Collected Musings of a Hill Wanderer

One night last week after I had tired of trying to break up ice on the footway outside my house, I finally got to watching my copy of the BMC's Winter Skills DVD. That act may have brought a wealth of information my way but I have no intention of launching a full scale incursion into hill country whenever weather like that which we had for the last month arrives. What I am planning to do with the information is to use it as a stepping stone to more learning experiences. Knowing the basics regarding crampon and ice axe usage along with a smattering of avalanche and winter navigation awareness is only ever a beginning. While winter hillwalking is my interest, there was climbing content in there too but I'll give that possibility a miss with my head for heights not being what it might be.

In among all of the expected winter skills stuff was a discussion of winter weather trends. The DVD was made a few years back and the winters at the start of the century were of the milder variety. With the wider awareness of global warming, some of us were beginning to think that cold winter weather like what we had recently was set to become a memory. At this point, I have to say that included me but these things now look cyclical after the last few winters having longer spells of snowy weather and it appears that it has been like that for a while. There was a mention of the green winters of the 1950's and they were followed by much colder ones in the early years of the next decade. This was all before my time but I do remember cold snaps during the winters of the 1980's with my being unable to get to school for the most of a month one winter and the water to my parent's house being frozen for a similar length of time during another. The last decade of the twentieth century wasn't one with much in the way of snowy winters if I remember correctly and I was living in Edinburgh at the time.

It seems that every time that hefty snowfall visits us, travel chaos results and a whole cacophony of media comment ensues. That may amaze those from places that have cold weather every year such as Montreal or Berlin but the maritme climate of Britain and Ireland must mean that we see such things less frequently anyway. Not only does that mean that it is difficult top justify investing in measures to deal with the sorts of condtions that prevailed from last year into this one but it must also mean that we are not so practiced when it comes to dealing with them either. This thinking also sets me to asking question of my own skills and experience. Spending my early years in the milder rain-soaked part of the world that is the southwest of Ireland would mean that I wouldn't get to sample as much of the white stuff as others do elsewhere. One consequence of that is that I only recently took a bicycle for a spin on snow, an act that taught me the importance of maintaining good contact between the tyres and the road though any skids were arrested by planting a Hedgehog-shod foot squarely on the ground.

In a way, I suppose that what we got was a rare experience for many of us. An Irish television meteorologist was heard to opine on air that a retreat to the record books was in order to see how the length of the cold spell was comparing with previous forbears. In Britain, many were cut off by a covering of several feet of snow with an excursion for a Christmas turkey in the far north of Scotland taking a month longer than expected. The hills of Cheshire and Derbyshire were so plastered with snow that many were cut off by closed roads and I know a few of them. In the middle of all this, I got to reading Joe Cornish's experiences of walking in deep snow in the Lairig Ghru without skis or snowshoes. Whatever I may have made of his exploits, his latest book, Scotland's Mountains, is well worth a look and the images in there amaze me with their lighting and sharpness. My own attempts are pale reflections in comparison. All of this was causing the usual questions regarding personal preparedness to bubble up in my mind.

It wouldn't the first time because I penned an entry on the subject over a year ago after another snowy visitation and recycling of content is not really my style if I can help it. This winter's arctic episode, it was on with a semi-retired pair of Scarpa boots for getting to and from work, a job that they did with aplomb until everywhere became icy. Before that point, I made good use of what lay on the ground for confidence building and I am not just talking about a certain pre-Christmas constitutional. Well, there was a lunchtime amble about Nether Alderley and that piece of reconnaissance that took me to Buxton and Bakewell, both in the first full week of the year. It was because the snow on the pavement outside my house had become packed and even turned to ice that I was out with that spade.

