Cool camping in Coniston

It was to be Islay's first trip in the motorhome. Hence, this post contains an above average number of cute puppy pics. You have been warned.

Squeezing in a few days between a mad spate of supply days for poor Chrissie, we set off, late on Thursday with some wild weather forecast. Calling in to see my parents in Wetherby along the way we then continued, in darkness, on the A1M and thence up Wensleydale to park at a known spot near Hawes for the night.

We splashed through a lot of standing water on the roads but thankfully nothing really marred our progress and, by around 10pm, we were settled in for the night.

Islay was quite fazed by being wobbled about in the back of our home-on-wheels. Reluctant to leave the safety of the sofa she quietly whinged as we sped along the lanes.

We spent a VERY windy night at the head of the dale.

In the morning we attempted a short walk from Hardraw to Hawes, but were thwarted by floods, wild winds and lashing rain, frightening poor Islay to death and leaving her shivering with cold and fear. We retreated to the van. The photo doesn't quite show the ferocity of the river through Hardraw.

Heading towards Coniston, we reached Sedbergh in time for lunch and a wander, the weather now, amazingly, calm and clear. A stop before the town revealed wonderful views of the surrounding fells, including the Howgills, where I'd been backpacking only a week earlier.

By the time we reached the Caravan Club site just south of Coniston, it was mid afternoon and time for a short walk. We knew we'd be restricted to puppy-length hikes for this trip but were content with the relaxation that offered.

Having stretched our legs, Islay was still looking unsure of her surroundings ...

... but settling in was helped, of course, by snuggles with big sis, Pebbles (cue, aaaws).

Next day, Saturday, we had a date with Twitter friends, Peter and Oscar, the mountain dog. Arriving mid morning, they joined us for an amble into Coniston, lunch in a dog-friendly caff (another first for Islay) and a steady return, across the fields, back to the van for coffee and cake.

It was good to see Peter and Oscar, and Islay was quick to ingratiate herself by nestling into the big lab's sumptuous fur coat. Oscar's calming influence was noticeable in the company of our two boisterous youngsters.

At nine, Oscar's a veteran of many a backpacking trip with Peter; I wonder if he might've whispered a few camping tips to Pebbles and Islay. Hopefully, once Islay's legs are a bit longer, we'll be able to catch up with Peter and Oscar on a wild camp somewhere high.

Saturday's weather had been quite pleasant; mostly dry, but Sunday saw a return to rain. Undaunted, with the pups wrapped  up against the wet, we braved the elements for a wander along the lakeside.

Life with two puppies can be quite challenging (remember, Pebbles is only 10 months old and, despite her size, very much a puppy still), but both seem to be doing really well walking on leads. We've always found this a challenge in the past but seem to be benefiting from attendance at our local dog training club and regular walking thanks to being, mostly, retired now. The weekend did reveal a couple of problems with Pebbles' recall when off the lead but we're confident this will improve given time and effort on our part.

Back in the van, with a couple of days and nights behind her, Islay was beginning to look more at home.

Pebbles, of course, has several van trips to her credit now, including a month in France in September last year. So she is now taking life in the motorhome in her boxer stride ...

  

... her influence clearly rubbing off on our little labrador.

Monday arrived and we packed for home, pausing for a walk around Grasmere ...

... where we bought gingerbread and spotted a flock of beautiful Greylag Geese.

Then we set off towards the M6. Along the way, it was nice to stop for coffee and stickies with Ria, another Twitter friend, and her husband Bob. Bob and Ria had kindly fed and sheltered me for the night back in May last year on my LEJOG cycle ride and it was really pleasant to catch up with them AND the pups enjoyed another cafe experience, while we heard tales of the difficulties caused by the flood damaged bridge in Kendal, where they live.

And with forecasted high winds, it was with some trepidation that we hit the motorway system for our journey home. In the event, save for a little buffeting, we had no problems and by teatime we were safely back in the bosom of the Peak District, dreaming of trips to come.

