the same day as he put the failed shoes back in the post to I decided to hold off posting until I could provide an update as to what happened next. It didn’t anticipate that the resolution would take the best part of two months! So, here (belatedly) is Mick’s view of Brooks Cascadias:

I’m not often the one to put pen to paper and produce some words on the blog; however, I feel that I must place something on record if for no other reason but to get something off my chest.

In 2012, Gayle and I were preparing to fly over to the USA to hike a 500-mile section of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and I was having issues with which footwear to use. The hike would be, initially, through part of the Mojave Desert and then on into the high Sierra Nevada. The PCT is not a technically difficult hike as the trail is well-maintained and way-marked; however, underfoot conditions are harsh mainly due to the high temperatures and, on our section, the sandy ground.

While I was in a local running shop, the owner recommended to me a pair of Brooks Cascadia trail shoes. I tried them on and instantly loved them: comfortable; supportive; well-cushioned; lightweight; good grip (apparently); not to mention quite a snazzy design (is the word ‘snazzy’ allowed these days?). I bought a pair (lime green they were) and used them on our warm-up walks (the Cambrian Way and other local walks) and they did indeed prove very suitable.

We flew out to California in June 2012 and I bought a pair of the same Cascadia trail shoes (orange these were) in Las Vegas for use on the PCT. How surprised was I to find that the great majority of PCT hikers we met on the trail were also wearing the same footwear – I had obviously made a good choice. They proved to be an excellent trail shoe. Together with other walking, these have covered some 800 miles – I still have them, too (see below).


In the glorious summer of 2013, I was expelled from the house by Gayle (who was working at the time) and sent back-packing: I opted to walk the Pennine Way (which Gayle also walked with me, mostly vicariously). Once again I used my lime-green Cascadias and loved them. Then in 2014, I used the same pair for the TGO Challenge (TGOC) where, by the end, they had finally holed on the uppers and I had to dispose of them. They had covered some 700+ miles.

Also in 2014 I bought a new pair (a rather more subdued grey/orange colour) which I used to walk most of the Home to Edinburgh (a warm-up to the TGOC). These I now use as my ‘going-out-for-a-stroll’ pair. These are going strong and are still in almost daily use with at least 600 miles on them.


This year, we decided to spread our wings (or should that be feet?) into Europe and walk the GR10, for which I went to my ‘go-to’ trail shoes and bought the latest iteration of the Cascadia. They now look more like running shoes (on the upper) than the original trail shoes, but the comfort is similar to the original design and the grippy sole design is the same. After around 180 miles of the GR10 I noticed that the upper mesh material was wearing through (so much so that I could see through it) on the both sides of each shoe. After another 65 miles of walking, the upper is completely separated on both sides at the crease point above the toes. The picture below shows the holes (I have put my fingers up through the holes to show the extent of the separation).



Upon our return, I have compared the designs of the 3 pairs that I still have (the PCT pair, the day-to-day pair and the GR10 pair) with the following conclusions:

Sole: The sole is similar cross each of the three models of the Cascadia with lugs under the ball and heel of the shoe with distinctive ‘ribs’ under the arch of the foot.

Upper: the initial (PCT) pair has an offset lacing system with a soft mesh material upper (which sometimes let in sand during the PCT); the day-to-day pair has a more robust material in the upper (which keeps out debris) but has retained the off-set lacing; the GR10 pair has a more standard, in-line lacing and a very soft material. Critically, the upper support design has changed in the GR10 pair and the reinforcing material now runs across the shoe instead of along the shoe on the top of the toe-box. In my opinion, this places a stress line across the crease line above the toes, which, together with the less robust material results in the material failure.

I have recommended Brooks Cascadias to many people over the last couple of years; however, this was based on my experiences with my first three pairs of shoes. The changes to the design and to the material of the latest iteration have completely changed my view on this: STAY CLEAR OF THEM until Brooks return to a more sensible, robust design of this well-liked and respected trail shoe.


