Bounding around Boredale Bagging Birketts

All of this Yorkshire Dales stuff and idiotic jaunts up the Borders with toddlers AND wandering about on that fence line between Scotland and England has distracted me from my list of target hills wot I wrote up last November and which is almost untouched. So I determined to go and bag Angletarn Pike (South). A quick look on http://www.hill-bagging.co.uk/ revealed a bunch of unbagged Birketts in the close vicinity and so, it was with a chicken sandwhich, some rhubarb pie and a banana – and an enthusiastic dog, that the knipemobile screeched to a stop at the little car park at the foot of Hallin Fell.

The legs weren’t too happy today, prolly cos of all the beta blockers and the damn great lumps of wobbly fat around the pieman’s gut – but we struggled manfully up the outrageously steep slopes of Sleet Fell till we go to the top.
Fine views were to be had. Sleet Fell was unbagged Birkett #1 – a 378 metre lump on the side of Place Fell.

The next one was to be Low Birk Fell – 373 metres and hiding in some bracken across the other side of a bit of a corrie. the bracken, I ought to point out, is turning brown and dying back. This is a good sign if you like winter, but a crap sign if you don’t. Low Birk Fell has a cairn and a specially fine view of Ullswater and the Helvellyn range. We lunched here in the sun. I lunched, Bruno just watched and tidied up any debris afterwards.


On to Birk Fell aka Bleaberry Knott 512 metres This is painfully steep at the bottom but gets easier. (maybe the beta blockers were wearing off….) This also has a specially fine view of Ullswater and the Helvellyn range. We tarried a bit.


After tarrying we lurched and stumbled up to Place Fell.(657 metres)  This wasn’t too bad as far as steepness is concerned and it’s rocky top provides shelter from the cold wind. Its a popular spot. A couple I’d met earlier who I’d passed, managed to arrive before me (I blamed the dog’s faulty navigation) – had a little celebration. They seemed quite pleased to have climbed it. Place fell has a cracking view…of..er..you know where…

Down to Boredale Hause and then up to Angletarn Pike (South) at 565 metres. This is almost, but not quite scrambly. It has a fine view…..  

After all of these fine views and with legs decreasingly less heavy, we positively danced along the Beda fell ridge. The path along this lumpy ridge changes sides from time to time, and, therefore, the (fine) views are occasionally varied.

Its bloody brill….   Worra nice ridge. I ended my traverse at a little rocky top just North of Beda fell. Just a bit beyond here, a path goes down through the dying bracken to Winter Crag farm and the Boredale road takes the rambler and his faithful pooch back to his car at the bealach.

Nice walk, that…..
10 Miles (only just… rounded up a bit..) and 2900 feet of uphill.

Dribblings of a Doddering Daunderer

I must say that I was very pleased about receiving an invite to the Sloman/Lambert annual pre-TGO Daunder. There’ll be more about daundering on Alan Sloman’s blog imminently, I should have thought – so in the meantime (unless he posts before I finish writing this) – here’s my take on this interesting event.

First of all, let me say that daundering a la Sloman/Lambert is not a quick affair. None of this “fast and light” nonsense, no.

This is a slow cooker of a walk. A fine casserole. A savoured stew. It is

In fact

Quite

Ponderous.

We met at the NT campsite in Langdale and paid for a couple of days parking and, after initial celebrations in the pub, we left bright and early the next morning… for a relaxed coffee at the ODG.

The Daunderers were (in no special order) – Me, Alan Sloman, Phil Lambert, Humphrey Weightman, Shirley Worrall and Piglet, Gerry Harber, John Jocys and Peter Shepherd – all ready for a pre-TGO Challenge walk.

Eventually somebody decided that we really orta walk, so we ambled up Mickleden for a rest at the foot of Stake Pass.

Some brief but brutal upwardsness followed till we found a nice spot near the top of Stake Pass for lunch. This took a while.

A bit later, we sallied slowly over the remaining drumlins and descended steeply to Langstrath for a bit of a lie down by the river. Some sheep rushed past. The fools.

It was still Friday when we arrived at Stonethwaite campsite in time for tea. A visit to the pub was enjoyed. Some serious damage was done to the contents of some whisky supplies afterwards. A veil will be drawn discretely over a brief spell of harmless violence that happened next.

