The Coniston Round

I'm certainly getting lazier when it comes to walking. It's not that I don't enjoy the walking, but the amount of it I do on any trip seems to be reducing. I could get all defensive about it and claim that I enjoy the camping more and to a certain extent that's true. Certainly there's at least a 60/40 split in enjoment levels but the fact of it is that I'm not up for flogging myself on. I'm lazy. It's supposed to be a holiday, and for me, a holiday means sitting around eating and drinking. So when Martyn suggested that we stay for at least one more in the Sun Inn in Coniston and I knew I was probably already more drunk than I should be for setting up a tarp, it didn't take much persuasion.
It had all started a long while back. The trip had been planned and cancelled twice before. The weather report couldn't make up it's mind whether it was going to be gale force winds and sub zero temperatures or actually fairly reasonable for the time of year. I wasn't too bothered. It meant I got several chances to repack my bag to try to accomodate the whims of the met office and, properly supported with some decent booze, packing my bag is one of the great pleasures in my life.

In the end I decided on a reasonably minimal kit, using only my Enlightened Quilt supplementad by my down trousers and my down inner jacket.

As it turned out, this was ideal and it all fitted into my new Z packs zero pack-just under 4 kg for the lot including food water and booze.

We decided on Coniston as we hadn't explored the area at all before. The Coniston round looked like a nice walk and as Martyn is also of the opinion that a reasonable length of walk is a day hike split into two days it seemed like a winner. Generally on the second morning we get up about 6ish and do about an hour's walking to get back early for our other halves. It does limit us in the walking we can do especially as we are limited to circular walks. Another must is a decent pub no more than an hour's walk from our first night's camp. Which is how we ended up in the Sun Inn. They had some decent beer and there were people to rip the piss out of, including ale snobs trying to humiliate the barman and a extremely well spoken racist trotting out 1950's stereotypes. In the end it was him that got us out of there plus the fact that we had no money left.

It was an easy walk up to the YHA, despite stubbing our toes on every other step. We tried for a few spots but gave up in the end and pitched on the river bank in full view of the hostel. We weren't sure of the legality but decided to ignore it. It was obvious we weren't party louts out to make a mess and the worst thing that could happen is that we would be asked to move on. I'd managed to get hold of a second hand Six moon Lunar Solo for Martyn in excellent condition. He'd had it as his Christmas present but it was a bit of a gamble. A tent is a very personal thing and I knew he was attached to his MSR microzoid. I was hoping that the 500g knocked of his baseweight plus the ability to sit upright combined with sizeable amount of extra floorspace would win him over. Trouble was, the Lunar Solo has a reputation of being a bit of a bugger to pitch taut and a first pitch drunk and in the dark was risky. Luckily my practice with the Gatewood Cape which is a similar design secured a decent pitch- certainly it was better than my tarp which I had to have three goes at before I was happy. We sat around drinking for a bit while a stream of pub goers returned to the Hostel. None of them batted an eyelid at us, if indeed, they noticed us at all.

I woke early as usual. My internal clock has been buggered by work so that I find it hard to sleep much past half six. Martyn has no such problem and alone, with a somewhat tender head, I decided stick to my usual hiking strategy which is to sit and watch the view with a whisky coffee. When we were travelling in Croatia we arrived to catch an early bus at 5 am to find all the bus drivers sat around with coffees and big glasses of brandy. If it's good enough for people about to embark on a seven hour trip precipitous roads with eye watering hairpin bends, then it's good enough for me. Martyn concurred and popped a beer when he emerged. We sat for a while enjoying the sun and only got around to moving when the level of families already walking told us that we were way past an early start.

It was maybe this relaxed approach that meant we headed up the wrong valley. We had two options- hop over the High Fell ridge to get to the right valley or just head up to the top of the valley towards Wetherlam and turn left. Of course Martyn opted for the eye watering clamber over the ridge, so pretty soon we had sweated out all of the booze anyway. We quickly gained the top of Swirl How and felt like we deserved some lunch. There was a brisk wind, but hunkered down we could get the full benefit of the sun. We were making exceptionally poor progress- it was all very nice.

Back up on the ridge, the wind was very brisk. I broke out my secret weapon- a fleece T-hirt I'd got from Matalan for three quid. It provided just the right amount of warmth underneath my Tachyon anorak, and the hood made a nice difference to my comfort as well. Thus it was at half two in the afternoon I made a running descent towards Blind Tarn, out camp spot for the night. We briefly debated heading back to the Sun Inn instead but decided against it. It was a very nice spot and, just a few hundred metres away from the hordes on the ridge, it felt pretty isolated. I had a doze and then we chatted and ate.

I slept pretty well, except for the fact that the bivvy kept sliding out from unedr the tarp. There was a brief shower about four and then we got up and headed back. I've made a promise to myself to find somewhere a bit more off the beaten track for the next trip. Our last couple of trips have been swarmed with other walkers which is all very well but it is nice to get a bit of solitude. All the gear performed well apart from the sliding issue. Of course, the elements didn't really give anything a thrashing, but that's why I chose the gear I did. The zero carried very nicely, despite Martyn's comments that it looked a bit homemade and plasticky. I barely noticed it was there even with a couple of beers topping up the weight. The only thing I would change would be the two gram pegs I took- too short (just) for the caldera and no holding power.

