Archive for the 'Past Events' Category

So what, I was off to Surrey again and the North Downs, this time a return trip to Puttenham Eco Camping Barn. I do like walking the downs and the village of Puttenham is situated right on the North Downs Way, but that wasn’t the only reason for spending this long Whitsun bank holiday at Puttenham Eco – the village local The Good Intent was also holding it’s annual beer festival and spit roast that same weekend!

I was in the last of three cars to arrive but was soon settled in and off down the road to the festival, to find the rest of our party. As I walked into the beer garden I was met by the sight of Liz supping from a half-pint glass of mushy-pea green liquor. I thought “strange coloured lime cordial they have round here”, even more surprising the thought of Liz with a ladies drink, with a lime and lemon? But, first impressions are so often wrong; Liz was actually drinking a glass of green beer – no joke! I did try some for myself, yes, it was beer, but the taste was rather bland for my liking. However, the number of glasses of green liquor, I saw around the beer garden over the weekend, it certainly went down well with the locals. The spit roast was excellent. Two slices each of beef, pork and gammon with a jacket potato plus as much of the various salads and relishes that you could get onto your plate, for just £6.50. It was the same the next night and the beer was in good condition for as long as it lasted but that night it had to be, to make up for the musical accompaniment – some dreadfully out of tune karaoke singing!

That first night I was reasonably comfortable, snuggled up in my four season sleeping bag but, as it turned out, it wasn’t so good a night for the rest of the group. In the morning, they were raiding the warden’s stash of extra sleeping bags and duvets, to keep themselves warm for the rest of the weekend. Puttenham Eco is aptly named; it supplements its electricity supply and makes its own heat from the sun, using solar panels and heat exchangers. Unfortunately, there is no other form of heating for the building, which means that if the sun goes in the barn’s unheated!

On similar environmental lines, the toilet flushes with harvested rain water; the system seemed unable to cope with ten of us using the one loo, until an emergency red button was discovered – one push, as required, and our toilet was reconnected and flushing again! That was our only problem with the ablutions, my thanks to all of the five males and five females who shared that same toilet and shower room for three days, without animosity. Most of us just waited our turn or reduced our usage, though one ‘gentleman’ did find a more novel way around the problem. As he admitted, each morning he sloped off to the local golf club, where he passed himself off as a member, and used their facilities instead – cheeky devil!

What about the real reason Leicester YHA runs its weekends, the walking? On the Saturday, Boh led a damp and drizzly eight mile circular from the camping barn, taking in part of the North Downs Way via the local woodlands and lakes to Shackleford and, yes, a pint in their “Cyder House”. That reminds me, I’ll have to have word with certain new member: if two elder members decide to have a quick snooze over their pint whilst sat on a nice comfy leather settee – they ain’t posing for the camera! We were back in the barn by 2:30 pm where some of us just caught up on lost sleep. Judith couldn’t rest and did a further walk out to Seal and back, whilst Liz’s car took a trip into Farnham for extra supplies.

That evening, cleaned and rested it was back to the Good Intent and more of their festival. The beer and the spit roast were still on form but there was a great improvement in the music on offer in the form of a band called Imitation . A young band from Oxfordshire, who we were told were out on their first gig. From the quality of their performance, especially that of their lead singer, Rosie, it won’t be their last! They certainly hit the right note with Liz: on one occasion when returning from the bar, I was nearly bowled over by her “pole dancing” around one of the outer poles of the marquee! No one bothered about the rain; it was a great sound on a great night.

What a difference a good night’s sleep makes, plus a drastic improvement in the weather by morning. Boh led us on a 14 mile walk on the Sunday, or so he said at the time, out towards Guildford and the remaining walkable section of the Hog’s Back, i.e. the bit that does not lie underneath the main A3 trunk road! To get to this ridge, we first walked out by the local golf course, where I did notice we were getting a few funny looks from the golfers, or was it Andy they were looking at – eighteen holes and then a ramble, he must be fit!

We made our usual elevenses stop at the top of that ridge, overlooking Guildford Cathedral with a clear view over the whole of the city. In fact, it was so clear that on looking further into the distance, we could see London and its various landmarks: the Post Office Tower, the arch of the new Wembley Stadium, the wheel of the London Eye and even the aeroplanes taking off and landing at Heathrow Airport were all discernible – a definite highpoint of the weekend. Our walk then took us through flower meadows, along canal towpaths and river banks and much more, to Shalford and lunch at The Parrot Inn.

