TGO Challenge 2014 Cafe Akto Results (and a short update about Superdawg)

I returned from the Highlands yesterday teatime, having  accidentally bagged two Marilyns on the way home and got myself into traffic nightmare in the middle of Edinburgh following a time/space continuum error at the near end of the Forth Road bridge which eventually saw me blocked in on all sides by three buses and a tram – but best not go into this in case there’s CCTV evidence….

Eleven or twelve days earlier, I turned up at Glen Mazeran with an akto, a basha, loads of bacon and rolls and coffee and ten litres of Bishops Best Black Paw bitter, put up the tent and waited.

A couple of days later, after a bit of local exploring and some sensible toilet advice from the estate ghillie, three people turned up for beer and butties, followed by another twelve or thirteen or so, a day later and some more for breakfast the next morning. And so, all of the beer and all of the bacon and bread-based products were consumed. Even my pan-cleaning sponge was consumed, allegedly by a local mouse, but possibly even by a TGO challenger crazy for animal fats of any kind. (This can happen)

After this, I went to the Cairngorm Club Footbridge in the very lovely Rothiemurchus forest. Here, a lighter set up was..er..set up, involving only one carrying-in journey and a similar one for getting out a day later. Here, I had a very fine chocolate cake, some leaky double cream and the coffee. Only a few challengers went this way whilst i was there, although it is rumoured that several well-known blogging challengers did stumble past at ten o’clock on the night that I’d escaped at four o’clock.

Blogger Oldmortality also turned up bearing gifts for me and the Dawg although the Dawg was at home attending Aunty Vera’s funeral in Calderdale crematorium. Nevertheless he has enjoyed some of the doggy-treat sausages since then. And I enjoyed the liquid stuff but the snickers bar met an untimely end in the bin at Glenmore campsite along with my coffee sachets and a penknife when I mistook a nylon bag for my rubbish bag. (I blame the scotch, actually)

Finally, since there was another ten (actually, koff, about eight) litres of Black Paw remaining, I took it upon myself to visit North Water Bridge campsite on the very night about sixty challengers were about to embark on their final day of the TGO challenge. This saw the end of the beer, so I went home.

I’ve been more than impressed with people’s generosity in supporting this venture and for scoffing all that bacon. Several people seem to have paid well over the odds for whatever they had. Three day walkers in Rothiemurchus gave me twelve quid out of sheer goodness and several TGO challengers donated cash without actually having any refreshments.

And then, of course, there was the chap who wants to stay anonymous who bunged me just enough cash for 50% of the beer.  You are entitled to a personal moment of smugness my friend and you can be certain that your support has made a significant difference to the success of this jape and you also made several TGO challengers happier than they ought to be.

The next paragraph is in a smaller font than usual so as not to embarrass anybody:

Some challengers filled their boots and then wandered off and some (at least one….) promised to donate on two occasions but didn’t – mind you, they (he) didn’t actually have anything but my feeling is, without sulking or getting bitter (he didn’t get any bitter) is that really, you shouldn’t say you’re going to do something and then fail. But that’s politicians for you….

When I finally managed to open the tin this morning (two tin openers failed, but the third industrial blowtorch eventually prised open a sufficient gap) there was just short of £165 in the tin. Mrs Pieman, in a moment of rare-for-a-Yorkshirewoman-from-Halifax moment of generosity made it up to the full £165 using personal securities normally imprisoned with several moths in her tightly locked purse,   and a donation from Ria made a few weeks ago made it up to £170 to put in the bank. Thus, £170 will be paid into the Virgin money giving page quite shortly. There’s a link at the bottom of this post for anybody feeling a bit generous.

And thanks to Mick also for the dosh for Dawn’s PHD jacket she gave me to sell – not forgetting, of course, to mention Dawn’s generosity in giving the jacket away in the first place. Actually, it was a rather nice jacket and it would have suited me nicely……

So, the fund-raising thing is doing Ok at the moment, but I need more ideas for money raising – the key rule of which is, of course, that nobody gives money away without getting something in return, unless the really want to do that.

More info about the Black Paw brewery can be found Here

Click the logo below to check out the state of the fund and, for those who feel in the mood to donate – to donate.

Finally – an update about Bruno the Superdawg.

I cut short the TGO trip because, frankly, I was missing the dog. Reports from home said that he was OK and quite happy, eating, pooing properly and playing and so on, but I had a feeling that I should come home. So I did.

I arrived about teatime on Thursday and Mrs Pieman and the dog arrived from Aunty Vera’s funeral about ten minutes later. I noticed that he’d aged a bit more than he should have in twelve days and he’d lost some weight and that his bark was much higher in pitch than it had been. But otherwise he seemed Ok and he wolfed down his supper, took his steroid tablets nicely, played with a football and cuddled his jumper (he has a jumper as a comfort toy) (ok, we’re too soft, I know…)

But this morning he refused food, wouldn’t have his tablets, peed on the landing without actually noticing and then slowly melted into a semi-comatose state with with all the appearance of an animal about to wander off on another journey – if you catch my drift.. I decided that as he wasn’t in any apparent pain or distress to just let him die there and not to give him that last ride to the vet. He was like this for most of the day, sleeping, shallow breathing, unseeing eyes and, apparently on the very point of death.

