Anybody know where this is?

…Answers on a shroud…..

Mwhahahahahah

Sounds of Battle on Saughy Hill

Bruno enjoys the summit of Saughy Hill

Each November (ish), when the nights are dark and the days are short and grey (a bit like me grandad, in fact), I do my planning of walks and new hills to bag for the next year. This is because November always seems like the end of the year to me. OK, I know it isn’t the end of the year, but it seems like it.  And many of the hills on the list are those which I didn’t manage to bag the year before.  So, if I don;t have a good year, the list might well look the same.

So, in order to make room for new hills, I sometimes find myself wandering up obscure tops in October – just so I can make room on the list for more , more and better hills the next year.

And so it was, that after a day of considering some lake District tops, I was persuaded, by the variable nature of each BBC weather forecast (it will rain, it will be dry, it might rain, it’ll probably be dry, expect rain, wet, dry dry wet, fckn dry…) I decided to nick off to the Cheviots to climb and tick Saughy Hill.

Clennel Street

Readers will be forgiven for not having heard of Saughy Hill before. Its fairly high, at 494 metres and looms steeply (with a rounded top) over the deep side-valley of the Usway Burn and can be included in a walk along Clennel Street, which is what I did.

I arrived in the deserted national Park car park at Alwinton to the sound of enormous explosions, machine-gun fire and helicopters. I stayed not in the Car park, but parked on the free picnic area with everybody else as I didn;t have two pound coins for the machine (it only takes £2 and £1 coins) I otherwise had the money, but not in the correct denominations. I don;t expect anybody from the Northumberland National park reads this blog, but if they do, they might well have found the reason why they’re not taking any money in the pay and display machine…. (just a thought…)

Clennel Street is the ancient road towards Kelso that me and Dawn had a chilly adventure on back in the winter. It was a bit warmer today, only just nithering, in fact… brrrrrrrrr

The white bit is smoke from the target. Bang, boom , whallop

Me and the dawg progressed reasonably easily along Clennel Street, chatting to a couple of cyclists pushing their bikes and bemoaning that they’d been given a bum steer about how good the was the road surface (boggy). Meanwhile, the army’s efforts to defeat some heather on a nearby hill were reaching manic proportions. I noticed, in the distance, that they seem to have managed to set a bit of the hill on fire.

Bruno decides how to navigate to Usway Burn below…

However, we soon found ourselves on the tussocky top of Saughy Hill. The tick duly ticked. A very steep descent brought us to Battailshiel Haugh where my Curd Tart received fatal wounds and my Egg and Tomato Butty was  ravished along some nice, hot filter coffee (in a flask, there’s nowhere to plug in a coffee machine up here.

Nothing to see here….

I decide to have a look at the site of a mediaeval village on the way back. This meant walking back to Alwinton along the road. there was no traffic, though, and there’s a short bit of permissive path which took me to the village. This was a bit of a disappointment since there’s not much to see from ground level. It’s much better from the Pass Peth path just over the river. In fact, perambulating primarily on the Pass Peth path produces a perfect peek at the place.

Army warning notices including flag retrieved from the 1964 Labour Party Conference in Brighton

My apologies for the previous sentence. (the one with all the peas…..)

We did ten miles. Some bugger has been messing with the clocks as it almost went dark on me today….

 

Low Level Rantings in Upper Weardale

Meanwhile, back in England..

At some point in the winter (look, I be expected to remember everything in detail) I’m doing a guided walk which for some reason only known to me about three months ago and which I’ve now completely forgotten, which (crikey, it’s a long sentence, this one, innit?) (Jim Perrin would be proud of the length and the nested ideas, but, maybe not with the English) (I mean the English language, not the race) (Its irritating this, isn’t it?), which goes from Wetsgate to Burnhope Reservoir and back along the fragrant (although, maybe not so fragrant in January) banks of the River Wear.

Phew.

Anyway, I thought I’d better go and have a look at the proposed route, and it’s a good job that I did.

