Repton Remembered

On Sunday we walked from Repton.

We hadn’t planned to do so, but that’s the way things sometimes go. The forecast nice day hadn’t really materialised, so we ruled out a trip further afield. But at least it was dry, albeit a little cool and overcast, so it seemed like the perfect choice for a couple of hours’ fresh air and exercise.

Repton – “Historic capital of Mercia” as the sign proclaims – is a large-ish village on the Derbyshire/Staffordshire border, and home to a renowned public school whose famous alumni include, amongst a roll call of the great and good, comedian Graeme Garden and journalist/TV presenter Jeremy Clarkson. Saints and sinners alike – or Goodies and baddies, if you prefer – can find redemption at the adjacent church of St. Wystan’s, towering over both school and village.

Our route – Repton, Newton Solney, Bretby, Robin’s Cross, Milton, Repton – hardly needs further elucidation, keeping by and large to the lanes. We parked by the Cross and made our way out of the village along Burton Road. Soon, we passed the last of the houses and farming countryside spread out on either side.

As a young lad, I used to cycle the lanes hereabouts with my mates, kids in those days being on a much longer leash. We never felt worried about being so many miles from home – with a few coins tucked away for an emergency phone call in case we got into trouble. Later I met my future wife here, and we would walk these streets and paths together with all of our history still waiting to be written.

So there were lots of memories kindled as we pottered round the circuit, of people and events that had intersected our lives all those years ago. Since then we have moved on; and it is many years since we had any regular connection with the village. Our conversation was filled with recollections of “Remember who lived there?” and “Whatever happened to so-and-so?"

We ate our lunch perched on the bridge at Robin’s Cross; no longer the quiet junction it was nearly 30 years ago. Though still a favourite of cyclists, there are more cars now. Then we walked over the hill to Milton, noticing along the way a lattice of new-looking footpaths; we must get the map and prepare for further exploration.

Finally, it was back to Repton. True, the walk lacked a bit of variation underfoot. And true, it was overlooked for much of the way by the ugly, brooding towers of Willington Power Station, an entirely different sort of architecture to that of classical Repton. But it served as a reminder that a good walk can be about more than views, wild countryside and blowing the cobwebs away. History can prove just as refreshing, too.

Sierra de Aitana, Spain 6th – 13th March 2011

A small group holiday in a little-known area of southern Spain combining a short trek with day walks to explore the rocky peaks and mountain ridges of Alicante province, using the network of ancient paths and mule tracks that criss-cross the area. The ridges of the area form a large “S” shape; we would be following a line across them.

Map:

Editorial Piolet Map – Marina Baixa Serra D’Aitana 1:20,000

Sunday 6th March 2011

Day 1: Arrival

“Benidorm, eh? You sure you’re going on a walking holiday?” Such was the general reaction when I mentioned where we were heading for this break. And, lets face it, the Costa Blanca, with it’s reputation for Brits abroad, hedonism and high-rise hell, isn’t the first place that springs to mind when considering a hiking holiday, is it?

After a fairly uneventful flight we arrived at Alicante airport and met our guide, Jose, and the rest of our group for the first time. With everybody present and correct, we boarded the minibus and settled in quietly for the transfer.

The drive from the airport along the coast, past the pseudo-Manhattan skylines of Alicante and Benidorm, did little to allay those niggling fears. But, heading inland, the mountainous interior soon started to reveal the wild rugged landscape we had been promised; it wasn’t to be the only time during the week that our preconceptions would be challenged.

We wound our way up from the coast to our first stop at Castell de Castells, a village of some 500-and-odd souls situated at the base of the northern slopes of the Serrella massif. Surprisingly, for the climb had seemed gentle, we were already 500m above sea level, with the surrounding peaks and rocky ridges rising a further 1,000m above us.

On arrival at the Hotel Serrella we dumped our bags in our room, then met up with everyone for a spot of lunch. It was a slightly subdued affair – because of the early start, it looked like lunchtime but felt like bed time.

Later, we popped out for an hour-or-so to get a bit of fresh air and to stretch our legs. The afternoon was sunny but not overly warm, so after a short climb up a nearby hillside for views back over the village, we returned to the hotel for a rest and a wash and brush-up before our 7.00pm briefing and dinner.

Monday 7th March 2011

Day 2: Xorta Massif – approx 12.13 miles

Route Summary:

Hotel – Pla del Daialt – Arc del Atanços – Penyo Gelat – Caseta del Tio Alcoia – Penya Alta (1,219m) – Font del Teixos – Baranc del Xic – Hotel

Route:

After a good night’s sleep, we all met for breakfast around 8.30am – continental in style and large in size. On the strength of the meals so far we were not going to go hungry.

We packed, picked up our sandwiches (large, obviously) and congregated on the patio out front. Today’s route was a circular walk on the Xorta massif taking in the summit at Penya Alta (1,219m). We left the village along the old Postman’s Route, crossing the road a couple of times and rising slowly towards Pla del Daialt. After an early chill the day was warming nicely, and it was good to get the legs and lungs working properly and feel the warming winter sun on our backs.

Skirting round the head of a low valley, we followed a track past a half-renovated farmhouse with olive and almond terraces to either side. Away to the west was the ridgeline of the Serrella massif. Staring out over that wild valley, the hustle and bustle of life back home already seemed a million miles away.