Boh supposedly cut the walk short for the route back along a different branch of the river and canal, then a sharp climb back onto the ridge after which we needed another quick half at the Harrow at Compton and finally the footpath straight over the golf course back to Puttenham Eco. On returning home after the weekend Boh measured his walk more accurately and told me we had actually covered nearly eighteen miles that day – after we had all waited our turn to shower, no wonder we felt like getting an early night! Thanks Boh, it was still an excellent walk, I’m glad I did it and I hope I speak for everyone else. Tired or not, we all went to the Good Intent again that evening, only to find they had already sold out of the festival beers, with essentially another day of the festival still to go!

After a well earned night’s sleep, we cleared the barn, packed up the cars and were off to another old haunt of mine: The Devil’s Punchbowl at Hindhead. The punchbowl gets its name from the way the mists collect over its top like a huge smoking or steaming bowl. Andy, who also knows this area well, led us on a six mile circular walk through the woodlands of the bowl, down to Hindhead youth hostel at the bottom. At the hostel we chatted to three families that had hired it for the long weekend and investigated the possibility of booking it for ourselves in the future. After a parting cuppa in the Punch Bowl Café it was off back to Leicester, vowing to return again perhaps to Hindhead youth hostel.

Special thanks to our wardens and the owners of Puttenham Eco, I hope it is not too long before we are back again. Thank you to Mark, Liz and Andy for driving on this weekend and to Boh and Andy for leading the walks. My thanks also to everyone else for their company, especially to our new members Mark and Tony, who I hope to see out again on future events with the group.

And there were more goings on in Surrey.

The editor also asked me to make a mention of the Tanners’ folk night on the 7th and 8th May 2010, I will, though strictly speaking this was not a Leicester Group event but our members were made welcome there. After our usual pub meal at the Stepping Stones in Westhumble Liz, Boh and I arrived at Tanner’s Hatch youth hostel about 9 pm to the usual friendly welcome from the regular folkies and members of Rent a Crowd.

That weekend, as it turned out, one of their members, Lorna was celebrating her 40th Anniversary of going to Tanners Hatch; going there for the first time in May 1970 and she kindly invited us to join her festivities the next day. That Friday evening we sang ’til 1 possibly 2 am before retiring and on the Saturday morning Boh, Liz and I took a walk into Westcott via a very new footbridge over the local brook. An old chap working in his front garden at one end of the bridge was only too eager to give us the full ins and outs, political and financial, of how they acquired that new bridge. After which we retired to a local pub, where over a drink and bowls of his excellent home made soup, we chatted with the landlord over the possible outcome of the general election the previous day – no one came up with the actual outcome.

Then it was a stiff walk back up the escarpment to Tanners and more food. This time plates of ‘home made’ chicken chow mien, since Lorna and friends Sue and Anne said a Vesta Chicken Chow Mien was their staple 70’s hostellers meal. For myself, hostel self catering was more likely to be a tin of Irish stew filled out with half a tin of baked beans, followed then, by a tin of rice pudding, heated through in the same stewy saucepan – those were the days!

Once everyone had arrived and was fed we were all taken on a nature walk by Bruce. Bruce is on of the locals I have got to know from going to Tanners Hatch over the years, he is now an accomplished botanist and professionally interested in the management of countryside. His guided walk was interesting and very informative but a bit longer than Lorna had envisaged. Hence, a worried call on her mobile back to the hostel, to take the pudding out of the oven for half an hour! Disaster averted, on our arrival back, we were all served up with bowls of hot apple crumble and custard, as the usual 70’s accompaniment to the Vesta meal – as members’ kitchen meals go, a bit up market than my stewy rice pud!

This was followed by two or three hours of reminiscing over times and friends, now past and gone, but never forgotten. Tales of ‘Tanners by gas light’ before the electric generator was installed, working or skiving parties at Tanners plus tales of horrible tricks played on fellow hostellers – don’t mention Ex Lax! As more people arrived, the guitars and other instruments were soon taken out and the folk night proper got underway, including two or three unaccompanied ballads from yours truly. The singing went on well into the night finishing at about 4 am, Sunday morning. And, this was accompanied by even more food, as a large buffet had been prepared whilst we were out on the nature ramble.

I did grab a few hours sleep but as usual I was one of the first to get up and, as thanks for the huge repast of the night before, I made myself busy tidying and doing the washing up before most people were awake. As soon as people were awake and we had said our good byes we just headed back to Leicester again – no need for more walking after a day like that! Many thanks Lorna for allowing us to join in and thanks again to Liz for driving on this one.

I’m sorry, but I know longer make Leicester Group bookings to these folk nights but if you are interested in joining me at one please contact me and I will explain the booking procedure.

