Back to the Back O' Skidda

 

Morning View From The Tabernacle

Some readers who are particularly attentive or otherwise psychic will suspect by now that in May I will be setting off on the TGO Challenge. (my 20th should I complete it.)  Those who don't know what this is are advised that a Google search will provide a huuuuuge amount of detail. 

Anyway, as it involves walking about 200 miles with a stupidly heavy weight on the back will appreciate that a) It's probably a good idea to train a bit and b) Its not very long to go.

Ringo mentioned that we'd not been backpacking for a bit and that wouldn't it be better id we had a little trip somewhere quite soon. For the training.

So we did.

First camp sheltered from a nithering breeze

Ringo the dingo - seems to be in a good mood

Snow Storm on High Pike doesn't distract Ringo from the serious business of marking his territory

We went around the back of Skiddaw - an relatively quiet area of the Lake District, where in midweek March little notice would be taken of some discreet camping and some indiscreet snoring. 

I'm not going to delve into any statistics about how far it was or how much uphill we did on the grounds that the extremely low numbers would be an embarrassment to an energetic full-o-beans pooch like Ringo, although, honesty wouldn't bother me at all. I expect we could have covered more distance given any kind of plan or being determined and not lazy.

But we set off hopefully and marched with chins held high in a British sort of way and gave up in the face of a mini blizzard and a rather lovely camping spot in what turned out to be a lovely suntrap once the evil spiky shower of tiny lumps of wind-driven hard snow had drifted off towards Denmark. We didn't feel guilty at all and soon snuggled into our warm bags with the radio, hot food, kibble and winalot (dog) and some rough whisky to while away the 12 or so hours of chilly darkness. and, since we're being lazy, also the following five hours of morning sunshine. It took that long for the ice on the tent to melt.

Lingy Hut in the distance

Ringo says he's never been to Carrock Fell - well, tough...

Sunshine draws us off the hill

Blizzards returned as we eventually climbed on to the tops, taking brief shelter in Lingy Hut. We were tempted to stay, but as we'd only been walking for about an hour, this was taking lassitude one step too far. We were pitting far too much effort in being lazy - so we plodded on. Showers cam and showers went, each one stingingly painful (or painfully stinging). At some point in the afternoon, maybe 90 minutes before sunset, and in yet the fiercest squall of the day, and surrounded by bumpy tussocks, whilst sheltering in a peat hag, Ringo mentioned that the bit of grass we were on would just about take a small tent and that we were next to the beck for water AND that he hadn't eaten for over an hour and was pining for his winalot and a lovely Mini Jumbone.

So we put up the tent and snuggled in once more. the pitch was a little tilted, though and this lead top a certain amount of sliding towards the door and the tent taking on a jaunty angle.

Ringo is an excellent tent dog, despite his farm-dog border collie heritage. In fact he's really lazy once he gets into his woofbag. He refuses to join in with the celebration of a midnight visit from Mr Bladder, especially if the weather is on the grim side.  Once he's in, he waits for dawn.

We had our tea, finished the whisky and read the book until the headlight batteries failed.

And in the sunny morning, with ice on the tent we looked out to see the nearby hills beautiful and white.

So we buggerred off.

The pitch was a little tilted.

Walking With Nipples Part Deux

 

Ringo hears a crisp packet open in Lancaster

And so. at the end of February on a nice and sunny but blitheringly cold day, me and Ringo put part 2 of the plan to suck up some more contours with a little trundle from Murton. over Murton Fell to High Cup Nick and back to Murton via Murton Pike. Killhope Law had had 1400 feet of ascent and this walk enhanced the uphill stuff to 2250 feet of ascent - quite a bit more. Another walk,5 days later bagged Lonscale Fell and Latrigg and increased this a bit more to 2450 feet of ascent. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of this walk fue to leaving my camera by the honesty box in the car park at Threlkeld. It is testimony to the honesty, shortsightedness and unwillingness to approach the honesty box to put money in that the camera was still there when I go back, several hours later.  However, there are no pictures, which maybe isn't such a great loss as it was very foggy on the tops and so there was not much of a view.

