Summer 2020

What with one thing and another we haven’t been blogging recently, but we’re now trying to get up to date before this summer’s big van trip. Obviously we haven’t been anywhere exciting so it shouldn’t take too many posts…

In the brief period between lockdowns in the summer of 2020 we managed two short trips away, to Bearsden and Kendal. It turns out we weren’t particularly good at taking comprehensive photos. Here are a few anyway.

Bearsden was somewhat damp. We avoided big hills and instead cycled to Kirkintilloch, charioted around Mugdock country park, and explored the local streets and playgrounds and the coast and hillsides around Helensburgh. Jess also enjoyed helping Grandad in the garden while her parents were having a rest.

We managed to time our Kendal trip with some hot and sunny weather.  We largely stayed out of the Lakes except one great excursion from Ullswater, but found plenty to do and plenty of people to socialise with (outside and from a 2 m distance) locally.

Merryton Low (and other adventures)

Too busy to go far afield for the late August bank holiday, we decided to do a little exploring on our (new) doorstep instead.  After dropping into Nottingham to top up Dave’s collection of “smart casual” wear (essential for evening duties and the like), we headed for the most southerly crag in Eastern Grit, Black Rocks near Wirksworth.  It sounded like a good bet: “a fine cliff” with a large number of routes in the low grades, including some stars and some long(ish) routes.  But we should have paid more attention to the warning signs (“some routes are not climbed that often”; “tends to be green after poor weather”…)

In fact it looked like no-one had climbed there for years, which was unsurprising when we discovered how much broken glass there was around the belay spots, and we quickly abandoned the idea of doing any serious climbing.  We did manage to salvage the visit by soloing two Mods, and having a nice potter around Cromford Moor.  We’d only really gone there as it was on route to the Roaches, where we’d agreed to meet David for a walk the next day, so we didn’t mind too much, and continued happily on our way.

Displaying his usual impeccable Google Earth skills, Dave had found a fantastic van spot on the high road near Merryton Low, where there somehow seemed to be extensive vistas in every direction.  We had a little wander around, spotting Parkhouse and Chrome Hills, Shutlingsloe, Shining Tor and even the Wrekin (mostly retrospectively when we asked David about them the next day).  Then we found an inviting-looking pool and couldn’t resist an evening swim.  It was relatively warm (or maybe we were just hardened by our Baltic dipping), so we enjoyed a few laps with views of the Roaches bathed in evening light.

Sunday was perfect bank holiday weather, sunny and warm.  We reminded ourselves how nice the Roaches are, explored the Dane Valley, and after emerging onto the upper slopes of Gun from a flourishing jungle of stinging nettles, brambles and thistles, Jo remembered why shorts are not usually advisable in the Peak District.  We then made our way back to van via New Zealand, Frith Bottom and Windygates, feeling rather more tired than we felt was deserved!

Stockholm Sailing

A 256 nm tour of the Stockholm Archipelago and the Åland Islands.

We all arrived at one of the largest marinas in the Baltic, Bullandö, late on Sunday afternoon. We quickly stowed the vast quantities of food and got underway, sailing downwind for about an hour to a quiet anchorage (Munko) for the evening. The next day set the pattern for the rest of the trip – morning swims, sailing through islands, finding a spot for lunch, and more sailing to an evening mooring. After anchoring on the first night, we learnt the Baltic way of dropping the stern anchor and nosing the bow just to the rocks and tying up to a tree or ring. A combination of Swedish and German pilots books, plus recommendations from one of Jo’s colleagues allowed us to pick our lunch and dinner spots. After the first night at Munko, we sailed past Sandhamn to Bjorkskar for lunch, then on to Rödlöga for the evening. The following day, still sailing downwind, we crossed to the Åland Islands, landing at Stegskär. We treated ourselves to a marina (and fish and chips) the next night, at the natural harbour of Käringsund, before learning to tack in slowly increasing winds the following day crossing back to Sweden, stopping opposite a military base on Styrjans Hamn. The weather turned from constant sun to occasional rain, but this didn’t stop us swimming and sailing via Granhamn for lunch, and then through some interesting inter-island passages to Paradisvik/Finnhamn for a sunset mooring. Our final day started with swimming in the rain, then we headed to Säck for lunch and losing each other in the forest, before finally heading to the Bullandö Marina.

