November in the Howgills

It’s been an incredibly mild autumn so far up here in the NW of England. November has snuck in with a little bit of what is hopefully on its way with its first week giving us our first hint of winter temperatures. Within the space of a week, daytime temperatures on the Lancashire coastal plain have gone from up to around 18ºC, down to less than 8ºC.

Ascending the broad, gradual slopes of the Northern Howgills. The upper Lune Valley, Shap Moor (L) & Great Asby Scar (R) in the distance.

Last Sunday, Imogen and I headed out for a fine romp around in the Howgill Fells. It’s an area that I’m mostly familiar with, excepting a big segment to the North and West of ‘The Calf’ which is most commonly viewed from the West Coast Mainline and M6 and gives travellers heading upwards from the south their first glimpses of the ‘mountainous north’. The hills rise gradually and smoothly from the lofty heights of Shap Moor to the NW in long, winding, broad ridges like the backbones of gigantic beached whales from long ago. We accessed our walk from the small village of Gaisgill, located only a few minutes East along the A685 from the M6 junction at Tebay. From this vantage point, the Howgill Fells seem miles away to the south, however the southerly ascent is so gradual that progress upwards and long-wards is remarkably rapid. To the north, an area of limestone country (Great Asby Scar) soon comes into view, adding to the scenic splendour of the walking. The River Lune, running parallel to the A685 Tebay - Kirkby Stephen road at this point marks the dividing line between the limestone area and the impoverished gritstone topography of the Howgills. The first point of any note on our ascent was Rispa Pike, at the lofty height of 470 m. Although having ascended a mere couple of hundred metres over around 5 km from Gaisgill, Rispa Pike provided a good panoramic view and a fine little stone wall shelter provided a good spot for a tea break.

Broad, sweeping grassy slopes characterise the hills of the Northern Howgills

The brisk westerly wind soon put us back into our stride, as we continued in a southeasterly direction over Uldale Head. From here, the proud south facing, steeper slopes that characterise these fells from the Lune Gorge drop away though cascades, grass and heather towards wall-lined fields and the fine landmark of Lowgill viaduct (disused) far below. The trough-like feature of Blackethwaite Bottom above the falls of Black Force provided enough shelter for a brief lunch before we hit the higher ground leading over Bleagill Head and Bush Howe to The Calf (676 m). The latter, being the highest fell of the Howgills group, sits on a crossroads of broad ridges leading for many kilometres in each and every direction. The myriad of ridges, spurs and valleys would provide an ideal area for navigational challenge, perhaps matching the Cairngorms for its feeling of remoteness. No navigational fun for us though, even though the cloud base seemed within touching distance as we turned to face north and head back to the Lune. Our route back to Gaisgill followed the long sweeping ridge to the East of ‘Langdale’ over Hazelgill Knott and on to Langdale Knott where we finally found some shelter from the breeze on the tame northern slopes leading into the pastures of the upper Lune valley.

All in all, a grand day out and a good introduction to the much welcome cooler temperatures of November!

Heading North. Following the winding valley of Langdale, the ridge leads over West Fell (R) and Langdale Knott (L) before dropping gradually to Gaisgill in the Upper Lune Valley.

In search of a Nuttall... (29th & 30th June 2013)

I've been very lucky to get in a lot of varied hill walking this year so far, which is perfect for my forthcoming ML assessment and I'm pleased to say that it has very much been in great weather most of the time. Now I do put up a lot of blogs on my trips into the mountains, and this one will be no exception. However, we start with a slight twist from the norm.

At the Levellers concert in Grassington, L-R; Sam, Lorna, Ruth, Emily, James and me. This one was taken by Imogen.

