Shhh, I've moved here: unterwegs.uk ...
24 October 2020
13 December 2017
C2C once more 3
It is day two on our walk. Today, Kat and I are walking from Orton to Kirkby Stephen, whereas A&A are leaving us after breakfast. The sun is shining and it's getting hot. We visit a stone circle. A man on horseback makes us aware of a young raven nearby. There are a lot more prehistoric and more contemporary sites to see today, the Severals Village settlement, the Giants' Graves, the Smardale Gills Viaduct. We also cross the first moors and are stopped by a gang of bossy cattle on the fields that won't let us through.
In Kirkby Stephen we are staying in a hostel in a converted church. I'm tired of pub food, so we get ingredients for a salad from the small shop across the road. The other hostel guests go to the pub, but we take it easy, read our books and drink tea. Nice.
In Kirkby Stephen we are staying in a hostel in a converted church. I'm tired of pub food, so we get ingredients for a salad from the small shop across the road. The other hostel guests go to the pub, but we take it easy, read our books and drink tea. Nice.
29 November 2017
C2C once more 2
My train is running late, and I almost get off one stop too soon, because there have been no announcements about any delays.
But not to worry. I meet Ashley at McDonalds. I had no idea what she looked like, but she's the only outdoorsy-looking person who's smiling at me. Kat and Alan materialise as well, and we contemplate our options for getting to Shap, our starting point of the walk, while also getting the car to Orton, tonight's finish line. We agree on the most complicated and expensive (and probably only) option: Kat and I take a taxi to Orton, with A&A following us in their car which they leave at the hotel in Orton, then join us in the taxi to backtrack a bit to Shap.
Outside the George Hotel in Orton, A&A faff around a bit with their gear and their car, and a woman comes out to ask if we want to check in. On noticing us, her cleaner got worried because she hasn't yet cleaned the place. We tell her we'll be back in a few hours. She says her cleaner is quite slow and we should take our time.
Day 1
In Shap, we finally start walking. Shap was our finish line when we did the first part of the C2C, five long years ago. I still remember the pain in my feet after a very long walk which also went over Kidsty Pike, the highest point of the whole C2C. The word "Erschoepfungsbruch" comes to mind - bone fracture due to exhaustion. Arriving at the ruins of Shap Abbey, we were feeling like ruins ourselves, and I didn't appreciate the long walk to the supposedly best pub of the town.
But today, I'm still fresh, fairly fit, and well rested. Also, the Lakes are said to be the hardest part of the C2C, so it should be easy from here on. The weather is pleasant, we walk past a farm where a woman is rebuilding a dry stone wall. She tells us that they have to tear it down and rebuild it every year to get the tractor through.
We meet a few excitable Americans who are looking for prehistoric sites. There will be many more to come: excitable Americans as well as prehistoric sites.
After a leisurely first day, we arrive in Orton and stop at Kennedy's, a chocolate factory. The showers and pub. We're enjoying our pints when suddenly a minibus-load of young farmers storms the bar and the loos. It's a boogie bus. A&A explain the concept. In the countryside, the young people go out this way: a minibus takes them from pub to pub, where they have a wee and buy a bottle of beer, which they then have in the bus on their way to the next village. It's a spectacle, and over as suddenl;y as it started. 15 minutes later no trace of the young farmers is left - although I'm not going to have a closer look at the loos.
We get sleepy, but take a wander around town before bed, visiting a dark church and an ancient graveyard, and watching the stars.
But not to worry. I meet Ashley at McDonalds. I had no idea what she looked like, but she's the only outdoorsy-looking person who's smiling at me. Kat and Alan materialise as well, and we contemplate our options for getting to Shap, our starting point of the walk, while also getting the car to Orton, tonight's finish line. We agree on the most complicated and expensive (and probably only) option: Kat and I take a taxi to Orton, with A&A following us in their car which they leave at the hotel in Orton, then join us in the taxi to backtrack a bit to Shap.
Outside the George Hotel in Orton, A&A faff around a bit with their gear and their car, and a woman comes out to ask if we want to check in. On noticing us, her cleaner got worried because she hasn't yet cleaned the place. We tell her we'll be back in a few hours. She says her cleaner is quite slow and we should take our time.
Day 1
In Shap, we finally start walking. Shap was our finish line when we did the first part of the C2C, five long years ago. I still remember the pain in my feet after a very long walk which also went over Kidsty Pike, the highest point of the whole C2C. The word "Erschoepfungsbruch" comes to mind - bone fracture due to exhaustion. Arriving at the ruins of Shap Abbey, we were feeling like ruins ourselves, and I didn't appreciate the long walk to the supposedly best pub of the town.
But today, I'm still fresh, fairly fit, and well rested. Also, the Lakes are said to be the hardest part of the C2C, so it should be easy from here on. The weather is pleasant, we walk past a farm where a woman is rebuilding a dry stone wall. She tells us that they have to tear it down and rebuild it every year to get the tractor through.
We meet a few excitable Americans who are looking for prehistoric sites. There will be many more to come: excitable Americans as well as prehistoric sites.
After a leisurely first day, we arrive in Orton and stop at Kennedy's, a chocolate factory. The showers and pub. We're enjoying our pints when suddenly a minibus-load of young farmers storms the bar and the loos. It's a boogie bus. A&A explain the concept. In the countryside, the young people go out this way: a minibus takes them from pub to pub, where they have a wee and buy a bottle of beer, which they then have in the bus on their way to the next village. It's a spectacle, and over as suddenl;y as it started. 15 minutes later no trace of the young farmers is left - although I'm not going to have a closer look at the loos.
We get sleepy, but take a wander around town before bed, visiting a dark church and an ancient graveyard, and watching the stars.
 |
| I can only guess what this means. |
26 November 2017
C2C once more 1
I'm still writing up my holidays. Having finished the Torridon bit, the Coast-to-Coast (C2C) Walk is next - and Kat is about to beat me to it (*click*)!
The C2C crosses the north of England, though well south of Hadrian's Wall. It's almost 200 miles (320 km) long, starts at St. Bees on the west coast by the Irish sea, ends in Robin Hood's Bay on the east coast by the North Sea and crosses three national parks on the way: the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales, and the North York Moors.
Kat and I started walking in St Bees five years ago, crossed the Lake District and finished in Shap, 120 km in. I took some pictures then (*click*), and told some stories about the people we met on the way (*click, click*). But we couldn't leave it unfinished with only 200 km to go, so that was the plan for 11 days in September.
Returning from Torridon, I have a rest day to wash my gear and pack my rucksack again. Tomorrow, I'll take the train to Penrith in the Lakes, where I'll meet up with Kat, and also with Alan and Ashley, our temporary walking companions.
