Trouble In Kitty's Wood



A Public Right of Way Into Kitty's Wood

 Steven Horner alerted me to an issue developing in Kitty's Wood, and today me and superdawg went to have a look.

First of all, I should explain a bit about the history of Kitty's Wood.

Once upon a time there was a huge industrial complex which provided a substantial amount of employment for the population of Crook. This consisted of a coal mine, a brickworks, coke ovens, a benzene factory an enormous spoil heap and a vast area of railway sidings. This complex had a long history but closed in the 1960's and the landscape was recreated into fields and woodland in the 1970's.

This is Kitty's wood and the locala population of Roddymoor, Crook and Billy Row have enjoyed free access to it ever since. It is crossed by several public rights of way and within it's depths are paths created by usage over time by dog walkers, cyclists, horseriders and people just out for a stroll

It has had issues with off-road trail bikes and litter and yoof bonfire booze-ups and eejits digging dens in the spoil tips and so on, but generally its been a popular resort for innocent enjoyment.

But it's been sold by the County Council and, suddenly, narbed wire entaglements and brush and tree barricades have appeared and general access is now not possible. As you can imagine, the good people of Crook, Roddymoor and Billy Row are a bit miffed about this and there are dark mutterings.

So, I went to see what it was all about.



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Blocked Path with Cut Wire (Not currently a PROW)


Me and the dawg walked along all of the rights of way bordering or crossing into and out of Kitty's Wood and Bankfoot woods and found that, apart from some long-standing mapping issues, and some recently disappeared rights of way signposts, all of the public rights of way are open. Indeed, there are some new stiles, some of which were installed last year by Durham County Council work parties, but some seem to be courtesy of the new landowner.

There are three main user-created paths. The first is a high-level path along the Southern rim of the woodland and access to this is completely blocked, except that the barbed wire at the Easter end has been clipped.



Path baricaded by wire, fencing and cut trees (Not  currently a PROW)


The second is a path running up the centre of the wood and this is open at the eastern end but blocked at the Western end.

A third path running through the Western section of the woodland appears to be open and useable.

New fencing has been put up throughout the complex, probably at considerable cost and effort and , it would appear at first sight that litter and rubbish around the place has been cleared. The reduction in traffic seems to have had an immediate effect on the quality of the experience of the place and it suddenly seems much richer in terms of birds and flowers than it did before.

As the rights of way are open , there's no issue the be addressed, except to keep an eye on any developments. Forty or so years of  general free access to the woodland and to two of the main paths in particular is an issue, though and below is an extract from the Durham County Council website which seems to indicate a strategy for dealing with this should the citizens of Crook, Roddymoor and Billy Row decide that they want their wood back.

Definitive Map Modification Orders or claims



The Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 allows anyone to apply to the county council to make an order to change the Definitive Map and Statement if they believe the map is incorrect. These are called Definitive Map Modification Orders (DMMOs) and can be made if evidence is found to show that:






a route that should be shown isn’t shown


a route that is shown shouldn't be on the Definitive Map


a route is shown as having the wrong status (for example, shown as a footpath instead of bridleway)


a route is shown on the wrong line


a route should be more precisely defined (for example, have its width recorded)


this evidence may be historical (for example, old maps, tithe plans, enclosure awards) and/or user evidence, where the public have been using the route uninterrupted for more than 20 years



Kitty's Wood

  
What happens next? I'm not sure......   Clipping the wire may be an understandable reaction if this was done by a local, but there are legal strategies which ultimately are more likely to be successful. Direct action to clear the blockages would have to be better equipped than with just wire clippers becasue the barricades are substantial and, given the level of landowner investment in capital and in new fencing, a protracted struggle outside the legal means of Definitive Map Modification Claims might well be futile and could be deemed criminal damage.  So we'll see.....