We then followed a contour path round to a surprise viewpoint – the twin rock arches of Arc del Atanços, a romantic spot where the two arches are said to represent twin wedding rings.

A steep, earthy path climbed a short way to gain a track curling below the main ridge. After a quick break for elevenses, we worked our way westwards to a gap in the ridge at Penyo Gelat, cutting through to the southern side and heading back eastwards to reach another narrow gap just below the summit. A loose, rocky path led steeply up to the 1,219m high point for fantastic views all round – across to the enticing ridges of the Serrella and Aitana massifs, prominent Puig Campana, and down to the coast, where the horrors of Benidorm were but a few miles away as the crow flies.

It was wonderful to be able to soak in the views for a few minutes, as well as get a preview of what was to come over the next few days. Coming down from the summit, we slipped through the gap to regain the northern side of the ridge and made our way down to the refuge by the Font dels Teixos spring where we stopped for lunch. Along with our first taste of the excellent sandwiches we were to enjoy the whole week, Jose magicked some “extras” from his seemingly bottomless rucksack, today in the form of olives.

Afterwards, on reaching a stony track, we skirted below the summit – a much more imposing proposition from this angle. Descending steadily through a mixed scrub of pine, cistus and gorse, we followed a series of narrow paths into and out of the Baranc del Xic ravine, meeting some of the very few other walkers we were to see all week along the way.

Then we wandered past more almond and olive terraces, with almond blossom all round, and rejoined our outward route along the correuero – the Postman’s Route – back to Castells, a little more tired, and a little more sunburnt than before, but happy. A great first walk showcasing what we had to look forward to over the next few days.

Dinner that evening was again both delicious and sizeable – starters of mixed salads, then a regional dish of baked rice with chickpeas, chicken, black pudding and tomatoes.

Tuesday 8th March 2011

Day 3: Castells to Beniarda – approx 7.82 miles

Route Summary:

Hotel (Castells) – El Castellet – Alto de Tronca – Barranc de la Canal – Barranc de les Mates – Mas de Gorges – Embassament de Guadalest - Beniarda

Route:

Today was a transfer day; the planned walk an exciting looking trip up to and along the dramatic Serrella ridge followed by a descent into the neighbouring Guadalest Valley. But an early look out of the window revealed low cloud and a steady rain – at the very least it appeared we would get precious few views today.

After the by now predictably generous breakfast, we piled our luggage in the foyer ready for collection and set off. As the group assembled outside there was a flurry of activity as waterproofs were pulled from the deepest of rucksack recesses and donned. Not only was it wet and misty, but pretty chilly, too. Suitably clad, we set off into the gloom, picking up a track leading towards the campground at El Castellet. Being somewhat unfit at present, I was happy to amble along near the back of the group, huffing and puffing my way up the steep bits.

It wasn’t long before the village was nestling some way below us, half hidden in the murk. As we rose higher, conditions gradually got worse. By the time we reached the first ridge a cold, buffeting wind had added a noticeable chill factor to proceedings, and visibility was down to just a few metres.

Somewhere around the 1,050m mark, in the lower reaches of the Barranc de la Canal, the decision was reached; we would not attempt the summit ridge today. It was a shame – judging by yesterday’s walk it should have been spectacular – but it was the right thing to do.

Looking for a lower route across the ridge we headed down “the canal” instead, following a steep path of loose, slippery rocks, past a sheepfold and into the steep-sided ravine of the Barranc de les Mates. Solid rock replaced the loose stuff underfoot providing a simple scramble down the gully. Part way down, a shallow cave presented a modicum of shelter from the rain, so we took the opportunity to stop for lunch.

At the bottom of the ravine, we picked up a descending path leading past more olive and almond trees. Ahead of us, somewhat worryingly, we could see the upper, north-facing slopes of Aitana – the target for tomorrow’s walk – pocked with old, lying snow. Hoping for better conditions, we descended to a tarmac road; the beginning of a longish stretch beside the reservoir of Embassament de Guadalest. Now, lower down, the rain had eased off a bit, although the mist still persisted.

The final stretch took us up into Beniarda, one of a number of villages scattered across the valley. Above us, to the east, the village and castle of El Castell de Guadalest, perched imposingly on a wonderfully defensible rocky crest, made for an imposing sight.

We put in at a small bar, a chance to rest and dry out little after a fairly uncomfortable day. As we sat in the bosom of the roaring range, the conflicting effects of coffee and Muscat wine on tired bodies vied for supremacy. Conversation waxed and waned.

Suitably refreshed, we moved next door to a small factory where local organic olive oil was pressed and bottled. Jose arranged for us to have a look around and explained how many producers and fruit-growers in the region are moving over to organic farming and the supply of high quality products. We bought a small bottle as a souvenir.

Finally, we met the minibus for the ten-minute transfer to Benimantell and our new hotel, the El Trestellador, where we soon settled in. Dinner was again copious and featured regional dishes – a scrambled-egg-and-onion mix and beautiful calamari for starters, then a chicken and rabbit pasta-like bake in a huge bowl. Even fourteen hungry hikers couldn’t polish it all off.

