A Day in the Hills and a Night in the Sand

So many things on the List Of Things To Do and so little time. And, impatient to fit everything in, me and Dawn (actually, it was Dawn, really) came up with the idea to have a hill-walk in the Cheviots followed by a bivi on a Northumbrian beach (and Northumbrian beaches are possibly the best beaches for bivis).

So we went to Hethpool at the foot of the Colledge Valley where there’s a small car park beyond which you can’t drive without a permit. This keeps the traffic down to a maximum of 12 cars per day except for those who have business driving up and down the dale.

Our plans were off to the side a bit – starting with the diminutive and rippled – due to ancient cultivation terraces – White Hill 228m and fairly easyily bagged from the road.

Onwards and sideways we went, ignoring a permissive path diversion for a jungly cleared forestry path to collect Haddon Hill 352m. Dawn waited at the bottom (actually, it was quite near the top) whilst me and LTD visited the summit. This provided a huge view of the East Coast right up to Crystal Rig windfarm, just above Dunbar, and West to far, far distant hills.

We lunched in the sun and then it was onwards to Ring Chesters 432m, for some reason, given the soulless name of “Haddon Hill SW Top” on the hill-bagging website. It’s called Ring Chesters because it’s clearly a series of defensive consecutive rings around a small hillfort or settlement and with a fine view over the Merse and the naughty Selgovae lurking in their forts on the Eildons. (You’ll have to google Selgovae)

Dawn traversed the side of Coldsmouth Hill 414 m whilst me and LTD (Do I get to write any of this? (LTD) (No shut yer muzzle MAK) heaved our tiring legs up to the three cairns on the top, sustained only by handfuls of small and tart bilberries, of which there were copious crops. It only occurred to me whilst stood by one of the cairns spying over towards the Selgovae again, that many of those bilberries will have been weed on by sheep.

Coldsmouth Hill sports two apparently ancient circular enclosures with significant above-ground remains and three cairns, probably fashioned from bits of those circular walls. Dawn was waiting by the trees at the bottom.

A fine romp along the English/Scottish border followed, turning left at a footpath and veering off up the slopes of Madam Law 397m, which has a tumulus on the top, according to my map.

Finally, a long descent and a gentle re-ascent took us to Ell’s Knowe 319m which had nothing particularly obvious in the archaeological deparment.

A plod down the road aka St Cuthbert’s Way brought us back to the knipemobile which was still where we’d left it. And that was that.

LTD  says: Oh no it wasn’t. You drove to Wooller Co-op to buy beer and then we had a bit of a drive to some sand-dunes where, after some more walking, Dawn put up a tent shelter (they don’t allow camping, apparently). This wasn’t a  tent at all, so we didn’t camp we just stayed in one place for a while. Somebody dug a hole and lit a fire and sausages and spuds were buried in foil and sand and dug up about an hour later. The sausages had turned into black crispy things but the spuds were only charred a bit and, with added butter, were scoffed greedily and I only got some of the now sandy black crispy things and some sandy spud skin which wasn’t really fair. They don’t feed me enough y’know – I mean all I had was a tin of dog food, two bonios and a dentastick. And some Wesleydale cheese. And bits of bread and some measly scraps of Sorano ham. Oh and half a pulled pork pasty and some sand. I was starving…

And then it went dark (ish) and we went to bed. I got under Pieman’s down jacket and had his TGO Chally fleece for a pillow, so it was a warm night. At one point Dawn said there were seals on the beach but all I could see were some vague lumps. These were very very close and if they were seals it would have been scary but when it came light they turned out to be clumps of grass. At another point Dawn said the sun was coming up and we should have a look because it was beautiful. But it was the middle of the night so we didn’t get up. Pieman grunted something about Kylie’s bra strap, turned over and stopped snoring. For a minute.

And in the morning, when the sun was high and hot there was frolicking and shivering at the same time in the sea. I don’t like water and I specially don’t like water that comes at you in waves. But these two seemed to like it.

And the beach was empty of life, except us and some birds squawking about and doing bird stuff.

And I got to dig holes and chew sticks and roll about. And sleep in the sun.

Then we went home. This took a long time.

Ta for that LTD. For info, we did 11 miles (ish) and about 2000 feet of climbing and paddled a bit and even had a little swim or two. Its not so bad once the nerve-endings have frozen.

References to Selgovae I partly attribute to Ptolemy. Obviously.

Coledale–Was That The Summer Then?

The night before last, on a toilet ramble up the Deerness Valley Way (wot’s quite near Knipetowers as it happens) LTD announced that he never gets to choose which walks to do and wouldn’t it be nice to go and park in the school yard at Braithwaite and do a couple of proper hills plus whatever small lump I might like to add to a route. Since there was to be one fine day between two wet ones, I thought this was a good idea. Well done LTD.

Since I compleated (sic) the Wainwrights (even sicker) in 1991 or something, and most of the Birketts except Pillar Rock and that other still-to-bag one with the Viet-Cong in occupation, and so reduced to bagging Synges with 5 metres of reascent on all sides I discovered that there was one unbagged at the top of Coledale – one Force Crag and I determined to include this in the walk.