On Saturday, we attempted to get more coffee at Stonethwaite but they were too busy for profits, so we crossed the river and made a brief and vicious assault on an unfeasibly steep path up to Dock Tarn. A rest was had en route, but Dock tarn itself was found to be unsuitable for an extended stay, so we bog-trotted over to a small but friendly crag at the far end of some heather where eating and snoozing could be enjoyed at length. Several decisions were put off to await a full consensus. There was lassitude.

Further physically taxing plodding was done to the top of Ullscarf and subsequently to the top of High Raise – the Daunder High Point. Only a few rests were had. Our average time crept dangerously close to breaking the 1 mph limit at one point, but we managed to control ourselves with some dignity. On High Raise,we allowed ourselves a brief episode of celebration and used the time to work out how to get to Codale Tarn. This, we eventually located and found to be already occupied by campers, so we found spots under the crags of Belles Knott, just by the beck. There was a fine view of Grasmere. People generally slept well. The forecast was for 22 degrees the next day and the sun would be beating down from early in the day into our Eastwards-facing corrie.

Sometime in the early hours, something was beating down on to my tent. It wasn’t the sun. It was wet, in fact. And mizzly and drizzly and so it continued for a while. Another fine Met Office forecast.

We plunged uphill and over the ridge to Stickle tarn and steeply down a badly engineered path to Langdale. Three of the eight daunderers came to grief on the path. Blood was shed. There were bruises. The path is a mess. The stones are tilted and slippery.

But eventually we found ourselves back in the tender care of the Old Dungeon Gill. Lunch was had. We went home.

Eight daunderers and Piglet the dog covered about 19 miles and a lorra lorra uphill and had a grand time. Thanks to Alan and Phil for the organisation and the ethos and, most of all for the invite. Our average speed was a bit less than 1 mph. More time was spent not walking than walking. This takes some skill.

Late edit: Alan's version of this jaunt is now posted here http://alansloman.blogspot.com/2010/04/delicious-daundering.html

The Greenburn Horseshoe

Martin continues to collect his collection of Bill Birketts Great British Ridge Walks and so, me and superdawg met Martin and Graham at a slippery Little Langdale quite close to the phone box.

This walk was arranged immediately after the Littledale Horseshoe walk, so maybe the warm sunshine and snowy hills is an omen of cracking walks to come.

We set off well till we hit the steep, hard snow of Birk Fell, at which point, kicking steps and lurching steeply upwards, I managed to plunge both ungloved hands into powder snow a couple of times and by the time I emerged from the shadow of the hill, I was in some degree of agony. I couldn’t warm up my hands at all due to duff circulation and soon began to feel quite nauseous with the pain. I was considering abandoning the thing altogether till I put my fingers in my coffee and managed to put gloves on. After that I recovered fairly quickly and we continued upwards, though Martin took charge of the dog. I put crampons on, with assistance, due to inoperative fingers.

Little Langdale Edge, which climbs Wetherlam, was excellent steep, hard snow and we lunched in the sunshine on the top. Great fun. Graham put his crampons on here and Martin had his snow chains. Bruno’s enthusiasm for the little bits of snow kicked up whilst walking lead to me accidentally puncturing a front paw with a crampon spike. There was a little blood and much shaking of the paw – and a bit of limping. But this soon wore off and more thoughts of having to abandon the walk for the sake of the dog’s foot, passed without much comment on my part. Graham also managed to spike himself in the leg round about this time, so less a less determined party, not enjoying themselves so much in the snow and sunshine, perhaps, would have read the signs at this point and packed it in. No question of this today, though, so we climbed Swirl How and descended back towards the start over Great Carrs and Little Carrs.

The blue skies began to give way to a more hazy grey at this point and the warmth of the sun was missed as a nithering breeze sprang up.

Between Swirl How and Great Carrs, we stopped for a short while at the cross and cairn, containing the undercarriage and other bits of a Halifax bomber S for Sugar LL505 which had impacted here on 22 October 1944, killing its mainly Canadian crew of, principally, young lads. The rest of the aircraft rests on the scree at the foot of the hill.

We ran out of snow well down the ridge and rejoined the outward path.

Martin located a geocache near Slaters Bridge and did whatever geocachers do, before we all repaired to the boozer at Ings for our tea.

Bruno’s paw seems to be fine. I can’t find any holes and the bones feel all rights – and he doesn’t object to examination. I noticed that our other dog, Tammie, went straight to the injured foot and sniffed at it. I’ll keep an eye on it, though, but I suspect that there’s only very superficial damage.