Wednesday 9th March 2011

Day 4: The Aitana Ridge – approx 8.66 miles

Route Summary:

Hotel (Benimantell) – Clot dels Teixos – Port de Tagarina – Penya Mulero – Avenc del Port – El Malpasset – Hotel (Benimantell)

Route:

Once again we awoke to low cloud and grey skies and the prospect of another day of poor weather. The rain in Spain may stay mainly in the plain, but this week it was having a go in the mountains, too. Our planned itinerary scheduled a walk along the highest, most dramatic section of the Aitana ridge, but conditions were such that we approached the day with a flexible outlook.

After the now-standard substantial breakfast, we left the hotel and began to climb steadily along the flanks of the Aitana massif. As we paused for a breather looking out across the valley, Jose told us about the lives of the people of the Guadalest valley, the paucity of water, the difficulty of growing fruit, and how the low incomes and hard work of farmers, compared to working on the coast, was drawing younger generations away.

At first, glimpses of the village were possible beneath the low cloud, and there was even a hint of sunshine away on the coast. But soon we were ensconced in a thick fog with visibility down to a few metres. Around 11.00am, we took a short snack break and considered our options. The high level route, which would involve a short scramble, did seem a trifle too ambitious for a day like this. So we chose a lower, easier section instead.

This whole region is an example of Mediterranean Alpine climate zone, where high mountains are situated close to the coast. This creates an unusual combination of weather conditions, as we were discovering. Climbing towards the ridge we took a short detour to visit a snow well, one of a number of quite sizeable dry-stone structures, each several metres across, built hundreds of years ago to store snow and ice that accumulates at these higher levels. This could then be quickly moved to the nearby coast and sold to preserve precious fish or cool the drinks of wealthy merchants.

Continuing upwards, we reached the pass at Port de Tagarina and turned east along the ridge. The views from up here are supposed to fantastic, but, to be honest, we could have been anywhere. Well, anywhere cold and wet, that is. The gale blowing past us had dropped the already cool temperature by several more degrees, so we hunkered into fleeces and waterproofs for the half-hour toddle along the crest, passing the day’s high point of 1,308m along the way.

At Penya Mulero, we dropped off the ridge down a narrow gully and, a few minutes later we found a sheltered spot for lunch at the junction of tracks; time for another excellent sandwich, hearty enough to help warm us up. Once on the move again, we dropped below the cloud base to find the best conditions of the day. It wasn’t exactly warm, but there was a smidgin of sunshine in the valley and across the slopes opposite – with any luck heralding brighter weather for tomorrow.

Because of the shorter than expected walk we arrived back at the hotel a little early, leaving plenty of time for rest and reading, or, as some did, a visit to the touristy village of Guadalest. Dinner featured soup followed by chicken, fries and a dish like a local version of ratatouille. Over coffee, we held an impromptu Spanish Tat contest comparing the worst “gifts” purchased for under €2. Amongst stiff competition – such as flamenco dancer snow globes, a “Benidorm” shot-glass, and a brace of smutty key rings – a winner emerged; a particularly ugly, unglazed ashtray with a surprised-looking clown decoration …….

Thursday 10th March 2011

Day 5: Benimantell to Sella – approx 12.60 miles

Route Summary:

Hotel (Benimantell) – Eastern end of Aitana Ridge – Hotel (Sella)

Route:

Just when we thought all the bright, clear pictures of the area had been cleverly photo-shopped, the sun came out! This boded well, as today was a transfer walk day round to the next valley. Keeping to lower level paths with easier gradients, and only reaching around the 1,000m mark, we were looking forward to a day of clear weather and good views. With breakfast taken and bags packed, we said goodbye to the El Trestellador.

The first stretch led in a south westerly direction, contouring the hillside along the road. Although not hot, it felt great to have some decent weather again. After a while, we branched off on to tracks and paths as we worked our way steadily towards the base of the distinct cliffs near Penyo Roc. Away to our right, a remnant of low cloud obscured the Aitana summit, but to our left were stunning views across the Guadalest valley and to the coast beyond.

After an hour or so, we picked up and narrow path – one of the prettiest so far – leading through the ubiquitous mixed vegetation of pine, cistus and gorse as we came ever-closer to the cliffs. Still working our way around the eastern end of the mountain, our route was now swinging more towards the south. At least, in sheltered spots, it was nice and warm, and the strong coconut scent of gorse filled the air as we brushed past.

As the path reached the base of the cliffs, we zig-zagged up to a little pass and stopped for elevenses. Above us, dozens of Choughs wheeled in the air, and there was a possible Perigrine Falcon sighting. Looking back, we could see our path skirting the base of the cliffs, and it was a fine, airy perch for views across the valley.

Continuing, the path contoured round the hill a little further before switchbacking up a short gully to bring us to the entrance of a flat-bottomed hanging valley. A peculiarity of this area, these plateaux were often cultivated for growing fruit or crops. Crossing the valley we passed a couple of tumbled-down cottages. It perhaps comes as no surprise; these are quite remote and difficult to access places, quite a way from any proper roads or modern facilities. On a day like today it would be easy to imagine them providing a wonderful get-away-from-it-all retreat once renovated, but you’d feel a long way from anywhere in bad weather.

