Shuffling Around The Block

As I set out along the track just up the road from the house this morning, I regretted not having a camera on me – not even the one on my phone. The fields were hoary, with the early fog just starting to burn off on what was setting itself up to be a glorious day. One field in particular looked particularly fine in its whiteness, and my immediate thought was to get a photo of it, but even upon realising my lack of equipment I wasn’t moved to return home to pick up a camera.

My attention was soon drawn instead to the other side of the track and, more specifically, to the most enormous bull in the field there. There is seldom a fence between that field and the one across which I was about to walk (when there is it’s a temporary electric one), and from where I was standing I could see no cows to keep the bull distracted.

There did turn out to be cows, and they did follow me, eventually breaking into a trot (the cows, not me; surprisingly I remained calm even when the trotting caught the bulls attention and he started making his way over for a look too). By then I was almost at the next gate and over its icy bars I vaulted (not out of haste, just because I know that this gate doesn’t open).

The track which I cleared of overgrowth back in February, and found out in August was practically impassable again, has benefitted from the autumn. The undergrowth has died back a little and so I was able to pick my way along without being slapped about the face or grabbed or tripped by spiky things.

There was an unusual amount of livestock on my route today (this being my bog-standard ‘shuffle around the block’ route), but fortunately the only other cows were completely uninterested in my presence as I slip-slid my way through the churned up muddiness of their field. The only other animal incident of the walk was another dog which bounded over to place it’s muddy paws on my jacket (why is it that since I stopped shrieking and hiding behind the nearest tree/person every time I see a dog they take it that I’m the friendliest person in the world and want to jump up me?!)

I would likely have walked an extra mile and a half, returning home over more farmland, except that to do so would have required a repetition of the frisky-cow-and-bull-field (or alternatively a walk along a busy lane in dubious visibility), neither of which appealed, so I cut into the village to walk back home along the road. The road walk did at least give the opportunity to see how various building projects are progressing.

Random hoary photo from January this year;

it looked nothing like that today!

 

Little Josh

Mick holding first-born Grandson for the first time:

 

 

He’s five days old now (Josh that is; Mick’s a tiny bit older!), and weighing in at over 10lb at birth, is a big lad for his age.

He was declared, before our arrival, to be the “most perfect baby in the world” and having met him, we are inclined to agree.

Congratulations go to Nick and Holli (the doting parents of whom we failed to take a photo with Josh – but hopefully they’ll send some through soon).

The Trent & Mersey

Having announced that I was taking myself out for a walk this morning, Mick asked where I was going. I gave the matter some thought and reeled off four options.

A while later, as I laced my shoes and put on my jacket, I still hadn’t made a decision but surprised myself by asking Mick whether he could give me a lift down the road to the next village. A fifth option had apparently popped into my head, which would have been dismissed for the certainty of being chased by three large horses. Getting a lift 3 miles down the road would avoid the horse situation.

As I set out into the gloom a few minutes later, it occurred to me that my concern about the horses had prevented me from thinking through the rest of the route and the fact that it often features cattle, sometimes of a troublesome nature. It also passes through some areas popular with dog walkers, so killer dogs were a further danger.

Just as these thoughts were in my mind, a dog suddenly started barking ferociously about three feet away from me. Having returned to land after leaping six feet in the air, I calmed myself as I realised that the killer beast was securely behind tall palings.

Minutes later I was looking to be doomed to be a nervous wreck when I heard hooves stampeding behind me. Looking over my shoulder I identified the source of the sound as four horses, and gave myself a good talking to as, being on a narrow green-lane, it should have been quite obvious that they were safely in an adjacent field.

It seemed inevitable after such a start that I would come face-to-face with the hugest bull known to man upon entering the first field.

Happily, all of the first set of fields were empty and even more happily all of the dilapidated and missing stiles have been replaced with sturdy new ones.

The 7 miles didn’t all pass off entirely smoothly. Although the only cows I encountered were so small as to be no threat at all, I did have not one but two dogs turn from their owners and stride out at top speed towards me. Both turned out to be less threatening than their approach suggested. The second one turned out to be very friendly indeed – so much so that it left a lovely muddy paw-print on the front of my bright orange jacket.