It’s the time and place that inspired one of the nation’s favourite poems, which may be why a spring visit to lakeland is such a fixture in the group programme. Be that as it may, this year’s jocund company of expectant walkers gathered at Elterwater youth hostel for two days of mountain walking.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, full of promise for the day ahead. We decamped to the Old Dungeon Ghyll car park near the head of the valley, and were soon striding out towards Stool End farm and the beginning of the walk proper. Ahead of us loomed The Band – a rugged promontory bearing a steep path to the col between Crinkle Crags and Bowfell.

Before long, our own rugged band were labouring their way to the top, making frequent pauses to look over their shoulders at the fine view of Langdale in the hazy sunshine (and not to take a breather, honest!). Progress was steady, interrupted only by the customary elevenses break, and we soon reached the three small tarns which mark the top of The Band.

It was too windy to spend much time resting – once the group were gathered we turned right to climb towards the summit of Bowfell. After a lunch break in a sheltering outcrop of rocks, we reached the top and were able to take in the view. Bowfell is a wonderful vantage point – in the dead centre of the Lake District it commands great views in all directions. Sadly it was too hazy to see any great distance, but still ample reward for our efforts to get there.

Taking our leave from the summit, we picked our way across the rocky landscape towards our next objective. In places, patches of snow lay as a reminder of the winter. Seasoned by our experience on Cader Idris, we were able to cross them without incident – dropping down to Ore Gap before climbing once more to the top of Esk Pike.

Finally we reached Esk Hause, a crossroads high in the hills where paths meet from Borrowdale, Wasdale, Eskdale and Langdale. Ahead of us stood Scafell, Scafell Pike and Great Gable, but they would have to wait for another day – it was time to head for home. Bearing right, we took the path down to Angle Tarn. Mickleden valley was bathed in evening sunshine as we descended alongside Rossett Gill and folloed the Cumbria Way back to the car park – the completion of a splendid (if demanding) day’s walking.

Sunday was distinctly less promising in terms of weather, but still good enough to entice us back into the hills. This time the walk started at the hostel gate, following Langdale Beck towards Chapel Stile. The church bells rang out as we approached the village. I don’t think they were warning the inhabitants of our arrival, but in any case we were soon through and into the country beyond.

A brisk climb brought us to Dow Bank, in the middle of a line of high ground separating Elterwater from Grasmere. Turning eastwards we followed this “gently undulating” ridge to the beginning of Loughrigg Terrace.

The second climb of the day took us to the top of Loughrigg Fell. We passed a large party of Chinese students coming down, who were apparently on some kind of exchange trip. They seemed to be enjoying the experience, though some of them weren’t exactly dressed for it. On reaching the trig point we sat down to rest, and to enjoy both the view and a well-earned lunch.

Rested and refreshed, we began our descent back into the valley. Picking our way around the lumps and bumps which grace the top of Loughrigg, we were soon dropping towards Skelwith Bridge. A break for further refreshment in that village’s well-stocked tea shop was followed by a final mile along the shore of Elter Water back to the cars.

Another excellent group weekend, my thanks go to the drivers and everybody else who made it so enjoyable.

Last year we spent Easter at Corris and, while sitting in the Braich Goch hotel having a number of medicinal pints, the proprietor happened to mention that they had a bunkhouse and also a beer festival next February. Sitting there relaxing in a gentle hoppy haze we decided that we would book another weekend for that and in a fit of fervour I agreed to do the organising.

I then totally forgot about this till Dave mentioned it some months later and we got an e mail from the Braich Goch checking that we were serious about the booking. At first I thought we’d never get 12 people in February to return to Corris and Cadair Idris let alone a beer festival in a village with no shops. However bit by bit the numbers built up and we ended up with ten (though admittedly I press ganged my son Tom and his girlfriend into it, he was keen on the beer bit and I swear I mentioned Cadair to him as well).

So off we went back to Wales and the hills and the sheep — whoops! – mustn’t mention sheep — remember Trefin? I went with Liz and Boh, this time we kept to the main roads and missed last year’s tour of the country lanes — with the result we got there first at 5pm and found the festival in full flow. There were about 12 varieties of real ale with exotic names and strengths and by the time the others came several hours later we had already sampled a number of them.

By now it’d started snowing, though fortunately everyone got here OK in the end. Walking out of the door of the hostel to greet a new arrival a gritter roared past and covered me in grit and very wet slush. At least that should stop me from slipping on Cadair. We also met the hostel cat who was a tabby with a delusion he was a Manx as a passing lorry had taken off his tail. Needless to say Chris soon struck up a rapport with him.

By now the festival was in full swing and the local band arrived. I forget their name but apparently they’re very big in Machynlleth and reminded me of some middle aged late punks with a demon keyboard player in a pork pie hat. It was at this stage that Dave reached for his ear plugs though the pub was heaving and it was obviously the mad night of the year in Corris (I even thought I saw Owain Glyndwr dancing in the crowd and also King Arthur, who is reputed to sleep in the nearby hills but must have been woken up by the noise).

