Teesdale Fellwalking Guided Walk

On Wednesday, 22 of us, including steward Neville and Diane did this 11 mile Durham County Council guided walk.

It were a bit windy.

It were fairly jolly….   in general terms….

Here’s a few pictures.

Gathering at Bowlees (Not every body on this picture is going on the walk! Neville’s job (in green) is to collect dosh from those that are)

Low Force

Holwick Scar – It’s dolerite, see… intruded into the carboniferous one Thursday afternoon.

Neville instils a sense of discipline by making the punters walk the plank…

Feeding time on Crosthwaite Fell

The wide-open spaces of Crosthwaite Fell

Walkers making their way towards Middleton in Teesdale on the Pennine Way

Carreg Caryn (Kirkcarrion)  ------  Oooer… what was that….

Crosthwaite Fell (Harter Fell) behind. More wide-open spaces.

Attracted by canoe activity at Low Force… a canoe, a canother canoe…  or a kayak..or sumfink

Lucky’s First Year

Lucky arrived at Pietowers on 2 August 2014 as a replacement to poor old Bruno the Superdawg who had died at the end of May.

So, it’s now his official second birthday too – him arriving, as it were on his first birthday and so I just thought it would be interesting to review his first year and to see what he’s making of his new life here in the Centre of Pies….

Soooo…. mainly pics of some doggy landmarks for this great little pooch wot has really settled in to life at Knipetowers and the constant obsession with tasty pork-based products and Kylie’s bra…

Sometime during Lucky’s first hour at Pietowers

At the end if a hard first day. The wabbit failed to thrive, incidentally. Spontaneously fell to bits, apparently – according to the dog.

Advent in Lucky’s hideyhole. The duck failed to survive…….. Note extensive toy box..

Lucky’s first wild camp at Eskdale

Lucky forms a positive view about life inside an akto

…may be having a little sulk about his new winter camping jim-jams

On hols near Aberystwyth

Christmas walk with Wolsingham Wayfarers (note festive angel wings)

Enjoying some fluffy North Pennine snow

Routine stuff for LTD

Camp above Grasmere – Coast to Coast walk

Chillin in the akto at Angle Tarn

… suddenly realises that life’s not so bad, really…

Snuggling down in the Vaude

 

Thats all folks – here’s looking forward to an even better Year 2..

Fight Club Hikers Do Speyside Way (Most of it)

Last Friday, I think it was, that The Third Cohort of Clava Pedestres Pugnare (Fight Club Hikers) took to the hills a bit South of Aviemore for the fighting advance from the salubrious seaside port of Buckie back to Aviemore, a distance of Quite A Lot of Miles, entirely on foot and carrying only enough supplies for four days. In other words, a wee hikie.
I arrived at teatime and undertook the walk from Aviemore train station to a campsite somewhere near Kincraig. I was a little dumfounded by the “Speyside Way” signs pointing South since the Speyside Way website says that it stops at Aviemore. But it doesn’t – it carries on, unofficially at the moment, but soon, it’ll go all the way to Newtonmore, the plans having been passed by the relevant authorities.

The road to Kincraig gets dangerous for Pedestres, so when Masey stopped and picked me up, it came as a relief, even though I’d only got another 300 metres to go. Wibble was already there – tent erected doing his naughty impressions wot he heard through a keyhole once in 1987.
Paddy and Gill arrived shortly afterwards and, camp established we repaired back to Aviemore for fish suppers and beers.

The walk went well enough. A taxi took us all to Buckie and we walked and walked and walked and called in at one or two pubs on the way – notably in Fochabers, Aberlour and Cromdale , the Haugh Inn, being technically closed whilst still managing to serve 15 pints of beer…  more of which later.

The walk itself starts interestingly with a coastal ramble with seals and, if you’re lucky, dolphins too, and , at the Dolphin Centre the cafe does really bijoux bacon butties. And then the way starts to follow the Spey, developing into a forest ramble and then a disused railway line. This goes on and on interminably. I mean it really does go on and on and on. It would be much better on a bike. Don’t try this walk alone, readers, you’ll go mad. It’ll be like being in solitary confinement. If it hadn’t been for Wibble’s naughty impressions and Gill’s dancing about I may have gone mad. Aaaaaargh….

After Aberlour, there is relief and, with a couple of pints sloshing in the belly, morale is lifted as the first contours are encountered and the way starts to follow a long, straight road. On and on it goes… on and on and on.


We camped in a stubbly field. Somebody had a ride around said field  in a van at dusk but gave a cheery thumbs up or wave and peaceful night followed. In the morning it was raining and I set off early to find water, which I did a mile and a bit further on. I filtered a couple of litres into a water bag and waited under a bridge for the rest of Coh III CPP to arrive.

We progressed through more interesting countryside including some tightly arranged contours in the forest followed by an Aberlour Interlude before joining that feckin railway line again. This went on and on and on and on. After this it continued ever onwards in an onwards direction. Then Masey declared a  camping spot and we camped in a nice place beside the river. There was a small campfire on the stony beach, apparently. Unfortunately I missed it due to an attack of post dinner lassitude, an attack which lasted all night and during which I failed to grapple with Kylie’s bra strap.
The morning was misty then warm and, out of synch with Coh III’s relaxed approach to getting out of bed, and having become the subject of some midgie attention I plodded off to find the water tap at  Ballindalloch. Coh III dribbled in later.