Anyway, enough words, here are a few (poor quality) snaps:

 

Into the misty gloom

 

Friendly cows

 

Swans and ducks organising themselves by colour

I like this bridge-bridge-lock combination on the Trent & Mersey, but I’m sure that I’ve got better photos of it

The water in all of the local ponds was remarkably low

A Touch of Disappointment

Places on the TGO Challenge were announced earlier this week, followed swiftly by much comment around t’internet as people expressed their excitement at being selected or their disappointment at being on the stand-by list. As I read all the excited postings, I found myself (rather ridiculously) in the category of ‘mildly disappointed’.

That we didn’t get a ‘You’ve got a place!’ email wasn’t a surprise, really, given that we hadn’t entered. But, now that we’ve taken part and understand the attraction of the Challenge, there was a tinge of sadness that we had chosen not to join in the fun next year.

Mick had been all for applying, and for a while I had entertained a plan whereby we worked the Challenge into our K2CW (albeit with some assistance of motorised transport).

Mick remained enthusiastic about that plan, but the more I thought about it the more I dismissed it. Amongst other issues, the biggest argument in my mind was that by delaying our progress north by over two weeks we would be putting ourselves more firmly into midge territory during midge season.

Besides, who in their right mind would incorporate a TGO Challenge into an End-to-End walk?

So in 2010 we will be enjoying the TGOC via the blogs and reports of others. And, in 10 months from now we won’t be dithering; that application will be going straight off for the 2011 Challenge.

Step Away From The Pudding…

(This is a missing post. Typed on Friday evening, it should have preceded the last two, to explain where we were and why. It’s failure to materialise in the right order was entirely operator error (pressing ‘send’ always helps…))

"I'm going to take you away for the weekend" announced Mick a couple of weeks ago and it didn't take me too long to work out that the occasion prompting this was our wedding anniversary.

"Where?" was my natural response, but Mick maintained that it was a surprise. He wasn't even drawn in by my probing questions.

It was the apparently innocent statement of "We'll travel down on Friday" that led me to guess the location - much to Mick's consternation. It was the word "down" that did it.

"Down?" I repeated "Not up?". Mick tried to back-track. "Warren's Farm?" I asked. Mick looked sheepish. I grinned.

We discovered Warren's Farm in Yeoford (thank's to Vic's assistance at short notice) during our Big Walk last year and it maintained its 'best B&B' ranking throughout the entire trip. We not only vowed to return, but as a result of some comments in the Visitors' Book last year we quite fancied sampling one of Winnie's (the host’s) famed three course meals.

We arrived at the farm on Friday afternoon

and with the friendly welcome came the apparently bottomless pot of tea and warm scones. Mick's eyes lit up at the sight of the large helping of clotted cream which he knew he would enjoy all to himself.

We had a different room this time, but once again it was large, comfortable and full of character (and it had a bath in the en-suite, making me rue not having that room last year when the bath would have been even more welcome).

The evening meal was superb, even if there was enough food to feed a family of six hungry people. After cream of mushroom soup with sunflower-bread, it was pheasant cooked in a delicious sauce, served with roasted parsnips and swede, broccoli, cabbage and leek and carrot, a whole head of cauli baked in cheese sauce, and potato croquettes.

We were absolutely stuffed after the main course (and yet struggling to stop eating whilst it remained in front of us, so tasty was it), and then came the dessert. With Winnie being Belgian it had seemed wrong to request anything other than the Belgian Chocolate Mousse, and it came served in two very large bowls.

I took a couple of mouthfuls and found it to be very rich indeed and declared that no-one could possibly finish a whole serving. Mick, however, was making a brave attempt, and possibly would have made it except that in the end I suggested (for his own good) that he stepped away from the pudding.