Petit Tour de Manche

When Dave unexpectedly gained rather a lot of holiday, we decided to use a week of it cycle touring in France and the Channel Islands at the start of July. A long-distance route called the Petit Tour de Manche (its grand cousin extends further west into Brittany and Devon) formed the basis for this, although required some tweaks as there are no longer regular ferries from Weymouth to France.

So we took the van to Poole (getting caught up in various road closures and traffic chaos on the way), spent half a night in it, left it parked in a posh-looking cul-de-sac, and caught an early ferry to Cherbourg.  Over the next couple of days we wound our way south down the Cotentin Peninsula, enjoying the Normandy countryside (marshes and bocage) and towns and an interesting detour to Utah Beach.  A good day or so was spent following the Vire river valley – often on the voie verte, a series of old railway lines.  As the weather became sunnier and hotter, we turned west and were soon in sight (albeit way across the marshes) of Mont-Saint-Michel, which we later spent a pleasant evening wandering around as the crowds thinned out.  A final day in France took us into Brittany, zooming along the rocky coast to Cancale and St-Malo, and on an evening ferry to St Helier.

This felt a bit like the start of another holiday, since we now had two days to explore Jersey, and the weather was still hot and sunny.  As the round-island route is only 40ish miles, this was very leisurely and involved a large number of food, drink and paddling/swimming stops.  We decided we liked Jersey, once we stopped expecting it to be like the Scottish islands and accepted that there would inevitably be a cafe and other people on every beach!  A final evening ferry brought us back to Poole (via Guernsey), where we were relieved to find the van exactly as we had left it.

All in all, a nice relaxed tour through varied scenery, with great campsites, some history, and countless opportunities for excellent food and drink (and the good weather might have helped a bit too!)

Honeymooning on Skye

Wedding photos are still a work in progress, but here are some of our wonderful trip to Skye afterwards. (We’re still not really sure whether this counted as a honeymoon or not and reserve the right to have another one at a later date!)

Torridon

After our sailing antics (see post below), Dave spent a month in Perth interning at a wind analysis company. We managed to meet up in the middle (Teesdale) for a weekend, mostly spent slobbing in the van, battling through heather on some obscure moor, drinking wine by Cow Green Reservoir, and walking along the Pennine Way in what appeared (judging by everyone else) to be the wrong direction. It was a good weekend, but not really deserving of its own blog post.

However, at the end of Dave’s internship we had a proper trip, courtesy of a Farrow family wedding in Torridon. Our first mountain fix on the long trip north was Glencoe, where the sun was out – along with the tourist coaches and bagpipers. We soon left the crowds behind as we headed up Bidean via the zig zags onto Gearr Aonach, and Stob Coire nan Lochan. From “zig zags” I was expecting a beneath-an-alpine-lift-style slog, but they turned out to be significantly more fun in an unlikey-secret-passage kind of way. It was absurdly hot and we found ourselves sheltering in the shade of every suitable rock for a drink. At the summit we watched a mountain rescue helicopter collecting a search team from the next top, then descended down the Lost Valley (we had been contemplating adding Sgreamhach to the day, but we’d only started at 11 having driven up from Glasgow, and still had a 4-hour drive to Torridon to go).

Unfortunately, by the time we’d washed all the sweat off, most of the drive was in the dark, but we did have dinner watching a spectacular sunset over the Grey Corries from the Spean Bridge Commando Memorial, and the full moon lit up the landscapes (and deer) around Glen Shiel and Lochcarron as we passed through.