The C2C crosses the north of England, though well south of Hadrian's Wall. It's almost 200 miles (320 km) long, starts at St. Bees on the west coast by the Irish sea, ends in Robin Hood's Bay on the east coast by the North Sea and crosses three national parks on the way: the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales, and the North York Moors.
Kat and I started walking in St Bees five years ago, crossed the Lake District and finished in Shap, 120 km in. I took some pictures then (*click*), and told some stories about the people we met on the way (*click, click*). But we couldn't leave it unfinished with only 200 km to go, so that was the plan for 11 days in September.
Returning from Torridon, I have a rest day to wash my gear and pack my rucksack again. Tomorrow, I'll take the train to Penrith in the Lakes, where I'll meet up with Kat, and also with Alan and Ashley, our temporary walking companions.
22 November 2017
Torridon 7
Today, I'm having a rest day. I've put the memory of my stressful drive up north aside and decide to drive to Applecross, a peninsula that can be reached via a legendary and very steep mountain pass to Bealach na Ba. At the bealach is a car park, and from there you can walk up to a mast and then continue along a nice little ridge to the top of Sgurr a' Chaorachain, a corbett.
I'm quite comfortable with single track roads now - it's easy to stay in my lane when that's the only lane there is! However, I've heard a lot about the steep serpentines on this road, and I'm a little bit nervous.
But no need! Traffic turns out fairly light, and my little car is strong and enjoys the climb. Up at the bealach, I walk up to the mast and turn right - and walk right up the wrong bump first. Oops. Eventually, I find the right ridge to follow - it would have been easier if the clouds were higher up. Two other walkers are ahead of me, and that's good to know. With scrambles, I seem to need permission to go, but if other people are doing them it must be ok.
There are a few small peaks to climb over, some of them very rocky and hands are being used. Such fun! It's like being a monkey child in the trees again.
To my left, I can see the next ridge with almost vertical slopes. To my right is clouds. I reach the end of the spur, which is the top, and have lunch. I turn back, do the scrambles again the other way, giving the bypasses a miss. The clouds lift and I see Skye.
Back at the car park I enjoy the view a bit more before driving over the pass to the Applecross villages. This side is less steep, and the views ahead are lovely - the sea, the islands, the trees and villages by the water.
I stop near the Applecross Inn and have a coffee outside, watching the sea. A little dog really really doesn't like the rocky beach and presses all four feet into the ground, against the pull of its owner. There is a stag in a garden next to the pub. I drive along the coast back to Torridon village, making many stops to let the ten Ferraris pass that have been following me, and enjoy the sun that has come out properly now, and the views.
A quiet day. Lazy. I'm getting ready to leave Torridon tomorrow, but I'll be back for sure. There are a few ridge walks with my name on them. I chat with someone in the hostel who texts his mum because he says she can sense it when he is out hillwalking, and she might worry. I call my parents too.
I'm quite comfortable with single track roads now - it's easy to stay in my lane when that's the only lane there is! However, I've heard a lot about the steep serpentines on this road, and I'm a little bit nervous.
But no need! Traffic turns out fairly light, and my little car is strong and enjoys the climb. Up at the bealach, I walk up to the mast and turn right - and walk right up the wrong bump first. Oops. Eventually, I find the right ridge to follow - it would have been easier if the clouds were higher up. Two other walkers are ahead of me, and that's good to know. With scrambles, I seem to need permission to go, but if other people are doing them it must be ok.
There are a few small peaks to climb over, some of them very rocky and hands are being used. Such fun! It's like being a monkey child in the trees again.
To my left, I can see the next ridge with almost vertical slopes. To my right is clouds. I reach the end of the spur, which is the top, and have lunch. I turn back, do the scrambles again the other way, giving the bypasses a miss. The clouds lift and I see Skye.
Back at the car park I enjoy the view a bit more before driving over the pass to the Applecross villages. This side is less steep, and the views ahead are lovely - the sea, the islands, the trees and villages by the water.
I stop near the Applecross Inn and have a coffee outside, watching the sea. A little dog really really doesn't like the rocky beach and presses all four feet into the ground, against the pull of its owner. There is a stag in a garden next to the pub. I drive along the coast back to Torridon village, making many stops to let the ten Ferraris pass that have been following me, and enjoy the sun that has come out properly now, and the views.
A quiet day. Lazy. I'm getting ready to leave Torridon tomorrow, but I'll be back for sure. There are a few ridge walks with my name on them. I chat with someone in the hostel who texts his mum because he says she can sense it when he is out hillwalking, and she might worry. I call my parents too.
19 November 2017
Torridon 6
After completing my first munro of the day, I leave the Cambridge guys behind and retrace my steps along the narrow ridge. Once back at the chute, I continue on, an easy scramble, looking very scary in places, but every single step is absolutely doable and not too scary.
I'm feeling like I am on top of the world. Only that I can't see the world, just clouds. This is so much fun. I reach another summit and leave it behind when the clouds lift, and I miss out on a spectacular view west over the sea, Ben Alligin, the islands. My view is mostly blocked by the summit I just left. Bummer.
I'm staying ahead of the other group, but comforted by their proximity, indeed very grateful to have them near. Without them I might not have had the confidence to do the ridge. This last munro, Spidean Coire nan Clach, is a short scramble from the trig point, but oh, so exposed. For the first time today, I'm properly frightened to move. There's no rockface to lean against for comfort. I'm not hanging out here but make my way back quickly to the trig point and walk down the zigzags in the scree, a clear path. It ends at a cairn, and my directions tell me that there's a footpath here, going left, leading down the steep slope. Well, there is a footpath, but it soons turns into a landslide, and I can't tell which of the muddy burns is supposed to be my path. There are no foot prints either and visibility is poor.
I wait, thinking that the other group might just be behind me. It's quiet. They don't come, so I keep going. The map says go downhill until you hit a stream. There don't seem to be any difficulties I could run into, although I do see some dark, slippy looking slabs further down, that I'd rather avoid. I carefully make my way downhill, and soon the clouds lift, I see a clear footpath down below, and everything suddenly becomes clear and very easy. The path goes all the way to the road, and some of the guys finally catch up, and we have a chat.
Back at the car I remove my dripping socks and boots and drive back to the hostel. The two guys I met at the Triple Buttress and who went back the way they had come tell me that they were watching me on the ridge while they were walking back down below. I chat with another guy, seemingly a mountaineering veteran, and we invent the midge-sock-dance. This is moving like you're trying to get out of your wet socks quickly when you arrive at your car after a day's walk, while also avoiding to get eaten by the midges.