It started well enough and then, up a lane which goes onto the high fells, it came to a dead end where a path is supposed to leap off downhill in order to make further progress in a Westerly direction. There’s never been a path there. There’s a walled-up gate which looks as though it’s been like that for a hundred years, but no path. There’s a wall which has barbed wire on the top. I went back down the lane and through a gate into the field and, a bit further down the hill, came to a barbed wire fence. There’s no stile and never has been. Its a duff path. We won’t be going this way. I did do a bit of light swearing. I’m not supposed to do this on the actual walk.

But, on the other side of the fence were some lead mine buildings, an old hush and a tunnel. Me and the dawg crept under a hole in the fence (we won’t be doing this on the guided walk) and inspected the flood debris on the valley floor. It was heaving with huge lumps of flourspar, some much too big to carry home. Interesting…. And there was what appeared to be the old mine shop. This was full of bits of iron, an old and retired pair of walking boots, a bicycle, and other “stuff”. there was also a hut which looked a bit like a small cricket pavilion. I didn’t investigate this – probably just as well because I met Charlie in Westgate later on and he told me that the place was too spooky and he suspected that somebody had died in there.  I must have a look at this before halloween…..

We continued.  The next bit went well, apart from being a bit sloppy and then, after a bit of a road walk, I came across some “shafts, disused”, one of which still had bits of winding gear and cables on the top and was partially built from cream-coloured bricks which seems to indicate a well-financed undertaking. Y’see. they’ve gone to the trouble of carting bricks miles up the dale from the Durham coalfield rather than just using a bit of locally quarried stone. This makes it a bit extravagant.

Then we got stuck again(more swearing) In the valley of the Ireshope Burn (also full of leadmining stuff), the path to Slack House was blocked with fencing. We won’t be going this way either. There is a way around, at the cost of extra roadwalking.

The rest of the expedition was fine, and gets quite pretty. And there are two sets of lavvies for the ladies on the walk (the men usually just spray around freely)  The wander down the Dale by the river, with the leaves on the turn, was beautiful. We will be going this way.

One of the aspects of walking in County Durham is the high chance that you’ll stop for a long chat with somebody. A walk up the Deerness Valley can take much longer than planned. I’d forgotten about this. It happened twice on this walk, three times if you count the encounter with Charlie. I don’t mind, in fact its part of the enjoyment. Quite good fun, really….

I measured the walk at about ten miles. It’s eleven in the guided walks programme.  Probably just as well that I went for a look…..

Argoed Hewitt Bagging – Craig-y-Llyn and Bryn Brith

Finally fate forfended a finish to the fortnight on a far flung top of Cadair Idris – (OK, that’s enough of that..) – one Craig-y-Llyn – the crag being the crag above the little tarn called Llyn Cyn – possibly quite a nice place to camp.

I parked the knipemobile on the National Trust car park at Llynau Creggenen, a fishing spot dominated by the Matterhorn-like silhouette of Pared y Cefn Hir and it’s heathery pal of equal height Bryn Brith – a twin HuMP, no less. The first looks quite fierce from the car park and as I set off on my short round to bag Craig-y-LLyn, it seemed likely that at the end of the day me and superdawg would be testing our scrambling skills on it’s steep ridge.

But first, we had an appointment with the far-Western end of the very lovely Cadair Idris ridge.

Luckily, there’s a path from the road which climbs steeply up onto the ridge. It’s then an easy matter to plod along the ridge to the top. This ridge, though, is quite fabulous and wot a jolly jape it would be to walk the whole thing from end to end from Gau Craig to Pen y Garn armed only with a huge amount of camping equipment and a litre of fine malt. There’s a path over the estuary at Barmouth and the Mawdach Trail leads the intrepid alcoholic to Dolgellau, where I expect there are friendly pubs and then hill paths would take the survivors up on to Gau Crag to start the jaunt.  There’s a fine path along the coast to take you back to Barmouth where I expect it’s possible to arrange a short celebration and get the train home. It’d take a few days, I expect.  Just an idea…..