Best of Teesdale Walks



Teesdale Hay meadow

 "The Best of Teesdale" is the title of my Durham CC guided walk which I reccied last Monday along with Bruno in hot and sunny weather. We did the walk yesterday in a cold, cloudy and drizzly murk and this post covers both walks which were essentially the same....



Take it home, yer big divvies


The reccy started off slowly with a crossing of the wobbly bridge at Low Force to a huge pile of litter carefully bagged and left by the fence for the litter fairies to pick up. Apparently, after a warm weekend, this is what people do.  If anybody reads this blog who follows the practise of neatly bagging up the post-picnic litter and leaving it in neat piles, you should be aware that it's nobody's job but yours to clear up your rubbish.  Dhuhhh....



High Force


Then I met Heather from English Nature, or whatever it's called now, walking her collie, followed by a brief text conversation with Alan about whether or not you can park overnight at Glen Trool, followed by another chat with yet another English Nature bod refreshing the boot cleaning station at the juniper woodland. (The juniper near High Force is under attack by a fungus and is in some danger a destruction. There are boot-cleaning stations at both entrances to the main woodland area) So, it was a slow start. Bruno, however, enjoyed some of the breaks by paddling in the river.


Cronkley fell and dawg




Starry Saxifrage Cronkley Fell

 It got hotter and a break by the Tees at the other side of Cronkley Fell was refreshed a bit by a both me and the dog having a paddle.

Despite the heat, the walk was a botanist's delight and all the usual flowers were out in bloom and the haymeadows  were glowing with buttercups in particular.



Exploring High Hurth crag and caves

 We visited the caves at Moking Hurth and got chased by maternal bovines near Dirt Pit, but apart from this, there were no problems.

On the day, nine walkers turned up, not including the stewards Ann and Neville.



At Gibson's Cave


The walk went fairly well and, apart from a couple of minor cow-based scares (they have calves at the moment) people seemed to enjoy the day, despite the raw wind and the light drizzle. A few even added a short visit to Gibson's cave at the end.



The girls get a bit twitchy


I've included a map in case anybody wants to have a go at this route.

The best of Teesdale highlights are - in order of appearance for a clockwise round:



More Haymeadows


Wynch Bridge (aka wobbly bridge)
Low Force + stone sheep statues
Pennine Way alongside the river  for lots of wild flowers



Boot cleaning at High Force

 The juniper woodland
High Force waterfall
Bracken Rigg hut circles
Green Trod
Cronkley Fell sugar limestone/ flower enclosures/ views
Cronkley Scar
Hanging Shaw
Moking Hurth caves
various Northern Haymeadows
Gibson's Cave

13 Miles and 1700 feet of up.

Pies over Scotland - TGO Challenge Suddenly It's Summer



Morvern from Mona Gowan

 And so, after a moderately boozy night at the Allargue Arms followed by a frosty night in a tupping field, I left Cock Bridge in warm and bright sunshine and walked a mile or two along General Wade's military road from the South till I found a nice burn by which to brew up and make porridge.


Ben Avon from Carnagour Hill




Lochnagar fromScraulac


Later - I pressed on to the main road  to Ballater and on up over Scraulac and Cairnagour on short, springy heather. The views of snow-clad Lochnagar and Ben Avon were quite spectacular. Despite being breathless from the view, I eventually heaved my sorry carcase up to the top of Mona Gowan and decided that my plan to bag Morven, a huge snow-topped cone next door was maybe a bit ambitious. So I didn't.
Instead, I descended South and found a long and straightish track over moorland along the Southern edge of Morven, thereby avoiding any embarrassing heart-attacks, strokes, hyperthermia (it was hot), or over-pronated toenails.

I did notice an hotel offerring free beer and massage and made my way towards it, but just as I got to the front door, it disappeared. Damned mirages...