This guy now sits with his glass of wine at the table next to me, every now and then spraying a bit of RAID in the air around him. I hear "fftt" and then soon after smell the chemicals. I don't mind, he gives me chocolate.
At 9 pm I'm having trouble to stay up any longer. I have tentative plans for tomorrow and nothing left to do, so I go to bed before 10 pm. A minute after closing my eyes I go out like a light.
I'm feeling like I am on top of the world. Only that I can't see the world, just clouds. This is so much fun. I reach another summit and leave it behind when the clouds lift, and I miss out on a spectacular view west over the sea, Ben Alligin, the islands. My view is mostly blocked by the summit I just left. Bummer.
I'm staying ahead of the other group, but comforted by their proximity, indeed very grateful to have them near. Without them I might not have had the confidence to do the ridge. This last munro, Spidean Coire nan Clach, is a short scramble from the trig point, but oh, so exposed. For the first time today, I'm properly frightened to move. There's no rockface to lean against for comfort. I'm not hanging out here but make my way back quickly to the trig point and walk down the zigzags in the scree, a clear path. It ends at a cairn, and my directions tell me that there's a footpath here, going left, leading down the steep slope. Well, there is a footpath, but it soons turns into a landslide, and I can't tell which of the muddy burns is supposed to be my path. There are no foot prints either and visibility is poor.
I wait, thinking that the other group might just be behind me. It's quiet. They don't come, so I keep going. The map says go downhill until you hit a stream. There don't seem to be any difficulties I could run into, although I do see some dark, slippy looking slabs further down, that I'd rather avoid. I carefully make my way downhill, and soon the clouds lift, I see a clear footpath down below, and everything suddenly becomes clear and very easy. The path goes all the way to the road, and some of the guys finally catch up, and we have a chat.
Back at the car I remove my dripping socks and boots and drive back to the hostel. The two guys I met at the Triple Buttress and who went back the way they had come tell me that they were watching me on the ridge while they were walking back down below. I chat with another guy, seemingly a mountaineering veteran, and we invent the midge-sock-dance. This is moving like you're trying to get out of your wet socks quickly when you arrive at your car after a day's walk, while also avoiding to get eaten by the midges.
This guy now sits with his glass of wine at the table next to me, every now and then spraying a bit of RAID in the air around him. I hear "fftt" and then soon after smell the chemicals. I don't mind, he gives me chocolate.
At 9 pm I'm having trouble to stay up any longer. I have tentative plans for tomorrow and nothing left to do, so I go to bed before 10 pm. A minute after closing my eyes I go out like a light.
15 November 2017
Torridon 5
I wake up early after a restless night. Someone snored so hard that my earplugs didn't work. I boil a few eggs and make some sandwiches in preparation for a big day. Yesterday, I looked at Beinn Eighe, today I want to climb it if the conditions are right. The plan is to walk up the Coire Mhic Fhearchair, and if it clears up by then I'll go up and walk the ridge and the two munros.
When I arrive at the car park it's chucking it down, and I sit in the car for a while until the rain quietens down a bit. And off I go.
I get drenched by the rain and dried off by the wind twice before I finally reach the beautiful waterfall of Coire Mhic Fhearchair - a great water feature. It reminds by contrast of a very disappointing waterfall in Tasmania which had looked amazing in pictures, but lack of rain made it all thin and sad. No lack of rain here.
Climbing up alongside the waterfall I meet two guys who are also staying in the hostel. I think they're a couple, and they remind me of another couple I once met walking by that disappoining waterfall in Tasmania - although those two were naked (*click*).
"Nothing prepares you for the sudden view of the Triple Buttress as Loch Coire Mhic Fhearchair is finally reached" is what the walk description says. Triple Buttress my arse. I am well prepared for the sudden view, but the Triple Buttress won't show in the low clouds. The guys decide to turn back. I'm wavering, and then some of the clouds lift, and I can see the chute behind the loch which I'd need to climb up to get to the ridge, and it looks fun. I tell the guys I'm doing it. And walk off in the wrong direction. Oops.
The guys send me on my way, the other way around the loch, crossing the top of the waterfall first. This put them off, as the stepping stones are under water, and the water runs fast. But another group arrives, and I let them cross first. No one falls in, so I follow. They are a mountaineering club from Cambridge Uni and are looking quite confident and tell me they're doing the ridge walk as well, so I decide to follow them for a bit more. And then I realise that they are not going for the chute, but straight up the first munro.
I leave them and scramble my way across a steep boulder field to reach the chute. The chute is very steep and full of crumbly scree, and I need to use my hands, but it doesn't seem dangerous. Slipping might mean a bum-shuffle down, not a broken neck. It's good fun really. Once up, I look over the very narrow ridge, expecting views, but only see clouds.
I walk along the ridge to the westernmost top, the first munro of the day, where I meet the Cambridge group, and we shake hands and say well done to each other.
When I arrive at the car park it's chucking it down, and I sit in the car for a while until the rain quietens down a bit. And off I go.
I get drenched by the rain and dried off by the wind twice before I finally reach the beautiful waterfall of Coire Mhic Fhearchair - a great water feature. It reminds by contrast of a very disappointing waterfall in Tasmania which had looked amazing in pictures, but lack of rain made it all thin and sad. No lack of rain here.
Climbing up alongside the waterfall I meet two guys who are also staying in the hostel. I think they're a couple, and they remind me of another couple I once met walking by that disappoining waterfall in Tasmania - although those two were naked (*click*).
"Nothing prepares you for the sudden view of the Triple Buttress as Loch Coire Mhic Fhearchair is finally reached" is what the walk description says. Triple Buttress my arse. I am well prepared for the sudden view, but the Triple Buttress won't show in the low clouds. The guys decide to turn back. I'm wavering, and then some of the clouds lift, and I can see the chute behind the loch which I'd need to climb up to get to the ridge, and it looks fun. I tell the guys I'm doing it. And walk off in the wrong direction. Oops.
The guys send me on my way, the other way around the loch, crossing the top of the waterfall first. This put them off, as the stepping stones are under water, and the water runs fast. But another group arrives, and I let them cross first. No one falls in, so I follow. They are a mountaineering club from Cambridge Uni and are looking quite confident and tell me they're doing the ridge walk as well, so I decide to follow them for a bit more. And then I realise that they are not going for the chute, but straight up the first munro.
I leave them and scramble my way across a steep boulder field to reach the chute. The chute is very steep and full of crumbly scree, and I need to use my hands, but it doesn't seem dangerous. Slipping might mean a bum-shuffle down, not a broken neck. It's good fun really. Once up, I look over the very narrow ridge, expecting views, but only see clouds.