Seems that the sign may have come unto contact with ammunition

Frozen tarn and frigid Mickle Fell in the distance

A cairn like a hat

Cairn with a seat for those who have consumed a chicken vindaloo

Impecunious readers who dislike spending money will note that the car park at Murton is free. 

So having not spent any of my frankly easily earned spondoolies, me and Ringo set off up the bridleway that leads to the White Mines and the line of MOD warning notices that mark the edge of the Warcop Training Area and also provide an excellent easily navigable way up on to Murton Fell. Murton Fell is a typical Pennine moor, given over, it would see, to the sport of potting red grouse with shotguns. Its likely that Ringo, being a dog, is not allowed up there. But we saw no signage apart from the prohibitions around entering the Army training area - which we didn't. We did see a fleet of diggers, digging at a distance. No idea what they were doing. So we plodded over the frozen moor to the edge overlooking High Cup Nick.

Ringo relaxes in a  lunchtime suntrap sink hole

Above High Cup Nick

Gwan - guess...

The old Pennine Way flood route footbridge (now a bit rotten)

Back to High Cup Nick

So we mooched down to High Cup Nick, where there were actual people (we'd not seen any so far, apart from the diggers, digging). After doing some mooching, we sauntered over to the little limestone gorge which has the old alternative Pennine Way route for when Maize Beck was in flood. It has a footbridge and so, nowadays and for a while now, so does the main Pennine Way route, so this way is redundant, but worth a visit. On a hot day it would provide a place to dip. But not today.....  (the very thought.....aaaargh...)

So, not wishing to go any further in the wrong direction, we returned to High Cup Nick, where, somehow, I found myself being interviewed by two lasses walking from Middleton in Teesdale to Greenhead over three days. That's quite a long way as it happens. We were just chatting when one of them produced a recording device and started asking questions such as why did I do this sort of thing and what's the highlights of the Pennine Way...

Murton Pike

Warcop Training Area from Murton Pike

Coss Fell From Murton |Pike

The top of ...er Murton.... Pike  (I went up Murton Pike y'know)

On the plod back towards Murton, I became aware that Ringo was getting slower and slower. He seemed to be limping a bit. This was a worry. He had just had some hefty vets bills, after scoffing three days supply of food for a camping trip, including 40 grammes of Green and Blacks 85% cocoa chocolate. And the discovery during the treatment for this of an £850 hernia - which had only recently had fixed. So I was a bit concerned and investigated..... finding that I had put his harness on wrong in the morning and he had effectively been walking all day with both front legs down one hole. Dhuhhh...   But he was much happier after I'd refitted the harness and we fair romped up Murton Pike, which has excellent views and a small system of permissive paths which I explored in celebration of not having to pay the vets any more money.

Then we went home and told our mum all about our adventure.

Walking With Nipples Part 1

 

Ringo Scoffs The Only Snow For Miles Around

In the middle of the 1960's I attended Ermysteds Grammar School For Boys and during my time in form 1b I was allocated a nickname - almost everybody else got allocated one too. Being a Grammar School, though, many of the nicknames were more imaginative - so an alternative to being called "Knipey" (many modern footballers get this sort of thing) - mine was "Nipples". Being only 11 and a bit years old, I didn't have much of a clue as to what a nipple was or why it was funny. And this nickname stuck for several years and was used by pupils and teachers alike.  I just thought I would mention it here. 

The Track Up Killhope Law from Allenheads

And so it came to pass that 60 or so years later and, having endured a short but nasty winter bug, eaten too much, lazed around too much and with a walking programme which lacked ambition,  distance and effort, I decided that I needed to Up My Game and start doing stuff that might actually require the deployment of a bit of energy, thus reducing the winter fatrolls, the cholesterol, the blood sugar and the lack of ambition and actually go out and do some proper walking. I would have to start out on the more gentle side of strenuous. When I had my weekly "what shall we achieve this week" ,meeting with Ringo, we didn't mention the walking to heel , the acquisitive attitude to other people's food or the lack of empathy with horses and cows, but to set some target with regards to walking reasonable distances with some contours involved. Ringo thought this was a good idea.

I'd ring the landlord about this......