So next morning we woke up bright and early. Tom had gone missing from his bunk and I thought he’d had enough and done a runner, but he was sleeping in the lounge as he’d found the combined snoring of our dorm a bit much for him — I’d forgotten to warn him about that as well. We looked out of the front door and saw nothing except mist in the valley and several inches of snow. So it looked like a good day for Cadair via the Minffordd path and off we went at a healthy 9am.

On the way we passed some sort of portakabin by some road works with the title “Welfare Office” in large letters on it. What was this? — a bold plan to bring welfare services to rural Wales or was it for distressed sheep — sorry said it again! — strange though as there wasn’t a house for miles.

Once we arrived at the mountain, the mist had started to clear except on the tops, and all the trees were covered in snow – which looked great. The sky was blue and the sun came out as we started climbing the infamous steps –or staircase to heaven as a rock band (Sorry Dave) once put it. The steps were very giant friendly for anyone over 8 ft with long legs but unfortunately none of us were that size. Is there an 8 foot high planner who makes a living out of planning massive steps in upland areas? The snow was starting to melt off the trees and we all got roasting, but the snow looked brilliant against the blue sky with bits of cloud rising out of the main Cwm around the lake like smoke from a waiting Welsh dragon round the corner.

As we began to climb up the south ridge we could see the lake half frozen over but I failed to get Liz to repeat her swimming in the lake feat from Brecon two years ago. When we got to the top of the first ridge there was a great view over half frozen Tal y Llyn lake with snow everywhere and fleecy clouds floating below us. The thing with Cadair is that it is really a collection of several summits and you can’t see the highest summit till you’re right on the top, so you think you may have reached the top but of course you haven’t.

You get up to 690 metres on one summit and then on to the next at 791 metres. It was at this stage that the clouds covered the tops and the snow that must have been lying there for some time turned out to be a foot deep (oh, and I forgot the wind as well). Last time I came over this one it was boiling hot! You then get to a bit of path right near the edge with a 900 foot drop to the lake at the bottom. There were footprints in the snow going right to the edge but then turning back… Was this a member of the kamikaze walking group who changed his mind at the last moment and got a lifetime ban from the group? — who knows.

So at 791 metres you comfort yourself with the thought that the highest peak is only 893 so it’s a mere 300 feet or so to go — then you hit the downhill. If we’d all carried old tin trays with us we could have tobogganed down to the bottom but as we hadn’t it was a matter of slip slide and slurp in the snow drifts down to 700 metres which made it 600 foot or so to the top. That’s not much really but you couldn’t see the top and it was uphill through a foot of snow. I’ve got a photo of part of the group disappearing up the snowy slope in the mist which looks very like Scott trying to find the South Pole having wished he hadn’t made a madras curry of the last husky (overdid the garlic too said Evans, as he disappeared in to the blizzard saying ‘I may be gone some time’).

Having inadvertently mistaken Boh for a polar bear we dragged on upwards through various snowy clad rocks rocks till we found the summit with a highly frozen trig point. (It was at this point that I was asking myself do I like hill walking or am I just a ******* masochist?) After a brief lunch in the bothy at the top with well chilled chardonnay and sarnie glace we noticed that the cloud had cleared from the summit — as it often does on Cadair — remember Kings, where it cleared and Dorothy could see as far as the sales in Barmouth? The sea still looked cold and oddly the valley to the north was snow free while the one to the south wasn’t. Last year when we came up we could see Snowdon to the north, the Brecon beacons to the south and well into England in the east. This time it wasn’t as clear though you could make out the Snowdon range.

So on to the downhill. First we had to go across a snow covered plateau and the mist came down again. This and the wind made it look very like Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow and at one stage I thought I saw a ghostly French dragoon till I realised his helmet and plumes was in fact Dave’s multi coloured woollen hat. Anyway eventually we started going steeply downhill — and downhill — and downhill — till we were sick of going steeply downhill and almost started wishing we could go uphill again. Eventually we got out of the thick snow and the views were great with the fading winter sunlight over the sea and the snow clad hills. Then down the “giant’s’” steps and to the car park and the general feeling that that it had been ‘One hell of a walk’. Also congratulations to Donna. Tom and Lisa on completing it on their first walk with the group – they’re not all like this one!

Back at the Bunkhouse it appeared that Shep the singing sheepdog and his band from Pontllanfraith Uchaf had cancelled due to lambing problems and were replaced by the heaviest metal band this side of Dinas Mawddwy. Led by Dave we then decided to try the village pub which thank goodness is still open and the very hospitable landlord fitted us in for food and quite a lot of drink — we must have given his takings a good boost. By the time we returned to the bunkhouse the party was still in full swing (King Arthur had just got barred and gone back to his cave in the mountain) but they’d run out of my favourite stout and most of us crashed out fairly quickly. After last night’s experience Tom opted to sleep with Dave and Stuart who proved snore free!