I walk along the ridge to the westernmost top, the first munro of the day, where I meet the Cambridge group, and we shake hands and say well done to each other.
12 November 2017
Torridon 4
It's day two in Torridon. I get up early - last night, I went to bed before 10 pm. This is good, I'll have a coffee and try to work up an appetite for my sugary muesli - the only type available in the little shop.
The Glasgow boys give me lentil soup and take off. It's chucking it down. I don't know what to do, but I have to leave the hostel for the day, so I decide to drive to the starting point of today's walk and then see how I feel. The plan is to walk a signposted mountain trail in the Beinn Eighe National Nature Reserve.
I arrive at the parking lot and the rain stops. I walk and it's lovely. The rain comes back but it's mostly light now. The trail is very steep but excellent.
At the top it's extremely windy and I'm having trouble to stay upright. I have a snack in the lousy shelter of a large cairn and today, my plan works out: the sun comes out! Only for a few seconds, but it happens twice. And then the rain starts again. Wrapped up in all my layers I start the descent, past a few lovely lochans and across some bubbly streams in spate. They are wonderful. As are the waterfalls on the hills across Loch Maree. All this rain is really bringing out the water features.
I walk down a beautiful gorge, lovely Scots pine, tall and gnarly, all around. When I arrive at the car park I have five minutes in the sun by the loch before the torrential rain is back and I drive back to the hostel. Driving through the massive puddles is fun, and other cars are waiting to let me pass to not spoil the fun I'm having. I see a very wet couple walk along the road and offer them a lift. After 800 m they have arrived at their destination, so this was a bit pointless, but still a nice thing to do.
Back in the hostel I have a hot shower, a pot of tea, plan tomorrow's walking options, read my book and listen to the rain. For dinner I was looking forward to the soup but I forgot to label it and it's gone, which makes me a little sad. After some chat with the other guests I go to bed early.
The Glasgow boys give me lentil soup and take off. It's chucking it down. I don't know what to do, but I have to leave the hostel for the day, so I decide to drive to the starting point of today's walk and then see how I feel. The plan is to walk a signposted mountain trail in the Beinn Eighe National Nature Reserve.
I arrive at the parking lot and the rain stops. I walk and it's lovely. The rain comes back but it's mostly light now. The trail is very steep but excellent.
At the top it's extremely windy and I'm having trouble to stay upright. I have a snack in the lousy shelter of a large cairn and today, my plan works out: the sun comes out! Only for a few seconds, but it happens twice. And then the rain starts again. Wrapped up in all my layers I start the descent, past a few lovely lochans and across some bubbly streams in spate. They are wonderful. As are the waterfalls on the hills across Loch Maree. All this rain is really bringing out the water features.
I walk down a beautiful gorge, lovely Scots pine, tall and gnarly, all around. When I arrive at the car park I have five minutes in the sun by the loch before the torrential rain is back and I drive back to the hostel. Driving through the massive puddles is fun, and other cars are waiting to let me pass to not spoil the fun I'm having. I see a very wet couple walk along the road and offer them a lift. After 800 m they have arrived at their destination, so this was a bit pointless, but still a nice thing to do.
Back in the hostel I have a hot shower, a pot of tea, plan tomorrow's walking options, read my book and listen to the rain. For dinner I was looking forward to the soup but I forgot to label it and it's gone, which makes me a little sad. After some chat with the other guests I go to bed early.
8 November 2017
Torridon 3
I arrive at the top of Ben Damh, there is a proper cairn and a little shelter built from rocks. My plan was that the sun comes out now that I'm up here, but it doesn't, so I don't hang around and turn back. I leave the ridge and lose the path. I wander around the rocky moor, every rock seems familiar but then isn't. Eventually I spot a cairn and find the path again.
Back at the bealach it starts to rain harder. The water is sloshing in my boots and I have to put on gloves as the cold wind is draining all the heat from my wet hands. Walking down, the previously wet path has now turned into a proper burn. Not that that would make any difference for my already soaking wet feet. The trouble is that my boots are waterproof, so the water isn't going to go anywhere.
I see a group of walkers crossing a river below me and joining my path ahead of me. I catch up with them. Turns out they tried to climb Ben Damh as well but gave up because of the weather. I tell them they didn't miss much and stride sprightly past them, feeling young, strong and not just a little smug.
Reaching the woods I spot a massive waterfall that I'm sure wasn't there before. The rain finally eases for just long enough to take a picture.
Back at the car, conveniently parked at the Torridon Inn, I empty my boots, wring out my socks, and get a soup and a coffee in the pub and check out my gear. My trousers are completety soaked as are my pants. But my jacket did a fantastic job at keeping me dry and toasty all day. My waterproof rucksack looks very wet but everything inside is dry. Strangely, the pocket in the lid at the top is not waterproof even though the rain usually gets there first... Other than that, I'm very happy with this purchase, it's comfy and roomy.
Back at the hostel I share my fruity tea with some Germans. They are on a supported mountain bike trip and got mugged in Nottinghamshire. Everyone is gathered in the panorama lounge, watching and listening to the rain together, Scottish, English, Germans united, drinking tea.
The Scottish boys are from Glasgow and give me their leftover chilli con carne - nice! I didn't plan my provisions well, and shops are few and far between. Now, instead of having spaghetti & pesto every night, I have two nights of spaghetti & chilli!
Back at the bealach it starts to rain harder. The water is sloshing in my boots and I have to put on gloves as the cold wind is draining all the heat from my wet hands. Walking down, the previously wet path has now turned into a proper burn. Not that that would make any difference for my already soaking wet feet. The trouble is that my boots are waterproof, so the water isn't going to go anywhere.
I see a group of walkers crossing a river below me and joining my path ahead of me. I catch up with them. Turns out they tried to climb Ben Damh as well but gave up because of the weather. I tell them they didn't miss much and stride sprightly past them, feeling young, strong and not just a little smug.
Reaching the woods I spot a massive waterfall that I'm sure wasn't there before. The rain finally eases for just long enough to take a picture.
Back at the car, conveniently parked at the Torridon Inn, I empty my boots, wring out my socks, and get a soup and a coffee in the pub and check out my gear. My trousers are completety soaked as are my pants. But my jacket did a fantastic job at keeping me dry and toasty all day. My waterproof rucksack looks very wet but everything inside is dry. Strangely, the pocket in the lid at the top is not waterproof even though the rain usually gets there first... Other than that, I'm very happy with this purchase, it's comfy and roomy.
