Author Archives: yellowvanmountaineering

Duffers in Northumberland

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A March weekend in the north east with hillwalking friends (several weeks ago now, but holidays got in the way of posting).  Most of us were coming from the London/Cambridge area, so the Scottish border seemed an ideal place to meet up.  A conspicuous lack of Pettits owing to poor timetabling may have resulted in some less-than-early starts… As well as walking in the Cheviots and near Bamburgh Castle, and catching up on everyone’s news, we enjoyed a feast (masterminded by Jane) on Saturday evening, and some of us kept the others awake by “playing” Articulate late into the night…

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Climbing or writing?

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So, as I’m in the throes of frantically finishing writing a thesis, we took a long weekend in Cairngorm.

Accommodation was in the very nice Badaguish lodges, where the best part is the lively company of ex and current British Exploring Leaders. Some three vans turned up; although we didn’t have ours this time, it was clear where the inspiration for our van came from.

Saturday had a good forecast, so we headed into Coire an t-Sneachda with Richard. Richard has a 12 week old girl and was on a rare day off so we had volunteered to take him on his first real winter climb. We haven’t climbed much recently, so thought that Spiral Gully would provide a long and easy acclimatisation for everyone. After some confusion about what other people were doing, we ended up with 4 other teams in the gully. Luckily, where other climbers saw the easy right hand variation, I saw the more interesting left hand variation. Unfortunately, part way through this interesting section the ropes decided to become unbelievably tangled. This put a stop to our overtaking manoeuvres, but did remind us of the tight rope work needed in winter to keep everything moving smoothly. By the time we escaped the knot, we threaded our way back through other teams on the route to find the direct finish was already occupied, so we were forced to take the easy way home. A couple of windy tacks east across the plateau and we escaped down the goat track for a late lunch.

Sunday started with quite a bit of lethargy. Luckily Tom was keen to do something harder, and I foolishly said I would help. Leaving everyone else to a lazy breakfast we headed into the corrie again. This time looking for either Broken Gully or Aladdin’s Mirror Direct. Deciding that short and steep would be preferred over the longer Broken Gully, we headed to the base of Aladdin’s Mirror Direct. A fun time ensued as I learnt to lead ice. Luckily Rob had provided some vital info about number of ice screws needed. He had also told us the crux was in the first section, but I found the second section more imposing, which didn’t help morale. Unfortunately, once we’d all learnt to climb ice, the pitch was over and only steep snow / spindrift was left. Amazingly, despite the forecast, we topped out into the sun – my favourite moment of any mountaineering day.

Having re-learnt how to climb and bettered our grade in the first two days, we tried to squeeze another climb in on the Monday before driving home. Unfortunately, Red Gully was already taken by another pair, and despite our attempts to overtake, we couldn’t find a belay point quick enough. A quick discussion followed where we decided that it would be better to leave it rather than follow behind a slow party, and there wasn’t too much else in the corrie that was tempting. We played in the broken ground near the goat track then headed back over the top and drove home, getting back at a sensible time for once. It was nice not to mess with ropes yet still play around with two axes, having fun in the mountains, knowing the next day we would be back chained to a desk in the middle of nowhere. The sun was also out, but not quite enough to give Jo her first few of the plateau (still waiting after six years of visits).

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The rocky road to the Elan Valley

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A weekend in mid Wales cycling and walking.

We had no idea where to go this weekend. At 3pm it looked like Norfolk, but a closer review of the weather suggested it might not rain all weekend in Wales. But as it looked like it would be cloudy on the tops, we decided to take the bikes over. Also, we had a cycling map of mid Wales and thought we ought to use it.  However, things didn’t go particularly smoothly – but what else could we expect on Friday 13th?

Half an hour later we were packed, and I was putting the bikes on the van. We then noticed that my cycle computer was missing. After half an hour of looking, we gave up. A trip to Tesco without a strict shopping list is always risky, but we managed and got away at around 6.

Driving through Melton Mowbray (only 20 mins from home), we stopped for fish and chips (our first of the year), to find the chippy packed. After some wait, we found the chips were closer to cardboard than potato, so gave up and got down to driving.

Coming through Birmingham, they have those nice big signs that tell you useful information. We were informed the A5 was closed immediately after the M42 junction that would allow us to easily go the other way. So we drove the long way round Birmingham to get on the M5 south.  Then we nearly ran out of fuel in the Borders, but managed to reach a petrol station in Bromyard just before it closed.

Eventually, after some tiny A roads, we got to Rhayader, and took our time finding the correct road out to our chosen layby, an idyllic stream-side location high up in the moors. After driving for some miles in thick fog with snow encroaching on the road, we found that our ideal layby had been converted into a building site for a new bridge. The back-up plan was a good half hour’s drive back through the fog, but was thankfully much more suitable – and in the morning we had the joyous revelation of finding a toilet block. One of our more civilised overnight stops – flat, quiet and only a few potholes to negotiate on the way in!