Now that I have come to thinking of ice, I am minded to add a set of Kahtoola Microspikes to my gear collection because snow usually doesn't stay long and the customary icy aftermath is always both a danger and a nuisance. In fact, they even might come in handy for low level trips in hill country too; I feel the need to add to my experience of snow-covered terrain but without rashly putting myself in the way of danger. On the same subject, there's also Icebugs's Trail BUGweb with steel carbide studs for gripping on ice and they do footwear with the same type of thing integrated. into their soles, an interesting innovation though I see it having more use in their home country of Sweden.

It's all very fine talking about walking on level ground but uphill gradients are another matter. It's then that the sight of ice really does concentrate the mind like it did when I went exploring the Howgills near the end of 2008. After all, you don't want to slip and end up careering downhill towards a stone wall or worse. Though noting the amount of effort expended in travelling over about a foot of snow played a part in my rethinking of plans on that outing, it was the ice lower down that really constrained my upland wandering. Walks over some hills between Buxton and Macclesfield when snow lay underfoot haven't troubled me as much but that may be down to local knowledge and experience as much as anything else. However, on the whole, I think that a certain glimmer of confidence is creeping upon me with regard to winter condtions. The acquisition of an ice axe is being pondered though I don't intend going beyond the softer snow of lower reaches for now. That isn't going to make the ideas of having an appropriate boot/crampon combination go away or do the same with the idea of getting in some training. The recent conditions may have added to my level of experience and that DVD supplied me with more information but there's a good way to go yet. Quite how the desired experience is going to accumulate is a journey whose course is as yet unknown.

Those of you who are regulars may note a certain change in the colours around here. Another bit of electronic fiddling was the cause of bringing the background colour to my notice The new year has yet to see a proper piece of outdoors action. That's not to say that I didn't go inspecting the recent snow, especially given how much of of it was plastered on the hills between Macclesfield and Buxton. That viewing took place on the second Saturday of the year from the confines of a warm bus rather than in an attempt to flounder through fields hosting feet of snow. Hearing and seeing how much was up there, thoughts were attuned to the need for snow shoes in such circumstances. It's little wonder that folk took to skis and going downhill on unexpected slopes like those of Kerridge Hill near Bollington. Drifting snow was starting to impeded traffic while I was on my little excursion and it later closed the A537 Cat and Fiddle road next to completely. Buxton looked very pretty in its white coat on a bright day but things were duller by the time that I reached Bakewell. It all made for an enjoyable spot of reconnaissance but a fuller bout of hill wandering is in order now that things are calming down though there is more snow on the horizon for the middle of the week. It would appear that 2010 is getting an interesting start.

Now, I know why it was a good idea to sit schtum on Sunday. This afternoon, I took a bus over the hills to find a Buxton constantly beset by snow showers. Even with my being shod in North Face Hedgehogs, a certain chill was felt as I negotiated soft and often slushy snow underfoot in its main shopping precinct. The snow did leave off for a while and I got to take in a very snow-covered Pavilion Gardens during the respite. Some sled-riding was in progress on the The Slopes in the heart of the town so not getting mowed down by one took up a certain amount of attention. That snow-less interval didn't last long and enough snow soon filled the air to make the idea of returning home seem sensible.

On that return journey, the effect of all that snow was immediately apparent with a definite slowdown in the speed of traffic around both Buxton and Macclesfield; the occurrence of an accident didn't help the latter. Then there was the matter of negotiating a snow-covered twisty road complete with sharp uphill and downhill sections. Visibility wasn't great either and seeing the whereabouts of the road cannot have been easy at times. It's no wonder that the A537 gets closed in severe weather and I didn't envy the lot of the bus driver either. The outbound journey was benign in comparison with enough clarity in the air to see the well snow-covered hills all around and the road was much clearer too. The whole experience was an education and I was glad to be back home safe and sound.

With all of the attention given to winter hibernation, it is easy to forget that there is summertime laziness too. Regular readers will realise that I prize the period of the year between the winter solstice and its summer equivalent highly and especially the eruption of verdant vegetation that gives us the wonders of May. The trouble with that is that the wind can evade your sails after the longest day of the year and you get to wondering if the year has past its best like I did on here about this time last year. This time around, I am less bothered by the matter and am seemingly more open to the attractions of the time of year and the observation that the countryside still delights even with cloudy skies.