Back at the hostel I share my fruity tea with some Germans. They are on a supported mountain bike trip and got mugged in Nottinghamshire. Everyone is gathered in the panorama lounge, watching and listening to the rain together, Scottish, English, Germans united, drinking tea.
The Scottish boys are from Glasgow and give me their leftover chilli con carne - nice! I didn't plan my provisions well, and shops are few and far between. Now, instead of having spaghetti & pesto every night, I have two nights of spaghetti & chilli!
6 November 2017
Torridon 2
The forecast for my first day in Torridon is rubbish. But the next days look even worse. The hostel asks guests to leave during the day between 10 am and 2 pm, so I have the choice between a wet walk or spending a day at the Whistlestop Cafe in Kinlochewe.
I'll save the cafe option for one of the next days and decide to walk up Ben Damh, a corbett with a bit of a ridge. It is a proper hill walk but shouldn't be that long a day, or too hard or too exposed (turns out I'm wrong there). And it's only a very short drive away, very appealing having spent most of yesterday in a car. I want to move my legs. The rain is a good opportunity to test my new waterproof rucksack and my new-ish Paramo jacket.
The walk goes up, up, up on a great path though Scots pine along a gorge, across a moor, the rain sometimes easing into a drizzle, a rainbow on my right and Upper Loch Torridon in my back. I reach the bealach, and the wind which was in my back going up now almost pushes me back to where I came from. I should be seeing Applecross but all I see is grey fog soup. How can it be that windy and foggy at the same time?
On my right, there is an optional peak to climb "for good views", but today is not a day for good views, so I turn left along the ridge towards the main peak. I follow a path and can't see where it leads as it disappears in the fog, but it's uphill so that's seems right. It gets rocky and very steep on both sides. It looks a bit scary, but every single step is perfectly doable. I do a risk assessment: What could happen, how likely is it to happen, how bad would it be if it happened. How can I prevent the likely things from happening. For example, turning an ankle versus getting blown off this ridge.
It seems a bit pointless to continue to the end with the wind blowing harder now and in gusts, only to return the same way, seeing nothing much. But I think I'm close to finishing and I can't go back to the hostel until 2 pm, and it's a way to pass the time so I might as well. It's probably a good thing that I cannot see how far down it goes.
I'll save the cafe option for one of the next days and decide to walk up Ben Damh, a corbett with a bit of a ridge. It is a proper hill walk but shouldn't be that long a day, or too hard or too exposed (turns out I'm wrong there). And it's only a very short drive away, very appealing having spent most of yesterday in a car. I want to move my legs. The rain is a good opportunity to test my new waterproof rucksack and my new-ish Paramo jacket.
The walk goes up, up, up on a great path though Scots pine along a gorge, across a moor, the rain sometimes easing into a drizzle, a rainbow on my right and Upper Loch Torridon in my back. I reach the bealach, and the wind which was in my back going up now almost pushes me back to where I came from. I should be seeing Applecross but all I see is grey fog soup. How can it be that windy and foggy at the same time?
On my right, there is an optional peak to climb "for good views", but today is not a day for good views, so I turn left along the ridge towards the main peak. I follow a path and can't see where it leads as it disappears in the fog, but it's uphill so that's seems right. It gets rocky and very steep on both sides. It looks a bit scary, but every single step is perfectly doable. I do a risk assessment: What could happen, how likely is it to happen, how bad would it be if it happened. How can I prevent the likely things from happening. For example, turning an ankle versus getting blown off this ridge.
It seems a bit pointless to continue to the end with the wind blowing harder now and in gusts, only to return the same way, seeing nothing much. But I think I'm close to finishing and I can't go back to the hostel until 2 pm, and it's a way to pass the time so I might as well. It's probably a good thing that I cannot see how far down it goes.
9 October 2017
Torridon 1
Early last month, I spent a few days in Torridon in the northwest of Scotland. September and May are usually quite nice months in Scotland weatherwise, but not this year. I've never seen so much water coming out of the sky as I did during my Torridon trip.
So here we go:
I get up early to get to the car rental place in time. There is a queue, and the staff isn't overly helpful. The guy who's serving me is employee of the month according to a poster on the wall. He tells a man, who is complaining because his car is smaller than what he ordered and paid for, that he is lucky to get any car at all, and no, he won't get a refund.
They let me wait for it, but eventually, I get my car. It's a sporty looking Hyundai, larger than what I ordered, but managable. It has GPS, another nice surprise, and it's already slightly knackered, which is a relief. It's got a camera at the back, showing on a screen what's behind the car whenever I reverse, it tells me when to switch gears and whether I'm in the middle of the lane, and it seems quite powerful with 6 gears. So far so good. I'm very nervous about driving a car with the driver's seat on the right. I always find it hard to tell how far the car extends to the left - I tend to overestimate the distance between my car and the curb or parking cars on my left.
I drive to mine to pick up my stuff. This wasn't so bad, surely I can drive the 250 miles of scenic route to Torridon! The weather is nice too, so I'm happy to take my time, take breaks etc.
I take some time to understand the bits of my car. Not sure about the light settings - there are so many of them, but I should get to my hostel in daylight. The GPS gets me safely out of Edinburgh and onwards to Stirling, where I take a coffee break at Smiddy's farm shop, and then another one at a tearoom in an old church building just after Crianlarich.
The sun shines and this route certainly is scenic. However, I'm very focused on the road, trying to get used to the dimensions of the car, checking my mirrors to make sure I'm in the middle of my lane. It's quite exhausting. Until I realise I'm alone in a car and no one can hear me. Is there a better place to practise my singing? I don't think so.
I arrive in no time at the hostel, having picked up a few groceries on the way. I really should have brought more food from Edinburgh; the selection in the little shop in Speanbridge is limited. Looks like I'm going to have a lot of spaghetti and pesto over the next few days.
24 September 2017
Brass
Britain has a long tradition of brass bands, originating in the coal mining industry (and other manufacture), where every company had their own company brass band. These would compete against each other, and today, most British brass bands enter competitions and championships, and there is a league system like in football. This means, that most British children who are learning brass instruments will at some point compete, and the general level of playing is quite high.
I joined a brass band in Edinburgh where people just play for fun. The players are quite good though. They are also very friendly, and go to the pub after each rehearsal. Today, I talked to one of the guys who practises his trombone several times a week, depending on the weather, on a hill in a large park near Edinburgh.
My flatmate tells me I can practise in the attic in our new flat. If I fit through the hatch.