Prompted by a comment, I'm back. I've got some new gear and been on a couple of trips. Here's a taster of an April trip to the Lakes....

It's been a while...

but I'm back. There's been a lot going on since the last post, all work and family related. I managed to squeeze in a very small overnighter- 12 hours worth- over Christmas. The Black Mountains- a very damp, muddy and misty trip, where I got the only snow of the winter- a spot of drifted slush on the paths on the way out. We're off in a week to the Lakes, however and I should get to test some new gear. Here's some pictures of the Trailstar in the Black mountains to be getting on with.

Old Lakes trip

This report has been hanging around in my documents for ages, half finished. Ironically, it was this trip that prompted me to start my blog but I hadn't got around to getting the writing sorted. The photo at the bottom of the booze article is from this trip and it helped me to get my act together. There's some video which I'll edit and probably post in about 6 months. Here's a reminder of why it's good to make the most of summer...

It’s a fair old slog up to the lakes when you live in the Midlands. It’s worse when you get there to realise that you have to drive another hour round the lakes to get to where you want to get to. Most of my recent trips to this area had focused on the Ennerdale area which does involve that extra hour, so it was that, combined with the fact that we had a total novice with us which led us to look at the High Street area.
Rafa had climbed Ben Nevis once and had done some deer stalking as research for a game he was designing but other than that he had very little to do with the great outdoors. He’s from Brazil and Martyn had suggested he come with us as part of his cultural enrichment. I’m not sure Rafa would describe it as enrichment, but British weather (and we got the full force of it that weekend) certainly is worth experiencing in it’s raw state at least once.
On the journey up we checked through Rafa’s pack. He’d done a pretty good job of not bringing the kitchen sink. I’d supplied a tent (My old Gelert solo), a torch, a spoon and Martyn brought a stove and the waterproofs (vital!). He was a bit embarrassed about his choice of food-Pot Noodles, but bulk aside, the good old Pot Noodle is prime hiking food.
After a stop in Bampton for a pint or two we pulled up at Haweswater. The weather report for the weekend was fairly dire and it was already beginning to spot with rain when we arrived. I’d taken the opportunity presented by Martyn driving the last section of the journey to top up with Guinness and was raring to go by the time we had sorted out the bags. I clipped my photon onto my hat brim and set off at a fair old lick, trying to get to The Rigg before the weather really closed in. I was trying a new pair of shoes- Golite Trail Flys that I’d picked up at TK Maxx pretty cheaply. It was my second try in three years at non waterproof low tops and they were really comfortable. The last time, my ankles had felt really vulnerable, but this time I relished the lack of restriction. Rafa, however was feeling the pressure. By the time we got to The Rigg, he had cramp and was glad of the rest. The weather, had, by now, broken in spectacular fashion and the rain was pouring down. I left Martyn to sort out Rafa’s tent and got on with trying to pitch the Gatewood. The time spent in the pub added to the extra top-up in the car revealed itself to be a pretty poor spot of decision making. What followed had all the elements of a classic comedy sketch with me chasing from one side of the tent to the other as my hiking pole fell down each time I stuck in a peg. When I finally got the inner tent installed I discovered that I had pitched the opening towards the back of the tent. I clambered between the two, into the space at the back of the tent and slipped inside. I had received a fairly lengthy wetting during the process, but again I wasn’t as wet as I had expected.
I slept well, one of the best sleeps I have ever had in a tent and woke fairly early. The rain had pretty much stopped but it was still very windy. I am becoming more confident of the G.C’s ability to shed wind- a lot of the fears I had on my Rhinogs trip were, I think, unfounded. Looking at the three tents, the G.C was flapping around a fair bit less than the other two- it seemed to billow, if that makes sense.
I had a wander round the Rigg, looking at the carnage left by other campers. It’s small wonder that there are prominent signs prohibiting camping- there was everything from cider bottles to used tampons and plenty of fire evidence. I wouldn’t want to camp there in the Summer.
I went back to the tents and roused Martyn and Rafa. Rafa stared incredulous at the floppy mess that had been his shelter for the night. Despite wearing a Sprayway pacamac circa 1992 in the turquoise and purple that characterised that period, he still managed to look stylish in a felt flat cap. It’s funny how people who are not hikers (in fact many hikers too!) still feel the need to look good on a hill- I just stood there in the Gatewood and my cuben fibre rain chaps with a big streamer of snot running down my face…..
It was the first time Martyn had got a good look at the Gatewood in poncho mode. The wind was really kicking up now and there were predictions of 70mph gusts on the tops “Are you sure that’s wind-safe?” he wanted to know. I wasn’t aware that clothing could be judged on whether it was wind-safe! I told him that I was confident it passed EU guidelines and we set off.
The Trail flys were starting to let in a fair bit of water now. Although I was okay with having wet feet and wasn’t bothered about bog hopping to avoid the worst sections, I knew that my feet would be warmer and drier in a pair of lined shoes. Each time there was a new flood of water into the shoe, my feet would feel cold again and the idea that the shoes would dry out quickly because of the breathable nature of the shoe was just not working. October probably wasn’t the best time to try this admittedly but I had decided that unlined trail shoes weren’t for me. Luckily, one of the lace loops had started to pull free (I’d read some dodgy reports on the shoddy construction of Golite shoes previously and they seemed to be true). A trip to TKMaxx customer services was mentally booked, which meant that I had been able to do my trail shoe experiment for free.
It’s a reasonable walk up to Kidsty Howes- steeper than you’d find in the average city and just the thing to warm you up in the morning. Unfortunately we’d got going with no breakfast due to the rain and Rafa was finding it heavy going. We stopped five or six times on the initial slopes where usually me and Martyn may well have got it done in one quick pull. It seemed that the walk we’d planned was going to take a while at this rate. This was no bad thing because it gave us plenty of opportunity to look at the spectacular views up to High street and down to Haweswater. In the end, however, I set off at a quick pace to find water and then stopped to cook up breakfast and wait for the other two. We found a sheltered spot, out of the wind and took advantage of a brief spell of sun to relax.
The final section got even steeper. I prefer to ascend this way, rather than a slow plod. The wind kept getting stronger and stronger. I love this weather-it’s so exhilarating and you can see the showers sweeping down the valley before they hit you. There was a daft grin on my face the whole time despite the fact that the Gatewood cape was, while not ‘wind unsafe’,quite ‘wind annoying’.
There was a conversation at the next rest spot. Martyn was concerned about Rafa and proposed that they returned to the campsite while I continued and met them there. Rafa despite feeling ‘as though he was dying’ decided to stick it out. The gradient eased after that and once he was on a relatively level surface, Rafa felt better.
The Wall across high street was a welcome respite from the wind. I removed the Gatewood and just kept my windshirt on. The showers weren’t bad enough to wet me but it was very cold in the wind. Part of my warmth plan was just to keep moving, but that was hard with all the rests we kept having. If I had been by myself, I would probably have run it, but the camaraderie was good and we were all having a great time.
The rest of the walk went quickly and before we knew it we were at the shelter at Ill Bell. There were still showers on and off and the Gatewood made a good bothy bag. Suddenly the penny dropped for Rafa- ‘hey! You are wearing your tent!’. Seems my big shapeless silnylon bag had just looked like a big shapeless nylon bag after all, when I had been worried it looked like I was wearing a tent!;) We dropped down to Smallwater and as I had got a lead on the others I spent some time sat in the shelters drinking whisky. It was one of those perfect mountain moments, where the level of exertion has been just enough to relax you, the atmosphere is amazing, the taste of the whisky chimes exactly with the smell of the air. Lovely stuff. The last time I had been here, I’d slept in one of the shelters after it had been too windy to pitch the competition. We returned to The Rigg and pitched close to the lake after a quick stop at the car for me to change my shoes. It was so nice to get the Hedgehogs on with some dry socks, but they did feel pretty confining on the ankles after wearing lowtops. A purchase of some lowtop Hedgehogs was decided on.
As night fell, we sat on the beach chatting about gear and trips we planned to one day make. It was a cold but still night- a perfect end to the trip. We all slept a lot better and made it back to the car after following an obviously little used footpath that followed the line of the shore a lot more closely than the main path.
The next day in the shower I was scratching my leg. There was an annoying little scab on my shin. A scab with legs. My first tick. I’d seem one in Sweden crawling up my sock, but that was huge. This one was pretty small and I was not as repulsed as I thought I would be. I was really glad I had a tick-hook though- I’m not sure that it would have been so easy to remove with tweezers. It came out easy enough. I wish I’d taken a picture!