James' big walk in the States

In August this year, my friend James, aka Backpackingbongos, is taking on a really big challenge. Flying over the pond to Denver, Colorado, he's planning to walk 486 miles over the Rocky Mountains along the Colorado Trail to Durango. James reckons it'll take him 6 weeks to climb a total ascent of an astounding 89000ft. Wow! The trail he'll follow averages 10000ft in altitude and the whole undertaking is unsupported, with James carrying all he needs in a little bag on his back (I may have fibbed about the size of his bag), including a tent, cucumber sandwiches and lashings of ginger beer (I may have fibbed about that too). All on his own and ... he's only a lad!

Whilst having all this "fun" James is hoping to raise some brass for the John Muir Award, administered by the John Muir Trust. The award aims to increase, "awareness, understanding and engagement with nature and wild places". James is funding the trip himself, so all money raised will go to the John Muir Award.

I wish him well and if, like James and I, you love wilderness and all you find there, you might consider supporting this worthy cause on his behalf. If you're tempted, take a look here where it's straightforward to make donation.

You can read much more about James' endeavor in his own inimitable words on his blog, here. 

Good luck James!

By the way, that's James and me, pretending to be mountaineers, in the Cheviots a bit back. Shame he's not as good lookin' as me.

Howling in the Howgills or, will I ever trust our Hilleberg Enan again?

'Seemed like a good plan; a wild camp in every month of the year. I've managed it so far since October 2015 and now it's January 2016. My pal Chris was up for it so, leaving Chrissie puppy sitting, we're bashing up the M6 to Sedbergh on the eastern fringe of Cumbria. It's overcast but dry. We park the Scooby on the edge of a residential estate in the town and head off, with rucsacs, to a cafe.

Smatt's Duo cafe is just what we need. Coffee and a bacon butty set me up for the morning and, noting for the future that the cafe was "very dog friendly" we march off to the hills.

For those not in-the-know the Howgills are that enticing lump of hills you see, on your right, as you approach the (excellent) Westmorland Services on the M6. I've bin here before, but not for a long time.

Heading out of town on the narrow road towards the village of Tebay we soon find a footpath off to the right, up to the fells. We locate the bridleway heading NE past the little top of Winder and begin the steady, plodding ascent towards our first target of the Calf; at 676m, the highest point in these hills.

We're chattering, gossiping, puttin' the world to rights and it's not too long before we find ourselves on the little saddle of Rowantree Grains, chewing on a pork pie and supping welcome water. We've a fine view across the Lune valley and can pick out our return route for tomorrow over Bram Rigg.

We crack on, acknowledging three guys with ridiculous military rucsacs that look like they contain enough each for a family of four; p'raps the family are actually IN the 'sacs?

Gaining the summit ...

... we turn right(ish) to drop into the head of Bowderdale, a beautiful valley with the meandering Bowderdale Beck twisting and turning (meandering, actually Geoff) its way towards the infant River Lune.

We wander down the side, wondering at the "intelligence" of whoever thought it a sound idea to ride a motorbike up here, making an awful mess of the path. Chris and I have both ridden off-road motorbikes but just can't see any logic in thrashing up here on one.

We aim to get as far down the valley as we can before camping somewhere on the flat ground near the river. The forecast for tonight and tomorrow is rain, rain and more rain so we don't want our return route to be any longer than necessary. 

Eventually, we find a likely spot. The tents are up quick but I'm still filtering water when the rain hits, gentle at first. We're soon both hunkered down in our shelters, doors zipped up, contemplating, brewing, building a home for the night. There's no conversation between us; the wind's too noisy.

It's the first time I've erected our Hilleberg Enan in serious wind. No matter how hard I try, I can't get sufficient tension on the fabric on the windward end of the single pole tent. Chris has an Akto (on which the lighter Enan is based) and has the same problem. The Enan's a three season tent but it's warm, predictedly no cooler than 8 or 9C overnight, hence my choice for this trip instead of our heavier, four season shelter.