The next day we did the classic traverse of Liathach – a complete contrast to our previous ascent, which had been unrelentingly grey and drizzly. It was very warm and windless again, but much of the steep ascent was in mist as we climbed through the cloud that had shrouded the mountainside after sunrise. As we gained the ridge we just rose above the cloud into the sunshine, and watched as it all gradually cleared below us over the course of an hour or so. We had fun scrambling over the pinnacles and managed to descend with our knees just about intact. The walk finished with a refreshing dip in the river Torridon, followed by drying off on a sunny slab of gneiss while eating haggis-flavoured crisps (then hastily retreating to escape the evening midges).

Normal service resumed on Friday as we completed a damp, misty and viewless round of Ben Alligin – much the same as the previous time we climbed it, only in the other direction and incorporating a less-frequented nose ascent route (Na Fasreidhnean).

On the day of the wedding itself there was only time for a morning “stroll” – on a somewhat deceptive coastal path from Inveralligin to Diabeg. Although we’d only really intended to go halfway and then reverse, the groom was having so much fun that we carried on – over countless lumps and bumps, through a squally shower, down a cliff face, and finally back along a road containing no fewer than seven up arrows and seven down arrows, all at a pace that was more of a run than a walk. A decent warm-up for the evening’s ceilidh!

Wasdale

This one had been in the calendar for a while. When my parents retired, they decided to reset their Wainwright count (not that they had been counting) and do them all again. As they got closer to finishing, it was decided that their 214th Wainwright would be Scafell Pike, and that they would climb it on my Dad’s 70th birthday, 3rd July 2015. And so it was that 20-odd family and friends (mostly from the Castle MC) converged on Wasdale Head for a long weekend of celebration and generally having fun in the mountains.

A last-minute work trip to Finland happily managed to just avoid disrupting best-laid plans, and the yellow van picked me up from Manchester Airport en route to the Lakes. Torrential rain and traffic cleared to a wonderful drive over Ulpha Fell, and we arrived in time to join the party, who had taken over a sizeable corner of the Wasdale Head Inn (the birthplace of British climbing, as we were frequently reminded), for a drink. As usual, most people knew who I was while I had no idea who several of them were – though it was worse for Dave, who knew even fewer people, but was nevertheless immediately called on to participate in a “who’s taller” contest. The fact that around 20% of the party were called Dave didn’t help matters! We then spent a comfortable night on the green undisturbed by the relatively small number of Three Peakers (it being Thursday – more inevitably turned up later in the weekend).

Friday’s ascent of Lingmell and Scafell Pike went off without a hitch and in glorious sunshine. Summit celebrations included prosecco, ginger cake and pork pies with candles in. We descended via the Corridor Route and Lingmell Beck. Some of the party stopped to cool off in the pools of the beck, but Dave and I had bigger ideas and continued down to the valley. We had a quick change and paddled/swam down the river to Wast Water, where we managed a good 5-10 minutes of actual swimming (and very pleasant it was too, although we found that as soon as we ventured away from the river mouth it got a lot colder). Back with just enough time for showers before an excellent dinner and more cake.

A wild night (in terms of wind and rain rather than behaviour, in case that needed clarifying) ensued as the weather broke, and we spent a largely grey, damp Saturday pottering over Yewbarrow.

Sunday was much better, and we decided to get some of the driving out of the way in the morning by heading to Coniston. The van only just made it over Hardknott Pass – I think we’ll tick that one off and not bother again. There wasn’t time for any worthwhile climbing so we left the rope behind and joined up three scrambles to make a most enjoyable ascent of Brim Fell: The Bell, Low Water Beck and the crags below Brim Fell itself. Low Water Beck was the pick of the three – good rock, excellent positions alongside the tumbling falls, almost entirely dry and never too precarious. We finished the day by running over Swirl How and down Coppermines Valley, getting caught in a couple of summer showers but drying off before we got back to the van.