Lochnagar from Mona Gowan




Morvern

 Various lanes and main roads and more lanes ultimately brought me to Tarland, once the centre of several beef-herding routes and now the location of the Commercial Arms, my bed, booze, food, shower and telly for the night - though not necessarily in that particular order. I was impressed by the Commercial Arms, though - the staff were unfazed by my trampish appearance or the odeur de Cairngorm, the food was specially good, the shower nearly took the back off me sunburn and the telly had hundreds of channels which I could flick through whilst sipping a luxury malt before waking up at 5:30 a.m with only a vague idea where I was.

Breakfast was good too and, refreshed and with dry socks and butties from the shop, I marched hopefully out of Tarland in completely the wrong direction, turned round, consulted the village information board and marched out again in a different direction, almost definately towards the North Sea.

During the afternoon, another hotel appeared and this one was advertising happy hour during the whole of May when all drinks would be half price and a free sauna would be included with every third pint.

As it happened, just as I made for the reception area, the whole buiding dissolved into the heat of the burning sun.




I can see the sea! Yippee!

 After a bit a Scottish Rights of Way Society green sign indicated a path up a steep hill which was the right of way to Lumphanan. I followed it into Rothiemurchus-like woodland. The robins and other small birds were singing happily. The sun was shining. There were beautiful, green views through the bgaps in the tree and the route was easy. I skipped along happily, in a good mood, full of Full Scottish Breakfast With Two sausages. Everything was right with the world. Or at least it would have been had I noticed the sharp right turn two miles back - the opne with the twin cairns I failed to notice. Two miles in the wrong direction leads to a huuuuuge error in being where you're supposed to be and takes some working out where you actually are, I can tell you. Various options were weighed up, including shouting for help and/or lying in the ditch sobbing or a combination of these two. I decided to eat chocolate and then go back whence I'd come.

I got it right eventually, and, after a while, I turned up in Lumphanan. The bad news was that the pub was shut (they always are nowadays), but the Mace store was open. The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky.
I shopped briefly and ate my spoils on a bench near the Lumphanan International  Communications Centre (bus stop with a phone box and a post box) and dozed in the heat of the mid-day sun. In a Blur, A caravan of camels sailed slowly by towards the Oasis. But which was best?  Blur or  Oasis?

I headed East, roughly in the general direction of Lithuania.  My route now coasted around the north side of Torphins. Many dog walkers were met. In fact there were dozens of them....

As I plodded on, I came across a white-painted hotel, gleaming in the fierce shimmering heat. The sign outside advertised buy-on-get-one-free drinks and meals and a discount for Englishmen over the age of fifty five with white bears and huge rucksacks. I knew it was a mirage. 

But as I passed, two men dressed in white tuxedos were leaning over the palm-shaded verandah. I distinctly heard one say to the other "I tld you this wa sa bad place to open a hotel, Hamish..."



Hill of Fare camping spot


I started climbing the Hill of Fare and soon noticed a beautiful green shoulder where camping discretion was assured by patches of strategically scatterred whin and a good water supply gushed from what appeared to be the supply for a building that was no longer there. I put up the akto and luxuraited in the hot sun and the gorgeous view of Lochnagar.

Earlier in the day, I'd got my first view of the North Sea - a long, blue horizon beyond the hill I was now sitting on. The End is Nigh (I got that quote off a bloke at King's Cross station by the way.)

A fine, blue morning followed and it was time to battle with the Hill of fare's deep and tangled heather.

Basically, I just got stuck into it and, after a while of uphill swearing and falling about, I noticed an old grouse but about 300 metres away and, a thin but rough and soggy path running towards it. Based on the theory that grouse shooters never actually walk very far, I deduced that there could be a  track there. I was right. A thin uphill track soon became a double track and then a proper landrover track and this lead to within a few metres of the summit. Clever bugger eh?