Buttermere and Blackbeck part two

After a reasonable rest we proceeded up towards Haystacks. As we went, we pondered the concept of being 'experienced', prompted in part by my thoughts from the night before, but also thanks to a comment made by a chap we met by Blacksail who had described us as 'experts', having talked to us for ten minutes! Although, clearly I'm not an experienced tarp user(!), and despite the fact that we feel like enthusiastic amateurs we decided that we could have grounds to consider ourselves reasonably experienced in the outdoors- we could be put down anywhere in Britain with a few pieces of kit and get ourselves to somewhere else in a good state. To the extent where maybe we're fooling ourselves. There are massive gaps in our knowledge-edible plants, avalanche awareness, contour reading. And to people who are more experienced we'd probably seem pretty naive. We have put in a good few years wild camping now, however, and we do have a few skills to rub together. It's a nice feeling to look back and see how far we've come. It's all been self taught as well. We haven't done guided walks and haven't sat in a classroom.Which also feels right. Of course the internet has been invaluable, but there does seem to be an ethic of getting out there and just experiencing it within the whole community. A nice change from the 'managed risk' which is so prevalent these days. It's a nice walk up to Haystacks from Blacksail. Steep, with some potential hands-on and worthwhile views all the way up. It's an atmospheric summit as well. On the way down to Blackbeck there were plenty of decent pitches although there was a lot of waterlogged ground. It would be well worth anther visit. We saw another set of campers on a precipitous pitch across the way but at Blackbeck Tarn we had the spot to ourselves. We pitched and had enough light for a wander round, a bit of scrambling practice and a relax. We went to bed fairly early as we were both a bit knackered.

