Dales Way with Phreerunner and Cosh Knott

I decided to see if I could find Martin Banfield today. Martin aka Phreerunner (from the Postcard from Timperley blog) is walking from Windermere to as near to Manchester as he can get in the time allotted and, today, was supposed to be at Ribblehead at 10:30 am.

So, despite the Richmond lollipop girls, the Richmond rush hour, the Leyburn tractorfest and the Hawes “Lets all park in the one way system whilst we go shopping” club, I arrived early to find Martin stomping past Gearstones in a feeble attempt to avoid company. It wasn’t to be, though – so me and superdawg joined him and together we all trotted off up the Dales Way in walking conditions that were close to perfect – not too hot, quite sunny, good, clear views, no contact with British telecom who apparently tried to phone me a couple of times but failed, and also tried to have their bits of equipment and software delivered, but couldn’t because they didn’t put enough stamps on the envelope (dhuhhh!!) And they want me to pay the difference…. Hah!…. sorry – ranting again…

Anyway, we did notice that there were no butterwort around but quite a lot of tormentil and that Cam Houses doesn’t have a tea room. Martin seems to be enjoying his walk, though, and, for those following his progress, it doesn’t seem too much of an effort for him at all…

We lunched at Beckermonds and Bruno demonstrated his tin cleaning skills on Martin’s tin of smoked tuna (He had managed to eat the tuna before Bruno got involved). And here, we parted. Martin went off to the fleshpots of Hubberholme and I climbed up onto the ridge to the South and followed the wall to Cosh Knott. Loads of wild flowers up here – and a cracking view of Penyghent. I think Bruno was feeling a bit knackered here, so we stopped for a while and had a second lunch. I let the dog watch me scoff the last cheese butty. It seemed to perk him up a bit.
And so, we continued – down to the Pennine Way, which we followed past Birkwith Farm and Calf Holes Pot and up to the junction with the Dales Way and back to the car.

16 miles and 2400 feet of uphill for me. And a pint of brown stuff at the Victoria Inn somewhere near Hawes….

Oh no....

Whilst in the middle of a bit of lightweight surfing yesterday, I got a sales call from somebody whom I assumed to be from BT, telling me that I could save two quid a month on my BT bill if I renewed the broadband contract.

I usually take the piss out of cold callers on the phone, but this time, for some inexplicable reason that I sort of thought I might live to regret, I said "yes".

I just got an email from BT, telling me that my order would be delivered tommorrow and that I would get lots of shiny new kit, a new broadband phone number and a new password.

This is the very last thing I want. The thing barely works now. If I start buggerring about with it, its not going to work at all.

I tried to cancel. First I tried ringing the phone number. After a lot of wandering around the algorithm, I was finally told(by a recording) that a third party had raised the order for me and to contact them. What? Not BT? I have no idea who it was.... they didn't say who they were... neither did they mention new passwords, phone numbers, routers, cables....

I filled in the form which says "I have a complaint" and I also replied to the email about the order saying that I didn't want it any more. I'm not very confident that either of these will have any effect at all.

The phone line has fallen over three times whilst I type this... no, make that four. Its so delicate, I dare not touch it.

I'd forgotten just how crap BT are at dealing with customers. After my mother died, I rang to tell them. A few days later, they wrote to her regretting that she'd left BT and if would she consider rejoining.... I rang them again. Eventually, I managed to get a human being, somewhere on the other side of the Empire. She failed to understand. I gave up. They wrote to her again. I complained. Nothing happened. Its been eleven months now and not a dickie bird out of BT

So, I am not optimistic. This has all the makings of a disaster as far as my computer/internet thingy is concerned.

I'm going for a walk tommorrow.

Another pic of the Tyne Gorge jaunt. I'll probably be blogging from the library shortly....

Never buy things on the phone...never buy things on the phone....never buy things on the phone...

..fallen over six times....

More Howgills stuff

...is now appearing at http://www.doodlecat.com/howgills/10jun.html . This, of course, is the June entry in the diary, rather bizarrishley written in October 2006. There's just another two months of this stuff to go. Many people..er some people..er. somebody ... will be wondering exactly what the point of all of this is. This is the one where we introduce a bit of uncertainty and tension and stuff...

So, there you are.

Moorhouse NNR radgings

Back to Nenthead today as it was about time superdawg had a hillwalk, as he was trying to expain to me yesterday with my left calf in his mouth.