Now, with jagged peaks and rocky spires all around us, we picked up a wide track leading into the Sella valley, passing a recently renovated house, no longer in use, and a Buddhist retreat, all rustic and quaint, as we went. Soon, a gap opened up between the hills to our left revealing the target for Saturday’s walk, Puig Campana, with its distinctive “notch”. It looked rather steep.

Shortly afterwards, we stopped for lunch by a spring – time to enjoy the obligatory large sandwich along with a “treat” from Jose’s rucksack. So far, this miniature bag of miracles had produced olives, chocolate, pickled chillies, gherkins, oranges, salted nuts, sausage, black pudding, and marzipan fancies.

Then it was back to the track for the gradual descent into the valley, with low summits and rocky ridges all round. Near the Refugi Font de L’Arc, climbers could be seen hanging precariously from the cliffs – nobody felt too inclined to join them.

Just beyond the refuge, we hit the tarmac for the final hour-or-so into Sella, the peaks still soaring either side of the heavily terraced valley. As the afternoon wore on, the weather had slowly started to deteriorate, becoming more and more hazy. Now, looking back, we could see cloud beginning to fringe the tops once more. As we approached the village, we took a left hand fork to take us to our base for the next three days – the farmhouse L’Hort de Gloria.

Across the valley, Jose pointed out the village, stacked on the opposite hillside, with its hilltop shrine and his own house away to the left. He explained how this valley, with its orange, lemon, olive and almond trees, had also moved over to organic production to command a better price – and a higher income – for its hard-pressed farmers. For me, one of the highlights of the holiday has been discovering just how rural the life and economy of these villages is, especially when compared to that of the coast, less that half an hour away by car.

The farmhouse/hotel we are staying at seems to be a bit of a hippy pad, with a very relaxed and trusting atmosphere. The bar was, basically, an honesty box! We settled in and (after an initial scramble for the bathrooms) had a wash and brush-up, and settled down by the fire in the communal lounge. Dinner was, if anything, more delicious and more copious than before – soup and pizza to start, followed by fish, potatoes, vegetables, ratatouille and salad, plus desert. Afterwards, we had coffee and read or played games in the lounge.

Friday 11th March 2011

Day 6: Sella – approx 5.00 miles

Route Summary:

Hotel (Sella) – Exploring the village – Hotel (Sella)

Route:

Today was officially our free day. There were plenty of activities on offer – from lounging around or visiting the chocolate factory to climbing and kayaking – but, because once again we had woken to low cloud and drizzle, most people either opted to visit the coast or stay local and explore the village. We chose the latter, so had a more leisurely breakfast whilst the sea-siders were rushing to get the coach.

From the hotel, we took a little dirt path down into the valley, past the water mills (one current and working, one remains only and disused) and up into the village. There was a hint of drizzle in the air as we crossed the main road and got lucky finding the main street.

One reason for Sella’s local importance is that two streams run through it, converging just below the village near the water mills. Water is a very important resource around here, and rationing is a way of life. In fact it is so scarce and so important that each farm has an allocated share as part of the deeds. Water is channelled through the village and split, by a complex system of stone troughs and channels (such as the one below) to the various properties.

Moving on, we wound our way up the hill through the labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys, stopping to buy some supplies in a small shop. We were aiming for the shrine at the top of the hill, so kept picking a way that led upwards through the maze.

It was easy enough to get lost: we didn’t find the market; others we spoke to didn’t find the main street. But we threaded our way upwards bit by bit, finding our way more by luck than judgement. Nearer to the top, our progress was counted-down by the Stations of the Cross. We reached the shrine only to find it closed: no problem – the views were good even if many summits were hidden by low cloud.

Ambling back down, we could see right over village and admired the complex pattern of roofs, patios and towers. We decided it was time for a drink and a bite of lunch, so we sought out a recommended café – Isa y Toni – and took refuge inside from the rain. Over coffee and tapas (meatballs and pork stew) we heard the awful news of the devastating earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

After lunch, we followed the road out of the village along the valley towards the Font de L’Acantera and the little bridge that crossed the stream. From time to time we passed the wreck of a car or caravan in the gulch below us, a reminder, if one was needed, that driving these roads can be a hazardous occupation.

From the bridge, we took a path along the bottom of the valley, from where we could see better how the terracing and irrigation worked to benefit the fruit production. Then it was just a short walk along the road back to the hotel, where we spent a relaxing afternoon resting and reading. Because today was the free day, dinner was optional so people could make their own arrangements. Although the group split up for the day, the food at L’Hort de Gloria was so good everyone decided to eat there again at night. After a mountain of mouth-watering tapas had been served, an enormous dish of paella arrived – enough for fourteen, plus seconds. We tried so hard to do it justice …….

Saturday 12th March 2011

Day 7: Sella Valley – approx 9.88 miles

Route Summary:

Rifugi Font de L’Arc – La Foya Roja – Collado Blanc – Foothills – Mas de Sanxet de Baix – Valley – Rifugi Font de L’Arc

Route:

So, at the end of a pretty soggy week, you’d imagine our last day – our crowning glory – would be a successful ascent of Puig Campana in glorious sunshine, right? Wrong! Saturday dawned wetter than ever – it was tipping it down.

This area is reckoned to have the most benign climate in Europe, with over 300 days of sunshine per year. Well, that leaves 60-odd days during which it can rain, so all I can say is that after this week, some future visitor’s odds of great weather have significantly improved!