I joined a brass band in Edinburgh where people just play for fun. The players are quite good though. They are also very friendly, and go to the pub after each rehearsal. Today, I talked to one of the guys who practises his trombone several times a week, depending on the weather, on a hill in a large park near Edinburgh.
My flatmate tells me I can practise in the attic in our new flat. If I fit through the hatch.
20 September 2017
Borders Abbeys Way 4
It's day three, our longest day with 33 km / 20 miles. We'll be walking to Selkirk first, which is where most people would stop for the day. But we're going to continue on to Tweedback to catch a train home.
Vincent makes us a massive breakfast, and again, Joe helps me with the meaty bits of mine.
Leaving Hawick, it's uphill for a bit and then on a minor road, but at some point we're on a nice walking path again. We take a long break on a tiny footbridge somewhere in the bush. We need to get up when a Canadian/German group wants to pass. We meet them later in a cafe in Selkirk, where they feel sorry for us because unlike them, we're not yet finished walking for the day. I don't mind. I knew Selkirk was just a stop, so I'm happy to keep going.
Joe starts a chat with a guy who turns out to be a strip club manager. He says that some people think that this makes him seedy (I silently agree) but that it's just a business. I watch Joe, who chats with anyone, for the first time struggle to converse. Oh Schadenfreude. Thankfully (or sadly?), the train doors open and we go in, making sure to find a carriage as far away from seedy strip club manager as possible.
It's dark now, so no point looking out the windows and taking in the scenery. We eat all our remaining food and turn on phones and check messages. Back to the real world.
Vincent makes us a massive breakfast, and again, Joe helps me with the meaty bits of mine.
Leaving Hawick, it's uphill for a bit and then on a minor road, but at some point we're on a nice walking path again. We take a long break on a tiny footbridge somewhere in the bush. We need to get up when a Canadian/German group wants to pass. We meet them later in a cafe in Selkirk, where they feel sorry for us because unlike them, we're not yet finished walking for the day. I don't mind. I knew Selkirk was just a stop, so I'm happy to keep going.
Meeting Canadians sparks a lengthy discussion about the best way of eating maple syrup. In my view, it's on Belgian waffles with bacon. It is important though that the waffles are not too sweet. Joe is more of a pancake and icecream guy. We reach Selkirk, and after a coffee break, where the friendly server offers to refill our water bottles, Joe finally gets his icecream he's been thinking of ever since we had the maple syrup conversation.
The bit after Selkirk is a beautiful high level walk through the Selkirk hills with views over the Ettrick valley, and we meet a gang of inquisitive young cows.
In a little hamlet outside Selkirk, a woman in a garden, pruning flowers, sees us from afar and shouts 'schnipp schnipp' at us, and when we come closer, she says we look clean and if we didn't want to stay in her house when she goes to Australia next year. I'm tempted to say yes, but she seems a bit crazy.
We pass a little lake with a beach, and I suggest we go skinny dipping, but I chicken out when Joe calls my bluff. We arrive at Tweedbank station just after 8 pm. We can see the train from afar but don't know when it will leave, so we rush to it only to learn that we still have 20 minutes to go.
It's dark now, so no point looking out the windows and taking in the scenery. We eat all our remaining food and turn on phones and check messages. Back to the real world.
17 September 2017
Borders Abbeys Way 3
I wake up and take my earplugs out (Joe warned me that he might snore). Joe offers me a coffee. I say yes, then change my mind. No, I'm not a morning person, and my alarm woke me up in the middle of a weird dream. I tell Joe my dream, which was about a wedding of an old school friend that took place at my work place. I realise I talked about that school friend yesterday, and we also debated the merits of marriage. The dream wasn't that weird after all then.
In the sumptuous, tartan-heavy breakfast room we meet the other guests, from England and Barcelona. Joe gets a conversation going with everyone. Of course, the chat turns political at some point, and Joe handles it well. Diplomacy is not my strength so I keep my mouth shut. Joe eats most of my breakfast on top of his - it's too early in the morning for me to have haggis, sausages, bacon and black pudding.
We walk. There are brambles, raspberries and butterflies. On a hill we lie down and take a long break in the soft grass, looking for a nap. Joe tells me how nice it was to wake up next to me. I ask him not to repeat this statement out of context to anyone. Some other walkers come our way. Why they are not lying down and taking a break in such a great spot with wide views I don't understand.
When we continue walking I spot laundry on a line hung up all wrong. The socks are all over the place. I comment on this, and pretend that I really care about hanging up laundry a certain way, and I give Joe a lecture on mindful laundering. He can't tell whether or not I'm serious which amuses me.
At Denholm, a sign announces a tea room but when we get there it's shut. We settle for the pub, which also serves cream tea, and we meet an Irish mother and daughter who are also doing the Borders Abbeys Way. They have rented a cottage, and the dad, who isn't walking, drives them to the starting points every morning, picks them up in the evening, and cooks dinner for them.
After Denholm, we pick up the path and walk along the Teviot, taking another long break on a pebbled beach, spotting more herons, and practise whistling and bird sounds. Joe teaches me advanced pigeon sound technique, and hand farts. I can't do the hand farts, but it's probably due to a lack of will rather than skill.
At Hawick, we find our host's B&B in an old mill building by the river. Vincent has a lovely three bedroom flat with high ceilings, and he recently redecorated it completely. He is looking to sell and move to Spain, and for his asking price you couldn't buy a basement studio in Edinburgh. He offers us a very generous glass of whisky, and I'm a bit tipsy before dinner. The recommended dinner option in Hawick is a Whetherspoon's, where we meet other walkers. Afterwards, we walk around town for a bit, through a dark cemetery and an even darker park before turning in for the night.
13 September 2017
Holidays!
So, I'm away on holidays for most of September.
I'm spending a week up north in Torridon where I'll bag some munroes or corbetts, or if the weather is rubbish, do some easy coastal walks. And then I'll meet up with Kat in England where we'll finally finish the coast to coast walk that we started five years ago.
I'll be back in October with some walking reports.
I'm spending a week up north in Torridon where I'll bag some munroes or corbetts, or if the weather is rubbish, do some easy coastal walks. And then I'll meet up with Kat in England where we'll finally finish the coast to coast walk that we started five years ago.
I'll be back in October with some walking reports.
10 September 2017
Leave
I clean my coffee mug, make sure my laptop is locked to the desk, and shred some sensitive print-outs. I write a note to leave on my desk, saying it's up for grabs for a bit. I can't get rid of my smugface. It's there whenever I remember that I won't be back in the office for 23 days.
The last time I had a break that lasted longer than ten days was when I was travelling, five years ago. This is the real deal. I'm not taking anything work-related with me. I'll relax so hard that when I go back, I'll have forgotten what my job is.
