On Test – Bareskins Booties

I tell you what – these things are revolutionary. They’ll change the face of walking. Designed by Big G of Emperor’s New Boots, they’re Brilliant for British Bogs. They dry instantly, are extreeeeeeemly lightweight (I defy anybody to find lighter footwear) – they have some kind self-mending mechanism which repairs any small nicks or itches, they’re really cheap and they’re so simple a toddler could quickly learn to use them.

On the downside, they’re absolutely useless on steep grass or small pebbles or scree. Or thistles.

Bogs present no problem, though and there’s none of this fannying around trying to find firm ground – no, you just plunge on through.  Warm cow pats are a joy.  Peaty stains just fall off.

All this was because I turned up at the little concrete car park at the foot of Swindale with two proper boots. Unfortunately, these were from different pairs of boots and both were left feet. I started off walking in trainers, so. This was fine on the road, but the first squishy bit of bog  after joining the corpse road to Mardale was unpleasant and, as with the nudieboots, they were lethal on steep grass. So I took ‘em off. I walked about four miles over the grassy moors just left of Swindale. Its pretty much all grass and bog, so I managed to get a fair pace on once I’d got used to the tickling. The squishy bits were refreshing. I collected rare sedges between my toes. A Fully Equipped family with a dog did a double-take. It was quite good, really.

I did 8 miles and 1400 feet of upness and bagged the Birkett Brown Howe. I was also going to go for another one on the South side of Swindale but I’d have never got there in one piece. Brown Howe was nice, though and has a fine view of Haweswater and High Stile and stuff like that.

Never mind.

It was the dog’s fault. he makes such a fuss when the rucksack comes out, I tend to forget stuff in all the..er….   thing……

 

A Wet Weekend at Hardraw

I was supposed to join the Over the Hill Club “do” at Hardraw on Friday, but it was chucking it down in lumps, and I do mean lumps, so I delayed till around lunchtime on Saturday.

The campsite behind the George and Dragon was a sea of mud and had been abandoned by most for a splodge up Dodd Fell, so there was only Bernie and Pauline cooking rice and peeling onions and stuff in their tent. After a decent but brief period, I went to the pub, returning only after a decent but less brief interlude of light boozing which put me to sleep back at the tent, thus missing the brief but damply wet barbeque. The roaring of the beck, spatefully gushing in a very loud kind of way after all that rain, soothed me to sleep, untroubled by the thought that it might, just might, overflow and wash me and my free tent away towards Kingston Upon Hull.

In the morning, it was announced that Big Dave was to lead a walk up Great Shunner Fell and back down again.  By the same route.

It was news of this that prompted me to set off towards Askrigg, being drawn up a lane above Sedbusk and sucked along on a random stravaig that eventually brought me to the top of Lovely Seat, which was Lovely and has a Seat.

I almost fell into the trap of making an active decision about what to do next, but soon found myself tussling with the tussocks on the other side of Buttertubs pass and on up to the top of Great Shunner Fell where the Big Dave party wasn’t. I did chat to some walkers about the view, though and the warming qualities of various kinds of gloves. It was a bit chilly up there to say the least.

I decided not to follow the Pennine Way back to Hardraw, but to investigate the old collieries of the Hearne valley. I found a few spoil heaps and some stonework by the beck, but nothing much to write a blog about. I expect that whoever was funding these mines was soon out of pocket once the railway started bringing in high quality South Durham coal by the truckload to Hawes station.  I was soon back at the tent, covered in peat and sipping a bit of French plonk I’d brought from the Crook Co-op.

Afterwards, there was the OTHC dinner in the pub, followed by some more light boozing and some heavy snoozing.

Bernie and Pauline did a good job organising this “do”. Shame about the rain, but at least it made the waterfall more impressive than it usually is. It must be something to do with TGO Challengers that attracts precipitation.

Write a Pie Blog Post – Win a Rucksack

Here’s a chance for Pieblog readers to win this Gelert Nimbus 35 litre rucksack currently selling for around £42.

Its very noticeable that many outdoor blogger types are receiving tonnes of free kit from various outdoor gear retailers on the pretext of doing a review. I too, must admit to having received a couple of tents recently. Unfortunately, I broke one of them.
But this is all old hat (note to retailers – most of my hats are pretty old as it happens…) but with the pieblog, I’ve decided that the readers should get the chance for some free kit too and they don’t have to write a review for it.
Oh no they don’t.

What they do have to do, though, is write a blog post, with some pictures.  The subject can be anything related to walking about in the countryside – a trip report, a rant, or maybe a bit of useful info about something..er..useful.
I have some independent judges who, as ex-grammar school-types, will mark you down for duff grammar unless its deliberate and maybe a bit ironic , or a pun or something. I should OF known will get you disqualified, though. This may seem to be elitist, but,really, we just have standards innit? (see- that kind of duff grammar is OK!)
There’s no minimum length of blogpost  but 1000 words should be the maximum number.
This is in conjunction with outdoor clothing pals at  Outdoors Look – so Click on www.outdoorlook.co.uk for an indoors look at the good value deals outdoors gear they’ve got going.
Remember, we’re doing this for you.
Good blogposts will be published on the pieblog.
You have till 30 September to enter your entries, which should be emailed to mike.knipe@btinternet.com
Better, less fuzzy pictures and more information about the rucksack is available here:
http://www.outdoorlook.co.uk/gelert-nimbus-rucksack-35-litre-ruc732
If this competition is successful, we may well do a Christmas one.
Get writing. Get a Gelert rucksack for nowt.