This was the first time I'd had a proper chance to test out my theoretical sleep system, using insulated clothing to boost my sleeping bag. As the minim ultra can just about fit in a cargo pocket on a pair of army trousers, this was a bit of a gamble. The day had been fairly warm and sunny however so I didn't think it was too much of a test. I woke up a fair few times during the night. There was a big moon, and as I had only zipped the bug net on my bivvy I was able to look out at the moonlit landscape. This is what bivvying is supposed to be all about and I was very pleased with the Titanium Goat Bivvy. I've felt very claustrophobic and short of breath in other bivvies I've tried-I didn't feel this at all. In the morning I was a little disappointed with the sleep system. Although I had been really toasty for most of the night, I had felt a very slight chill at about six. Because it had been a warm night, I thought there was no way I could use the system at seriously cold temperatures. That disappointment lasted until I realised that there must have been a serious temperature drop during the night. There was a fair frost, Blackbeck tarn had begun to freeze over- the ice had proceeded about a foot from the shore all the way round. Smaller tarns had frozen completely. Of course I hadn't brought a thermometer with me, but various opinions put the temperature at between -5 and -10. Up until -5 will be good enough for me-that's around the temperature range I normally encounter.We packed up quickly and got going. Martyn wanted to catch the football and I anted to see my family. Of course, the weather was the best of the entire weekend. So it goes....

Buttermere and Blackbeck

Apologies for the delay in getting this out. Despite two weeks holiday over Easter, raising a toddler is reasonably time consuming and I’ve also had to sleep....
We set out as usual from Martyn’s place of work. It adds a little time to the journey, but it means he doesn’t have to travel by train to get to me and we do tend to arrive a little earlier than we would do. I always end up driving first, but I think Martyn’s got wise to it now-he’s realised that the second half of the journey involves me sinking a couple of Guinnesses, but there is usually payback meted out when we pitch the tents-more of that later!
I’ve never gone through Honister pass before. I’d had half an idea just to chance the closure in the snows on my last trip, but quickly became clear how much of a deluded idiot I would have been had I gone for it-it was impressively steep. As we drove we kept an eye out for flat spots just off the side of the road. We’d decided not to walk as it was so late and to have a swift pint instead. Unfortunately, hostelries seemed few and far between. We eventually pulled up at the Bridge Hotel. Inside, it was virtually empty. I managed to overhear one of the more repulsive jokes I’ve heard in my life and we settled down for a pint. The first went down nicely and I decided to have another only for the barman to inform me that last orders should have been called-at quarter to eleven? The place was not busy, but surely last orders at quarter to eleven on a Friday night is just cruel! Slightly disgruntled we left and drove to our campsite just up the road. We knew it was a bit cheeky, but had seen several campervans on the way up and figured one tiny tent and a tarp shouldn’t cause too many problems. We were setting up by the light of the headlights when a pickup pulled up beside my car. I had images of locals climbing out clutching pick axe handles and approaching in a manner reminiscent of the scene from Easy Rider. I wondered which one of us was going to be Jack Nicholson! After a couple of moments, however, it just drove away. I think the farmer just wanted to check us out to ensure we weren’t yobs. Clearly not. We sat on the bonnet of the car and supped on the extra ration of whisky I had brought and listening to the stereo (nice and quietly!).
Here’s where karma kicked in. Turns out I had made a few rookie mistakes when pitching my tarp (recommended for experts only on the Mountain Laurel site) Firstly, I had assumed the rain which we did not have when settling down would be the rain we would continue not to have. Secondly, I had chosen a site which looked, but which was not flat. Thirdly, I had taken no account of the wind direction. So my tarp was pitched in a half pyramid, with the opening downhill and into the wind. The rain was approaching and reached us in the early hours of the morning. I woke to the sound of the rain and had a quick feel around outside the bivvy. It soon became clear that the side of the bivvy was getting wet and I had slid out from the cover of the tarp. I scooted myself back under the tarp and tried to ignore it. Unfortunately the angle of the slope ensured I gradually slid back out. When I was at the back of the tarp, I was reasonably sure I would be ok, but because the bivvy is water resistant and not proof I did need to make a decision. I had a few choices:
1. To lower the pole, tighten the guys and hope I kept far enough back to avoid the rain.
2. To re pitch the tarp so the opening was up hill and hope the rain didn’t change direction
3. To move the guys around to different loops so I could re-pitch in a low A-frame that would keep me dry pretty much no matter what.
There was no contest. I got up, picked up the whole bivvy, walked two or three metres and went to sleep in the car, leaving the tarp where it was. Hardcore it was not.
This gave me a moral quandary. The quandary was this: You set yourself up on the internet and call yourself minimalgear-you spout off about how little your pack weighs and how you’ve got some fantastic cuben fibre gear that performs at least as well as the really heavy stuff all the other people are carrying. Then, for the second trip in a row, you spend the night in a car. Of course you control the content of the blog. That means that you can edit out the first night and just put in the good stuff…
The problem is that just having a blog feels like setting myself up as an expert, which I’m not. I’m just someone following a (at times) steep learning curve. I have a reasonable amount of experience but when it comes down to it, I’m just someone who wants to experiment with my hiking and camping gear and record that experience so maybe others can learn something. Because that’s the nature of blogs as far as I can tell-regular people sharing their experiences. I do fall into the trap of seeing bloggers as experts though, and I’m sure others do-it’s the same with people who review gear. I don’t want others to see what I do as the way to do things-it’s just the way I want to do things.
Martyn, of course, had had a very comfortable night in his traditional tent! Although, if I was still pushing the ultralight agenda, I would also have been okay, had I used the Gatewood cape. I felt a lot better after I brewed a coffee with a reasonable shot of whisky in it. I sat and read the papers in the car from about 6.30 until 8 when Martyn woke up. The views down the valley were fantastic and we lingered over breakfast. Martyn was experimenting with an Ant-Gravity gear pepsi can stove I’d given him in my ongoing input to his gear choices. He was pretty happy with the results and decided to leave his gas stove behind which he’d brought as a back-up. Also left behind were the ice-axes and crampons. Despite the fell-top assessors advice, the fells looked fairly naked, and while I was disappointed, it did mean a decent reduction in weight.
It was a quick and easy walk down to Buttermere once we finally got going. There was a fine rain coming down, but the cloud base was not too low and visibility was pretty good. We’d been eyeing up a scramble but it was going to be way too greasy in the wet. We settled for some off road faffing and a spot of water collection. Once we got onto it, the path was well constructed and our pace was good. We reached Dubs Hut in a reasonable time and poked our noses in. There’s a sign on the door saying it’s available to hire but I can’t imagine a less inviting venue. There’s no chimney, no furniture apart from a low stone bench which is too narrow to sleep on and the floor was half covered with dampness from (I presume) a leaky roof. I’d be interested to know how much they charge, although it does look like they’re extending it. I’d been thinking about a snack stop in there but I settled for a Snickers, walking around outside rather than spend any more time in the hut. We pushed on towards Great Gable. The rain had picked up now, and visibility dropped. The walk was across a fairly featureless seeming plateau and the going got a bit tough. Not for any physical reason, just because I wasn’t enjoying it. There was no real reason for this, and I’ve been up in the hills in similar weather and really relished the adversity. I just kept wondering why I was up here when I could be spending time with Solomon and Steph. It could have been tiredness, dehydration or just a parting gift from the previous night’s drinking. The solitude of the hill is good for inner contemplation but it can be a little isolating. Of course the real reason for it was because I wasn’t on the hill at all- mentally I was back home and that’s often not good. The final pull up to Windy Gap was steep and my knee began giving me some hassle, which hasn’t happened for a while. We sat down and I had a drink and something to eat. Then we bagged Green Gable. Me and Martyn aren’t usually peak baggers, but Martyn’s decided that he wants to try to get to know this particular area in some depth, rather than just walking up random mountains, and it’s quite a nice idea. And once we were at the top, all of a sudden my mood lifted and we began riffing on the mountain names, just being stupid and laughing our arses off.