So next morning most people went off but some of us stayed for an “undulating” walk up the side of the valley from Corris to the old slate mine at the top and then on to Upper Corris and back via the teashop. On the way we passed the ‘Italian House’ where an Italian spent a lifetime building models of Italian buildings in the garden from a large variety of bricks.

This led to a keen ethical debate on the role of women between Liz and Stuart — did Mrs Italian pine away alone in the house while her chauvinist neglectful husband sublimated in his garden with his beloved bricks or did she breath a sigh of relief when he went outside and settle down to watch the telly in peace free from his endless talking about bricks? Perhaps this topic could be on the agenda at the next AGM?

Anyway that was that and for once some beer assisted idea raised in a pub had led to a great weekend.

We have been to Grin Low cottage (situated south of Buxton) on 5 previous occasions over the last 10 years. Those being the new year weekends of 2000, 2001, 2005, 2007 and a Bonfire weekend in November 2003. As this was our 10th anniversary since we first set foot in the cottage, the Group decided to make this a special occasion by subsidizing the bednights, providing a free meal and free transport for those not traveling independently.

Thursday – New Years Eve

With my passengers, Dave and Margaret, I set off for Grin Low. Passing through Ashbourne, we noticed snow on only the very highest hills but as we started to head over higher ground towards Buxton, the snow appeared at the roadside to greet us.

We reached Grin Low cottage at about 3.45pm and were surprised that Grin Low’s car park was buried under 3 feet of snow. I had no option but to park on the side of the iced up driveway, at the side of the cottage, the long entrance to the Grin Low caravan park. There’s never any caravans here at this time of year, so I was puzzled to see so many other cars parked close by with hordes of people walking about. The snow had obviously galvanized the local population into winter pursuits, skiing, tobogganing etc. On past new year visits, it was rare to see anyone else around but this level of snow had changed all that.

On entering the cottage, we found that Norman, Ruth, Judith, Tony and Laurie had arrived a good hour before us. So we all set about laying out the New Years Eve buffet, At about 6.00pm, the next car arrived with Alison, Clare and Mikhail. But they got stuck, so I and Norman helped to get them off the main road and on to the driveway. Brian was the only one now that we were waiting for, He was bringing his Hi-Fi equipment, so we could have some music, but where was he ?

It was a lovely clear moonlit night and with all the snow, you barely needed a torch and I was sorely tempted to go on a late night walk to Solomon’s Temple, only half a mile away. But as the weekend organiser, I felt duty bound to keep a look out for Brian. Eventually, he arrived at 11.15pm, overshot the entrance and got stuck a few yards up the road, trying to turn around in a gateway.

But a few willing hands came out to perform the second rescue of the evening. Apparently, Brian had overslept after a tiring Wednesday evening. Probably been out drinking into the small hours again. But he arrived in time to see in 2010 with the rest of us. He was unable to join us on any walks, he’d forgotten to bring his boots.

Friday – New Years Day

Tony volunteered to lead a walk from the cottage to the Goyt Valley. The original idea would have been to drive up to the Cat and Fiddle pub on the A537 but it wasn’t worth driving anywhere in case we got stuck, the Cat and Fiddle was blocked off anyway.

So we set off minus Brian but plus Sarah who had driven up from Leek, to join us for the walk and to stay for one night. It was a nice sunny morning but we were to have a few snow flurries later on.

We walked on the A54 for a short while before turning onto a minor road towards Goyts Moss, though what should have been a road was now a snow track. The road was under 4 feet of snow, it was amusing to see the occasional top of a road sign sticking out of the snow. After this, we joined a footpath that led us to a road at Goyts Moss. It was hard going as we were sinking into deep snow most of the time. The road, when we reached it, was little better, as it was very icy underfoot. We arrived at the ruins of Errwood Hall for lunch, most of the walls were still standing but there’s no roof, lucky for us the sun was still out. It was quite noticeable that out of the entire group, Mikhail was the only one not wearing any headgear. Being Russian, he found the conditions rather pleasant as British winters just do not compare with what Russia experiences.

Our progress had been painfully slow so any ideas about walking up Shining Tor were dismissed, even walking a further half mile to see an old chapel wasn’t practical as we would have been in danger of losing valuable daylight.