So we drove past the "authorised vehicles only" sign, Southwards beside the river South Tyne as far as a locked gate would allow. This was near the confluence of the River Tees and Troutbeck at a point beyond which the humble stickleback will not venture (apparently) at an altitude of "quite high really..."

We wandereed up to Natural England's scientific station and bothy at Moorhouse - which used to be a large shooting lodge, visited on occasion by such luminaries as Kaiser Bill and Kaiser bill's batman. Not much left of it now, apart from the bothy, a garage, a toilet, some concrete flooring and some original rhubarb.

Here, we lunched, following which we followed a small beck high onto the moor looking for the remains of a failed waterworks project and a small abandoned bulldozer. We found the remains of both then back downstream to visit a cave. Me and superdawg explored inside this as far as we could - a meandering passage which became too low for an unhelmeted dog after a couple of dozen metres or so.

The cave is on the side of a small limestone gorge containing a nice array of wild flowers - including a fair collection of birds eye primrose and a rare fern.

And so, downstream to the bridge, where I had a little dip in the warm peaty water.

As I reversed the car for a return journey down to Garrigill, a car with two lost people in it turned up. they were looking for Barnard Castle. They were indeed, very very lost. They followed us to the Teesdale road (about 10 miles!) and bthere we left them.

A seciond visit to the Miners Arms at Nenthead for yet another small libation followed.

A hottish day with a nice Pennine breeze.

We did just 4 miles, reached 2066 above sea level and climbed a petty 350 feet. I swam about 30 feet and sat under a small waterfall for a bit. There will be no photos of this final watery event. This is a family blog after all...

A warning to anybody wandering in the vicinity of Moorhouse, though - if its a quiet pee or other bare-skin involving activity you're after, be aware that there are many motion-sensetive cameras in the vicinity, placed for the purposes of measuring rabbit and other wildlife movements. Apparently, they also detect and photograph human activities for the delight of the local scientists.

Loads of other experiments inthe vicinity too with lots of "things" all over the place....

Plodging Ashgill and the South Tyne Gorge

Taking advantage of the sudden warm and sunny weather, I visited Brian at Nenthead and we had a little sunny day adventure.
Soaping the insides of our trousers with washing-up liquid, we donned wetsuits, abandoned a car containing dry undies at Garrigill and drove to the top of Ashgill Force. There, we forced ourselves through the window (mentioned in a post some time ago) and had a quick look at the waterfall and the deep pool at the bottom and then commenced a descent of the very lovely limestone gorge below Ashgill Force. This contains half-a-dozen or so deep plunge pools, bathed in sunlight and scented with May blossom and each one a small test of nerve. We paddled and swam and sat and ate and paddled and swam till we joined the River South Tyne in a deep flat-bottomed gorge paved with Carboniferous. Limestone slabs. Not much water here, though. – We were slightly taken aback by a sudden discovery, stuck on the bank, of a balloon in the shape of a human which rocked and swayed as if in pain or distress. Slightly disturbing…..
So we walked till we found deeper water and, slipping and sliding we made slow progress down stream. As the water reached the thighs, we found it quicker and safer to float and push ourselves along the bottom by hand. After an hour or so of this, we finally reached the Crossgill Bridge. After the bridge, the stream is only three or four feet wide, but very dark and deep with a gentle current and we turned off our minds, relaxed and floated downstream. By this method we came across the Dipper. Then we crept up on the Dipper’s chick, standing on a ledge, dipping (as dippers do) we got within a foot or two before it flitted of downstream, only for us to repeat the approach. Two heads floating slowly and silently with the current. Not people, just heads!
Finally we were at the Garrigill ford and exited the stream, in the traditional manner by squeezing through the water pipe under the ford.
Removing wet suits is an undignified business, but we heaved them off each other, got the dry stuff on and , after collecting the car from Ash Gill, repaired to the Miners Arms at Nenthead for a light libation or two.
When the soapy legs get wet, the boots start to foam by the way. It’s a great conversation starter when meeting new people.
2.2 kilometres downstream in three hours! No ascent to worry about.
The water was warm(ish)
Not too many pics as the camera was safe inside a waterproof box most of the time.
Good fun, though – shouldn’t be allowed, really.

Plodging, by the way, just means "paddling" in water or mud, or similar wet stuff.