More of the railway path followed. And followed and followed and followed….  then the route takes to the hills …  It goes up and down and in and out and there’s views and all kinds of delights and then it gets to Cromdale where it all started to go right wrong. 
We entered the closed Haugh Hotel and we were served in a most friendly manner by a lass from Wakefield. We stayed a while and then, in a happy mood, we left for Grantown. On the way, I shared my whisky (I must have been happy… this is unusual…) and we entered Grantown in High Spirits, having lost the Speyside Way somewhere on the way. We set up camp on the crowded campsite and set off for The Craig Bar, as recommended by the lass at the Haugh Hotel. The Craig Bar does pies – no, I mean lots of different pies. All kinds of pies. And chips. Its just the place for a Pieman, in fact. My pie was a lamb pie and it was really nice.

Then we took to drinking, in an effort to catch up with the landlord who appeared not only to be out of his tree, but to be unaware, in fact, that any trees were available. He did, in fact, seem to be completely kaylied. As a newt, in fact. So, the quest was a futile but enjoyable one and we Supped Some Stuff. This may have been a Bad Idea.
The next morning on the campsite was a slow one. I’d already announced my intention to end my walk at Grantown, being on a three-line whip to return to Crook by Monday night for family duties. But during the night Gill had developed a lurgy, which took out her and Paddy and Wibble too decided to join the retreat to Aviemore. Masey battled on and, in fact, arrived at Aviemore in time to join the retreaters in the pub. I couldn’t have managed that type of speed anyway, and I was, in fact, also brewing a lurgy similar to Gill’s although this took two more days to emerge properly – probably my older and more experienced immune system and my super-developed body mass index, which, of course, Gill doesn’t have (she’s not fat like me..)

And so, it ended. And we all went home and didn’t do trip reports on internet forums…
I think I did fifty miles. My bum muscles hurt still, and I found a dead tick on my back. Probably killed by beta blockers, aspirin, ace inhibiters, calcium inhibiters, statins, aspirin, Bellhaven Best and bad blood. But apart fromn the nausea, hurty bum, plantar faciitis, destroyed kidneys and smelly socks, it was a fun-filled walk. Hopefully, everybody else will have recovered by now.
 

Fremington Edge

Here’s some pictures from the Wednesday Walkers Walk on Wednesday AND the Fremington Edge reccy wot me and Lucky did several days before. Seven people and an extra dog (Bailey) attended the walk on Wednesday and it all went swimmingly, including a repetition of the same navigation error – the second time caused by a phone conversation with Fight Club Hiker Masey and the first time caused by a bit of a reverie on the part of yours truly and the only specially remarkable happenings being the cheekiness of the local waskally wabbits and the fact that Lucky seems to have remembered the route.

Hennyway – here’s the pics and there’s a map at the end too at no extra charge.

Calver Hill from the road up to Fremington Edge

Lush summer stuff

Cheeky wabbit trying to kweep up on Lucky. The waskally wabbit…

Reeth’s “Swing Bridge” doesn’t swing. Lucky doesn’t care, though, he just wants to get off.

Wednesday walkers just finishing the hard bit

Well-built cairn overlooking Arkengarthdale

Wednesday walkers overlooking Arkengarthdale

Lunch in a flowery bit. Lucky is hoping for a cake donation from Eric

In the meadows (about to be cut, apparently)

Cloudy With No Chance of Meatballs

Once again, Lucky driving this time since he’s not done the A69/A1 yet, we picked Dawn up from her dockside den and trundled off up some obscure roads to the diminutive but busy Northumberland town of Alnwick.

Here, we parked badly, just like everybody else and trundled through the town to find Ratten Row – a place where ne’er-do-wells may well have been done away with in olden times, so we had to be careful, what with there being an Irish dog with us an’ all.

This leads to the Duke of Northumberland’s lovely Hulne Park which we could not enter, having been in the company of Lucky O’Pooch.

So, instead, we got lost and skirted a housing estate which appeared at first glance to be absent from my map. This, though, readers, is the kind of thing that happens when you’re not exactly where you think you are.

But we soon sorted out the navigational indiscretion and quite quickly found ourselves on the sylvan path to Alnwick Moor. The path on Alnwick Moor is straight as a dye and handrails (navigation talk for following something) a huge park wall, a dozen or so feet in height. This plods on relentlessly, accompanied by several dozens of black fly to a gate next to a huge golf-ball radar-station thingy. Looking through the gate reveals a superb view of the Cheviot Hills, Coquetdale and heathery ridges to the South.

The wall provides shelter, a warm place to soak up the blazing Northumberland sun, and where a cheese and pickle butty can be enjoyed whilst watching the dog rolling about on his back. In the meantime, workers on the Big White Dome over the wall were making all kinds of odd beeping noises..(?)

Later, we followed the wall over the rough and heathery stuff to Cloudy Crags. Now Cloudy Crags is an ever-so-slightly strange place. It’s made of sandstone and the rock has odd swirly formations (apologies for the use of technical geological jargon here) and a most peculiar arch. It’s also full of nooks and crannies and anybody with an hour or so to spare and, probably, a pair of rockboots could have a nice play on all those lovely friction holds.

We progressed along the radar station service road to join the public road at the point where the “sorry no dogs” sign is. Further road walking and some footpaths brough us back to Alnwick where the car was just as badly parked as it had be3en before.

My mapping says 7 miles. Dawn’s says 8, apparently. These things hardly ever come up with the same answer.