(What happened next: As soon as we got back home the offending shoes were cleaned and posted back to Four days later they offered a replacement and I wasn’t really moved to argue for a refund as there was no question that we could make use of another pair of shoes, albeit not Cascadias. By the time the replacement was offered, we were travelling and not in a position to be browsing the Sportsshoes website choosing new shoes, so that task waited until we got home. On 1 September, I sent off an email specifying what we wanted in exchange; it took 8 days for Sportsshoes to respond requesting clarification. I replied immediately asking what information more did they need, beyond the URL to the product page on their website, and the screenshot of the product, that I had provided in my original email. I didn’t receive a response, but 12 days later (i.e. 21 days after I very clearly specified which shoes were wanted) I did get a note to say that the order was being processed. ‘Gaaaarrrrggghhh!’ I thought, as we were away at the time, and I had visions of the parcel being returned and having to start over with the painful replacement process. Happily, the delivery driver chucked the parcel over the back gate and there it waited patiently for us. The end result: I now have new shoes in place of Mick’s broken ones; Mick’s new shoes will wait until he’s seen the next version of the Cascadia. I’m not very impressed with the service given by, and can’t help but think that everything would have been much more efficient if they’d just refunded and I’d placed a new order … but we got there in the end.)

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Marilyn Tally

In a recent comment Conrad said:

“What about some Marilyn stats? You keep sneaking them in, but the running total seems to be on the Top Secret List.”

Despite appearances, it’s not that I’m trying to keep my count secret, it’s more that it’s not a number that I keep in my head, probably because at the moment it’s such a small proportion of the grand total.

However, I’ve spent some time reconciling my spreadsheet with my Hill Lists App, so can now declare the current count.

It was the second week of November 2014 when Conrad’s gentle persuasion won through and I decided that the Marilyns looked an interesting list of hills to target (albeit with no intention of ever completing the whole list; aside from anything else, my aversion to boats rules out quite a few). At that point I happened to have already visited the summit of 56 of them.

Since then I have ticked off another 143, bringing the grand total to 199198*. I shall hopefully bring it to a nice round 200 before my first Marilyning year is over.



(*I’ve just seen that Swyre Head was demoted from the Marilyn list in June this year (we were there in January) thus reducing my actual count to 198. Fortunately, it wasn’t an outlier requiring a special journey, and was a very pleasant morning stroll, giving us good views along the coast.)

Monday, 31 August 2015

Cold Fell

Sunday 30 August

Cold Fell (SE of Brampton – NY606556)

The RSPB car park at Clesketts isn’t designed for 6m long vehicles, but by holding a branch out of the way and reversing Colin into a bush we managed to squeeze in so as not to cause an obstruction. So, bright and early on Sunday morning off we set in the direction of Cold Fell, hoping that by the time we got there the low cloud would have lifted.


Taken on our way back. That’s the way we’d been, but Cold Fell is out of sight from this vantage point.

The way up was soggy underfoot and a little longer than expected, as we opted to follow the trodden line (which skirted around the far side of the hill for a while before turning towards the summit) rather than yomping through heather, but it was straightforward and by the time we got to the top the cloud base was a short way above us:


I read a trip log which described the cairn as being the shape of an American Hard Gum. A pretty accurate description, I’d say.

The last butteries of the trip were eaten in the excellent shelter (to the right of the trig in the snap above; notable for boasting better-than-average seating arrangements), before we started back down.

With the cloud now considerably lifted, the large cairns further along the ridge called to me, so we took a bit of a detour to include them in our route. What a soggy bit of ridge that was – and after I’d managed the previous couple of hills in dry boots.

They certainly like their large cairns in these parts:


We arrived back in the car park just as people were arriving for the day, thus as I made a bee-line for the kettle Mick dived behind the wheel and suggested that we needed to leave immediately, pointing out that if another car arrived then we’d struggle to manoeuvre out of our tight space. 

Five point eight miles were covered in this final outing of the trip, with 1300’ of up. And then (via a layby for that omitted coffee and the final slice of homemade cake (no idea how we managed to make that last the best part of 3 weeks!)) we went home after a good and successful trip during which (on the whole) we enjoyed surprisingly good weather.