The last time I had a break that lasted longer than ten days was when I was travelling, five years ago. This is the real deal. I'm not taking anything work-related with me. I'll relax so hard that when I go back, I'll have forgotten what my job is.
6 September 2017
Borders Abbeys Way 2
I meet Joe at the bus station in Edinburgh. I'm there first so I get the coffee. On the bus, we have a lot to catch up on, which sufficiently distracts me from getting car sick. Joe gets chatting with Joan, who is sitting in front of us and on her way to Kelso herself. She is on her own because her friend broke her arm. In Kelso, Joan takes us to Caroline's Cafe where we have our first break even before we've started the walk.
Chatting to random people is always a given with Joe - I remember a coffee break on our first walk together when I wanted to grab the coffee and sit outside in the sun, but looking at his face, I realised that he really wanted to chat with the proprietor, who wasn't even particularly chatty. So I mumbled something about having been outside all day and let's just sit inside, and we sat inside and Joe worked his magic and got the cafe owner's quite interesting life story out of him.
Chatting to random people is always a given with Joe - I remember a coffee break on our first walk together when I wanted to grab the coffee and sit outside in the sun, but looking at his face, I realised that he really wanted to chat with the proprietor, who wasn't even particularly chatty. So I mumbled something about having been outside all day and let's just sit inside, and we sat inside and Joe worked his magic and got the cafe owner's quite interesting life story out of him.
On walking out of Kelso we see our first abbey, Kelso Abbey. We follow the river Teviot and meet some anglers, one of which shows us the 4 pound trout he's caught. We have a long lunch break at a pebbly beach, throw pebbles and watch a heron. Back on the trail we get lost a bit, but realise that quickly - the waymarking is excellent.
When we arrive in Jedburgh after some leisurely 13 miles / 21 km, I wonder if my B&B booking has all worked out, and if we'll get a twin room as booked, and not a double. We haven't been friends for that long, so sharing a bed might be awkward! In any case, I've brought pyjama bottoms, and so has Joe.
Our host Amanda welcomes with "you're not vegetarians are you - you can tell vegetarians a mile away, they are always so pale" and shows us our tiny twin room. The two single beds are a hand-width apart - we look at each other and laugh nervously.
Amanda explains our dining options. Jedburgh pubs only serve food in the restaurant area, not in bar area. This means that it is difficult to get a table at all. We settle for the Indian restaurant which seems to be run by children. The service is erratic. The place is full, but no one seems to have food in front of them. They run out of pickle trays and we have to wait for our poppadoms until another table has finished theirs. When the food finally arrives it is nice, cheap and plentiful. After this, it's a walk back to the B&B, and sleep comes easily.
3 September 2017
Walls
Looking at paint colours for our new flat, my flatmate and I have opposite tastes. She likes pale salmon, I like greys. I hate pale salmon, she detests greys.
So we both did a personality test to determine our 'perfect colour trend'. We both got 'Coastline' (*click*). (A contemporary take on classic coastal decor, this colour trend celebrates shimmering seas and bold skies. Coastline is a laid-back look that combines flat blocks of colour reminiscent of oceanic horizons, with water-dappled painterly effects, using a harmonious colour palette.)
And no, we don't have a moving date yet. At the current rate of proceedings it might not happen until spring.
So we both did a personality test to determine our 'perfect colour trend'. We both got 'Coastline' (*click*). (A contemporary take on classic coastal decor, this colour trend celebrates shimmering seas and bold skies. Coastline is a laid-back look that combines flat blocks of colour reminiscent of oceanic horizons, with water-dappled painterly effects, using a harmonious colour palette.)
And no, we don't have a moving date yet. At the current rate of proceedings it might not happen until spring.
30 August 2017
It is ok to walk in the dark and other lessons from my first outing with a mountaineering club
My trip with the Tweeddale Ramblers (*click*) may also count as an outing with a mountaineering club, but it was only a day walk.
This club is different. People are generally younger, the walking is more ambitious, and they go on weekend trips in the highlands every fortnight. Accommodation in hostels, bunk houses and mountaineering huts is arranged and very cheap. Lifts get shared, and communal evening meals are also sometimes organised.
The club meets in the pub every Thursday, and I had gone along a few times to see if people were nice. That confirmed, I joined them on a weekend trip in Roybridge. A whole weekend with a group of strangers in the remote Scottish highlands.
My car company was nice and chatty, but unfortunately I got very, very car sick on the drive up, sitting in the back and not wanting to make a fuss. That pretty much ruined my evening, and I was having trouble socialising. Socialising consisted of looking at maps and gear and planning the next day's adventures. That was the single topic of conversation. Everyone seemed to check with everyone else what they were planning on doing and who with, before making up their own minds. It amazed me that people in the end did have a plan.
The weather wasn't great. Lots of snow on the hills, and poor visibility. My plan was to walk through a river and along a glen, possibly up one or two corbetts if it was nice enough. I was happy to do it on my own, but ended up walking with three guys, who seemed to be in a rush to get this hill-walk done and over with and get back to the huts. Once I realised I'd rather continue alone at my own pace, I was on a hill in a whiteout and didn't know how to get down it, so I kept following the guys. Not exactly my kind of walking.
At night, we cooked together and had a nice chat and made plans for the next day. Trying to fit in, I talked about the long walks I had done, but in order not to risk my mountain cred, I didn't mention all the stages I had skipped...
This club is different. People are generally younger, the walking is more ambitious, and they go on weekend trips in the highlands every fortnight. Accommodation in hostels, bunk houses and mountaineering huts is arranged and very cheap. Lifts get shared, and communal evening meals are also sometimes organised.
The club meets in the pub every Thursday, and I had gone along a few times to see if people were nice. That confirmed, I joined them on a weekend trip in Roybridge. A whole weekend with a group of strangers in the remote Scottish highlands.
My car company was nice and chatty, but unfortunately I got very, very car sick on the drive up, sitting in the back and not wanting to make a fuss. That pretty much ruined my evening, and I was having trouble socialising. Socialising consisted of looking at maps and gear and planning the next day's adventures. That was the single topic of conversation. Everyone seemed to check with everyone else what they were planning on doing and who with, before making up their own minds. It amazed me that people in the end did have a plan.
The weather wasn't great. Lots of snow on the hills, and poor visibility. My plan was to walk through a river and along a glen, possibly up one or two corbetts if it was nice enough. I was happy to do it on my own, but ended up walking with three guys, who seemed to be in a rush to get this hill-walk done and over with and get back to the huts. Once I realised I'd rather continue alone at my own pace, I was on a hill in a whiteout and didn't know how to get down it, so I kept following the guys. Not exactly my kind of walking.