Happy dog somewhere on the Weardale Moors

Killhope Law Summit Cairn

And so we turned up at a large parking area just a bit North of Allenheads village and marched off up the track that goes to Killhope in Weardale and, also, not really coincidentally to Killhope Law, the summit of which sports a large cairn which from a distance does look quite a lot like a nipple.

Killhope Law also has a trig point and a very large stick which the Ordnance Survey thinks is a radio mast. It's not, though, it's just a very tall stick. It's been replaced recently due to thye old and ancient one having fallen over. Killhope Law's cairn also has the name of the hill atop another stick. This will be useful for anyone who thinks they are somewhere else.

Killhope Law's "Radio Mast", trig point and bog

It's true, there IS a Killhope Law

Ringo Maps Out the Next Section

Next up was Stangend Rigg. a boggy. heathery rising on the long and wide ridge to the Cowshill - Allenheads road.  This should be quite a trial but the effort is relieved by a vague ATV track which follows the Northumberland/Durham county boundary. The border is also marked along most of the way by a shallow ditch. The walk goes on a bit and would probably be better on a summer day with larks and pipits and curlew and snipe as opposed to the nithering wind pushing me and the dog along. All of this "excitement" ends briefly at the main road, but continues up to Middlehope Moor, our third and final summit. This is followed by a boggy and tussocky trek to Shorngate Cross currick (although its not really a currick) a tall well-built cairn on the Allenheads to Rookhope road - a place for parking and dumping your old carpets and other rubbish. It was here that we had our only meeting with a huming bean during the day - although we did follow somebody up the track to Killhope Law, but at some considerable distance.

Cyclist : "Bit of a pull up there" (referring to the hill up from the Rookhope Side"

Me: "I bet you had a bit of a headwind"

Cyclist "Yes"

Ringo " Oh FFS"

Middlehope Moor Summit cairn

Shorngate Currick

Cairn Overlooking Allenheads

After Shorngate we followed the bridleway on the edge overlooking Allendale and a track back down to where we parked.

Statistics:

Distance 10 miles (not so bad for a start)

Ascent 1250 feet (need to increase this quite a lot)

Scotch Eggs 1 (not many calories here)

Gravy Bones 6 - (Insufficient according to Ringo)

Conversations - 1 (Probably too many)

Layers of clothing 4 (No comment - it's March)

Outlook - Food forecast for Thursday - I have a plan......

Mr Fox Pinched My Porridge

Ringo Scans the Horizon For Errant Porridge

 It's been a while. Must do better.  In this post I am continuing my obsession with the TGO Challenge. (A google search will reveal all) I will promise to write stuff about other...er...stuff in later posts and if I fail, you can send the lads round.

But, see , if I manage to complete the 2025 TGO Challenge, it will be the 20th time I've done it. So this is special. And, maybe, this could be the last time, maybe the last time I don't know (Apols to Jagger/Richards) (Just goes to show how old I am) (I should try to stop keeping writing sentences in brackets) (Oh I dunno, though...)

So what I normally do before a TGO challenge (look it up!) (sorry!) is do a bit of training - hence me and Ringo turned up in Tebay City Centre, just off junction 38 of the M6 on Tuesday lunchtime and we marched manfully and dogfully in a roughly Westerly direction towards New York, but not really intending to go this far, yet without an actual fixed plan.

Footbridge Over the River Lune

Bridleway to Freedom

First Camp After Not Very Far At All

The Little Black Dots in the Distance Are Fell Ponies. Ringo Hates Horses of Any Kind.

Ringo Snuggles in Early

We didn't go very far into the hinterland before we found a lovely spot for the camping, and, there being no evidence of any Hinters, dropping hints or anything, we put up the tent, had our tea and settled in for the night. Nights in February are very long and dark and settling in with a book, a radio, cheesy nibbles and a hint of single malt is Just The Thing. Ringo passes the night by having running about and barking dreams and farting. He is quite good and sleeping as long as it's dark. Tuesday night had something like ten hours of dark.

And before settling in until the first visit by Mr Bladder (about half past ten), I put stuff out for the morning's repast - that is to say, two sachets of Winalot, some kibble in a plastic bag, some coffee bags and a pack of dehydrated porridge with some kind of fruit in it by Food On The Move, proudly made in Lancashire, as was I. I was particularly looking forward to this and even had a couple of oat-based dreams.