Adjudging the planned steep ascent to be unwise in such conditions, Jose offered instead a winding walk amongst the foothills of La Moleta, Tossal de Retor and Penyo Cabal. We followed a track from the Refugi Font de L’Arc, passing the climbing area once more before taking a higher-level track into the hills.

As we gained height, we could see glimpses of the valley between the swirling clouds and rain. Where the track levelled out we came upon a farmhouse – even here, in rural Spain, recognised as such by the telltale detritus of broken-down vehicles. Our route cut across some terracing to reach the top of a narrow gully.

A well-made path zig-zagged into the gloom. It was a pity visibility was so poor – this was a great section of path, enjoyable enough even in such conditions. Apparently, it was an important mule track from the mountains to the coast, and was well guarded at defensible points such as this.

At the bottom of the ravine, we contoured round the hillside for a few minutes on a narrow path. We reached a well near another dilapidated house. Here we stopped for a quick snack, whereupon Jose rustled up an entire almond cake from the depths of his rucksack, slices of which were doled out to accompany our pain-au-chocolat. At least, if the weather was not good, the snacks were.

Then we hit the track again, rising steadily all the time. The cloud was trying to lift, pinnacles of rock appearing out of the gloom as we walked on. A short while later, after veering off at a junction of paths, we reached our lunch stop at a disused farmstead, La Carresca. In a moment of good fortune, the weather relented slightly and we were able to enjoy our al fresco lunch in the relative dry, looking up at the surrounding low, rocky summits.

After lunch (short stop, large baguette) we made our way back to the junction of paths and began our return route along a series of tracks sticky underfoot with a particularly adhesive, pale grey clay. Ahead, the lower slopes of Puig Campana put in a brief appearance.

Finally, we picked up our outward route again as we wandered along the valley to the climber’s refuge at Font de L’Arcs.

Later that evening, we all enjoyed another mammoth meal of soup, garlic bread, steak and salads – a fitting spread for our farewell dinner. It had been an easy-going group of roughly equal walking ability, and, despite the wet weather, we had all had a good time and got on well together, both during the walks and through evenings of easy-going banter and literary discussion. Even waking on the morning of our departure to sunny skies and warm temperatures couldn’t spoil the holiday. After a great week of walking, chatting and good company, I think we were all sad at the prospect of leaving.

Scaling New Heights

First things first: I am not – and never have been – possessed of a Whippet-like build. Nor, unlike many a mountain-goer, am I one of God’s natural athletes. Aside from walking I indulge in little regular exercise, but my outings in the hills usually keep me in trim, or thereabouts, and a week’s walking holiday often sorts out the rest. A love of food – especially of the stodgy, winter variety – frequently means the addition of a pound or two in weight over the colder months, however this usually drops off when the walking picks up again in spring.

Last week, for the first time since before Christmas, I decided to brave the scales. I casually sauntered over confident that, whatever the outcome, it would be within tolerable bounds, but stared in disbelief as the reading shot into previously uncharted territory. “Liar!” was my first thought, before the panic set in and I broke out in a cold sweat.

Frantically trying to regain control of my faculties, I did what anyone would do under the circumstances – no, not go into denial, but went for a wee, divested myself of as many layers of clothing as it is decent to do in daylight, and tried casually to lever myself against the adjacent worktop. “Phew!” I thought, as the reading settled at something closer to “too much” as opposed to “far too much”. With my heart rate dropping back towards normal I came to the realisation this was one problem I couldn’t ignore.

Apart from over the New Year weekend, most of my walks this year had been grabbed as an hour or so here and there, and I had allowed plenty of distractions – bad weather, family birthdays, home football games, etc – to get in the way of getting out and about. I needed to redress this lack of motivation and have a good, long day in the hills again. Besides everything else we had a week’s walking in Spain on a small group holiday coming up soon, and the thought of wheezing along miles behind everyone else was not at all attractive. So a bit of a fitness-boost beforehand would be no bad thing, and this last weekend provided the ideal opportunity.

Saturday was a grey, misty, drizzly day, so we wandered around town for a while, did a bit of shopping, had coffee and cake (yes, I know! I know!), and bought a few more books (do we really need any more books?). Then, in the afternoon, we went a short walk to blow the cobwebs away and work off some of that cake.

Come Sunday, the weather had not improved any but we packed kit, lunch (modest) and coffee (black, unsweetened) into the car and set off for Church Stretton to do a ten-and-a-half miler taking in the Long Mynd, Minton Batch and Little Stretton. We have done this circuit a few times before, so navigation was easy enough and, even as we dropped down into Carding Mill Valley, it was clear that we were going to have an enjoyable walk.

Encouragingly, the pull up to top passed easily enough – perhaps I am not quite as unfit as I thought – and before long we were bowling along towards the high-point of Pole Bank. Although the low cloud and mizzle put paid to the fine views that are normally to be had from the top, it didn’t matter – we were having a great time anyway. Just being out there getting some fresh air and exercise was reward enough.