Later we reclined in bed complaining that we had eaten far too much. I wouldn’t hesitate, next time we visit Warren’s Farm (for I’m sure that there will be a next time), to have a meal here again (albeit next time I will take a bottle of wine to make use of the redundant wine glasses that were curiously part of the place setting).

A fantastic B&B, with a fantastic host and plentiful tasty food. Bliss!

(subsequent note: After Winnie’s excellent breakfast on Saturday morning I was so absolutely full that I skipped lunch and tea and didn’t suffer from any hunger until Sunday morning – almost unheard of for me!)

A Day on Dartmoor

A lengthy bumslide was certainly a quick way to descend Great Link Tor but it wasn't my intended method. What it did achieve was the deeply unpleasant experience of continuing onwards to Kitty Tor with sopping trousers slapping against my legs and a soggy sleeve where I had managed to scoop up some quantity of water. Mick was mercilessly unsympathetic.

Fortunately the mishap didn't occur too early in the walk. We had already walked from Meldon Reservoir and up Sourton Tor before pausing briefly to watch a running event pass by.

As my photo from the top of Kitty Tor showed, visibility up there wasn't great, but it was better than we got for our next objective.

Being woefully lacking in fitness our plans for the day weren't fixed and from Kitty Tor we thought it likely that we would take the easy option of tracks back in the direction whence we had come. A surprising (to me anyway) level of energy remained when we reached Kitty Tor, however, so we took the more interesting route to yomp pathlessly over to Branscombe's Loaf.

A significant amount of murkiness persisted which made the yomp all the more interesting (compass in hand, "to that tussock", "which tussock?", "that darker one" pointing in the direction of any number of tussocks of various shades).

Our navigation proved good (in contrast to earlier in the day when a brain-fart (or plain rustiness) saw me struggling to remember how to take a bearing) and after wading through much bog (oh how magic my GoreTex socks are!) we found ourselves back below the cloud, exactly where we needed to be.

Past a large herd of tiny ponies and normal-sized coos we went, then steeply down to join a path that would lead us to the path around the reservoir.

"How long does it take to walk around" a heavily necklaced woman asked as we skirted the south-east side of the reservoir. "You have just walked around, haven't you?" Well, technically we had but I don't think that our route was the one they intended. We gave them the benefit of information read from our map and they merrily continued.

Thanks to having taken a detour in the morning to buy an emergency map case (having failed to pick one up from home), we ensured that the threatened rain would hold off, and so it did.

A mighty fine walk it was too. Women in heels and necklaces, old chaps in shirts and ties, runners in skimpy shorts; sunshine, mist and murk; paths, bogs and yomping - and freakishly warm for the time of year. What more could one ask for?
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On Kitty Tor

Bit murky up here!
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K2CW: Route Outline

I will post the full itinerary separately, but here’s a rough outline of the route that we’re planning to take from Kent to Cape Wrath:

• Saxon Shore Way (which follows the cliffs) from St Margarets to Dover
• North Downs Way (the southern option, not going via Canterbury) from Dover to Rochester
• Local paths and lanes to Dartford, thence to the south bank of the Thames (note Geoff: that’s the south side, so no need to sneak through the Dartford Tunnel!)
• Thames Path to Kew
• Grand Union Canal to Birmingham
• More canals through Wolverhampton until we can pick up some local paths to Cannock Chase
• Staffs Way to Rocester then the Limestone Way (with a few diversions/shortcuts on local paths) to Youlgrave (pretty much following the Cicerone End-to-End Trail route at this point)
• Various paths to meet up with the Pennine Way at the burger van on the A635 (double egg bap and two mugs of tea for me, please), then almost immediately leaving it to go via the Kirklees Way to Marsden
• Paths and lanes via Ripponden and Sowerby Bridge* to pick up the Calderdale Way to get us to Halifax where hopefully one of Ma-in-Law’s famous roast dinners will await us
• Various paths and lanes get us to the Dales Way LInk via Bingley to Ilkley where we pick up the Dales Way
• Leaving the Dales Way just before Windermere we have the bit of the route that involved the most planning and re-planning. As it stands we’re going via Helvellyn to Scales, thence to the east of Blencathra to pick up the Cumbria Way
• Reaching Carlisle via the Cumbria Way an incredibly brief encounter is had with Hadrian’s Wall Path before we head north taking the best route I could come up with until we reach Hawick
• Just over a day later we join up with our LEJOG route and maybe out of laziness or maybe because I couldn’t see anything more attractive, we follow that route the whole way to Kilsyth. This time I will make the time to have a go on the Falkirk Wheel, but I’m also aware that this section involves my two least-favourite days of the whole of our LEJOG walk
• From Kilsyth it starts to get interesting as we head west as if we’re going to join the West Highland Way, but then off to follow (more or less) the route of the Highland High Way** all the way up to Fort William. We’re missing out a few of the Munros included in that route, but also adding in a couple.
• At Fort William the Cape Wrath Trail gives us our route to our destination, which again involves a few days that we’ve seen before. I’ll be particularly interested to see whether the zig-zag through the forest above Inverlael is more obvious now that the End-to-End trail has become quite a popular route.