I certainly don't claim to be a musical expert, but I've been introduced to some great folk bands by my friends over the past year. Imogen is a big fan of the Levellers and we had tickets on Saturday for a concert they were performing for the final night of the Grassington Festival. Standing up in a big crowd watching a band - it was due to be a first for me as all the previous gigs I had attended had been sitting down. Told you I'm a novice ;-). We set off across to the green and lush Wharfedale on Saturday afternoon with Lorna and Sam. We were rendez-vous-ing with the whole Fisher Family near the small hamlet of Yockenthwaite, located below the one and only Yockenthwaite Moor; proclaimed by the Nuttalls to be one of the boggiest hills in Yorkshire. No sign of any bog for us though thankfully as it was a lovely sunny afternoon and we followed a picturesque traverse path along the southern rim of the valley for a short distance among limestone outcrops and flowery meadow. Returning back along the wooded River Wharfe, our walk was followed by a lovely riverside picnic before we headed down valley to the market town of Grassington (and yes, I confess to pronouncing it Grarsington). The gig itself was an experience and a half; lots of colour and certainly what I would describe as high intensity music combined with crowd 'jostling'. We had prime position right down the front near the stage.

Having absorbed lots of sound for a couple of hours, the bleak, drizzly desolation of Firth Fell created a stark contrast for Imogen and myself as we headed out from the village of Buckden later on in the evening. We had decided that we fancied a wild camp in the Yorkshire Dales, so after some studying of the map a few days prior had settled upon the broad grassy ridge dividing Wharfedale and Littondale as a suitable location. Having followed an increasingly indistinct bridleway uphill for about half an hour, we arrived at a suitably flat step in the hillside just before the windy plateau of the ridge. The tent was popped into action and we crashed out on a fine mattress of Yorkshire moorland grass.

Imogen on Horse Head with our long ridgeway walk in view behind.

Now this is where we a brought onto the subject of this post. The Nuttalls in this case being a list of hills in England or Wales in excess of 610 m (the classic 2000 ft cut off) but being 'distinct tops' as defined in detail by the two volume 'Mountains of England and Wales' by John and Anne Nuttall. The books are a fine piece of work and are just what every enthusiast of English and Welsh hills needs on their bookshelf. Our walk on Sunday would take us over one of the above defined summits, however having not consulted my hill lists 'app' prior to heading out, I was left pondering over which of the many OS marked spot heights along our 7 km moorland romp would indeed be the one and only 'Nuttall'. The 1:25 000 OS map unfortunately does not quite commit any of the spot heights along the stretch between Firth Fell and Horse Head to the all important 610 m; the plateau is at an almost consistent 600 m altitude, with a multitude of spots at 605, 608, 609 m and all in between. Of course the devil is always in the detail and this is a perfect reason for these wonderfully illustrated books being a must on my list for Father Christmas this year. I await with much anticipation the detailed reasoning behind this  minor discrepancy between map and highly researched piece of writing about the British Hills. It is exactly this sort of discussion that gives hill bagging a peculiar but unique appeal. Upon our return, I have of course now located the actual top as defined by the Nuttalls as being the Cairn on Birks Fell - we didn't actually touch it giving a great reason to go back!

Hill Walking with Bonington... (Sunday 16th June 2013)

Ok it's not quite the South Face of Annapurna or the North Wall of the Eiger, however the opportunity to climb Sharp Edge with the legendary mountaineer Chris Bonnington was certainly one not to be missed. Having been out with Chris and the LUHC a year ago on warm and sunny day in the Howgills at Cautley Spout, this years destination was the small village of Mungrisdale in the north Lakes. There was a good turn out from the LU Hiking Club for the occasion and we even had four dogs in total; two of course being Toffee and Jess Axe.

On a march along Souther Fell with Blencathra in the background, Chris Bonington setting the pace

All twenty plus of us set off at a decent pace up the valley, with Chris having chosen the route for its promised variety of terrain. It certainly did not disappoint; we almost certainly followed the finest line to the summit of the mostly rounded Bannerdale Crags. Approaching via the north east ridge leading through the heart of the crags after which the summit is named, the ascent gave much interest with broken scree and heathery steps leading up through an area of old mine excavations. The stillness and warmth of the air had however brought the midges out and we were soon striding out along the broad grassy slopes of Mungrisdale Common towards Blencathra. 