It’s OK to park in the school yard at Braithwaite by the way providing it’s a weekend or a holiday and you post three quid through the school letterbox. Three quid is a proper amount for parking, so I did this without rant or complaint and me and LTD wandered up the track to Force Crag Mine, a closed leadmine with lots of interesting buildings, holes and heaps.

Lots of other people were also wandering up Coledale with dogs and children and babies and there was some bunching, I noticed where the path crosses the beck. This was due to the fact that it had rained all of the previous night and the beck was in a lively mood, although not really in spate. One chap in the kind of trekking shoes that some TGO challengers get all evangelistic about complained that it was “supposed to be a ford” and the beck was too deep and the stones too slippery.
After crossing the beck, me and LTD crossed it again higher up and went off to bag Force Crag. This turned out to be a superb viewpoint for Coledale and a top-hole spot for the scoffing of an egg and tomato butty.

We continued higher to the little bealach or pass between Sand Hill, Crag Hill and Grasmoor. I remembered a marginally scrambly route up the North ridge of Crag Hill which ought to deliver me and some aching thighs and a small dog to the summit in reasonably short order. And this is what happened, except to say that the marginal scramble had eroded quite a lot since I last climbed it – probably thirty years ago, and was now marginally too exciting. My leg lump didn;t enjoy one of the high steps either, but the view across to Grisedale Pike was impressive. The scramble is now a deep groove at a reasonable- enough angle and anywhere else would look like a slab. It’s a good idea to use the hands on this, I think.  High up it appears as a rock wall and provides a moment of quiet and slightly shaky contemplation as to whether or not to proceed,or to abandon the groove for the even more tricky-looking grassy ledges to the side, or to slither back down again and pretend that I didn’t really want to go that way anyway, having done it once before. But on inspection, the groove continues and snakes away up to a flat bit where the Ledge Route comes in from the left. After that it’s just a grassy ridge.

Once on the top, LTD cocked his leg on the trig and it fell over ( LTD: this is not true, it was already prone and I always get the blame for minor damage. Like chewing up the paper that had had the butter in it.)



It was nitheringy Autumn on the top of Crag Hill, it has to be said, and no place to sit and scoff a banana, so we sailed over Sail and got into a sheltered spot at the foot of those huge and ugly zig-zags wot Fix The Fells built some years ago. They were supposed to mellow into the hillside but they didn’t and now the surface is loose in parts and stones will rumble away under the feet of any hikers not concentrating properly. It seems that many people aren’t zig-zagging at all but are prefering to romp straight down through the heather. And much safer that would be, I would expect.

LTD decided not to bag Barrow and Outerside but to go straight back to the schoolyard so that I could get in the car and drive back through Alston, stopping only to buy a couple of bottles at Alston Co-OP on the way back. (LTD: Actually, this was your idea, I would have liked to have bagged Outerside and Barrow and……cat!!!  There’s a cat on telly….)
9 miles and 3400 feet of up.
I once had a dog called “Jenny” Jenny was a bit of a runner and one day, when taken off the lead on the summit of Crag Hill, she chased a meadow-pipit and leapt over the edge into the steep corrie on the side of the hill – and into hill fog. I could hear her barking, but she’d disappeared from view. The corrie wall was too steep for me so I investigated one of the wings. I could see nothing so returned to the top. The barking had stopped. I got the first 9 into the phone  for mountain rescue and the dog arrived back at the top, battered and scraped with no skin on her chin or her pads. I carried her all the way back down to the car. Don’t ask how much it cost at the vet!

A Tan Hill to Swaledale Circuit by WSWG

WSWG is, of course, the Wednesday Walkers Walking on Saturdays Group.

And 12 walkers turned up at Tan Hill Inn, plus two dogs, Bailey and LTD.

I’d reccied the route a few days earlier along with LTD in humid and oddly-sunny-with-hillfog sorta conditions. The route  initially follows a path over Robert Seat which was also used on me and Dawn’s Beer-Trekkin Trek. This leads fairly easily over the moor to Ravenseat where me and Dawn, or was it Dawn and me(?)  had sheltered from the rain in the barn with cups of tea and scones and cream back in May.

On the reccy I didn’t stop but batterred on towards Keld, catching up with an Australian with a sore toe and some seashells hanging off his pack, a Yorkshire Australian with a retained Yorkshire accent after 20 years abroad,  and his partner who kept pretty quiet and we all walked to Keld where I allowed myself to be exploited to the tune of a cup of tea and a fruit slice at the Rukins tearoom there. (This was also the destination of a small team of DofE kids who actually spoke to us. I have noted in the past that DofE groups are usually pretty diffident about actually replying to a greeting or a question) We met them twice, in fact. They must have been doing our route, but the other way around.

And then back to Tan Hill for a pint of shandy and an hour’s drive home.

On yer actual guided walk, we stopped at Ravenseat for cuppas – some had scones and we missed Keld altogether by rejoinging the Coast to Coast path after lunch by the swimming hole at Wainwath Force where a few swimmers were swimming and leaping into the deep water and other risky stuff.