Then the bugger recovered. He’s had his supper, a nice poo outside, he’s nearly taken off a Pieman finger whilst briefly considering a chewstick and he’s made himself comfy on a beanbag and is in a peaceful snooze as I write.

By sheer luck I seem to have done the right thing. This time.

So, a temporary and, probably short reprieve, I suppose. Maybe he was just practising for the real thing. He won’t be going out walking again, though. He’s quite weak and his perambulations are measured in yards rather than miles.  I think the walks have finished now. 

For those who are bothered, I would expect bad news quite soon. I’m hoping he can do this peacefully and at home. As for me, I’m not doing anything else, walking wise till after he’s gone. I’m going to look a bit daft, though, wandering around with just a retractable lead.

There’ll be more Highland stuff later, though – I did manage to do other stuff between cafe Akto-ing….

Ok, Own Up, Who Is Sick of hearing About the TGO Chally?

I must admit – having not even been rejected for this year’s TGO Challenge, (I didn't actually apply ( but they would have given me a place, surely…?) I am just a bit fed up of reading blogs about people just about to set off and their route plans, boozing plans,  exhaustive and exhausting fucking kit lists complete with weights and so on and so forth blah blah..


And I expect there’ll currently be a coterie of serious-looking young men with ultra-light packs and wrap-around dark specs currently camping in some damp midge infested bog or up some seriously windy bealach trying to think up excuses why they didn’t quite make it to Montrose (knee injuries, death and funeral of mother-in-law’s “special” uncle, failure of ultra-light stove, forgot to bring any food… and so on…)

And then there’ll be the old hands, currently snoozing cosy in their bags waiting for a visit from Mr Bladder, having just sipped just a little bit more than their nightly ration of Fine Malt and full of the sirloin steak and peas they had for their tea and unbothered by the sizzle of drizzle on their tent flaps during which they decide on a the wisdom of a late start in the morning (probably around lunchtime providing its not raining)

Oh no, I’m glad I’m out of it.


No really.
But I’m collecting stuff together and packing for an episode of TGO-related activities involving the erection of a tent and basha in Glan Mazeran for the provision of solace and caffeine to slightly-fragged individuals having just crossed the first bit of the Monadhliath Mountains. I will carry 10 litres of Black Paw Bishop’s Best Bitter for their consolation and hope to raise a few bob for Mind.
In the meantime, I’ll be worrying about Bruno’s health. he had his check up a couple of days ago. His attack of diarrhoea which started on Druridge Bay beach, just got worse but he got medication for this which seems to have worked, which seems at least to exclude one thing . And whilst his lumps are only a bit more obvious than before , his passenger-side front leg stopped working  briefly but almost completely the other night and he couldn’t get up the stairs, but it seems OK just now. We’re doing daily 2-3 mile walks after which he seems to be briefly knackered. I think his days of big hills and leaping fences (in one mighty bound) are ended. His fate now seems to lie in his ability to to poo nicely and in lumps of a certain colour and consistency,  to retain a voracious appetite, to keep the ears and tail erect and be interested and playful. I’m going to be away for two weeks and I’m going to be worrying that one or more of these rules are going to be broken. He’s still happy and enthusiastic but there’s a creeping number of negative symptoms.
We have to accept death, I suppose. Its a natural process and we hope to manage it as well as we can, but its difficult if we’re not actually there to do it. I’m a bit torn about going at all. I can always come home a bit early, I suppose but I feel I should be on poo watch and boiling the chicken (don’t ask…).  I’ll only be six hours drive away at the most, though…. 
Had we nae’r lov’d sae kindly…

Bruno’s Bucket List – Footballs at the Seaside

For those people with an aversion to pictures of a dog running about with a football in it’s mouth, look away now. I’ll say when it’s safe to look.

Me and the Dawg met Mick and his three dawgs at Druridge Bay since me and Mick had a small bit of business to transact and it was time for the first item on Bruno’s bucket list, so we wuz multi-tasking , innit?

One of Bruno’s passions is to destroy footballs on a beach – actually, it doesn’t necessarily have to be on a beach, but it’s better if it is….

  

And so, I came equipped with a cheapo football, RRP £3:00 from the Factory shop in Crook and as soon as we hit the sand, I kicked it and Bruno punctured it. He carried it for a mile or so and as Mick had also brought a football there was occasionally a bit of confusion as to which ball superdawg wanted.

All the dogs had a good old run about and there were multiple friendly meetings with lots of other dogs.

After a bit of a rest, during which football #1 (the one with the puncture) disappeared somewhere, Mick had to set off back home but we got instructions for further jollies including the possibility of ice cream at the village at the far end of the beach. So Bruno carried Mick’s football from here all the way back to the car.

Unfortunately, we didn’t quite make that, partly due to running out of time (its a huge beach and I had a chicken to cook) and partly because superdawg was, frankly, knackered from all the charging about.

And so we made our way back along the road and along a coastal path, returning to the fun of the beach as Bruno recovered from the knackerdness. I did six miles. Bruno did about forty, and I exaggerate only a bit…   The other three dogs’ total was probably substantially higher.