Deeside Way


After that, I went down over the moor and along a bit of highly dangerous main road to the fleshpotss of Banchory where I shopped again and feasted on ice lollies before embarking on the Deeside Way. This is based on the old railway line from Aberdeen to Ballater and is waymarked, surfaced and popular with all kinds of joggers, cyclists and dog walkers, a large proportion of whom had really lovely bums. So, it was a happy Pieman who slogged the Deeside Way, eventually turning up at Peterculter and, by a riverside path to the campsite and hotel at Maryculter. I visited the hotel, obviously.

In the morning - the final morning, I went back to Peterculter for breakfast but only found a coffee and cake shop. A spar shop provided butties and pop and so, armed with these I returned to the Lovely Bum Way and marched the seven or so miles into Aberdeen. I liked this path. It doesn't have contours, for one thing, and the countryside is green and beautiful and, the natives and their dogs are friendly.



Aberdeen


The walk ended near Aberdeen docks and I made my way back to Duthie Park in search of the route to the bus/train station, I came to the Shanghai Restaurant where, all of a sudden the door flew open and a yoof with a bag rushed out, followed by a diminutive Chinese lass. The lad tried to hide behind an eighteen-inch high wall and then noticed that both me and the lass were almost standing over him. So, he threw the bag at the lass and legged it. Apparently, the bag was empty and nobody wanted to call the police. As a thief, he was a failure, in fact, if there is such a status he'd be legally incompetent, probably a smackhead and, certainly, an idiot.




Montrose campsite


I got the bus to Montrose, signed in, got me T-shirt, certificate and badge and got rat-arsed a couple of times in between sunbathing, swimming in the sea (fab beach at Montrose by the way) and scoffing hot smoked salmon and crusty bread.

Finished.

That was number eleven. 

I'd do it again. I had a blast.

Stats: 202 Miles and 29000 feet of up. Eleven tickable hills ticked (according to http://www.hill-bagging.co.uk/)

Gear that did well:

Merino wool baselayer that I got from Mountainwhareous for fifteen quid as it was the last one due to the fact that it was now summer (!) and being sold across the street for £62.

RAB fleece with a TGO challenge logo on it - exclusive to TGO challengers with the logo!

Primus Express stove which I got in April.

Sealskin socks - performed well in all the soggyness.

Berghaus Akka down jacket. Warm and toasty and a good pillow, and squashable in the pack. I wore it for walking on one very cold day underneath a Paramo windproof.

Me old akto. The old girl did it again - recently reproofed and with a few repaired holes.

Gear that performed with mixed results:

TNF Dhaulgiri II boots - warm and comfy and with no blisters, but in the mire of week one, wetted out badly and didn't dry out till Cock Bridge. Luckily I had waterproof socks and kept a pair of woolly socks to wear at night.

Pre-mixed porridge oats with powdered milk, sugar and sultanas. Easy and quick to cook, loadsa  slow release calories, lightweight and nice to eat - and very cheap.

Gear that failed:

Cheapo walking poles - One bent and couldn't be collapsed so I banged it hard on a road and it died.

Garmin GPS. Keeps turning itself off and forgetting the bliddy waypoints. This is a faff. Luckily, I have a map and compass and a vague idea how to use these.

Pies Over Scotland. TGO Challenge Through the Cairngorms



Meikle Geal Charn



Where'd we leave our hero...? Ah yes - In his tent sucking on a bottle of scotch and croning Abba songs over to Andy in the next tent.

In the morning - whatever morning it was, I visited the little cafe by the Glenmore campsite. This has a squirrelarium where red squirrels - and lots of wild birds, come and eat nots and other goodies in full view of the customer who ought ot be tucking into a Full Scottish at this point - which is what I was doing. This place is a highlight of any TGO challenge routed through Bynack or Tomintoul or other such places at the Northern end of the Cairngorms.



Glen Avon



I walked with Andy for a while but lost him somewhere up the Bynack, and met him again covered in what appeared to be breadcrumbs but may have been the ossified remains of a small animal and, along with Wullie Clark fae Stonehaven we plodged through intermittent snow showers to the Fords of Avon where I left them and turned uphill for the bagging of Creag Mhor - an easily bagged Corbett just about 600 feet higher than the Fords of Avon.