And we followed the Pennine Way back to Tan Hill – noting the most pointless gate in Yorkshire. Well done to the Yorkshire dales National Park Authority for transporting a gate, concrete, and men to Lad Gill where there’s a little footbridge over a very small and shallow beck. Here, they have installed a gate complete with a sign saying “Please Close The Gate”. There is nothing, however, to prevent stock, or anything else from passing either side of this gate. Whoever planned it, authorised it and built it and wasted all that money in times of austerity, needs their heads seeing to and really, if there was any justice at all, should now be reprting to their local job centre to be sanctioned. The feckers.

Anyway, I think people generally enjoyed the walk. I enjoyed both walks, and so did LTD. There’s a map below for anybody inclined to give it a go. This shows the route not going to Keld. But if you want to, you can.

Druridge Bay–Barely Surviving

Having visited various Northumbrian sandy beaches last year, it became seriously apparent that the erection of a tarp or tent would be compromised by the stupidly soft sand that they have around here. Dawn had put her not incosiderable skills and experience into solving this problem and had come up with a collection of huge wooden stakes and a huge wooden lump with which to bash them into the sand. The only issue remaining was a location to test out this system. We would have liked to visit Ross Back Sands, but due to the prescence of some rare and guarded terns nesting there, we terned (sic) our attention to Druridge Bay.

Eventually, after driving about a lot and seeking water supplies, we terned up at Druridge Bay, plodded Northwards for a while and then erected Dawn’s stake-based tabernacle in a sheltered corrie in the dunes, on the edge of the main beach.

I should add  here (look away those of a delicate disposition) that both me and Dawn are booked in to the North-East skinny-dip in September and, in order to do do justice to the ten quid layout, it’s essential to acclimatise one’s body to cold water, so some dips into the North Sea (currently around 11C) are essential. Dipping into cold water does work as an acclimatisaion strategy and ensures that a longer dip later on, in marginally warmer water might actually be enjoyable. So, we dipped, although, not necessarily in a skinny-fashion. It was OK, actually.

This provided a fabby-whiz camping spot and we mooched around for the evening, collecting wood, seeing off a local prevert and, in the case of ltd, doing poos for collection in the poo bags wot I’d bought that very morning in Tow Law. We drank tea and scoffed some Peggoties Pasties ( from Peggoties bakery in Wolsingham) and I had a tin of IPA.

We lit a small fire. Then it went dark(ish), somewhat mitigated by a full moon rising over the sea and we drifted off into sleepy snoozy snory dreamy land. LTD cuddled on a blanket and deep underneath a down jacket snuggled up close to my bivi bag.  I stroked his tummy under the warmth and we floated peacefully away far upstream, dog and prat in sleepy harmony. Neither moved for hours and hours.

Then, maybe five hours later, the sky lightened and turned a bit orange and, slowly, the sun appeared over the sea. We brewed, marvelled at the scene and had photo-calls for a bit and then returned to cosy sleeping bags for another four hours.

In the day, we dipped and snoozed and lazed about and scoffed the deli meats and cheeses Dawn had brought. The sea was cold  and mischevious but friendly and the sun was hot and skin-drying.

We should do this more often.

Leg News

Me and the Leg went for an ultrasound scan today at Bishop Auckland General Hospital and the consultant wot did it showed me some grey and blurry pictures on a screen and said something to the effect that the muscle at the top of the thigh has been damaged and is now appearing, in a starring role as a wobbly lump and that there’s a bit of a space where it really ought to be. It looked like a joint of beef to me.

But, as the muscle is working (see 12 mile walk with 4100 feet of ascent in a previous uncorrupted posting on this very blog), there’s nothing to be done about it although I might consider having it tattooed in the form of a side view of the South face of Ben Nevis with the tourist route etched out in red dots. This would be useful since OS maps can blow away, whereas legs…

In the meantime the lovely nurse in attendance was dribbling, moaning and banging her head on the wall whilst my rather lovely, naked and now very slippery leg was being examined. Nothing much has changed in the NHS since I left it.

I have been advised to a) go back to my GP to hear him tell me that its a permanent injury and as the muscle is working that there’s nothing to be done about it. There’s always a chance that if it’s explained to me again, though, I might actually understand what’s being said although my ability to comprehend complex facts (e.g. bus timetables) has been rather limited recently. By recently, I mean the last ten years. And my attention span has..  Twin Peaks. Now they should bring that back. Lovely music..

And

b) I need to consume much more in the way of muscle-relaxing fluids in order to prevent a similar accident happening again. Basically, I’m just not drinking enough beer. In fact, the consultant was astounded that I’d not injured myself falling over before now and that the consumption of safe levels of beer, wine or whisky would make the muscles floppy enough to cushion any sudden impacts. Its only sensible, really. Mrs Pieman doesn’t think any of this is likely but she’s been out of nursing for quite a while now and is clearly not up to speed with modern health prevention strategies.

And

c) I should forget Strictly Come Dancing.

I’m trying to think up a name for the lump. Best suggestion wins a photo of a a tattoo of the South Face of Ben Nevis with the tourist route pecked out in red.

Should anything else happen, I’ll write about it here….