We did 14km and 970 metres of ascent – which was, frankly, harder work for me than it should have been. My walking record for 2010, I notice, doesn’t show much in the way of contours climbed up – in relation to the distance covered. So, I think that since the option of giving up the beta blockers isn’t maybe such a good idea, and I really am trying to shed a bit of blubber, the only extra thing I can do is to do a lot more if this kind of walking. Steep stuff. Lots of brown wriggly things on the map. I’ll give it a try anyway….

Thanks to Martin and Graham for the walk, sympathy, help and patience. And to superdawg – be more careful in future…

Stop press - late announcement - Martin's partially fictional account of the same walk is here and with a link to an excellent slideshow featuring me...http://phreerunner.blogspot.com/2010/03/tuesday-2-march-2010-great-british.html

Cockup Collection Incomplete

Or

Bijoux Birkett Bagging Back O’ Skidda

Immediately following a TV News report of people carried off by an avalanche in Cumbria was perhaps not the ideal time to tell the wife that I was off to the Lake District in the morning.

During the evening, I was struck by an attack of Lassitude du Neige – a fear of being carried off either by an Australian Women’s Darts Team (abducted by Aileens) – or being swept away by a moving white hillside. I studied the map and the lake District Weatherline and MWIS and discovered that it was only Northern and Eastern slopes which were a bit iffy. My route for today would have been up Northern and Eastern slopes. I was doomed to an evening of indecision. Later - the police issued a statement about the unstable snow conditions

Bugger.

Eventually, I chose some low, rounded hills on which nothing could go wrong.

Two of them were named “Cockup” – Low and Great.

I made a cheese butty and told the dog.

We parked by Overwater and investigated the frozen tarn. Bruno rescued a stick from the ice. Country lanes through green countryside took us through Orthwaite to Horsemoor Hills where we bagged our first little Birkett – the diminutive Orthwaite bank – 348 metres with a nice view of snowy Skiddaw and an apparently frozen Bassenthwaite Lake. It soon became clear that today’s windchill was teetering off the scale. It was, in fact, perishing. Bruno whinged at waiting about, so we made a rising traverse to Birkett number two – Little Cockup, where a short stop was made for more insulation.

We climbed Great Cockup – up into the frozen snow and yet more nithering draughtiness which insinuated itself into my bones and played bongos on my blood vessels. We descended, shivering to the glacial overflow channel at Trusmadoor , finding a cosy spot by the beck, just abandoned by a couple having their lunch. There was a hint, just a hint of warmth in the sun.

I decided against further explorations which would have only taken me to higher, more frozen and much colder places, being unable to get the idea of drinking hot coffee in a warm and comfy car to the sound of Steve Wright in the Afternoon… Bruno seemed to agree, so we followed the bridleway back to Horsemoor and the lanes back to Over Water where the car was, indeed , very warm, and the coffee still hot, and Steve Wright was on the radio.

It was late anyway and the hills were beginning to get white and cloudy caps.

As an afterthought, we bagged the extremely easy Birkett Aughertree Fell – a matter of a few shivery minutes. We left for the fleshpots of our house…

On the way home, I picked up a chap called Frank. He was fairly elderly, had a big rucksack and was happily quite drunk drunk. He’d been standing by the A66 for hours being ignored by and making rude signs at lorry drivers. The police at the nick opposite his hitching spot had been waving at him. Apparently, he’d spent the night sleeping out in the park in Penrith – but what was significant was that he had a selection of Norwegian army kit and, despite the rough sleeping, was well turned out. Whilst we crossed Stainmore, he waved his arms and stated “I’ve walked over all this..” – indicating the rough and flat moorland – the kind of place avoided by most hillwalkers. I suspect this chap had a bit of a history. I dropped him off in Barnard Castle. He seemed quite happy…..

We did 7 miles and 1400 feet.

Nice to be home today…..

Little Dale Horseshoe

I let Bruno drive to the Lakes this morning as I was still a bit tired from the wife’s Uncle Joe’s funeral yesterday. he’s quite good and he does mirror-signal-manoeuvre, but not in that order…

Anyway, I put him in the back at the Threlkeld roadworks and we arrived at the appointed spot at chapel bridge in Newlands where we were pleased to meet Gayle and Mick. Martin and Graham arrived late having parked somewhere else. they will, of course, have their pay docked or they can make up the time on Christmas Day (mwhahahah) – Just a little Human Resources joke, there…

And so, in blazing sunshine and slowly melting frost we embarked on the Little Dale Horseshoe, or, as its known in Bill Birketts Book “great British Ridge Walks” – The Little Dale Horseshoe by Scope End to Hindscarth anad the Littledale Edge to Robinson descending via High Snab Bank (draw breath…)

Which is what we did.