Anyway, it was raining in the morning, so a slow start ended with us heading off around 10 along a dirt track around Claerwen Reservoir. The cloud cleared slowly and the day got better as the track got rockier, ending in a ford across a not insignificant river. After several aborted run-up attempts through the gravel, Jo got up enough speed and got half way through before bailing and wading the rest of it. I was more successful in cycling through, but got just as wet as it was rather deep.  Soon afterwards, we gladly reached tarmac!

Wet feet aside, the descent into the Ystwyth valley was very fun with good views, starting in the middle of nowhere and gradually coming back into civilisation. At one point, a black cat darted out across the road in front of us, and shortly after Jo complained that her brakes weren’t working. Typically, I had left the Allen keys in the van, so we couldn’t fix them. Actually, I’m still trying to fix them 3 days later even with the correct tools.

Cycling up beside the Ystwyth river and through the old lead mines was fun, apart from the odd occasion where the road decided the best way wasn’t next to the gently inclined river, but up the steep valley side and back. It was very quiet though and great views, with some good information boards every few miles to add some context to the scenery.  Some chocolate rocky road (courtesy of Joe) was rather more appreciated than the literal version and powered us over the drainage divide back into the Elan valley.

Over the moors was very Scandinavian, with patches of snow and lochs (well, reservoirs). We also enjoyed the wildlife and got quite good at distinguishing red kites and buzzards. We cycled down past the three main reservoirs to arrive back at the van around 5pm. A great day out on quiet roads in some nice terrain.

Given the dodgy brakes and some very wet cycling shoes, we put the bikes away and spent Sunday climbing a beacon hill and walking along the Wales coast path near Aberystwyth. The sun was out and it was good to see the sea and snoop at Aberystwyth, although a distinct lack of ice cream vendors was noted.

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Lakes Camping January

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So it’s been a while since we went winter wild camping in the Lakes, and we thought it would be good to do again.

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The aims for the weekend were to find some snow, walk a long way over many hills and use our expensive tent, rucksacks, sleeping bags that are lying around not doing much. The van was also designed to make such wild camping trips easier, but we haven’t got around to doing this.

What we found was:
The majority of the snow had melted. There was still enough, and we did use crampons once, but not the bucketfuls I was hoping for.
The winds were much stronger than expected, from a different direction, and with heavy bags on a narrow snowy ridge, this provided much needed entertainment and some potential nasty knee problems. We were almost reduced to a crawl, which is something I haven’t done for a very long time. Luckily the knee seems to be holding up and getting better.

We did manage 12 Wainwrights near Braithwaite for those that count such things, including Grisedale Pike, Hopegill Head, Whiteside, Grasmoor, Whiteless Pike, Wandope, Eel Crag, Sail, Scar Crags, Causey Pike, Outerside, Barrow. Since we were in the cloud all weekend, I still need to do them again to get a view.

We also managed to forget about using the gas canister for a weekend in the autumn, meaning we took a nearly empty one. We just about scraped by; melting snow and getting it just hot enough for the dehydrated meals. The lack of food and drink made the night colder and longer, with an interruption by some mad mountain bikers coming nearby around 8pm. In the morning we dashed back to the van to avoid the rain and find some water. The van then came into its own by providing endless hot drinks and hot lunch and snacks, although it took me until mid Monday to get back to normal. I’ll triple check the gas next time.

Looks like we still have some things to learn about winter camping, so will give it another shot in a few years time. Maybe earlier if we use something cosier like a bothy or snowhole.

New Year in Glen Shiel

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Links to more Photos:
Dave’s Photos (trying flickr out)
Jo’s Photos (still struggling with picasa/google)

The most fresh snow we saw over our New Year trip to the Highlands was in Bradwell on the night before we left. Dave had arrived earlier that day to discover that the forecasts he had been using to deduce that we would be fine getting out in the morning unfortunately did not refer to the Bradwell in the Peak District, where in fact we were and where heavy snow was now falling. However, some pre-emptive action (leaving the car at the bottom of the hill) and some efficient gritting meant that we successfully escaped. In fact we were rather surprised to arrive first at Shiel Lodge, after narrowly avoiding being tempted out by a snowy, sunny Glencoe.

Luckily, that wasn’t quite all the sun and snow for the trip. We had a couple of great winter days out on part of the South Shiel Ridge and on the Three Brothers of Kintail, with snow-covered tops, some interesting ridgy bits and a whole day of alpine views. Best winter walking days for ages, and finally proof that the winter photos in the Munro book might actually not have been faked… It was also a good chance to practice a bit of snow examination and avalanche awareness without a howling gale for once, not to mention some boot skiing on the way down.