We decided to take the easy route down towards BlackSail and have a bit of lunch there. And as we descended I was whistling and skipping along. Then the Sun came out. Streams were covered in snow, with bridges and pot-holes where it had melted. There was a feeling of spring in the air and by the time we arrived at Blacksail, summer had almost arrived. It was easy to ignore the extensive felling that had taken place all through the area. The sun beat down and it was nice to have a seat with a back-always a luxury when you’re hiking.

Snowdon video

Here’s the video from the trip. I’ve been thinking about why it meant so much to me to sleep on top of Snowdon. It’s not the wilderness experience I’ve had on a lot of my trips, there’s a dirty great café and it’s not like I got a decent view. It’s not even that it was the first big mountain I climbed when I got back into backpacking. I think it’s partly to do with the whole horseshoe- it’s the grandeur of the lakes with Snowdon at the head. It’s the shape of Snowdon and the reputation of the approaches like Crib Goch. It’s walking up it on a summer’s day and hearing families discussing previous trips and the possibility of returning when their children are older. It’s the sense of human history there-from the ruins on the Watkins route through to the train filled with lobster skinned tourists who won’t even make it up to the true summit from the station. It’s walking out of the rain and mist and steaming with a Guinness amongst the orange cagoule atmosphere of the old café and it’s the Overlook hotel feel of the new café in the snow. It’s a fine British institution, a cathedral of the natural world, a reminder of my childhood buying leather bookmarks and giant pencils on day trips. The people don’t distract from the sheer scale of this hill as long as I don’t let them and you only have to walk twenty minutes to be free of the hordes. There are plenty of hills to visit to be antisocial and this summer, when I bring my family on their first trip guess where I’ll bring them? Snowdon will blow Steph’s socks off- it’s deeply impressive, but it’s accessible too. It’s no good if the hardship outweighs the pleasure, and there is a lot of pleasure to be had here.