Speaking of last year, July was a quiet month with a perhaps foolish walking trip to Welshpool on an oppressively hot Sunday at the end of the month. Apart from that, it was left to bike rides to capture any episodes of dry or sunny weather because of other preoccupations and distractions about this time; some involvement with dramatic activion in the world of WordPress was only partly to blame.

It’s all too easy to have a bout of mid-year lethargy round about now. For one thing, feeling that you have made ample use of any opportunities that arose can only dull the hunger for thrusting oneself into hill country. That can place your motivation at the mercy of other things like the weather. On one end of the spectrum, you have heavy rain showers like those that we have been seeing recently, the type that makes the idea of mobile roof appealing and the heat emphasises the advantages of umbrellas over raincoats in certain conditions. Then, there’s hot sunshine and my running hot means that I favour cooler temperatures than some. Also, classic summer weather isn’t the best for photography, another mechanism that gets out among those hills. Saying that, pleasant mornings ahead of a rain or wonderful evenings after one often offer the most. These circumstances offer a certain freshness and clarity that is missing from heat haze obstructed equivalents that abound during a heatwave.

The myth may indicate otherwise but July can be a very unsettled month, even in a year not known for a rubbish summer. In 1999 for instance, it was very grey in Edinburgh until the end of the month when a sunny propelled me onto Skye on a multi-day outing that sowed the seeds for many more. Speaking of Scotland, you end up awaiting the departure of the jet stream before settled weather is visited upon the country. In 2003, I called it wrong and had my week up there far too early. Though it felt that I was getting a constant soaking at the time, looking back does highlight its brighter times: a wonderful day spent beside Loch Etive and a dry if dull trot from Kinlochleven to Fort William along the West Highland Way. Staying with hindsight, it might have been better sticking with reconnaissance on the damper days but the soakings that I got while travelling between my lodgings in Banavie and Fort William couldn’t have been avoided by this approach. However, I did keep it in mind for my Western Isles escapade last year and foul weather alternatives will be placed on file for any trip in August. That isn’t to say that July is always damp but 2006 saw a scorcher visited upon us and I extricated something of value amid the uncertainties in 2004 and 2005 too. Last year and the year before were far from inspiring but dry sunny weather was there to be enjoyed too and that’s how I’ll remember them.

All in all, that mixture should tell us that it’s best not to expect much of July and this year seems to be following suit after the dryness of June. Last weekend mixed in downpours and sunshine so I grabbed the opportunity for a day sailing trip from Liverpool to to the Isle of Man. As it turned out, I left a grey Liverpool for a damp Douglas that made me glad that I hadn’t committed to spending a lot of time on the island. Along the way, I learnt a little more about what is offer over there and thoughts are turning to longer trips, more realistically to be occasional but a useful entry on the ideas shelf nonetheless. From what I have seen so far, there seems to be plenty of coastal walking and there’s hill country to be savoured too. Public transport on the Isle of Man looks workable too with good level of service on offer. Sunshine may have been encountered in Liverpool rather than my destination but I am not so easily discouraged. If I was, I might have stopped exploring the British and Irish countryside long ago.

Ideas for that week in August are collecting and they aren’t all Scottish either. For one thing, there’s always the Pennine Way but Connemara has come to mind already and now the Isle of Man. Scottish proposals like the Rob Roy Way, extending out from Mallaig, the Cairngorms and the northwest Highlands remain in the running. The options may be more open this year but it’s good to have them too. Hopefully, something can come of them.