We had our very own South Col moment at the unnamed saddle at 610 m with Sharp Edge in splendid profile leading direct to the summit of Blecathra's subsidiary, Atkinson Pike. Chris was keen for Sharp Edge, and of course many of us opted to join in. It was a wonderful traverse of the ridge, topped off with talk of the recently celebrated 60th anniversary of the Everest 1953 Expedition. We took a long lunch break on Blencathra, with the mild conditions giving us the opportunity for a good number of obligatory summit group shots. The route down took us onto the altogether different terrain of Souther Fell; home, according to my Cumbrian expert Andy, to a ghost army once seen marching along its broad ridge in the dead of night. We performed a fine march along its grassy apex, congregating on the summit briefly before an extraordinarily steep grassy decent back down to the Glenderamackin in fine sunshine.

A fine day in the Lakeland Fells always ends at a good village pub, Chris Bonington with myself, Imogen, Mum and Dad at the Mill Inn, Mungrisdale.

It was a great day out and was great to see Chris keen to keep up the grand tradition of ending a fine trip into the hills with a visit to a fine Lakeland village pub. The Mill Inn at Mungrisdale provided fitting finish to our day with such an inspiring character. Many thanks to Sir Chris Bonington for being such a great honorary president for the LUHC and for joining us on another fabulous annual walk. His kind words and encouragement for aspiration in the mountains is an inspiration to us all. 

Killin' for Munros...

Munro bagging is indeed a strange pursuit. However it's appeal is incredible. Having not been out on a big ticking mission in a while, the prospect of a sneaky last minute trip to the Killin Hills in fine summer weather was very appealing.

The fine warm weather that had prevailed in Lancaster for the previous week promised to hold through the weekend so it was following a frantic packing session on Thursday evening, I was all set and stoked for another LUHC weekend in the north. The campsite at Cruachan Farm lived up to good expectations of comfortable toilet blocks with hot showers. Our reserved area was on a rather sloped section of the field, however it mattered not as it meant we were could spread out over a wide area, well away from any potential interruptions from late night BBQ's or snoring. 

The dome shaped Carn Gorm, 1020 m.

Saturday's bagging excursion saw myself, Imogen, Lorna and Mouse getting dropped off in a lush and green Glen Lyon at the small settlement of Invervar. We were sharp out of the blocks and soon found ourselves well above the forested valley pounding up the beautifully grassy slopes of Carn Gorm. We remarked at the novelty of finding ourselves on a reasonable path on the ascent which (for Scotland) made short work of the 800 or so meters to bring us to the summit of the first hill of the day; Carn Gorm, a fine concentric dome of a summit with great views of the west highlands, Rannoch Moor and Cairngorms to the east. The route following took in a collection of Tops and 3 further munros. With the weather being so fine, we took a leisurely stroll from one to the next with Mouse taking time for all important quick kips on some of the summits - 'it's surprising how comfortable lying down among the boulders of a Cairn can be'! Our descent from Meall na Aighan, the final Munro for the day was an efficient trot down a fine nose down into the wooded waters of the Ivervar Burn. Given that we had completed our round of the hills around 2 hours quicker than expected, we had time to kill prior to our minibus pickup. Finding a picturesque deep pool in the Burn, we took time out, and I took the opportunity for a refreshing plunge in the pool. For our return journey to the campsite, we were treated by chauffeur Ivar to a trip up over the Tarmachan road weaving up and down steeply among the high hills of the Ben Lawers range. 

Taking the plunge in the Invervar Burn. 

Saturday evening turned out rather damp and still on the campsite. This brought the midges out. We had come well prepared given the time of year and after all the cold weather of the spring, they were certainly far from their worst. 

After a clearing of the sky by the end of Saturday evening, it was a rather cloudy start to Sunday morning. There were signs of brightness around, and we knew the sun must be streaming down elsewhere in Scotland so it wouldn't be long before the mist gave way to clear blue skies. It was up and over the Tarmachan road once again, this time dipping into the cloud briefly at the top of the cloud, as we headed over into Glen Lyon. We were off to the dam at the end of Loch Daimph for a quick 'bag' of Stuc an Lochain. The cloud wafted around, with the sun making its best efforts to create a clear view for us as we rounded the corrie rim to the summit. Unfortunately, it wasn't to be until we were well on descent back down to Loch Daimph that the skies did their magic and the sunglasses once again came out of the rucksack top pocket.