So we headed back the way we came and couldn’t believe our eyes when a car passed us on the road. We reached a road junction, sorry I mean a snow track junction. We would take the left turn for a mile to reach Buxton but before we did, we noticed that the car that passed us was stuck on a hill leading towards the Cat and Fiddle pub, it was soon joined by 2 other cars. Dave tried to persuade one of the drivers not to follow the other idiots but to no avail. Admittedly, the road was a on a one-way system but considering the conditions, they could have been forgiven for driving out what was technically the wrong way, never mind the fact they shouldn’t have driven out there in the first place.

Back at Grin Low, we were greeted by the arrival of Andy, Chris and Alice and that evening we achieved a record of having all 16 bunkbeds filled. On past new year weekends at Grin Low we’ve only managed 13.

The 3 course (free) meal kicked off with an excellent starter, a butternut squash soup that Alison made for us, an idea that she had discussed with me before the start of the weekend, which I’m grateful for. The main course was down to me, a cheese and tomato macaroni with chicken. Here I’m grateful to help from Chris and Brian, special thanks to Margaret for bringing the garlic, skinning the tomatoes and providing some olive oil. I was a bit nervous about cooking for 16, so I’m very grateful to Alice for her help in organizing the preparation and to Sarah for some of the cooking and her advice which was invaluable. Everyone appeared to enjoy the meal, so I’m relieved about that.

We then tucked into a fruit salad provided by Ruth, which went down very well, originally, this was intended for the previous night’s buffet but I asked Ruth if she could save it for this following night’s meal, for which I’m grateful.

But all was not over yet as Dave treated us to one of his coffee liquors, for which he is famous. I departed to bed with a warm glow and a full stomach.

Before the night was over, Chris treated us to his “all in one” firework display, though it didn’t go off at first and appeared to be an expensive dud. Chris then very cooly examined it, picked it up, pulled the fuse wire further out (DON’T DO THIS AT HOME FOLKS) put it down, then relit it. Everyone, especially Alice, thought he might blow his head off and yelled at him to leave it be. But his plan, though extremely risky, worked.  We were then treated to a 10 minutes or so, firework extravaganza and thankfully it was the multi-firework that went off with a bang, not Chris.

Saturday – 2nd January

We awoke on Saturday morning to a fresh covering of snow and glancing at the sky, it was obvious there was more on the way. Andy, who had planned to walk with us before heading home, decided not to risk it and drove home early. Also on their way home was Alison, Clare and Mikhail. Sarah gave Margaret a lift home.

Kathy arrived with Dorothy, not to stay over but to just do the day’s walk with us. The original plan for today was to drive over to Macclesfield Forest but that idea had to be abandoned, it wasn’t worth the risk considering the conditions.

Instead, we walked from the cottage again on a walk led by Chris. We crossed over the Grin Low road and walked down a footpath, heading in the direction of Flash. Walking over Stanley Moor, it made a change to be roaming over scenery that you normally only see on Christmas cards. We passed walls now only 3 feet high thanks to the snow drifts. Passing over the hill of Brand Top we dropped down a valley and crossed over an icy footbridge. We then walked along a track to Summerhill. It was then half a mile up to the “Travellers Rest” pub. But it was a painful ascent as the snow just flew straight into our faces, stinging the eyes, even though with our hoods up and being forced to look down at the ground, it still hit us. You couldn’t admire the scenery, let alone see who was walking next to you.

After what seemed hours, we reached the pub and sanctuary. We were greeted by roaring log fires and a cosy snug atmosphere and sat down for lunch. Whereupon Kathy treated most of us to a glass of mulled wine and refused to be recompensed for it. It was a very generous gesture and most welcome. The mulled wine was just what was needed to warm us up. Those not drinking the wine had tea or coffee instead, no one was in the mood for cold beer.

As we were about to leave, Norman persuaded the friendly landlady to take a photograph of the group. We then set off in thick fog as the snow had eased off, along the main A53, this being the quickest and most direct route back to Grin Low. The one unpleasant hazard with this was that we had to endure being splashed with slush from passing vehicles. Finally, we were back on to the Grin Low road but it was disappointing to see it covered with ice and snow after it had previously been gritted. But it didn’t deter Kathy from heading back home, taking Judith with her. I was sorry to see them go because I’m sure Kathy would have appreciated Grin Low cottage but I know they had things to do back at home, especially Judith.

The idea for the evening had been to partake of a “takeaway” meal, but the intervention of more snowy weather put paid to that idea. Everyone except me had enough food to make a decent meal. Norman invited me to share a fish supper with him and Ruth, for which I was grateful and I shared my last half bottle of wine with them.

Saturday evening was rather sedate as there now was only 9 of us left in Grin Low but Norman did entertain us a little by showing us his slides with the aid of Brian’s lap top.

