I love...

If only...

RATM's 'Killing In The Name' to beat off another SyCo Christmas number 1?

I love that thought...

Unchanging but always different

Monday December 14 - around Alport Moor

Seven months after gazing across Alport Dale toward the moors beyond, back in the heat of May, it's time to explore that western side of the valley.

It could be another world this time. In fact, in many ways it really is another world. One of perfect solitude. A place to lose yourself ...... metaphorically only, thanks to my GPS60 and the trusty back-up of analogue compass and a waterproof Ordnance Survey OL1 Explorer Active edition map.

 

It's a short climb up from Birchen Clough bridge to the edge of the moor and from then on it's a case of 'walking on instruments' all afternoon as the view never extends beyond a hundred yards or so.

Cutting east across Over Wood Moss toward the top of the dale it's a world of peat groughs and hags, no footpaths here. This is wilderness walking in total solitude. The only sounds come from the cackling of startled grouse and the squelch of sodden sucking black peaty paste underfoot. Until the appearance of scattered gritstone rocks and the sudden edge of the moor and time for sandwiches, tea and the music of waterfalls below, that I came to see. But they're buried somewhere deep in the thick clag that fills the valley.

Setting off to zig zag south, avoiding the deeper cloughs with their steep banks, slippery as butter, that otherwise spell a real struggle to make progress, it's clear from the emergence of the occasional faint trail and boot print that others walk this edge. But probably not today.

Today I have it all to myself. Maybe I'll return in the spring, when the sights, smells and sounds of all the teeming life of the moors have returned too. And it will be different again but still the same, just the way I love it.

Derwent Edge and Strines Edge

Saturday November 21 2009

Wet wet wet. And windy. Moody and lovely. Not many people about but the mountain biker I swap pleasantries with sums it up when he says how much he's enjoying the low cloud ceiling. I'm with him on that.

 

 

Black Ashop Moor

Saturday October 31 - below the northern slopes of Kinder Scout.

 

It seems to be a little frequented area, juging by the dearth of walkers. Maybe it's that solitude that makes this such an unnerving sight. I'm convinced it's a person. And someone either deaf or dead as I approach, hailing loudly 'are you OK there?'.....

 

It's a relief to find it's just a pipe emerging from the ground and wrapped in a waterproof cover, albeit a bit of an odd thing to find out here. It's not the only strangeness this afternoon. After my lunch stop I'm baffled by the total disappearance of all the water from my Camelbak. It's happened before - and that time was at the foot of Kinder too, but over on the other side. It's a lovely stroll though, with views of Bleaklow in the distance and the strangeness of Kinder's rock formations above all adding to the atmosphere.

 

 

Morrissey - Leeds Academy, Thursday October 29

The temptation is to fall into a stream of hyberbole. The bottom line is that I always love a Morrissey show. From the idiosyncratic movies of German 'schlagen' performers projected onto a big screen in the 'dead' time between support and main act to the wry inter-song banter, it's always an experience to treasure.

Then there's the band who, frankly and seriously, rock. Tonight they were the mighty Boz Boorer (guitar), Solomon Walker (bass), Jesse Tobias (guitar), Matt Walker (drums) - all retained from last year's troupe - and Gustavo Manzur on keyboards.

Emotional. And occasionally spine-tingling. As always.

The set: This Charming Man / Black Cloud / When Last I Spoke To Carol / How Soon Is Now? / Ganglord / Cemetery Gates / I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris / Teenage Dad On The Estate / Nowhere Fast / Irish Blood, English Heart / Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself? / One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell / Death At One's Elbow / The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores / Is It Really So Strange? / The Loop / Because Of My Poor Education / I'm OK By Myself // First Of The Gang To Die

Grasmere & Elterwater

Wednesday October 28

 

Grasmere to Easedale tarn

Tuesday October 27

 

 

Top tips to avoid mountain danger (or, how not to read a map)

Sunday October 25

Blowy, wild and wet doesn't begin to describe the conditions heading up toward Hart Crag from Grasmere. The weather is relentless. Visibility is poor. That's OK. We've got GPS. Good clothing. And we've got plenty to eat and drink. Trouble is, it seems I've left one crucial piece of kit at home. My brain.

So I've planned a circular route from the cottage door of around 8 miles. And failed to deduce from the appalling conditions that Rydal Beck, around the 6 mile mark, might be a bit more swollen than usual. But worse still, I've failed to notice that the steep contours down at the very end of the walk are actually preceded by some equally steep contours up.