*If memory serves, I’ve shamelessly stolen Martin’s route, or a very close approximation thereof, to get us from Ripponden to the Dales Way

** Like the Cape Wrath Trail, the Highland High Way is not an official route but just one described in a book. That book is long out of print. Eventually I decided that I wanted a copy of it. Out of print books tend to demand quite a lot of money second-hand. Never before have I paid that much for a little guide-book!

Kites. Red Ones. Lots of.

For the last six months I have travelled up and down the M40 an average of once per week.

As many will know, the immediate vicinity of the M40 in the Stokenchurch area is the home of a large number of Red Kites*. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of journeys I’ve completed without seeing a single one and on a sunny day can easily see a dozen or more. They can be quite distracting too – a truly magnificent bird soaring high over you deserves a glance – but sometimes they swoop low over you too and it’s difficult to keep your eyes on the road when they’re right there in front of you with fantastic colouring and the constant balancing-wiggle of that tail.

This afternoon I could have had a real treat if there had been somewhere for me to pull over to observe (tsk – why do the hold ups occur at inconvenient times, rather than when there’s interesting stuff to look at**?), for there off to the west of the carriageway was a ‘swarm***’. I couldn’t do an accurate head count, passing at speed as I was, but I would say that there were at least 15, if not 20, of them gliding around together.

Only once before have I seen that many playing together. On the other side of the carriageway was a singleton. I wonder what that one had done to be ostracised? Or maybe it just hadn’t noticed that there was a party going on a hundred yards away?

A couple of miles further on and another singleton was spotted. Single amongst other Kites that is, as it was being mobbed by crows****. Unlike the displays of crows versus buzzards, which I’ve always witnessed to involve much ducking and diving (plus the occasional bit of retribution when the buzzard gets fed up with the attack), the Red Kite just continued soaring, apparently unmoved (or at least that’s how he appeared in the few seconds he was in my view).

The Kites do seem to have made a remarkably successful comeback, particularly in around that bit of the M40. Let’s hope that they spread further afield too, so that more people can enjoy them.

A photo shamelessly stolen from t’internet

* For anyone who is not familiar with the bird the foolproof recognition tip that my late father (who was a bit of a birder) passed on to me was that it’s the only bird of prey with a forked tail. The ‘fingers’ of the wing feathers are also quite distinctive.

** Not entirely true. During a ‘trapped in motorway hell’ sitting-with-engine-off-for-hours incident a few weeks ago I did have a Hercules circle me quite a few times before, right in front of me, throwing half a dozen chaps out of the back who duly activated their parachutes to drift gracefully down to ground. Then I twiddled my thumbs for another hour and a half.

*** Swarm?! What is the correct collective noun for Red Kites anyway?

**** To me a ‘crow’ is anything that’s big and black. I have no clue about distinguishing a crow from a jackdaw, raven or such. Similarly birds of prey are generally BBJs***** and anything like a sparrow is a LBJ******.

*****BBJ = Big Brown Job

******* You can work LBJ out for yourself can’t you?