Despite the conditions, it was still quite busy. At intervals, walkers and MTBers would materialise out of the gloom, exchange greetings, and fade back into the fog. Just before the airfield we swung down into Minton Batch and stopped for lunch – we had at least earned it by now. It was chilly, so we didn’t linger long, although long enough for a flurry of bikers and runners to bluster past. Then on with the return leg: through the lower half of Minton Batch – reminiscent in places of Scotland – past an unacceptably scruffy farm, and via quiet lanes to Little Stretton and the much busier hillside path back to the car; all in all about 4½ hours of really enjoyable walking, and so much better than lazing around.

Whether I am any lighter for it yet, I don’t know; but my mood certainly is. A few more outings like that should start to move things in the right direction weight-wise, too. And it was great to have resisted the lure of an easy day and a cream tea and kick-started our walking again. It may not have been the most challenging of days but at least one “boundary” is a little less pushed than 48 hours ago, for which I am thankful.

Which Way For The YHA?

Last week the YHA announced it’s 2011 Capitol Strategy programme. This outlined plans to invest some £4 million in upgrading around 11 hostels across the England and Wales. Good news, you might think, and for those hostels included it certainly is. But it comes at something of a cost: 8 other hostels are earmarked for closure this year and are to be sold off. This comes on top of the 8 hostels closed in similar circumstances last year. A list of the closures appears below.

Over the years, the YHA has provided low cost accommodation to a huge number of young people and outdoor enthusiasts. It’s holds charitable status with the objective “To help all, especially young people of limited means, to a greater knowledge, love and care of the countryside, and appreciation of the cultural values of towns and cities, particularly by providing youth hostels or other accommodation for them in their travels, and thus to promote their health recreation and education.” As mission statements go, fairly succinct.

However, it is quite well known amongst members that the YHA has had problems in the last few years. The recent model seems not to have been financially viable with traditional hosteller numbers dwindling, so the organisation has decided to upgrade hostels and services to appeal to a new, more family-friendly customer (offering such things as smaller, family rooms for 2 – 4 people, en suite facilities, more mod cons, etc) which in turn means an expensive refurbishment programme, particularly testing in this new age of austerity when funding of all types is in short supply. On a more mundane level it could also do with resolving minor irritations such as the bedding packs and the infuriating booking situation.

So the plan appears to be to sell off some of the properties it owns – those that might realise a good income and/or which might require a significant spend to bring up to the new standard. Funds raised through the sell-off can then be used to upgrade other hostels in the network. It just seems a shame that so many of the properties up for sale are in countryside locations. Once sold off some properties may stay as hostels in the independent sector; but more will inevitably become private dwellings. Commercially it does make sense to sell off properties that can rake in the cash, but you can only sell off the family silver once, and although refurbishments, upgrades and new hostels are happening, they are often not in like-for-like places.

The loss of rural properties may be hard-felt by the outdoor community. Certainly some are widely used and very popular. Closure of the Derwentwater hostel is being questioned especially as it is regularly busy and seems to be more than paying it’s way. Of the 16 hostels up for closure 5 are in the Lake District. Anyone who tries to book – whether hostel, B&B, hotel, camping – anywhere in the Lakes will tell you how difficult it is to find availability, pretty much all year: so much so it would seem almost impossible not to run a profitable accommodation if it were run anything like properly. It is anomalies such as these that are making some members feel slightly uneasy; that maybe rural properties are being sacrificed in favour of city centre ones. I hope not.

I suppose this perfectly encapsulates the dichotomy facing the YHA: some hostels are good, some not so good; some are popular and some are not. It would be interesting to see whether there was any correlation between popularity and condition.

Another area that needs addressing is the pricing structure. Many hostels now are charging around £20 per person for a dormitory bed, with breakfast an addition £5. This adds up to a B&B type price without the B&B facilities (own room, often en suite, towels provided, beds made up, cleaned up after, etc, plus breakfast). I was recently offered room for two people (no en suite) for £55 – that’s £27.50 per person per night before breakfast - and it’s more for non-members. The experience will have to catch up with the price pretty quickly.

I have been a member of the YHA for several years now. Like many hostellers I meet, “youth” is something I only vaguely remember, but I enjoy the hostelling experience and always try to go at least half a dozen times a year. The camaraderie can be good, as can the option of self-catering if you want to do that. And you can usually make an early start if you do your own breakfast.

I hope the outcome of their new strategy is a positive one and that these sell-offs help to get YHA back on a more stable footing, allowing them to rejuvenate the rural part of the network in due course. If not, the loss of so many properties in such wonderful locations will be hard to bear.

The following YHA Hostels are closed or closing:

Derwentwater / Helvellyn / Hawkshead / Osmotherley / Salisbury / Arundel / Newcastle / Hunstanton / Capel Curig / Totland / Kendal / Scarborough / Grasmere Thorney Howe / River Dart / Saffron Walden.

Exeter in Devon will be on the market later next year.

Forest Grump

I’m not intending to get overly political on here, but something has recently been brought into sharp focus. I have been reading “Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman!” by Nobel Prize-winning physicist Richard Feynman. Amongst the articles is one in which he bemoans the increasing occurrence of fake science and the lack of experimental rigor applied in much research. This is how Feynman concludes a lecture on scientific integrity and the increasing prevalence of pseudoscience:

“So I have just one wish for you – the good luck to be somewhere where you are free to maintain the kind of integrity I have described, and where you do not feel forced by a special need to maintain your position in the organisation, or financial support, or so on, to lose your integrity. May you have that freedom.“

The integrity he refers to is the opportunity for the scientist to maintain a scrupulous honesty in his work. The argument goes something like this: decide what you want to investigate, test it using approved experimental procedures, and record accurately the results. Then publish the findings – and here is the bit where the integrity comes in – whether or not they support the initial supposition. It is OK to be wrong – you may be on the way to discovering something new instead!