Nursing a coffee, I watch drips appear, grow and drop from the tunnel sleeve, landing on my, just dried, Paramo jacket and make a note to check the sealing there when I return home.

I cook inside, with just a slight opening from the top of the door to allow the escape of nasty gases from my Jetboil stove. "Look What We've Found" chilli, pitta bread, rice pudding, cheese and oatcakes make a fine repast before I lie, listening to the radio, sipping whisky from my flask. All this, to the accompaniment of crashing and banging of wind against silnylon as the tiny tent resists attack after attack from the elements.

Finally, numbed by the malt, I give in and ... sleep.

Waking in the early hours I feel damp on the outside of my cosy down bag; putting it down to condensation.

Rising around 7am I find the bag's surface seriously wet. I'm warm and dry inside still, but the tent inner is seriously soaked around its middle and it becomes clear that the pole tunnel seam has been letting in water. The foot of the inner, and my bag, along with the head end, including all my clothes there, are totally dry. There's a puddle on the floor in the middle of the inner and the pockets, containing my phone, camera and Kindle are both wet, being at a point near the lower end of the pole sleeve. Thankfully nothing's damaged, but I'm disappointed. It's the first Hilleberg tent we've bought and, at £600 (far and away the most expensive tent we've ever bought) I expect better. Previously, we've only used Terra Nova tents and both manufacturers claim their tents shouldn't need seams sealing but Terra Nova suggest doing so if you want guaranteed waterproofing, whereas Hilleberg do not. Given I've yet to stuff the damp bag into its compression sac I'm thankful I don't plan on a second night. It'd be a different issue with such a failure on a multi-day trip.

Resolving to address the issue with Hilleberg, I breakfast on "Geoff's secret recipe muesli porage", lashings of coffee and choccy biccys. Chris calls to me, asking when I might be ready for off. We agree on 40 minutes. The wind's still howling. The rain's still lashing.

Packing inside our tents, we emerge within minutes of each other and take each tent down two-handed but I still suffer a slightly bent pole. It's proving to be an eventful trip.

As the rain eases for a moment I take these quick pics of our pitch and you can see the problem with the wind on the Enan; and yes, I do know how to pitch a tent properly. Chris's Akto looks marginally better due to the twin poles and, hence extra guy lines at the end.

Now, we're off. The wind is funneling down the valley and I can't face heading straight into the teeth of it so we agree to tackle our intended route over West Fell, back to the Calf.

To say it's a tough walk would be a gross understatement. It's many years since I've experienced such a hard walk in the hills, evoking memories of rescue callouts when nobody but a rescue team would've been out on Kinder. It really is bloody awful. We plod uphill. First into the wind then, as we ascend, the wind becomes south westerly, constantly challenging us to stay on our feet. Sometimes it's blowing my trekking poles so much I give up on them, the benefit I'm gaining outweighed by the fight to place the poles.

I'm wearing my Paramo Aspira smock and Berghaus Paclite overtrousers over my Rohan Striders. As I walk I can feel damp around my most personal, private bits. Gradually this changes to wet across my thighs. I remember this happening before, exactly 26 years ago on a January walk over Dow Crag. Then too it was rain and a howling gale. I had been wearing Mountain Equipment Goretex over Rohan salopettes and was wet, right down to my undies.

Frankly, I just want to sit down and cry for my mummy. But we need to get back. I dig deep, wondering if Chris is suffering like me. We pause. He looks at me and says, "I'm having a bit of a crash", or something similar. Relieved, I tell him I'm right on my limit. We do our best to grin and push on. Meeting our outbound route at a saddle we pause and fuel up. There's a slight lull in the wind here. Then we press on, pass the summit of the Calf and agree to retrace steps from yesterday instead of a longer planned return route. Spirits are raised as we begin to descend. Always a telling point, we begin to chat again and, as we approach Sedbergh, we're laughing, talking of how long that walk will live in memory. How it'll become a tale to tell.