Shortly, I came to the snow level and found it to be mainly thin and soggy but with the odd deep bit provided for variety and surprise. The first top came underfoot just as the world turned white. I worked out some detailed navigation for the second top which suddenly appeared, suprisingly in the right place about half a kilometre away  and marched over to it just as it disappeared again. the top is a small granite tor of slabs, but a fierce blizzard started up and I had to hide in the rocks for half an hour till it subsided before I could teeter up the slab to the highest but. During this wait, a mars bar, some squirty cheese and two oatcakes received fatal damage. When in doubt, stuff yer face.

A GPS waypoint for Faindouran bothy gave a remarkably gentle route in a straight line, the enjoyment of which was only dented by the fact that the GPS kept turning itself off.

I arived at the bothy and brewed up. Other Challengers arrived. there were dark rumours of a large party of Glaswegians carousing their way down Glen Avon to occupy the hovel. I left and found a bonny spot beside a small beck about another five kilometeres down the Dale.



More Glen Avon

 having actually bagged something, and with some resistance from the elements, I felt that a short period of celebration should be allowed. This consisted of Beatles rock and roll songs (from the anthology) and about 40 cls of scotch I'd carried from Aviemore. This had, apparently, no effect till at 2:30 a.m. Mr Bladder came to call and I had to stand up. That is to say, I attempted to stand up but found myself in deep heather. It was a nice night, though and I was still happy, so I did whatever it was to satisfy Mr Bladder and slithered back into the golite for another six hours snooze.
And then it was the next day.

I wandered down Glen Avon, being bombed by lapwings and in the occasional company of two challengers who's names I failed to bother to ask.

After a bit, I turned Right (uphill) and climbed a track and some soggy heather to the top of Little Geal Charn. This has a fine view of the snowy Cairngorms.



Brown Cow Hill



And then on to Meikle Geal Charn. Which had some thin snow and an even better view of the Cairngorms and Lochnagar, both of which looked alpine.

The it was deep snow and the wide top of Brown Cow Hill. I have no idea why this plateau should be called Brown Cow Hill, but it is. And it's another Corbett.
I navigated off in snowy squally and through riven peat hags and , finally, down to Corgarff Castle and the hotel at Cock Bridge, which was occupied by TGO Challengers. The accomodation arrangements were chaotic. I'd ben told I could camp round the back, but other Challengers had been refused. Those who had booked rooms had only their first names recorded and there were doubts as to who had a bed....



Corgarff Castle, Cock Bridge

 But the food was fab. I had a magnificent steak. (Shtum!) and the farmer from down the hill said that we could camp in his field with the four tups. There'd be no bother from the tups, he said, and, indeed they were nae bother although one did snore and another had a bad bout of flatus and I had to let him out of the tent eventually.



Military Road, Corgarff


As I crawled into the akto, full of steak and beer, I couldnt help noticing that the old thing was stiff with ice.
Would I survive the night?
How could I carry on when I'm enjoying myself so much?
Why doesn't somebody stop me?
More follows during which there is sunburn and an actual shower (yes folks, I had a wash!)
Stand by...

Pie Over Scotland Part 2 - Another Bit of the 2012 TGO Challenge

So, we left our hero (me) stuffing his face and getting rat-arsed in Drumnadrochit. This went well.

The next morning, a stroke of luck (prolly another omen) saw me have a lazy breakfast and a stroll down to Temple Pier where Mr Menzies boat was already heading out towards Inverfaigaig. The stroke of luck was that he spotted me sobbing on the pier and turned around. There was strident, happy music and the sun glinted on the egg yolk in my beard as I leapt aboard and hugged the man till it was time to chug off into the distance. It doesn't do to snog a sea captain, apparently.