What struck me today is how different the political process is from the kind of approach used in science. In politics, a problem is identified, reports are commissioned to investigate the matter – let us assume for the moment by independent, trust-worthy researchers – and the findings published. Two further processes then occur that don’t really occur in science; the findings are forced through an ideological sieve – to remove anything unpalatable – and the remainder subject to spin, before conclusions are drawn. So the results, it could be argued, may be subject to more scrutiny, but the difference is that that scrutiny is, in one way or another, biased.

So, what has this got to do with walking? Well, I have been thinking about the above and applying it to the proposed sell-offs of both the Forestry Commission woodlands and our National Nature Reserves to private owners.

Although proposals regarding a sell-off of National Nature Reserves have been ditched for the time being, those relating to the Forestry sell-off are now at the consultation stage and input about their future standing is being sought. MPs have recently voted on the issue of the Forestry sell-off and decided to proceed to consultation with an unmodified version of the proposal; this despite serious concerns voiced by experts and professionals in the field. On top of this there is a huge groundswell of public opinion against these proposals: not scientific in itself, I agree, but indicative of the general public feeling – call it a gut instinct, if you like – that it is the wrong thing to do.

But my big beef with the vote – and I appreciate this applies to many situations, not just this one - is that if you examine the results in detail you can see they are split quite obviously along party political lines. I’m not quite sure how, in the fullness of time, this approach will lead to the outcome that is best for the public, the forests or their wildlife. Whatever the results of the consultation, and however strong the public opposition, can we trust our MPs to put aside their political affiliation, judge the evidence impartially and make the correct judgement? I fear not.

There is a serious worry that private ownership will not provide the best future for those forests and will not necessarily maintain the relatively free public access to these spaces that we currently enjoy. Government officials are trying to assure us that all will be fine and that legislation will protect our woodlands, drawing comparisons with the protection we have for Rights of Way. But legislation can be changed: watered down in future parliaments. Governments often drive through unpopular measures claiming that they have a mandate from the people and it was part of their manifesto when in fact all that existed was a vague reference buried deep somewhere in the document. And, as any walker will know, RoW protection is weak – low down the list of priorities for the police and often subject to lengthy court battles by pressure groups or Councils, both of whom have few resources – either in time or money – to bring the culprits to justice.

It has also been mooted that charitable organisations, trusts and community groups might be able to take on the leases and management of these forests, but where the money for them to do that is to come from is unclear at the moment. Until that is resolved, it seems the idea offers no real prospect.

So I am in full support of the campaign. Whether or not the sell-off is halted entirely, whether it results in a re-draft of the proposal, or whether it will be pushed through unchanged despite all the concerns expressed, only time will tell. But I, for one, am hoping that a degree of common sense prevails and the judgement is made in the best interests of the forests and the public.

Go to www.38degrees.org.uk for more information on this and to support the campaign.

Access All Areas

There’s been a bit of chat lately on a couple of walking-related Internet forums about Access Land and whether, as walkers, we are getting as much out of it as we might. Access Land is the term used to describe land in England and Wales recently designated by the Countryside Agency on which the public can now walk and explore freely, without the need to stick to marked footpaths; land previously off-limits to walkers or, at best, accessible only by tacit agreement with the landowner.

These areas were drawn up as a result of the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000 (often referred to at the time as “The Right To Roam” – of which more later) and which came into effect from late 2004 onwards, also the date from which the Ordnance Survey began showing the designated areas on their Explorer range of 1:25,000 scale maps. Around this time, signs and information also began to appear at the boundaries of Access Land.

At the time there were quite a lot of column-inches devoted to these newly created areas, about how this was the culmination of 75 years of campaigning and the final realisation of the legacy of the 1932 mass trespass on Kinder Scout: a new freedom for all and a victory for the common man over the intransigent landowner. The creation of Access Land was, of course, a key constituent of the CRoW Act 2000 and hailed as a major victory for walkers both by the Ramblers Association and others. It is a noble concept that appeals to the liberated citizen in us and widely celebrated, but I suspect that, outside of the very keenest walkers, few actually take much notice of those areas even if they know what they are.

So, with areas designated, maps annotated and signs posted, the walking fraternity flocked to the fells to blaze new trails across this previously untapped resource, right? Well, apparently not - if the conversation across the ether is anything to go by.

In fact it seems as though it has made very little impact at all, so far. There are those who already took advantage of the open uplands, whether completely legally or otherwise: for them little will have changed. For others, the desire to remain on pre-determined paths is overwhelmingly strong. In many other countries, even those with vast areas of wilderness, most hiking is on designated trails or ancient paths and tracks. There seems to be a deep-set urge inside us, possibly from our nomadic past, to follow ancient and established routes – perhaps reinforced by a feeling of being in tune with the rhythms of nature and the folds of the landscape. Of course there are exceptions, but I would estimate that a very large percentage of walking is still on marked paths.