In Sedbergh, first stop is Smatt's Duo cafe again and we warm ourselves with coffee and butties, chips for Chris, sausage for me. A free, filter coffee refill lifts my tight-fisted spirits still further and we're off back to the car. I strip off my Aspira top to find my shirt virtually dry, moist only with sweat. My trousers and undies are wet through. I replace them with spares and merino long johns; not the best of looks but at least I'm warm and dry. An interesting comparison though, between the performance of a Paramo top as against Goretex overtrousers in identical conditions. I've long known that atmospheric conditions can affect the performance of Goretex, but had never made such a direct comparison with Paramo. There ya go eh? Make of it what you will.

While writing this I received a reply to an email to Hilleberg this morning. My message detailed the problem just as I have above. Here's their response:

Hello Geoff

Enan is made in a very thin fabric.

We will have to look at the tent to decide if the seam is a warranty issue.

Just contact your retailer to make a claim.

It is obvious that the seams in your tent doesent keep out the rain after the heavy winds.

It could be repairable with some seam sil and if you like I could send you a tube?

Mvh / Regards

Slightly strange answer, but, suffice to say, I've just emailed Taunton Leisure to send it back to them in accordance with Hilleberg's, sort-of, advice. I'll let you know how we get on.

On a further note re the Enan. We've noticed there are attachments for two extra guys on the triangular ends. Chrissie emailed them this morning and they say you can add extra guys. In addition, their website says you should ALWAYS use ALL guying points EVERY TIME you pitch the tent. But they don't supply guy lines or pegs to do that. Of course, that means they can quote super, super light weights doesn't it (as do most other tent manufacturers)? Me ... a cynic? Surely not.

An interesting little trip!

My 2015; a review of the year

With apologies to our friend James from whom I pinched this idea. I thought I'd take a look back at my 2015, month by month, and the fun I've had in the big wide outdoors.

As the year opened, Chrissie and I were mourning the passing of Dixie, our precious boxer, who'd left us for more heavenly pastures just before Christmas. Bless her memory. This was taken on her last summer trip across Europe in 2014.

It wasn't the easiest of times but we found ways to soldier on. We bought a bigger backpacking tent and, joined by James and Reuben we spent a cold, January night with Tilly near Mermaids Pool on Kinder. We were cosy in our winter bags and Tilly slept in her warm Hurrta, fleece coat.

Also, in January, we spent a week or so in Grantown-on-Spey in the van. We had some wonderful walks, mostly low due to the snow. It was damn cold and we beat a hasty retreat having seen a forecast of heavy snowfall, crossing the Drummochter Pass just before it closed.

A predominance of wet weather in February saw lots of prepping for my upcoming LEJOG cycle tour. I made a final decision about the route and loaded it into my bicycle satnav. I was doing lots of cycling to maintain, if not improve, cycling fitness. Chrissie joined me on a route through Lyme park on a bright but particularly icy day.

March saw us dashing up to Northumberland in the van, following widespread reports of views of the Northern Lights. Tilly was suffering a resurgence of her spinal problem so could only manage short walks. We exercised her as much as possible each day then went cycling. We DID get an early morning view of the Northern Lights but only faint so no photos were possible.

For me, April 2015 was very much the month-before-LEJOG. Final prep was done, the focus being on EXACTLY what to take with me. Eventually, the moment came to organise this mess on the spare bed ...

... into some semblance of order, so it fitted into the five luggage bags on my beautiful Thorn touring bike.

Then, in May, I was off. The journey took the whole month. The tale's already been told on here so now I'll content myself with these thoughts. First, among other things, the endeavour taught me what I'm capable of, both physically and mentally, in my 6th decade of life, and secondly, the journey was made so much easier thanks to the support of many kindnesses from friends and strangers, many of whom I met through the weird, unexpected medium of the internet. Thanks again to you all.