Inevitably, the snow all but disappeared and the rain and gales returned, but we managed to get up A’Ghlas-bheinn near Morvich and then Beinn a’ Chapuill near Glenelg on the two subsequent days. Both pretty wild but with surprisingly good views, and a splendid way to work up an appetite for DC and Mary’s excellent New Year’s Eve dinner! Even worse weather the next day encouraged us to get up late, enjoy a brunch of bacon, eggs and waffles, and later make a token effort by wandering along Loch Duich to the cemetery beyond Ratagan and going to visit the local llamas. We still got soaked.

On the final full day we ignored the predicted risk of whiteouts and thunder for a really quite pleasant ascent of Sgurr Airgid near Morvich. Increasingly windy and icy underfoot, but also wonderful winter light and snow-dusted views (at least when it wasn’t hailing), and all the better for being so unexpected. The light was so good that we went out again to inspect Eilean Donan – by which time, of course, it was dull and drizzly again, but we had fun nosing around the shore and the brightly-painted village of Dornie.

We bagged a final bonus Corbett on the way home: another glorious day, so we stopped at Kinlochleven to run up Garbh Bheinn and salivate over the Mamores. Another marvellous ridge (even if the steep nose was a little reminiscent of our scree-running-on-ice experience in Kyrgyzstan), and great to be among the mountains for a little longer.

So, some reward for the past three years of miserable Scottish winter weather – but hopefully that’s not it for another three…

Pitlochry and Bethesda

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A couple of weekend trips in the last few weeks – one to a cottage near Pitlochry to meet family, the other to a bunkhouse near Bethesda to meet friends.

The cottage in Pitlochry was suitably old and drafty but held great views over the the autumn colours in the glen. Forecasts for 50 mph gusts and 50% chance of cloud free summits made the 3 tops of Beinn a’Ghlo the objective for Saturday. With weather worsening in the afternoon, we sped along the ridge to have lunch on the last top, descending the south ridge and enjoying the long tramp back to the car in sunshine. Good views from the first two tops, and occasional glimpses from the last. The wind was also less than expected.

The next day was spent cycling through the autumn colours, which we had forgotten were quite so good in that part of the country. A bit of rain damped things, but better than expected.

A final morning was spent with a quick walk through the woods before heading home.

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Wales the weekend after was a different story. With high winds and continuous rain forecast, we headed up to Carnedd y Filiast, Elider Fawr and onto Foel Goch and Y Garn. It didn’t stop raining and the wind made sure we were thoroughly wet. The wind coming off the NE ridge of Y Garn was enough to blow us over a couple of times. The log fire back in the bunkhouse was well earned and appreciated.

Sunshine tempted us on Sunday to go for another walk, so we headed up around the northern Carneddau, on which it rained for an hour or so. Luckily the sun came out on the way down, and we finally dried off, before finding ourselves deep in farm mud a few metres from the road.

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Wind awareness and capsize drills

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Living next to England’s largest reservoir (by surface area) AND not having too many weekends away planned was just too fortuitious a combination of circumstances to miss, so we decided that this autumn we would learn to sail dinghies. Not only would this be fun in its own right, but we also hoped it would help us with sail trim on yachts, and shore up (no pun intended) our general competence with boats and their behaviour.

So we booked a combined Level 1/2 course with the Rutland Sailing School based at Edith Weston, constituting four full days spread over two weekends. Our first day coincided with a national junior sailing event which saw an astonishing quantity of vans and Volvos converge on the sailing school car park. Escaping the chaos, we met our instructor Tony and headed out in a Laser Bahia to learn the basics. Although we were confused by various bits of rope that never get touched on yachts because nobody knows what they do, we made good progress and by the afternoon we were sufficiently practised at tacking and gybing to be allowed to move onto (deliberate) capsizing. This was surprisingly good fun, and not too cold.

Day two was cancelled owing to a comprehensive lack of wind, so we enjoyed an unexpectedly restful day of conker-collecting and picnicing at Burghley Deer Park. A fortnight later we reconvened after a hasty revision session – lots to remember, though I think some of it was beyond Level 2 (one of the hazards of learning to sail with an aero engineer is that things get complicated very quickly). A slightly windier day meant that it was easier to see the boat respond to things we did – ideal conditions for sailing round triangles, picking up buoys, “jetty bashing” and making ourselves dizzy via repeated circuits of floating pontoons. We spent the evening recovering in the rather nice Wheatsheaf pub in Oakham, where they have two log fires and very tasty chips.

