About his Yorkshire Wolds exhibition Hockney says “The paradox of East Yorkshire, is that, though the landscape is essentially unchanging, its weather is very changeable, altering the light and colour as the clouds pass overhead and the sun shifts position.”  This can be said about much of our English landscape and today was such a day.  The thick dark clouds vied with the winter sun and the low hills were silhouetted against the sky line with film like clarity.

The walk we followed was a stunning discovery from the necessity to squeeze it in on a winter’s afternoon. So I consulted the Cicerone, Walks in Lakeland – South Lakes book and walk 37.  I wasn’t totally convinced as the route was from Newby Bridge and south across the main A590.  But necessity dictated and it was described as an 8 mile walk in ‘typical South Lakeland terrain’ and yes, it was.

The book instructs you to park on the north side of the A590, by the Swan Hotel, and cross the road before taking a narrow road signed Canny Hill.  We missed this bit out by driving up the road to Canny Hill and parking on the road side.  But note, it is mid January and there were houses on this road who were obviously fed up of people such as us, parking on the road side as there was a plethora of rocks to prevent destruction of the grass verge.

The track varies from well marked bridal way, to indistinct bog!  Waterproof boots absolutely necessary. From one of the highest points, Bigland Barrow, we looked back and caught tantalising glimpses of the Coniston Fells.  Unfortunately the fickle light did not reveal them for long and the best clarity was reserved for the much closer Gummers Howe. But looking south the low winter sun broke through the clouds and transformed the Leven Estuary in to monochrome.

Walking over the top of Bigland Barrow the westerly’s hit us big time. Holding a camera still was impossible and am quite amazed that so many of my photos lack blur.

The presence of a few tarns in close proximity to the route, the most substantial being Black Beck and Bigland, ensure a boggy game of hopscotch. Trying to step from tuffet to tuffet slowed us down quite considerably. Although we have had more than our fair share of rain in recent weeks much of this route, I imagine will still be somewhat aqueous in the height of a summer drought.

Being off the usual tourist route gave the advantage of not meeting ANY other walkers, though it was quite clear some of the paths were well used by the horses from Bigland Hall. The Belted Galloways were the only other sign of life we came across and thankfully the bull was far more interested in his harem than us.

Take a leaf out of Mr Hockney’s book and ‘look’ at the landscape.  What you find and see may surprise you.

This ‘tell us your story‘ article was sent in by Alvina Labsvirs

Last weekend, woke up at eight, pulled on my softshells and crept out of the bedroom to eat a typically large bowl of muesli and yogurt. After that and a cup of tea, I quietly kissed Solen goodbye, picked up my sack and headed out. A 30 minute drive brought me to Koenigsee car park in Berchtesgaten,  in the eastern Bavarian Alps, the starting place for my plan to solo the Watzmann Ostwand. On the forty minute boat ride down Koenigsee to St. Bartholoma I made eye contact with the only two other people on the boat who were obviously climbers. I went over and said hello; Peter and Matt were both planning on going for the same route as me… the Berchtesgatner Weg.

This climb has 1800 meter of vertical elevation from the bottom of the face to the summit (summit is 2713m), but due to the weaving nature of the route, 3000m of ground is covered. The face is big and sprawling, but the climbing is pretty easy: UIAA grade I and II for the most part with a couple of sections of III+. This essentially translates into a 3000m grade 3 scramble with a few bits of Diff/VDiff. I had packed a 25m 7.5mm rope, 5 assorted nuts/hexes, 3 extendable quickdraws, 2 slings and another, wider sling to use as a harness. All this stuff was of the ultralight variety. I climbed in big boots, took an axe and some aluminium crampons, a helmet, a day’s worth of food and no bivouac gear. I intended to climb the face in the day and descend in the night.
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In 2007 I embarked on a trek to the Himalayas. Being a keen photographer I had to make the difficult decision of what equipment to take with me. I opted with trepidation for the pocket-sized camera Lumix FZ7 as I didn’t want my chances of reaching my goal jeopardized by heavy, more sophisticated, equipment. It was a wise decision.

We left the airport in Lukla after a bumpy landing and what followed on the trip to Everest Base Camp and Gokyo Ri was exactly as described in the Cicerone Handbook. I chose the Cicerone guide because it was light, pocket sized, and had a waterproof cover (I had also previously used one on a summit of Mount Kilimanjaro and currently have one for Aconagua in south America which will be my next big challenge).

The journey was tough and the days were long – between 8 to 12 hour days with ascent and descent for acclimatization. But it was what I could only describe as a life-changing journey. As for the different people we met along the way, from Buddhist Priests to Porters, from Sherpa’s families and locals to cattle herders, you have to admire their resilience and generosity in this stunning and pristine but harsh landscape that is second to none anywhere in the world. My route included 3 major summits that should not be underestimated: Kala Patar, Nagarstang, and Gok Yo Ri  are all over 5000 meters.