Ringo Announces That He Will NOT be Dragging My Pack Along Today

The Other Borrowdale

Ringo Spots Nothing At All, Just Over There

For the Life of Me I can't Remember This, Except to Say That Its Starting To Rain

Lucky Discovery of a Sheltered Spot

So, in the grey dawn of the very next day I was dischuffed to find that the lovely porridge, proudly made in Lancashire had been nicked. Gone. Space where porridge should be. I scanned the horizon. Ringo sniffed the horizon. He does have history where pinching well packaged foodstuffs are concerned, but in this case he was under his woofbag with a thermal blanket over him (cold night and I'm much too soft), so I'm pretty sure it wasn't him. And the kibble and winalot was intact. I do remember hearing a strange noise in the porch sometime during the darkest and coldest part of the night but by the time I'd located a headlight, whatever it was, had gone. As had my porridge. Luckily I had a spare pack of porridge. The following morning's breakfast was ill-starred, though.

So we packed up and wandered off into the hills, a bit late, mainly due to oversleeping for an hour or so, despite the ten hours we'd just had in our stink pits.

Around lunchtime, it started raining. By early afternoon it was chucking it down, so we left the ridge and sought a bit of flat grass near a stream, out of the wind, with no animals running off with my victuals.

Ringo Un The Wet Porridgeless Morning

Some Bridge Or Other Over Some Kind of Beck

Doesn't Explain How You Can Slow Down a Squirrel. Maybe Engage it in Conversation (?)

Ringo Doing an Excellent Impression of a Wet Dog

We followed a deer fence for a bit and came across a ruined farmhouse with a small and very sheltered enclosure, so I put up the tent there and we settled in to a wet night with the wind roaring through the trees, but not really bothering us at all. It was, in fact, very much a replay of the night before. Apart from the wind, which on the previous night had mainly come from the dog.

In the morning it was still precipitating in a persistent manner, so we packed up wetly and splodged off along the bridleway and along lanes back to Tebay.

I refuse to disclose how far this semi-planned stravaig was, or even less how much ascent there was, mainly due to the embarrassment this would cause Ringo who is very proud of the distances he can pull me. Low scores would be revealed, and, if repeated on a TGO challenge, I probably wouldn't make it to the Great Glen within the two weeks available.

Must do better. I have another trip sort of planned, but not really. I am determined, though, to order some more proudly Lancashire porridge and look after it a bit more carefully.

TGO 2024 or Pieman's 19th Nervous Breakdown

 

Mallaig to Inverie Ferry

It's now the end of August 2024 (if it isn't, please don't point this out in comments because I won't publish them.) Anyway, Autumn is the time when many people's thoughts turn to whether or not they should "do" the TGO challenge next year and this account may well put a few off the idea altogether. It's mainly pictures anyway, which "Blogger" is determined to do daft stuff with - e.g. put them in the wrong order, say that the format isn't supported by blogger (they're all the same format) and/or make them disappear altogether.  This is harder than "doing" the TGO challenge, so if I can complete this blog post without turning to drink or calling for a mental health nurse, I could well be successful in the 2025 TGO challenge. This would be significant due to it being my 20th TGOC. It's all in the mind, y'know.

No idea who this is. Whoever he is is on the first bealach of Day 1

Camp near Sourlies

In May 2024, I started at Mallaig, ferried across to Knoydart  and walked over to Loch Arkaig. then to Fort William, through Glen Nevis to Corrour, then through an empty bit to the A9 and Glen Tilt. Braemar, Glen Clova, Kirriemuir, Forfar (five) and Arbroath. I'm not going to write a day-by-day account. Everybody else does that and I tend to lose the plot as to whatever day it's supposed to be. I'll probably just point out the good bits, the really good bits and the bits I won't ever do again. And if Blogger will allow, there will be a bunch of pictures in the right order.

Oh yes, and I won't be doing anything at all about gear. Don't talk to me about gear, I can't help rolling my eyes during discussions about gear. Evangelism has it's place in churches or on mad TV channels but I'm not interested if I'm in the wrong boots, or the incorrect tent or my rucksack is out of fashion.