Sunday- 3rd January

The day dawned sunny and bright, and normally it had been a tradition that on the last morning at Grin Low we would take a short walk to Solomon’s Temple, but we agreed to pass on it this time. We decided to set off home as soon as possible. We all set off together, making sure that all our cars started up OK and that no one was stuck.

In Conclusion

The most successful new year weekend at Grin Low since Dave Self’s 2001 venture. But the success of this weekend is thanks more to the people who came along and supported it rather than my organisation, I owe it all to them. In the best traditions of our group, everybody mucked in together and enjoyed themselves. There was no one spoiling it for others, no negative vibes.

99% of our group that have been to Grin Low Cottage have enjoyed it, so it’s hard to comprehend anyone not liking it. Grin Low with its thick walls, always keeps the warmth in, this was particularly appreciated this weekend with sub zero temperatures outside.

The snow, by and large, did add to the atmosphere this time, though it did change our timetable somewhat. Norman summed up the mood by asking if this could be our last but one weekend, instead of perhaps the last.

The truth is, it doesn’t have to be the last. But it is the last one for me to organize. If anyone else wants to take the plunge and organise another trip to Grin Low, whether at new year or on any other occasion, they are more than welcome and if they do, I would gladly add my name to their list.

I thank everyone who took part on this weekend, what more can I say?

Two years ago I tried to book a weekend in Haworth. It proved impossible to get through on the phone and when the warden ignored my request for self catering prices . In the end I gave up. This time I did get through and as expected every effort was made to get me to go catering and I was told the catering facilities were totally inadequate – one day I will no doubt be told there is a gas ring in a shed up the nearest hillside and two sticks to rub together to start a fire.. Anyway this time I decided to persist and we were booked in self catering at £17.95 a night.

Having said all this we went to see the Autumn colours in Monsall and Chee Dale and were not disappointed. The hostel is a great old house built by your usual Victorian Industrialist, who had made a few bob ripping minerals out the ground, with a brilliant view and surrounded by a beech wood in full Autumn golden mode. Surprisingly the 70 bed hostel was virtually full with two separate “reunion” walking groups. However their warning about the catering was correct, one sink, one small fridge and one kettle between 70 people!

We also discovered a very good pub, the Anglers Rest, down the hill in Millers Dale with real ales at £2.50 a pint, good cheap meals and very friendly staff. The pub was very quiet and they must have been glad of our trade as nearly all the group went there rather than enjoy the keg Boddingtons at the hostel. These threatened pubs are vital in country areas and traditionally got good trade from walkers so it was sad to see no one else from the hostel. Hostels always played a key part in supporting local village businesses and this will decline as hostel catering takes hold.

Anyway on to the walking – the first day was foggy and damp though it promised better things. We trudged up the Limestone Way through traditional Derbyshire mist and mud with the vague shapes of bored looking cattle. All those who’d walked Monks Dale before swore to keep clear of it and eventually we stopped for elevenses (At Anne’s steadfast request) by a charming mist shrouded stone cross watched by a misty brown cow with triplets and a rather emasculated looking bull.

Then on to Wormhill where Dorothy was disappointed to find she had missed the sales and Liz looked in vain for Charity shops. Actually Wormhill was a picturesque village and we had a good lunch stop by a monument to a man called Brindley who built the Bridgewater canal (In Manchester not Somerset)

After that we finally got to the top of Chee Dale and it stopped raining. The view was brilliant with the valley going one way to Buxton, the railway cutting through towards Chinley and the old railway in the valley that’s now a walking trail. The sides of the gorge were covered in trees in autumn colours with some clinging on to the white limestone cliffs and the sun decided to threaten to come out as well.

So we went down to walk along Chee dale, the wildest bit of the Wye gorges going down to Monsal head with only a rough path right by the river side with two sets of stepping stones and the very high rail viaducts cutting across at regular intervals. It was very, as the Victorians would say, “gothic” with a deep gorge with sheer white limestone walls and Autumn golden trees all along the top with dense vegetation on the floor alongside the river. As it had been raining it was very wet with a bit of mist in the gorge to add to the atmosphere.

The wetness also made the limestone “Monksdale” slippery with the result that Boh headbutted the floor (But fortunately did not damage to the path) and Dorothy did a “wet limestone” slip but luckily no harm done . At one stage Liz dropped her pole over the edge where it was stuck just over the river. In harmony with the gothic atmosphere brave Sir Mick and Sir Boh rescued the pole for the damsel in distress before the dragon of the gorge leapt out of the river from it’s sleep and King Arthur appeared with a risk assessment.

We then came to the stepping stones which go along the edge of the cliff face. Last time Anne and I walked here the river was in flood and the stones were covered by about 4 inches of water. Our group waded across (Carrying a dog) and you got the feeling that if you slipped you would get carried away in a roaring torrent. This time the stones were uncovered and it was a bit mortifying to see that it was only about 6 inches deep around them!