For me, there is nothing finer than the idea of pioneering a new route in glorious countryside, grabbing a slice of wilderness and getting away from the crowds. I know many who don't feel the same - who either lack the desire or the confidence to do so - and their experiences are just as valuable and valid to them as mine are to me. But for those few who do wish to venture off the beaten track the question is “How do I get the best from it?”

Looking at the maps for inspiration is a start, and it doesn’t take long for the colours, symbols and contours to work their magic. Intuitive lines seem to rise from the page – a ridge here, a summit there - and routes often fall readily into place. So far, so good; but the major problems facing the Access Lander now become more apparent. The question now is whether or not the route is passable on the ground.

Maps do show a number of official entry points to Access Land, and it is often easy to spot where paths intersecting or running beside Access Land boundaries might provide ingress. Beyond that, though, things become less clear as there is no sure way of knowing whether subsequent boundaries, streams or other obstacles can be readily crossed. Access Land or not, damaging property – such as walls or fences – is not an option.

Nor is it always easy to tell what the condition of the ground is. Some areas of upland can be notoriously wet and boggy, covered in tussocks of grass and reeds, or be a minefield of sinkholes. Therefore, it may be a rewarding way to spend an hour or two exploring an area with no target in mind, but it makes it difficult to incorporate such land as part of a longer route without prior knowledge of the conditions that might be encountered or whether the route is passable all the way through.

Coupled with that, the law allows for intermittent closure of Access Land for the protection of wildlife, ground nesting birds or livestock, and for a variety of other reasons such as maintenance, safety, etc. It is quite difficult to understand what is covered in these conditions – what reasons allow for temporary closures, how long they might last and what sort of notice has to be given. Websites need to be consulted, and finding the information is not particularly straightforward. Suffice it to say the situation can change at fairly short notice!

So it may well prove to be a matter of trial and error. Pick your route and maybe don’t commit to too much Access Land without prior knowledge, or at least have a “Plan B” ready for if it doesn’t work out. Gradually, over time, the picture will become clearer as more and more land gets explored. Some areas are already well covered – the Howgills for example, where there are many paths clearly apparent on the ground yet not shown on maps, but that are known about, appear in guidebooks to the area, and are regularly used. I’m sure the situation will be very similar in lots of places across the country – the Lakes, the Peak District, the Yorkshire Dales and North Wales to name just a few.

I dare say blogs might have a big part to play, too. There are lots who are prepared to try a few different things and commit them to cyberspace. Others might then follow in their footsteps, adding their own twist to proceedings. Eventually, routes might appear in print – perhaps not in the conventional manner, but in a way that gives useful information about the quality of line/route, underfoot conditions and terrain, the best access points, boundaries and streams and how easy they are to cross, danger areas, and whether compass navigation is needed.

Whether Access Land as we now have it is the best way of dealing with the situation is a moot point. Many feel that a massive opportunity was missed to push for a model similar to that operating in Scotland. In my opinion, referring to it as "The Right to Roam" was something of a mistake, too - both in the sentiment if infers and the actuality of the legislation. The fact is that as a phrase it has the ability to rub landowners up the wrong way and, at the same time, inform poorly the general walker as to their rights. I speak to quite a lot of people (admittedly not all keen walkers) who think we are now perfectly entitled to traipse anywhere regardless.

But, since the situation is unlikely to be revisited anytime soon, we must make the most of things as they are, working within the uneasy truce that now exists. We must also resist the temptation to think that the job is already done. In reality, it may only be the next generation of walkers that experience the true benefit. In the meantime, I hope to make a few “off-piste” trips of my own in the coming year and to add a little extra spice to my walking. After all, the most important thing is to enjoy it - whatever you do.

Out with the old, in with the new.

It seems like no time at all since the flaming shades of autumn were gracing the countryside and we were enjoying beautiful walks in the Peak District and the Shropshire Hills. The warm, sunny days were full of promise; ice and snow seemed a long way away.

Since then, though, winter arrived with a vengeance, locking the country in its icy grip and threatening to bury Christmas under inches of snow. What with shortening days, the weather, preparations for Christmas and family commitments, the last weeks of 2010 yielded only a few short local walks – all pleasant enough in their own way but lacking a little in challenge.

Consequently our annual mileage total suffered slightly too, coming in at around 650 miles – a little down on our best year, but good enough considering we had family to look after and only took one two-week vacation. A few days off over the festive period yielded three short circuits in Shropshire – a final flurry for 2010 – plus a good start to the New Near clocking up 20 or so miles in and around Dentdale.

Now our thoughts turn to 2011 and the possibilities that lie ahead. Although the days are still short, bit-by-bit they are drawing out. In the meantime, the long January long evenings provide a great opportunity for planning, and holidays are at the forefront of our considerations. In the next few days we will have a couple of trips booked; something concrete to look forward to, to pull us towards spring and to make things look a bit brighter in these still-dark days.

I’m sure there is more winter to come. Travel might be yet be difficult and the days cold once more. But, although there is always the chance of one of those crisp, clear, bright spells that make for great winter walking, it’s nice to have something to focus on that can infuse a warm glow when the chilly, grey days return.

I have high hopes for the coming year, looking forward to new places visited and more miles walked – and a bit more blogging, too. So here’s to 2011 – let’s hope it’s a good vintage!