And so it is that drama very nearly turns into crisis. It begins to turn tricky around 4pm. There's an hour of daylight left....but only in theory. It's actually almost dark already. That'll be something to do with clouds so dark and thick you feel they might squash you if they come any lower. And suddenly we're confronted by a beck more suited to white water rafting than fording on foot. And - worse - a horribly steep ascent beyond. And no way around either obstacle.

We lose precious daylight minutes trudging up and down to find the least treacherous crossing place. Then it's just a case of stepping in, right up to our thighs, fighting the current and ploughing through to the opposite bank. That's the end of dry feet. Then it's the final ascent, in rapidly failing light. And half way up I feel like someone kicked me hard in the thighs. But there's worse to come.

Scary dramas like this feel multi-layered. One moment it's bad. Then it's worse as another layer descends. Each stage brings its own fears. And each of those pales into nothing as the situation deteriorates. Remembering to drink is a revelation. Dehydration creeps up on you and addles your brain. I literally cannot think straight until we've rehydrated and eaten the remaining sandwiches, remaining on our feet because we're too scared to sit for fear of being unable to stand again.

We reach the top, utterly wiped out, but it's not the cause for celebration I'd imagined. Scrambling down the steep other side, continually tripping and slipping in the tangle of dead bracken and rocks, is an even worse ordeal. My head torch is a life saver at this point but even so, some parts of the descent are most safely accomplished by doing a kind of 'backwards spider' crawl using feet, bum and hands. Jacquie twists her knee and her cruciate ligament is shot.

The lights of Grasmere in the distance at first hold out hope. My energy is momentarily lifted but they never seem to get closer. We seriously consider our options. They include calling out help and facing the indignity of becoming one of those statistics - ill-prepared fools who underestimated the intensity of this landscape in harsh weather. Stopping on the hill overnight is no longer a realistic option now we're so wet from wading through the beck. We press on down the hill. Without my GPS we would be forced to call out help, no question. I fall at one point and the GPS screen goes blank. That is a real moment of fear. It switches back on OK though.

We're literally forcing ourselves onward now. I need a cigarette but such an unhealthy nerve-stabilising luxury is out of bounds since my rizlas were soaked long ago. Too bad I put them in the wrong pocket. The thought of the 70's timewarp cottage we rented, with its unfeasibly narrow kitchen and old-folks' furniture is of the safest, loveliest haven on earth.

And quite suddenly the ground is smooth and grassy. The jarring steepness is turning into a gentle slope. We've joined a wide footpath and the GPS tells me it's exactly where we need to be. We're down. We're safe. I could sing with the sheer joy of being able to walk upright again.

Back at the cottage the Garmin says we covered 10.3 miles. The Snickers bar I eat takes away the shaking and tastes amazing. Everything tastes amazing all evening and nothing takes away the hunger. The leg cramps later are proof positive of how close to running out of 'fuel' my body came.

Auditing the factors that influenced our day, on the positive side we had plenty of food and water, a good headtorch, working GPS, spare batteries, good clothing. My recently waterproofed Paramo jacket has held up and only my legs are wet.

But I recognise that I screwed up. On the negative side we had no real overnight survival kit and carried no spare dry clothing. And I seriously misjudged on route plan. Even now, that fact scares me. It's a good lesson to learn.

Big sidies, gold shoes...rock n' roll

The Hot Rats - Leeds Cockpit, Monday October 12

Gaz Coombes and Danny Goffey playing some of their old favourite tunes as The Hot Rats. It's like a little party with your cool mates doing a turn on stage. A lovely eclectic selection played just for the fun of it. The presence of a frenetic Gail Porter, surrounded by scary men with shaved heads, giving it loads down the front, lends a slightly surreal touch to proceedings. As do the mannequins making up the numbers on stage. It's a real treat to be up close like this. It's what real music is all about. They're totally authentic and I love them for that.

   

  

Setlist, from memory (not in order and probably with gaps)

Damaged Goods - Gang of Four
Drive My Car - The Beatles
Mirror in the Bathroom - The Beat
EMI - The Sex Pistols
Lovecats - The Cure
Bike - Pink Floyd
(You Gotta) Fight for your Right (to party!) - The Beastie Boys
Queen Bitch - David Bowie
Big Sky - The Kinks
I Can't Stand It - Lou Reed
Pump It Up - Elvis Costello and the Attractions

On and around Moel Fenlli

Saturday October 10