Anyway, after bagging our tick and completing Cadair Idris, we bagged Craig Cwm-llwyd, a little Dewey with a fine view of the Mawdach estuary. The black road (FFordd Ddu) took me back to the start and the prospect of a clamber on Pared y Cefn Hir.

This is only a tiddler as far as Welsh hills is concerned, being just 383 metres high and with an alpine start at the airy altitude of about 240 metres, the maths indicate the scale of the job in hand (143 metres ish)

There’s a good path and about halfway up there’s a rocky slab to climb and then a short arete before the top is reached. The ridge continues rockily and delightfully with short scrambles here and there and rocky nobbles and a fine view of Cadair Idris. What fun. The hill is the only one I‘ve been on with an artist on the top. He had his chair and easel and special artist’s hat and seemed to be waiting for inspiration or something…..

But, in order to have the tick, I had to bag Bryn Brith and this consisted of a short, brutal and steep series of lunges and wobbles through thick heather to attain a small cairn on the top. The view from the top now included the opposing ridge complete with it’s artist, now, apparently painting furiously in the fading light. I hope he got down OK.

Not too long later and we were back at the car and on our way back to Barmouth Co-op for more celebratory supplies.

We did about 9 miles today with 2250 feet of uphill.

But, if you’re in the area and the hillfog is sitting squarely on Cadair Idris, you could do no better than have some rocky fun on Cefn Hir. This is possibly one of the best little hills in Wales. This is Bruno’s opinion, obviously…

 

Argoed Hewitt Bagging – Rhobell Fawr and Y Dduallt

One thing about this particular bit of Wales if you’re a dog is that if you’re not pulling somebody up an enormous hill covered in little white fluffy animals you’re not allowed to chase (even though they obviously want to be chased as they always run away), you can be running about daft ripping up bits of seaweed and chasing sticks, balls, seagulls and other dogs on the huge flat beaches for hours on end. Or otherwise napping in front of a warm radiator whilst Pieman quaffs his way through yet more holiday booze. We also visited various slate quarries, pubs, lakes and glens (or maybe they’re dales…)

And so, three days after Rhinog Fach, it came the turn of Rhobell Fawr and Y Dduallt to be bagged. We parked on the main road about 800 metres West of Rhydymain, a bit late due to having planned to wait till high winds died down and then heading off towards Bala by mistake and then getting tangled up in some back lanes with signposts to places I couldn’t find on the map – in other words, a right cockup.

But the route was a quick one to start with on hard surfaces and sheltered from the howling Atlantic storm that was in the process of going on it’s holidays to Denmark, having ruffled Wales for a few days.

Rhobell Fawr summit was reached by a  short and steep climb through outcrops on a vague path. The wind had , more or less died down to a lively breeze by the time we reached the top, so we spent a little time exploring the outcrops and wandering about a bit. We descended by the same route and soon found the way through the forest top Dduallt – given as Y Dduallt on the signpost, so that’s what I’ve called it. Y Dduallt seems almost impossible for an English tongue to pronounce by the way, you just can’t do the “LL” sound after a vowel. I can’t anyway. As John Donohue once said of my attempts at Gaelic place names “ … brave but futile attempts…”. And so it is with Dduallt.

The way through the forest is waymarked and very boggy in parts and exits onto a knobbly bit of moorland. A path though yet more sloshy bogs (just like home, this..) handrails the forest edge and then takes off to another nice knobbly top.

We retraced all the way back to the start as the day was now late and the light was going. I’m going to have to come back to these hills for a proper walk. I don’t think I did it justice, really – Rhobell Fawr’s South ridge looks interesting and there’s more wild country North of Y Dduallt.

The lanes to Rhobell also produced some of the biggest, juciest and blackest blackberries I’ve seen anywhere. I took back a bagful and got crumble mix and a bramley apple at Barmouth Co-op. You can guess the rest. We already had custard.