Pieter was on the boat. Pieter is Dutch and walks very fast, specially uphill, which is strange for a Dutchman since contours are strictly banned in Holland and you don't really get any till well over the border.

But after assaulting the decrepit and heaving pier of loose boulders at Inverfarigaig, we walked together , on and off, for the next few days.

The weather was quite good at first. Then, on reaching the first proper hill, it started snowing. Then the sun came out for ten minutes, then it snowed again. We stopped at a little bothy where there were other challengers. The one who couldn't pronounce anything at all - not even Englissh place names, never mind gaelic ones, decided to camp. Me and Pieter launched over the high moor - up to about 740 metres then down the other side where a lad was digging out track ditches with a JCB. We chatted and a bit further on, his boss, apparently the ghillie, accused us, well, he looked at me at the time and said we'd be springing his bridge traps.  I shrug at the idea, but I hadn't sprung any traps. Not that day anyway...

We camped in a pretty spot amongst juniper and with a nice water supply at the top of Glen Mazeran.

I noticed that my spork was broken. This was an omen. Stirring dehydrated food, or, indeed, porridge, with half a spork is a hot business on the ends of the fingers. I improvised with other tools and sticks and things...

In the morning, I left before Pieter who was busy drawing contours on a map of Delft and Environs with a brown coloured felt-tipped pen and wandered down Mazerandale to find two tents and a sort of green flappy thing parked on the other side of the beck near a footbridge. I went to collect the campsite fees.

The tents and the little green thing were occupied by JJ, Louise and Denis Pigeon (Denis used to draw Desperate Dan cartoons and is, therefore, a childhood hero of mine). They seemed happy, if a bit knackered and cold and JJ lent me his spoon. This is trail angel stuff.  he lent me his spoon. His own spoon. I could stir. I could put accurate measurements of sugar in my tea. I could signal to aircraft (it was a metal spoon) I could balance a spoon on the end of my nose. Bless 'im (sniff...)  JJ also gave me all of the pics in this post except one.

Pieter turned up and we continued. At the very first big hill, it started snowing again. We brewed briefly in a bijoux bothy (thats enough stuff beginning with B ya bugger) and went to the top of Carn Dubh where there is a lovely electrified fence - and down towards the Red bothy where, as luck would have it, another bijoux bothy gave us shelter from yet another fierce squall. But what was this inside the bothy....? Boxes of cutlery....!?  One box in particular held plastic spoons. Five hundred plastic spoons. There are now 498 plastic spoons. I'm afraid I pinched two. However, if the owner of the spoons should contact me I will gladly return the spoons with interest (I could send back three spoons) - or I could make a suitable donation to a charity of their choice. It would have to be cutlery based, though.

Then we were at the Red Bothy where others were camped nearby, but didn't venture out of they're tents. This was a pity, really, because we lit a fire, which was, occasionally, huge and cheerful. JJ, Denis and Louise turned up and we had a convivial night of eating, drinking, rude jokes (Denis) and unlikely TGO tales. Outside it chucked it down. By bed time it was snowing.

In the morning, the familiar small-tent syndrome and a grey-muffled dawn told me that my akto was buried in white stuff. I variously kicked or punched off lots of avalanche from inside and peeked out. The world was white and swirling. A time/space continuum warp had taken us back to December. this was good because I really like Christmas.

I returned JJ's spoon, removed some of the snow from their tents and plodged off for the Burma Road. This was bleak. I arrived in Aviemore by mid May and went to Tescos for more scotch and to an outdoor shop for a spork (titanium now...) - and to the Bridge Inn where I met Andy and Pieter and ? some others..../ and scoffed very posh scoff which was just OK compared with better, much cheaper scoff I had later in the trip.

I walked to Glenmore with Andy by the Cairngorm Club footbridge. It was May again. Just a bit cold.

Was that the end of the spoon incidents? Find out in the next episode where it snows again and we visit the very lovely Cairngorm Mountains which are arctic, y'know.