Solo on Snowdon

My solo trips always seem to follow a pattern. Night one is stupidly ambitious and I end up getting pounded by the wind for a night. Night two is way better and usually turns out to be something special. This trip was no exception except the lows were unusually low and the highs were in the order of things that only happen once or twice in your life.

I still hadn't decided where to go for the weekend by the time I'd finished work. The weather reports for Snowdonia were marginally better, but I wasn't sure how much snow there would be. I took the laser competition and put the tarp in the car in case the weather gods miled on me. There was a distinct feeling of having missed the boat-still, I set out and made good time, arriving at the foot of Tryfan at about 8.15. I always get a little nervous when I have to get everything together, but always manage it sooner rather than later. The weather is never as bad as it sounds when you get out of the car and I could see some extensive snow fields under a clear sky. The plan was to walk up to Llyn Bochlwyd where I would be protected from the winds by the bulk of the Glyders. I know the area, there's plenty of spots and it's an easy walk up. Famous last words. My first mistake was that I started up too far to the East. It was easy to see the footprints on the footpath in the light reflected from the snow so I turned off my photon but left it clipped to my cap just in case. The footpath led me into a boulder field but the light was still good so I kept on climbing. I'd figured out I was on Bochlwyd buttress so I began to drift towards the west, hoping to hit easier ground. Of course the hill didn't want to play ball. There were some hefty drops that I had to negotiate past-some of the hefty drops turned out to be nothing of the sort because of the way my depth perception was affected. This made route finding interesting to say the least. The weather was still good, in fact it was too warm for my new Trekmates Primaloft filled gloves. The actual 'walking' was quite good fun- I prefer scrambling as a way of gaining height rather than walking but I was keen to get onto easier ground. While I hadn't felt in danger to that point, I was concerned that I would end up on the top of a big drop with no way to negotiate round it. I finally hit a grass slope, and this was where the hard work began. I kept encountering deep snow fields. The snow would hold my weight for a few steps, then I would go in up to my waist. I avoided them where possible but sometimes I was forced to cross them. It had taken a lot longer getting to this point than I had anticipated and there was still no sign of the lake. I sat down for a rest, took off my hat and gloves and had a good drink and a Snickers. The weather was still good, it was warm and I had all my gear. It had turned out to be more of an adventure than I had expected but that was all good. It was at this point I raised up my head from where it had been resting on my hat. In an instant the hat was gone, bouncing down the mountain. I slipped off my pack and chased it for a bit but soon gave up- there was no way I was ever getting that hat back. I was furious. I'd got the hat a few years back. It was a standard Lowe Alpine mountain cap but instead of loops for a chin strap it had shock cord running through a seam all the way round the bottom. I'd never found anything like it for sealing around my ears and had dreaded the day when I lost it, but to lose it in such a stupid way... and of couse my Photon was still attached to it despite the fact that I'd thought a few times that I should put it in my pocket. And when I got back to my pack, one of my gloves had also gone. Looking back, this was the moment when my moral got seriously shot. I had gear to use for the night's camping-spare gloves and a down hood and the weather was warm enough so there were no safety issues but I was very pissed off.

Shouldering the sack, I proceeded upwards. I was becoming more aware of the wind the higher up I got. The climb seemed never ending. Finally I crested a ridge and Lyn Bochlwyd was spread out before me. I was East of the lake, and it seemed a good hundred feet below me down a sheer looking drop. The wind was now really strong and seemed to be blowing from sveral directions. I decided to camp on one of the snow patches. I was getting worried about getting the tent up. The slopes underneath the snow were too steep, the snow was too soft for pegs, I was worried about the rain washing the snow away and the tent collapsing, each spot I found seemed to be sheltered then there would be another gust of wind from a different direction. I was beginning to talk myself out of even attempting. I got the tent out a couple of times and began trying to put it up. I descended to different spots. I got angry with myself. I finally got down to the level of the lake. The wind was really gusting now. I knew that there was some shelter on the West side of the Lake and some flat spots. Except the outlet stream was a savage torrent under a thick layer of ice. That was it. I gave up. The plan was now to get back to the car. The decision made, I began to get nervous about the descent. I was on easier ground than the route up, but there was still a lot of snow to negotiate and thick ice under the grass. I descended carefully and holding my ice axe for moral support as much as anything. I think if I had been in a better frame of mind then I would have felt it was a reasonably straightforward descent. As it was I kept encountering slopes that looked too steep to get down and I backtracked several times. I stopped a couple of times to get my head together and to prevent myself from rushing. I got to a point and could finally see the road a good distance below me. I walked forwards a few steps and hit the boundary wall. Once again, the dark had confused my depth perception-I was back on the road. It was a ten minute walk to the car. I could see someone parked behind me with lights on-If someone was trying to break into my car I had my ice axe with me. If they had ice axes too, it was probably the case that they weren't trying to break in as they were walkers as well. And if the worst came to the worst I could always let them take everything except my poncho!