Druridge Bay is a superb place for this sort of thing and the day was sunny and warm and just what you might hope for in a bucket list day. For those not familiar with it (you poor, benighted souls..)  it’s a  beautiful seven-mile horseshoe of perfect flat sand on the Northumberland coast quite near Amble  More info here

We’re off to see the vet in the morning.  Bugger. Fingers crossed.

Click t’logo fer t’ donation. (And thanks to dawn for yet another donation – and there’s good news about the PHD jacket too !)

Cautley –The Spout and The Calf and TGO Route Stuff

Me and the Dawg met Fight Club Hikers  Paddy (T-Dude) Burrows and Gillian Mott at Cross Hall campsite just a little way up the road from Sedbergh for a weekend of TGO routing stuff and a bit of walking.

They brought their senior dog Woodstock and I, of course, had Bruno the Superdawg.

Friday was for camping and a bit of light boozing and Saturday was for walkies on the Howgill fells.

It was a nice day and we set off hopefully, around lunchtime up into the huge corrie at Cautley and up the huge 700 –foot path to the top of Cautley Spout. And then, on the theme of “huge”, we followed edge the huge Cautley Crag and over huge moors to Calders where I had a huge pasty and Pat and Gill had a huge cheese butty.

After visiting The Calf (second time in a couple of weeks for me and the Dawg), we descended to the upper bits of Bowderdale and back down into the huge corrie and this to huge Sedbergh for pub scoff and a visit to the well- hidden Spar shop for more supplies (i.e. booze)

The walk was just about six miles and 2000 feet of upness and, more than enough for the gently senile Woodstock and, although Bruno was still apparently unaffected, he fell asleep immediately in the back of the car.

Later, we went through Patrick’s TGO 2014 route, pointing out foul weather alternatives and the whereabouts of shops and so on.

It rained and got windy overnight and was mizzly drizzle on the  Sunday morning, so we visited the Cross Keys at Cautley for Egg and Bacon rolls (me and Paddy and probably the finest bacon rolls I’ve had in a while, and cheese on toast for Gill.

And that was that.

Bruno’s medication is making him  happy, hungry and thirsty all at the same time and I did lose him twice in the darkness of the campsite and located him firstly in Woody’s food dish scoffing Woody’s doggy bics and the second time in the beck. He mithered for a while and wouldn’t settle but finally got his head down till 9:00 a.m. after two full dishes of fresh water. For myself, my little nightcap was a nip (or , rather a NIP) of blended malt.

Zzzzzzz…..

Good luck to Paddy on his second TGO Chally……

Click logo to donate!!  (Bruno’s not doing my mental health much good by the way…..)  And thanks to Chris Matthews for his, so far unacknowledged but generous donation…  Ta!)

39 Years Later - The Final Wainwright Outlying Fell

On the 8th of May 1975 I bagged my first Wainwright Outlying Fell, not knowing that it was a Wainwright Outlying Fell. I’m not sure that I was much aware of the Wainwrights generally although I did have a copy of Alf’s guide to the Pennine Way which I got after a lunchtime boozing session in the Ship Inn in Skipton following a week booking casualties in and playing monopoly with nurses in the A&E department at Airedale General Hospital. Monday lunchtimes were the new Saturday nights after such a shift.

Hennyway, Whatshaw Common was bagged on a walk from Skipton to Ambleside with the bro. This was a remarkable walk in that we stayed in pubs and B&Bs and I managed to put half a stone in weight on during the week.

On 30 April 2014, in company with my stickocidal pal Bruno, I bagged Irton Pike. The final Wainwright Outlying Fell. That’s a record time of 38.98 years (Lets just say 39, eh?)

The main Wainwright Fells took me from 24 September 1972 (Helvellyn) till 13 April 1991 (Barf) – some 18.54 years. Quite speedy in comparison.

Irton Pike was bagged after setting up the akto on the Old Post Office campsite (nice campsite by the way…) at Santon Bridge and following a couple of beers and a beef sandwich with a bowl of chips at The Bridge Inn. So it was mid afternoon when we set off and half two when we got to the top and had no company and no view apart from the fog. We had a little strollette along the ridge for a bit, Bruno bounced around a bit (I’ve not told him that he’s ill) and chased some sticks and destroyed some other sticks but we didn’t really stetch ourselves much.

We returned to the tent for a cuppa and a snooze (theme developing here…) and, later, made  the enormously short journey to The Bridge for more jinkies in celebration.

And that was that. It was raining Thursday morning, so we came home.

Bruno likes snoozing in tents, so we’re off again Friday afternoon for more jollies.  My daughter’s comments on facebook, refering to the trouble Bruno is in, suggests a Bruno Bucket List. I think this is a crackin’ idea and I’m planning a beach day including avoiding cold, salty waves, completely destroying a cheapo plastic football, and running around in circles barking.

You have to make the most of things but then, in the immortal words of William (Billy) Malkinson who shuffled off his mortal coil and went to meet his Maker nearly at the top of the road up Irton Pike in February 1886 -  “Be Ye Also Ready”.  Wise words, if a bit miserable.