At night, we cooked together and had a nice chat and made plans for the next day. Trying to fit in, I talked about the long walks I had done, but in order not to risk my mountain cred, I didn't mention all the stages I had skipped...
The following day, I had to go where my driver was going, because his walk was on the route home, and he wasn't going to come back to the huts. We did a lovely walk up Creag Meagaidh nature reserve with a larger group of friendly people. They had some incredible stories to share.
There was the one of the guy who came down a hill very late at night and ran into a search party. He decided to join them, because on the hills you look out for each other. Only after a while did he realise that it was him they were searching for.
Another story was about this seasoned hill-walker who didn't make it back at night at all. He had gone up Creag Meagaidh as well. His wife was used to him coming down the hill quite late, but eventually in the morning she got concerned when he still hadn't come home, and she notified the mountain rescue. They walked up the usual route and took a break at the lochin before going up 'The Chimney' to the ridge. They had a cup of tea sitting down on the mountain rescue kit, a coffin-shaped wooden box for emergency shelter, when they suddenly heard a knocking sound. Yes, the guy they were looking for had turned his ankle in the evening, hadn't been able to make it down the hill, took shelter in the mountain resuce kit and fell sound asleep. And it never occurred to the rescue team to look inside!
I now always carry a head torch when out and about in the hills. It seems quite normal to most hill walkers to come down a hill after dark.
27 August 2017
Giggleswick
How to describe music summercamp? It was a week filled with music classes, concerts and performances, eating together, drinking together and enjoying the company of friendly people who share the same interests.
We were 170 people of all ages between 16 and 92, although the average age was probably above 50. This was one reason for me to sign up - this wouldn't be a knocking shop, and people would be quite relaxed about musical skills. I could just relax and not worry about singing or playing poorly, or impressing boys. The musical focus was on folk music, jazz music, and a little bit of classical music as well. The tutors were high-caliber professional musicians, most of them also teaching music at university.
Most people were staying in the school which was more like a small village. I had a little room to myself under the roof with a sink and a mirror, and a shared bathroom in the hall. Food was excellent, and it was served to a strict schedule in a dining hall. I sat with different people for each meal, and everyone was friendly.
I was probably most nervous about my jazz voice class. This was about performing jazz songs solo in front of people. We did a couple of songs together, and each student had also prepared a song to rehearse and then perform at a student concert. We sang the first song together, Have You Met Ms. Jones, and then each of us sang 8 bars on their own. Once that was out of the way and I felt that I was doing ok, I relaxed a bit and started to enjoy the class.
My Ukulele class turned out to be a bit too slow-paced for my taste. I did learn new things, but too few of them, and too slowly. I dropped it and took up Dixieland instead. Dixieland was great. We had a tuba, banjos, clarinets, saxophones, trumpets, guitar, and a tutor who had a huge smile on his face, handed out the music, and wasn't precious about the outcome. He made everyone play an improvised solo - and then everyone at the same time. The outcome was loud and fun and chaotic, and much more musical than expected. The tutor told me later in the bar that he had never taught adults before - he was filling in for someone else on short notice.
And finally, my First Steps In Improvisation class was very surreal, hugely entertaining and impossible to describe.
I ended up playing my trumpet much more than expected - after seven years of not playing it at all. It all came back quickly, and I remembered that I once quite liked it.
There were student concerts at night after dinner, and there was a bar and cheap drinking. People were playing their instruments everywhere, rehearsing for one of the many performances, or just jamming. I joined a bunch of recorder players for a session of recorder playing. On my birthday, I joined a jam session with my trumpet. I sang a jazz song to an audience of maybe fifty people, accompanied by piano. At the dance after the gala dinner I danced a quickstep with the only man at the camp who could ballroom dance, 92-year-old Norman. And for the last day, I rejoined the ukulele class to perform with them in the big final all-day student concert. At the ceilidh at night, I showed the mostly English crowd how they dance in Scotland.
It was indeed all very lovely.
We were 170 people of all ages between 16 and 92, although the average age was probably above 50. This was one reason for me to sign up - this wouldn't be a knocking shop, and people would be quite relaxed about musical skills. I could just relax and not worry about singing or playing poorly, or impressing boys. The musical focus was on folk music, jazz music, and a little bit of classical music as well. The tutors were high-caliber professional musicians, most of them also teaching music at university.
Most people were staying in the school which was more like a small village. I had a little room to myself under the roof with a sink and a mirror, and a shared bathroom in the hall. Food was excellent, and it was served to a strict schedule in a dining hall. I sat with different people for each meal, and everyone was friendly.
I was probably most nervous about my jazz voice class. This was about performing jazz songs solo in front of people. We did a couple of songs together, and each student had also prepared a song to rehearse and then perform at a student concert. We sang the first song together, Have You Met Ms. Jones, and then each of us sang 8 bars on their own. Once that was out of the way and I felt that I was doing ok, I relaxed a bit and started to enjoy the class.
My Ukulele class turned out to be a bit too slow-paced for my taste. I did learn new things, but too few of them, and too slowly. I dropped it and took up Dixieland instead. Dixieland was great. We had a tuba, banjos, clarinets, saxophones, trumpets, guitar, and a tutor who had a huge smile on his face, handed out the music, and wasn't precious about the outcome. He made everyone play an improvised solo - and then everyone at the same time. The outcome was loud and fun and chaotic, and much more musical than expected. The tutor told me later in the bar that he had never taught adults before - he was filling in for someone else on short notice.
And finally, my First Steps In Improvisation class was very surreal, hugely entertaining and impossible to describe.
I ended up playing my trumpet much more than expected - after seven years of not playing it at all. It all came back quickly, and I remembered that I once quite liked it.
There were student concerts at night after dinner, and there was a bar and cheap drinking. People were playing their instruments everywhere, rehearsing for one of the many performances, or just jamming. I joined a bunch of recorder players for a session of recorder playing. On my birthday, I joined a jam session with my trumpet. I sang a jazz song to an audience of maybe fifty people, accompanied by piano. At the dance after the gala dinner I danced a quickstep with the only man at the camp who could ballroom dance, 92-year-old Norman. And for the last day, I rejoined the ukulele class to perform with them in the big final all-day student concert. At the ceilidh at night, I showed the mostly English crowd how they dance in Scotland.
It was indeed all very lovely.
 |
| School grounds - I stayed in the house on the left |
 |
| A Giggleswick house |
 |
| Gala dinner |
 |
| Late night drinking with boys from Ipswich and Doncaster |
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