Turned out it was a camper van. I settled in for a deeply uncomfortable night's sleep on the back seat of the car. I was extremely grateful to be there though. I could hear the wind coming howling off the hill and pounding the car, shaking it on it's suspension. I'm not sure that a night like that was in the Laser competition's design remit!

I was driving by eight. I had figured out a plan- I drove to Betws-Y-Coed, picked up a coffee, dashed round the gear shops and then head towards Snowdon. I wanted to climb up via the PYG track- a route I'd never done. I was still slightly chastised by the previous night's events and felt like I wanted something reasonably well populated and easy going. With my wallet substantially lightened I parked up and began walking. I love Snowdonia and the Snowdon area in particular. It was the first real mountains I came to after I got into backpacking and it just blew me away. The evidence of tremendous natural forces are so evident and even driving down the Llanberis pass is just stunning. I walked up the road and then began tracking up the valley wall just below Dinas Mot. The snow got deeper and the rain poured down. There was no-one about and I was having a fantastic time. I popped up onto the path that leads up to Crib Goch and descended down to the PYG. The whole of the Snowdon horseshoe was spread before me. Despite the tourist hordes that descend onto the area, there is something about the combination of mountains and lakes that has a real resonance with me. Now, although there were plenty of footprints, the place was deserted. After a brief breakfast I headed up.

The going was nice and easy. The snow was soft enough to give, but firm enough to hold. The Light-trek 4s proved their worth. I don't tend to use them to propel me forward or even to take weight, but they are more like extensions for my arms, supporting me, probing the terrain ahead, allowing me to descend without putting my hand down. They had a new use too. I'd got hold of a gorrilla pod for the camera and I could now attach my camera to the end of one so that video was not just shot up my nose. I had a few goes and it worked quite well.

As I got higher, the snow got icier. Despite the fact that it was probably okay, I put on my crampons. I encountered a few people descending with ice axes and it wasn't long before I had my axe out too. What was quite worrying was the amount of people coming down from the top who seemed fairly ill prepared. I don't have any problems with 'budget' gear-I was wearing Peter Storm waterproof trousers, but it can be an indicator of your experience. There were quite a few people descending sharing a pair of 'hill-king' walking poles and wearing Crag-hoppers jackets. They were slipping and sliding all over the place and finding it hilarious- there was hundreds of feet of sheer slopes covered in snow and big pointy boulders below them. The bottom of the track was totally free of snow and this may have led them to believe that things were okay further up. It was proper winter conditions up there though. Interestingly, I was one of only two or three people I saw with crampons. The snow was soft enough to give some grip but there were icy stretches particularly up top. Plenty of people had ice axes though and it was probably soft enough to ensure that you wouldn't slide far. As far as I'm aware one without the other isn't particularly safe either way- the best thing to do is to prevent a slip so you don't need to self arrest.

There was the nice feeling of cameraderie up at the top that you get when you've all spent a few hours geeting to the top of something. I took the opportunity to sit and brew up a hot chocolate with a shot of whisky in it. It was at this point that I began to think of spending the night at the top of Snowdon. There was a sheltering wall to pitch behind, and the snow was frozen enough to accept my pegs. A bloke asked me if I was spending the night and that made up my mind. I cleared a bit of snow as the last walkers left and pitched the tent. I douple pegged the main guys for security and sat back to melt some snow. I was running short on meths as I had never expected to be camping away from a water source but I managed to brew up a litre of water which was enough to last me. I had my down sweater, minim ultra vest, my new down hood and was really toasty. I did fancy some of the PHD down trousers but that was merely a luxury that I didn't have. I sat outside the tent, read 'Trainspotting' and finished the Jura while my meal rehydrated.

I settled down fairly early as I was tired from the night before. The condensation was pretty severe in the tent. The wind had kicked up and I opened the top of the inner tent but nothing helped. I was comfortable though, in fact I was so warm I had to take the down sweater off. I had a fairly broken sleep, but not unreasonable. When I finally woke up, the wind had died down again. I made a cup of coffee with the last of my meths and packed up. There was amazing frost on the guys, stretching out a good centimetre. The snow outside was nice and crisp too. Despite my worriees, it was easy to extract all of the pegs and I was moving by 8. There was a lot of fog, and conditions going down were a little more dicey than going up. I was extremely glad I'd brought the crampons as I teetered along tiny ledges above precipitous drops. I was trying to get down pretty quickly as I wanted to get home to see Solomon and Steph but I still made sure to take it all in. Getting back to the car took a couple of hours and from there it was an easy drive home.

The Lakes in February

I'd already published this trip report from last February on the TGO forum but I've got some video that i wasn't able to post. I thought it might be interesting for people who hadn't read it as it was one of the first times I began making conscious gear choices based on the expected conditions rather than just reducing weight or taking a lot of equipment 'just in case'.