On the morning of the final day we were sent out in the Bahia to fend for ourselves, while Tony laughed at us from the comfort of a launch. It was windy enough for a reef in the main sail, and we had some fun zooming back and forth across the lake before tackling a triangular course. We successfully negotiated the gybes but twice fell foul of gusts that tipped us up when we failed to respond to them quickly enough. But we got significantly wetter after lunch, when we tried out a couple of single-handers – a Laser Pico for me and an RS Q’ba for Dave. Conclusion: great fun, but more practice needed – we only got a short way up what I suspect is a very steep learning curve! For the final session of the course we were back in the Bahia, defying the safety boat, which wanted us to go home (but it was only 3.30!), and doing timed laps around yet another triangle. Once we’d got our making tacks and laylines sorted, our times were remarkably close. It’s always the crew’s fault, anyway…

We are now apparently deemed competent enough to hire boats from the sailing club, so are looking forward to some more capsizing practice in the near future, as well as hopefully trying out some dinghy tactics in the yacht.

Tour de Melton Mowbray

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We never actually got to Melton – we just cycled around it. We got half way to Leicester, then headed north to the border of Nottinghamshire at Nether Broughton. There we decided that continuing would risk coming into contact with some merry men, so we headed more directly home, thus encircling the home of the pork pie.

The autumn colours were just emerging which helped, but a number of range rovers on single track roads without passing places made keeping momentum for uphills difficult. A short 75 km, but the headwind on the return made it feel long enough.

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Western Fells (or Bivvying on Buckbarrow)

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This time last year, CUHWC was just beginning its Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Year. As part of the celebrations, a challenge was set (I forget the details, but I strongly suspect Michael was involved) for the club to put a present or past member on top of every Wainwright within the twelve-month academic year. Valiant efforts were made, but as the deadline approached, Phil and Joe decided that concerted action was needed to ensure success and set about calculating how two people could possibly bag the remaining scattered fells in a weekend.

Fortunately, this unlikely scenario was in the end unnecessary. There was plenty of enthusiasm from within the ranks and, a couple of weekends ago, nine of us headed to the Lakes to finish the job. We convened at Syke Farm in Buttermere on Friday night, before splitting into crack bagging teams and, having been given our marching orders, heading our separate ways the next morning.

Since Dave has banned himself from weekends away for a while, I was paired with Eleri. Our rather ambitious tick list took us on a traverse of four of the remotest valleys in the Lakes: Buttermere Valley, Ennerdale, Wasdale, and Eskdale. We set off from Buttermere amid a throng of assembling triathletes – so warm and calm was the day that I almost envied them their swim!

Our first objective was Pillar, and the quickest route there – over Scarth Gap Pass, across Ennerdale and back up to Black Sail Pass – was not particularly quick. It was 1 o’clock and definitely lunchtime when we made it, dripping with sweat in the windless air, to the summit. But once we were up high, further summits toppled relatively easily as we ticked Scoat Fell, Steeple and Haycock in about an hour. The next challenge was Caw Fell – we had trouble locating the top not (for once) because of poor visibility or even a featureless summit plateau, but because of Wainwright’s idiosyncratic choice of hills and the failure of our maps to make clear what he was thinking. Eventually deciding he meant the lower ring contour, we made an out-and-back to bag it. Eleri promptly declared – quite possibly uniquely – that Caw Fell was her favourite Wainwright (so far).

On Caw Fell we also briefly met Joe and Phil, who had gamely volunteered for the Lank Rigg group and were now in search of something more interesting. Leaving them to run over Haycock, we traversed around the side to meet up with them again en route to Seatallan. We were also glad to find the first water since Ennerdale – it was one of those rare days in the British hills when two litres is barely enough.

Seatallan was a bit of a sting in the tail, but the hazy views from the top were fabulous. A short hop down Nether Wasdale Common later, we had set up camp near the “summit” of Buckbarrow and enjoyed a quite passable four-course meal of various rehydrated substances plus a large golden syrup cake. Bed soon beckoned, and from the green ledge on which my bivvy bag nestled, I had a glorious view of the lights of Sellafield as the sun set…so much for getting away from work.

Sunday dawned greyer and cooler than the previous day, but rays of sunlight parted the clouds to land in Wasdale as we descended towards it – the boys having run ahead on a heroic mission to Green Crag. The woods and fields at the western end of Wast Water, just on the cusp of autumn, provided a pleasant low-level interlude during which I nearly lost Eleri to a couple of very tiny piglets. I managed to drag her away eventually, and we soon reached the summit of Whin Rigg via Greathall Gill. A short stroll to Illgill Head followed, then a descent to Burnmoor Tarn. No one else was around and the expansive col felt surprisingly wild, with rocky cascades tumbling off the slopes that led up to Scafell, and sun dancing on the water.

And then we were just about done; all that remained was to coerce our sore feet (I really must do something about those boots) down the track to the relative civilisation of Eskdale. Due to meet the rest of the group shortly at Hardknott Pass, we didn’t really have time for a well-deserved celebratory pint of “Rosie’s Pig” at the Boot Inn – but we had one anyway!

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