Going Full Wharch (whack) in Galloway...

Scotland with the LUHC is usually some sort of cold, dark epic. A springtime trip to the Galloway hills however is usually somewhat different. Firstly it's only 3.5 hours on a minibus and secondly, it involves lots of daylight! We arrived at the Glentrool Campsite in rather damp conditions, but luckily got our tents up in the dry. The House O'Hill Inn provided fine refreshment and warmth, it was set to be a rather chilly Mayday bank holiday weekend.

On Saturday morning, the majority of us set off early-ish for the end of the Glentrool road where the Bruce's Stone stands high and proud above Loch Trool. We were aiming for a round of the 'Full Wharch' (wack); our walk had been proudly named by Andy in the pub the night before. Anyway, it became a more and more appropriate name for the walk as the day went on, given the 23 odd kilometres involved and optional 'bag' of Mullwharchar itself midway through the walk. The terrain of the Galloway hills away from the main 'tourist route' up the Merrick is incredibly rough and 'ard going. It makes skipping along the Cairngorm plateau in rock hard winter snow seem like a jolly by comparison. The day provided some spectacular clear panoramic views with a brisk westerly wind. We finished our round of the summits on Craignaw followed by a knee-jerking descent through a mixture of thick heather and saturated ground back down to Bruce's Stone.

On ascent of the Merrick.

Having brought wetsuits on the trip, myself and Imogen had been hoping for a bit of sunshine on the Sunday as we headed out to the Galloway coast at the fishing village of Portpatrick. Things looked promising at first and the sun tried its best to burn through the whispy cloud, being carried by a fresh westerly. However, given that we were still clad in thick fleeces for our morning stroll along the coastal path to Dunskey Castle, that afternoon dip was looking less and less likely by the minute. We returned to Portpatrick after lunch on a small rocky cove in the shadow of the derelict castle and contemplated our plans for the afternoon. After a bit of alpine style dyno-ing on the rocks beyond the harbour wall, the default choice seemed to be to head north along the coast towards Killantringan bay. By the time we reached the sweeping sands of the bay which lies around 5 km north of Portpatrick along the coastal path, the chance of swimming was long gone. The cloud had thickened and a touch test of the water on the beach revealed the temperature was officially still Baltic-esque. No good; our wetsuits were on the minibus. Instead we kept ourselves warm and entertained undertaking the miniature engineering feat of daming a stream.

The sun trying its best to break through the cloud on the Galloway Coast. Castle Bay with the ruin of Dunskey Castle standing on the headland to the rear.

For Monday morning, we could have done with our wetsuits on to negotiate the thick mist that shrouded the campsite. After spending a while contemplating our motivation to leave the campsite, we took the minibus once again down to the car park at Mr Bruce's lump of rock aside Loch Trool. Some were brave enough to head off up onto the mysterious and mist shrouded moorland of Craiglee, whilst the majority of us opted for a pleasant downhill trudge through the forests bounding the south side of Loch Trool. The moist conditions added a hint of atmosphere to the heroic tales of battle betwem English and Scots depicted on various information boards on the forest trail. Following the Southern Upland Way beyond the western end of the Loch, we were now following the Water of Trool westwards towards the campsite. The vegetation had also changed from coniferous plantation to a more natural mix of broadleaf species following a significant woodland restoration project. Whilst still very much juvenile, there were already signs of a thriving ecosystem re-establishing itself in the landscape. As we had walked almost continuously downstream from Loch Trool, we were able to walk right back to the campsite and take some time out for a leisurely lunch before the moorland baggers turned up. 

Even by mid afternoon, as we pulled away to the east from Castle Douglas, the mist and drizzle had still not managed to peel back from the Galloway hills! However, our journey became progressively brighter as we skirted around the Solway Firth. We cruised over Shap Moor and down into the Lune valley under clear blue skies and nice warm air.