I had been looking for the opportunity to test out all my new toys for a while and the heavy snowfalls gave me interesting conditions to test the gear. I played around with different packing configurations during the week before deciding on my kit list. I took both my sleeping bags to layer up, a five season multi-mat and a torso length section of GG eggbox foam. I had tried including a Thermarest 3/4 instead, but the weight difference made me decide on the GG despite the fact that it would have to be carried on the outside of the pack. In the event, it didn't bother me as much as I had thought it might. For warm wear I took my down sweater, some merino long johns and at the last moment threw in my minim ultra vest. Having looked at the weather I decided against taking any waterproofs and instead took pertex trousers and top-my down sweater can shrug off snow and if anything unexpected came up I could wear the Gatewood cape. The pertex was an excellent choice- I put them on, supplemented by a microfleece and they stayed on until I got back to the car the next day. On uphills the long front zip on the Rab tob vented well and every time we stopped and the cold hit, they blocked the wind fantastically. This meant a lot less removing and replacing of layers. On downhills, I added the minim vest. Shelter was the Gatewood cape and evrything was carried in my jam sack. After packing I weighed everything on my (not terribly accurate) and it came out at 6.5 kg including food, fuel, water, ice axe, crampons and 300ml of whisky (winter essential!). We set out at an ungodly hour and arrived at Wasdale at 10.30, just in time to nab the last parking space. After a bit of faffing and taking of team photos we headed towards Lord's Rake. The plan was fairly fluid but we wanted to have a crack at a bit of steep snow and the Rake had been recommended as a good introduction. We were all up to speed with our winter skills and wanted to take them a bit further. My pack felt good on, especially once I strapped on the crampons and began carrying the ice axe. The Rake was in excellent condition, and fairly untouched except for a few snowed over footsteps. There was plenty of exposure but nothing technical and we all agreed it was one of the highlights of the weekend. The original plan had been to head over to Sprinkling tarn to camp, but we had already spent longer than we thought climbing the Rake and now I made the classic mistake of looking at the objective rather than the map. I descended through the wrong gully and ended up on a short slope with a nasty looking cliff at the bottom. I was heading down to check out the possibilities and thought to myself that I'd better hold my axe in the self arrest position when I slipped and began sliding. I picked up speed remarkably quickly but managed to stop myself after a few feet. There was an anxious moment where I thought the axe wouldn't bite and was a bit shaken when I got up. Lesson learnt, we descended down the right gully and headed towards Great Moss.
It was clear that we weren't going to make it to sprinkling tarn now so we began to look for a dry spot. There was plenty of bogs and tufts but we finally found a spot on a small knoll. The wind had picked up and I was a little worried about the Gatewood cape. My brother in Law had a KWay 2 man wedge that I could have squeezed into but I wanted to test my capabilities. I rigged an extra guy at the back using my ice axe which had the benefit of giving me a bit of extra headroom and I settled down to cook my supper. I was very impressed with the cladera cone. It was the first time I had used it but despite the wind and the icy water it still boiled enough for a coffee and my meal in a very short amount of time. The wind was making the lightweight aluminium pole on the cape flex quite alarmingly. I closed the door and it improved matters but I would have been much happier with a trekking pole there instead. I still felt safe enough to leave the tent to go and hunch up in the bottom of Martyn's tent to drink whisky and munch on my homemede jerky. I don't think the other's were convinced. Ben commented that no meat should crunch!We decided to settle down at about nine, but exiting the tent we saw that the whole valley was bathed in the most incredible moonlight. I spent a few freezing minutes trying to capture the scene before getting into the bag. The wind had dropped and the thermometer in my tent registered -5.
I was warm during the night. I wore all of my day clothes and my minim vest. i used my down jacket as a pillow. Occasionally my backside got cold when i curled up so I placed my sit mat between it and the sleeping bag which worked well. I was pressed up against the side of the tent and because I was pitched on a slope I kept slding down so my feet were pressed on the bottom.You really need to sleep dead centre in the cape to avoid touching the sides. When I woke up there was some ice on the fly but not a lot, which was good because I hadn't vented the tent at all. I had kept my mouth inside the sleeping bag which may have reduced condensation. There was some ice on the foot of my bag but luckily, the night had been so dry I could just brush it off and my bag remained dry.We set off up the tongue after a relaxed breakfast. We were making time because we wanted to get driving before the predicted snow arrived. After avoiding snow patches as much as possible we finally gave in and strapped on our crampons. We saw a lot of people on the Sunday, conditions were just about perfect. After a a quick spin past Sprinkling tarn we descended back through Wasdale and returned to the car just in time to catch the first of the snow showers as we drove back.Overall on this trip I was really pleased with the weight of my kit and the way it worked. Last winter my pack weighed closer to 10kg without axe, crampons or 2 sleeping bags. I felt that each element worked together and different elements could be combined to reduce weight. I didn't use my long johns or spare socks but I was glad I had them as there was still the possibility of putting my foot through a bog and getting wet as happened to Martyn. Realistically I could have got away without the vest but it did give me a bit more flexibility. The caldera cone was great. I took 250ml of meths and only used about 1/4 of it for 2 hot meals and a few cuppas. The Gatewood cape worked really well. I would have felt safer with a trekking pole but I think that I was being a little paranoid and at 400g for a shelter it's hard to beat. Finally I was really happy with the kahtoolas combined with my hedgehog mids. I kicked a fair amount of steps in the shoes and my toes were fine. I could have done with a little pair of debris gaiters to keep the snow out.