Eat More Fruit

This ditty is for all, or at least, any, of my friends who are currently suffering from the Shingles. Eat More Fruit! You know it makes sense.

Hen Stent in a Tent

Alert readers will remember that just after posting the stuff about the folkworks, I went to Wales.
Now I’m back and this is what happened:
I used the Primavera 3 tent that was sent to be by Millets for review and which I broke in Scotland whilst showing off to some DofE kids how to put up a tent in a hurricane. Anyway, I mended the over-pronated pole with some sticky-tape stuff and took it to Wales. I also took the little Karrimor tent as well, just in case……

I stayed at Hen Stent, strictly, Coed Hen Stent, which is an old Welsh medical term for an old wooden heart spring thingy. My stent is nearly five years old now, but, not made of wood. (I almost played an Elvis song here...)
Coed Hen Stent is just outside the small village of Llangynog which has two pubs but no shop. Lets get our priorities right, eh?  All of this is pretty much at the head of Dyffryn Tanat aka the Tanat valley, who’s major town seems to be Oswestry, which is in a different country. 


But never mind – it’s very beautiful and looks not unlike the Lake District with lead mines and old slate workings and everything.
My mission was to bag stuff, and I started with a little Marilyn – one Mynydd-y-briw, a right steep little beggar with a chapel at the bottom. Its just about half a mile from the chapel to the summit.


Tuesday was a horribly wet morning, so I stayed in bed quite late and eventually dragged myself out for Cyrniau, a hill looming over the campsite in a steep and looming kind of way, and occupied by a nervous herd of sucklers who ran away, followed me and ran away again. I followed this up by a Fford Gefn, where a gang of fencers were fencing in the top. They’d left a gap for me to bag the summit which is a fifteen –foot high sitka spruce in the midst of lots of closely packed sitka spruce. On the up side, I got my hair combed. A path returning to Llangynog proved to be a jungle of high bracken and fallen trees. I cheered myself up from this with some of my Sainsbury’s whisky. In fact I was a lot happier for quite a long time.

Wednesday was the day for Hewitts – Post Gwyn and Foel Cwm Sian Llwyd – all very heathery and a bit sloppy in a friendly Pennine kind of way. On Wednesday, I was sustained a little by the enormous crops of sweet bilberries which I had by the handful.  The best of these hills is, I’m afraid, the views of other places….   Unless you like sloppy slutch and bilberries. It was a very hot and sweaty job with lots of big black flies with red legs. They swarmed around but showed no inclination to bite or sting. One was accidentally transported back to the tent. I let it go. I hope its OK…  A few drams of Sainsbury’s whisky were allowed afterwards by way of a victory celebration.

More Hewitts  fell to the knipe ticking pencil on Thursday. A long drive on stupidly narrow roads, happily without any traffic, brought me into Cwm Maen Gwynedd – an outrageously beautiful green dale which ends in the steep black wall of Y Berwyn.
It is said that the word “Gwynedd” may derive from Gwyr Y Goggledd – the men of the North –warriors from Goddodin who rode to save Wales from he naughty barbarians. The Goddodin were the Votadini of the Cheviot Yeavering and the Tweed. So there’s a Northumbrian link here, it would seem. Mynyd Tarw translates as “wha’rs me whippet ya bugga….?” or so I’m told.
The forecast was for rain, but it just got a bit dull and cold – so I managed to bag Mynydd Tarw, Foel Wen and it’s South top, and Tomle before rambling back down the dale to the waiting knipemobile. On drive back , the Cwm Maen Gwynedd rush hour started and I met four cars coming the other way. each one was driven by an old lady (different old ladies, it wasn’t quite that strange). All of these old dears had several things in common:
1) Other old lady passengers
2) A big and powerful car
3) A frightened look.
4) An unwillingness to stop, reverse, pull into the side or indeed to do anything to avoid a collision. I spent quite a bit of time travelling backwards.
5) A Sat Nav set to “pre-menstrual” commentary.
After returning to the Primavera, I managed to console myself with the odd dram of Sainsbury’s whisky and a bottle of plonk wot I’d bought in the Spar shop at Llanrheadr-ym-Mochnant. I also soothed my nervousness about not being able to pronounce the place of the Spar shop (I worried in case I broke down and had to call the RAC) – with some more of the Sainsbury’s whisky.  By ten o’clock, I was pretty well soothed, I can tell you.

Friday was for Foel Goch and Foel y Geifr – a couple of heathery, bilberry, tussocky, sloppy lumps just off the road to Bala from some reservoir or other. Hard work. But short. And, as a final fling, on the way back to the Primavera, I bagged Rhialgwm, a Marilyn with lots of trees at the bottom, many of which were in the process of being harvested, so the place was a mess. I was so upset by the state of this hill that I had to console myself once again with the last few drops of Sainsbury’s whisky. Rhialgwm is just next to Pretendgwm, but is bigger. Obviously.
I’m home now.
I did 33 miles and 7000 feet of up.
And a litre of scotch.