We finally got out of the gorge and up onto the railway where we stopped at Millers Dale station though we’d just missed the last train. (Well by 30 years but you lose touch with time when you’re in the gorge). After that back to the hostel by several routes and then back to the pub to eat in the evening. (Apart from Dave who subjected the kitchen to his “curry test” first)

So next day, plus Andy who turned up, we did the quick post breakfast rush down the hostel back entry and up the gorge the other side. Nothing like that to wake you up and great views from the top to Kinder, Stanage, Bretton etc. Then along the top with a view of Taddington that Anne assures has a bunkhouse that was so cold that Captain Scott used it for training for his Arctic mission.

Finally then a view of Monsal Head and back along the railway to Cressbrook where there’s a good tea stop shop where you can eat your own food, it’s a good idea. The tea stop is in the old lodging house for the child labourers at the mill and Liz was even able to have a mini spending spree there. Then back along Water Cum Jolly and Cressbrook and back to the hostel and off.

It was a good weekend but Anne and I both wrote letters of complaint about the self catering facilities.. We both got fairly unapologetic replies from YHA and mine stated that groups who went to hostels that provided catering should use it, as the self catering facilities were not suitable for groups to use. Well I suppose that was being honest about what they’ve been trying to achieve by stealth for some time. Fortunately I have a copy of the Independent Hostels Guide.

Twelve worthy pilgrims of St Cuthbert gathered one September evening at Melrose Youth Hostel. Their avowed intent was to follow the 62 mile St Cuthbert from Melrose, where the seventh century saint began his monastic career, to his final resting place on Lindisfarne. Would we be on our knees by the end of the trip? Only time would tell.
Read the rest of this entry »

A week after the official opening of the ‘new’ St. Pancras, the group’s London weekend also took place. It was a good start, arriving into the famous blue canopied expanse – with time to admire the statue of Sir John Betjeman and Eurostar’s sleek gateway to Paris, complete with the accessible, if expensive champagne bar.

Avoiding such temptations (for the meantime) the number 17 bus takes you from the station to St. Paul’s – and seemingly within minutes – the hostel is there, just round the corner in Carter Lane. Andy, Alan, Patricia, Liz and Boh and I stored our bags and then mobile phone numbers, before venturing out on a well researched crawl of London’s best public houses in the area.

Read the rest of this entry »

A mass exodus, well at least half the members of Leicester Local YHA Group set off going west into the setting sun on a Friday evening. Wales is noted for its high rainfall. The weather forecast indicated that there was to be a sunny weekend with little wind but what there was would be from the cold north. One of the vehicles was carrying the kitchen sink well not really a sink but a circular washing up bowl, a nice red plastic one with a raised pattern around the side. It is known that some members pack all their wardrobe just in case it turns out to be cold; or very hot, or wet, or very wet or windy and wet. These folks are really in their element when the weekend is hot and wet, windy and cold. It is possible a first for the group to take such an item as a washing up bowl. Concern was expressed after eleven o’clock that one of our cars was missing. Kings hostel is situated in a river valley and has such has no mobile signal reception. Mick arrived at half past midnight to be greeted by Boh who directed the passengers to their respective rooms except that Stella found the dorm full and a torchlight viewing of the other girls dorm found a empty bed. One o’clock lights out.

Read the rest of this entry »

There is a saying that if you spend the night up Cadair Idris and live you will come down the next morning “Mad, blind or a poet.” (This is a genuine quote mentioned by the tourist board)

One can imagine the walker who fell asleep on Cadair and woke up in the dark with the full moon overhead. He or she then walked down the mountain towards Dolgellau and came into a thickly wooded valley. After a while stumbling in the dark he came across a clearing in the woods. There was a bonfire with various figures gathered around it. Then a formally dressed man with druidic looking white hair approached something on a table and drew out a knife. Thinking this was some ancient Celtic sacrificial ritual the walker rushed off into the woods in utter panic and was not found till morning………

Read the rest of this entry »

The Prelude

This trip kept changing before it began. It began in the Clarendon pub, after Alan helped me deliver three budgies to their Christmas retreat. Sans birds and a few pints later, we had sketched the plan – three days in the Hebrides. Were we budgie-brained? We changed the timescale to a week, then longer to take in the last May bank holiday. That week wouldn’t work because the ferry timetables are very respectful of specific dates. So we changed it to a week including two weekends, or eight Sundays, which is what it all began to feel like in the timeless spray freedom of the Outer Hebrides.

We changed everything except our minds; we would go there in one or two cars, as four or five persons, in meteorological suspense. Elusive and beautiful the trip was to be.

Read the rest of this entry »