Last weekend saw me across in Éire for a few days and some chances for spending time among its quieter parts were fitted into what was in essence a social visit. The first one was to Gougane Barra on a day that started out looking grey and damp before continual improvement began to become noticeable. That guaranteed some sunshine whenever the clouds got out of the way. Those clouds kept a lid on the temperatures but it would have been nice to have had more sun for photographic purposes. The second escapade took us across the Shannon estuary to Kilkee in West Clare on a day when the weather predictions were even more dubious. Because I was away from the world of Internet connections, television and radio forecast bulletins became important and the trick was to keep an eye on those flashes of time resolved displays and they are never there for very long. For the Gougane Barra outing, the trick was to have the band of grey dampness continue to the north and it didn’t disappoint. The reason for heading to Clare was to salvage some satisfaction before a more concerted band of rain arrived from the south and southwest. Hoping for blue skies and sunshine was out of the question but some pleasant coastal strolling along the cliffs more than sufficed. There may have been drops airborne in the strong breeze but you can cope with that. In fact, steady rain did arrive around 15:00 so we left for home after a good few hours taking advantage of what was on offer; we had got something from the day.

Since the real travels, virtual roving has been going on in my mind. Much of this has been driven by curiosity but poring over maps has increased my awareness of the Irish countryside too. For instance, I have been casting my mind over the area round about Clifden in County Galway. Of particular interest are the Twelve Bens in Connemara (some call them Pins but be aware that others cannot abide that naming) and how walks can be made possible by use of public transport. What led me to this was my discovery of Citylink’s Galway-Clifden-Cleggan/Letterfrack service. It seems far more user friendly of the alternative offered by Bus Eireann (services 419 and 421 if you’re interested), who well may save time, money and effort if they standardised their timetables a bit more in place of the hotch potch that is there at the moment (even going for a "stopping at anywhere safe" modus operandii would be better than the seemingly overly formal state of affairs that exists now). What really caught my eye was the way that the N59 rounds the Twelve Bens and the stopping points on any bus services that would provide access points for walking; Canal Bridge and Letterfrack both look promising. As you might have been able to tell, Connemara is not a part of the world where I have ever been before so all of this action is building up the picture for a possible future excursion. For now, it will remain on the ideas shelf until an opportunity for making something of the proposal comes to pass.

Freed of the constraints of temporal reality, the brain can course back and forth in time at will and so this posting ends up with my casting my mind into the more distant past. The cause was my collecting up a number of island ferry websites for the Miscellany. The more well known suspects like the Aran islands off the coast of Galway and Tory island off the Donegal coast coast come to mind though they also aren’t places where I have been. In fact, I am of the opinion that I have only ever been on one Irish offshore island and that Sherkin island off the coast of Baltimore in West Cork. It was also a while back when I ended up there as part of my first ever school trip, something that was full of new experiences that didn’t mean very much to me at that young age. Lengthy coach rides, ferry crossings and walking around an island won’t phase me these days but it was a big jump for a small lad on that sunny June day. Descriptions such as enjoyment and suffering wouldn’t have been appropriate but it all went rather over my head at the time. Thinking about it now, it’s ironic that these are the kinds of thing that I seek out these days and last years escape to the Western Isles had all of those ingredients. To a point, things have come full circle but you have to be ready for opportunities too.

I have already made one leap from the past to the future in this piece and I am now set to repeat the feat. Looking at Sherkin, Cape Clear Island and other bastions of Irish language and culture has me pondering an Irish island hopping trip for sometime. Unlike some of their Scottish counterparts, the islands aren’t big so there’s no need to bring a car and any of the ferry services that I have found on the web have been for foot passengers only anyway; smaller vessels with a mixture of open and closed decks seem to be commonplace. Even with smaller sizes, the prospect of appealing mixtures of sunlit seascapes and landscapes can only cause one to find out more and I’ll be popping onto the ideas shelf to be pulled off for more inspection from time to time.

One use for all of this mental meandering through the Irish countryside and around its shores would be for that longer summer trip that I have every year. However, I haven’t counted Scotland out of the running at all and I have too many ideas if anything. All in all, I think that setting down a list is in order. The next task is to whittle my way through the options in readiness for setting off…