Walked with this chap for a day. No idea who he was

An American at Meanach bothy

.... seem to have come a long way....

The start was superb. I got the 10:30 ferry from Mallaig to Inverie on a sparklingly beautiful, sunny summer morning. The anti.............cipation was buzzing on the boat. This was probably the best beginning to a TGO challenge I've ever had. The walk into the mountains was fantastic but my pack was far too heavy. Due to the impossibility of re-supply after Fort William, I had planned a five day section through the middle of all middleness, so I had a large amount of food. I also had a fair amount of whisky and cooking gas. This made the first heave up the first bealach a bit of a struggle. The struggle on hills continued to Fort William, where I got lost during a thunderstorm, having also developed a blister on the miles and miles of Caledonian Canal towpath (which is really boring by the way - my advice is not to go that way).

That's Ben Alder over there

Nice, breezu, sunney afternoon

Skippy's tent

I shopped a bit at Aldi a heaved myself up Glen Nevis and the path through to Corrour, being met by some American challengers who called me "Sir". Only policemen usually call me "Sir", so it was a bit unnerving. It seems that the TGOC is becoming quite popular with Americans due to one of them writing an article I think in the New York Times (I'm probably wrong about this.) Anyway - we all stayed the night in Meanach bothy and continued sort of separately but together, meeting some more Americans the next morning. My last proper scoff till Braemar was at the cafe on Corrour station. I pressed on East, being accompanied for a while by a veteran TGO challenger from Rotherham. The weather turned drizzly and windy and the clouds descended on nearby hills. I camped that windy night beside a small fishing loch somewhere in the middle of nowt much else.

Camp on the shielings Glen Tilt

An evening at Lochcallater Lodge

Somebody following me up Jock's Road

During the next five days I ate five days food and started moving significantly quicker up the hills. I was always a couple of kilometres short of where I should be each evening when my ageing frame gave up and I had to put up the tabernacle and go to bed. As it happened, I was using a Spot 4 device, so despite the lack of phone signals, everybody who ought to know, knew where I was, so nobody got worried. I did some high bits, met hares, deer and ptarmigan, but no actual people at all. I did pass a tent which I called to but got no response. In the evening of Day 4 out of the 5, I came across the tent again, and it was occupied by another veteran challenger. Its nice to chat to old friends in strange and remote places. This happens from time to time.

Then I was in the fleshpots of Braemar, with fish and chips, showers, beer and a noisy night in the boozer, followed by a proper breakfast, a short walk to Callater and a fun whisky and guitar night at Lochcallater Lodge. This was so much fun, I'll be putting it on my 2025 route.

And then it was Jock's road, Glen Clova, being vaguely told by the staff at Clova Hotel that they might not have any accommodation for me. So I camped by the river and plodded over the hills to Kirriemuir the next day where I had a bed booked at the Thrums Hotel - so more washing, charging up electronics and stuffing my face with calories. Later there was a Yellow weather warning for high winds and rain, resulting in a route rethink. Somewhere more sheltered and above-all, shorter.

Memorial shelter on Jock's road

Descent into Glen Doll/Glen Clova

Some kind of big dog with sticks on its head

I rang control and told them where I was going. Where I was going, was Forfar (five) (apols, done that joke already). In Forfar, there was a Greggs which provided a butty and coffee lunch. Thence to Nechatnsmere, the site of a battle during which the King of Northumbria came a right cropper against the Picts. It was windy, but it didn't rain much, which was a disappointment since I didn't have much water and had planned to collect some rain.

Eight or nine miles the next morning, I was on the slippery seashore at Arbroath, with another challenger. Before catching the bus to Montrose, we repaired to Wetherspoons for beer and curry.

And then we went home and told our mums all about it.

Peter Pan in Kirriemuir.

East coast rape fields

Windy night at Nechtansmere

The End

The huge walk from Fort William was beautiful and challenging and I enjoyed it and felt a bit smug about it afterwards. But it's too tough for an old codger. It's unlikely that I'll try anything like that again. 

Good, though.......It's all in the mind....

And I've fooled blogger by saving the file and coming out of blogger and back in again after each save.