I have to report that the felltop conditions today were nothing less than superb – easy underfoot with a thin cover of new, specially fluffy snow, blue skies, light winds, big views. Big, big white views.

Bruno took to Mick and jumped for snowballs and, generally did his charming bit (in the hope, no doubt of The Ultimate Motivator – Food) Mick needs a dog.

I was lucky in that the group seemed to instinctively wait for me to heave my way up the hills Its the beta blockers. the cardiac nurse says I could stop taking them but the chances are that I could penk out and take the stairway to heaven. Its up to you, he said. Otherwise, just put up with it. So I plod upwards.But I think that more steep stuff like this, together with a move towards my ideal weight (current weight minus 10kg) – I might be able to go uphill a bit quicker. As it is, frankly, its a torture. I’m really much better off without any company at all. I can do the thing with the really small steps and Bruno doesn’t whinge on about being left behind. But for the time being at least, I’ll bash on being sociable….

And so, after bagging Hindscarth and Robinson we descended by High Snab Bank – the icy/slippery rocksteps providing some excitement and entertainment. I was planning a rocky landing, but managed, in the end to slither off in a fairly undignified scitterring and dithering semi-frantic series of lurches and scrapes.

Afterwards, we repaired to the pub at Braithwaite for a short period of reflection and recuperation and, maybe the odd sniftah.

This was a fab walk, today – thanks to Martin Banfield for the notion – and thanks also to Mick and Gayle and Graham for the company and the location of crucial footholds….

TIts very possible that other versions of this walk will shortly be appearing on Mick and Gayle’s blog http://gayleybird.blogspot.com/ and Martin’s blog at http://phreerunner.blogspot.com/

It may well be that the accounts will all be different this time.

You should of know this would appen. Innit?

We did 6 miles and 2500 feet of uphill. See map. We went clockwise. Bruno went clockwise and anti-clockwise and described various inner circles too….. we know a song about this..

Three Birketts and a HuMP

After a fairly relaxed morning with a kipper and some shredded wheat, me and Superdawg packed a banana and a cheese butty (Lancashire by the way) and hurtled off over the A66 to Cumbria and the back door of Whinfell Center Parcs – or, as we know it in England, Centre Park. This looks remarkably like a very comfy prisoner of war camp from the back, what with the security fencing and the guards in high-vis jackets and so on.

Stalag Center Parc pooch on peripheral path partially parallel to private part

A footpath leads through very soggy woodland (perhaps its not always soggy, but its been raining a lot recently…) and up to the front entrance where there is a bus stop and a border post, and a sign, on the track I wanted to take up the HuMP, saying “Private Road No Public Access” So I sneaked around the back.

Bruno at the summit of Quarrystone Bank (This is proper bagging!)

The summit was well forested. I had bagged Quarrystone Bank. I returned from whence…. – about 4km altogether.

Warning! These vicious commie squirrels will nibble on your nuts, specially if you’re a capitalist running dog

The, after scoffing the cheese butty, I drove off and got fairly lost on the Cumbrian back lanes, eventually turning up at a place called Underwood, on the minor road from Watermillock to somewhere else.

Another very soggy and, this time muddy path, signposted for Aira Force, took me along an attractive fellside and through woodland to open fell, where a group of children in red waterproofs were doing something noisy, but, probably, harmless. I gained the fell top and headed North to bag Great Meldrum, a little, round, grassy thing with a great view and a cold wind.

Furry, ferny tree on the path to Aira Force

Little Meldrum followed but with a bit more difficulty. Its in a forest, y’see – but the summit is open fell and its a bit rockier than the Green Meldrum.

We struggled uphill to find a gate giving access to our final target for the afternoon – Watermillock Fell – another, slightly rock lump with a cracking view.

This is like Fell Walking, but without all the hard work. It would be a nice little trundle for a rest day, or a wet day when the high fells are splatterred and misty. And there’s a pub just down the road for shelter.

Great Mell Fell

A bit of a downhill road walk brought us back to the knipemobile.

Three Birketts bagged.

Impressive stuff, eh?

Total mileage was about 8 miles and 1200 feet of uphill.

Must set the camera to do higher quality pictures….