I finished just in time for Chrissie's birthday in June and, having met with her and Tilly in John O'Groats, we journeyed south and home. Along the way, this little bundle of mischief joined the Crowther household.

Pebbles is our fourth boxer, but she's Chrissie's umpteenth, my lovely wife having been born into a household with two boxer dogs. Anyone who knows puppies will know that, for the first few months of their life, everything revolves around them, but we did manage to get up to the North York Moors in the van, giving her a first taste of life in our home-on-wheels. This photo was taken as she cuddled up to Tilly during a visit to my parents' home in Wetherby as we drove to the Moors.

In July, I reacquainted myself with backpacking, taking Tilly for a three day walk across the Peak District from Yorkshire, back home to Derbyshire. Thankfully, due to invaluable help from our vet and Tilly's orthopaedic surgeon, our lovely lab was back to good fitness, aided by appropriate medication.

At the beginning of August I had another short solo overnight on Kinder to try out our new Hilleberg Enan.

The Enan was bought, primarily, cos, also in August, Chrissie went on an amazing week-long adventure with James in Sarek, Arctic Sweden. No apologies for posting one of James' fabulous pics here, showing Chrissie; tiny in the jaw-dropping landscape. Read all about the trip here on Chrissie's blog.

They had a terrific time. So much so that Chrissie and I are off to a different part of Arctic Sweden in August 2016.

Just after Chrissie came home we set off in the van for a four week trip to Brittany. We were looking for some gentle, pup-friendly walking and relaxation.

 

At the start of October, my friend Chris invited me to join him on a two night backpack in the Lakes, starting from Keswick and finishing in Grasmere.

Later in October I cycled the Way of the Roses, from Morecambe to Bridlington, again with Chris, camping along the way.

We had a weekend on the edge of the North York Moors in the van along with James and Reuben in early November. It was horrible weather across most of the UK but we stayed dry, mostly.

And the end of November saw Chrissie and I backpacking together, minus dogs, in fresh snow on the lower slopes of Kinder, trying out the tent we were thinking of using for our Arctic Sweden trip.

Although the tent was adequate, we came to the conclusion our 3-person tent would be more comfortable for the journey so ... in December, we left the dogs with friends and took off on a two nighter on the North York Moors, declaring the big tent a hit for two, especially in poor weather. It was chilly; note ice in second pic.

It's been a fine year for adventures great and small.

But, in a cruel twist of fate, on 19th December, the final Saturday before Christmas, the very same day as last year when Dixie passed away, we were forced to let Tilly, our beautiful chocolate labrador, join her boxer pal. Another Christmas tinged with sadness.

God bless Tilly.

Thank you sincerely for all the supportive messages we received here and on Twitter. Bless you all.

The day after Tilly left, we threw all we needed into the van and dashed off up to the North York Moors again to meet up with James and Reuben and clear our heads. Tears were shed and memories shared. We had a very, very wet walk. So wet we took no pics but here's a quick one of James' new camper, alongside ours. A Fiat Doblo fitted with an Amdro Boot Jump camping unit, it's a very clever little motor; read all about it here.

And the postcript. Well, in a repeat of previous events I reckoned we didn't need two dogs again, which goes no way to explain why, on the 23rd December, this tiny bundle of fluff arrived in our home.

Islay (the "y" is silent) is another chocolate lab girl.  She'd been sold by a breeder to a family in London who, after three weeks, decided they didn't want her. Destiny took a hand and, as the breeder went to collect her again, we made a decision and she came to spend her life with us.

So Christmas will be a bittersweet experience here; a mixture of sadness and fun. Soon, it will be the start of another new year. I pray my tears will be replaced by happy memories. A new era begins with two, relatively new pups. We have lots planned but, as ever, it'll all be built round our love for our dogs.

Merry Christmas and the very happiest of new years to all of you from me, Chrissie, Pebbles, Islay ... and Dixie ... and Tilly, who live, with love, in our memories forever.

Smile.