The excitement builds all the way, around every corner there is a valley with more and more stunning views: Amadablam, the most photogenic mountain there is and different from every vantage point, the summit of Kalar Patar gives you the most amazing view of the massive of Mt Everest (nearly 8848 meters), then Nagarstang a mere 5000m (approximately) but with just as stunning a view down the valley. These were some of the most stunning, majestic views I have ever seen.

Towards the end of the trip we reached the Gokyo lakes and then the summit later the next day. My advice would be, if you were to take only one picture all trip, it would have to be a shot of this panorama (can be seen in my flickr collection Clayborough Photography) from the summit above the lakes. Your whole trip would be worth it for this picture alone and, as I drew on every last bit of energy to do this final big push before we headed back toward Lukla (3 or 4 days away), I felt thankful.

Mount Everest Panorama

My group – Horns Aloud -  recently performed in a concert of the project “How to shout and blow horns” with ex-pat Martin Mayes hosted by the “Sounds of the Dolomites” festival (I Suoni delle Dolomiti), and annual summer event hosted by Trentino Marketing aimed at creating a series of experiences binding music, hiking and the outdoor environment. The festival has been run for 20 years and brings musicians from all over the world to perform along with the many local choirs that represent a strong and unique musical heritage from the area.

Our concert was scheduled for 2pm, and was at an altitude of 2160m, near to the beautiful lake Lagusel. This little gem has a “rifugio” (alpine refuge) nearby, run by an English lady with her Italian husband, beautiful views and is surrounded by wonderful walking country.

From our overnight base in the village of Pozza di Fassa (see walk 30 in Shorter Walks in the Dolomites. From here, our venue was 5km away in total, on a route along the valley parallel to the final section of the ridge-walk in the Cicerone guide), we were taken by jeep up to a car-park in the Val San Nicolo.

There was a 420m climb ahead, along which many of the audience had already started in organised groups with guides. We ascended through alpine pine forest, full of small flowers, and along a well-maintained path. The direction from the valley path up to Lagusel was signposted well on a large rock. Although the temperatures down in the main Adige valley had been sweltering at 32°, up here in the Dolomites proper, walking conditions were much more favourable, with broken cloud and only gentle breezes.

After an hour’s walk, which could easily have been taken at a brisker pace (I’m no regular walker, and our colleague was taking on the path as a challenge to aid him in his fight against weight gained since giving up rugby to play the horn better), we spied the wooden roofs of two more refuges, one the home of a local Ladin-speaker and his family, clad for the day in Lederhosen.

We were provided with hot tea and later proper alpine food, while taking to a roving National Geographic reporter from Bavaria. Sausage, grilled cheese, pork roast, polenta, sauerkraut and caramelised wild mushrooms despatched, we were ready for the concert itself.

We played horns and alphorns for an hour and more, the slight (and unseasonal) showers that passed through little hindrance to us Brits, and no deterrent to our listeners. The audience were warm and appreciative, and drawn from every age, with participants aged roughly 5-75 taking turns to blow a few tones on our wonderful carbon-fibre instruments.

With the festive music-making complete, Horns Aloud, Martin Mayes (our ex-pat colleague), the festival staff and audience relaxed in the peaceful atmosphere, as the bells of the cows attracted to the nearby pasture by our alphorns rattled cheerily. After some obligatory 18-month aged grappa and publicity pics, we rambled back down the neat path, easily avoiding the forecast evening storms so typical of alpine summers.

Regards

Marc Woodhurst

More information:

The facebook page of the performers, with more pictures from the day.

More about the area which hosted the event. Lagusel is in a side-valley of the Val di Fassa, a beautiful valley of German and Ladin speaking villages just north-east of Trento.

When initially planning the route and thinking about kit, accommodation and gear, I thought it was all about the walking – after all, 800km is a considerable distance. I was wrong though, it’s all about the people.

The walk we did was the Spanish section of the pilgrim route known as the Way of Saint James, or more commonly, the Camino (the way). It starts in the Pyrenees, either on the French side, which gives you a fantastic first day crossing the mountains and dropping down into Spain for your first night in pilgrim accommodation, or missing this for a flying start in Spain itself. From here it winds its way across northern Spain through medieval villages and towns, following the ancient paths that have carried pilgrims to Santiago de Compostella for a thousand years.
One of the great things about this walk is the plentiful and cheap accommodation that enables you to travel relatively light – only needing a sleeping bag, with a roll mat a useful extra for when the beds are all taken.

You will be in a bunk bed in various buildings and churches, the room will contain others, sometimes hundreds of others, and you will meet people from all over the world every day that you walk. You may walk with a group of people for days, or you might move quickly, but you will meet new friends every single day, and as time passes, you will be reunited with people you lost contact with earlier on the route.
My partner and I wanted to see rural Spain via a longish walking route, and after perusing the Cicerone catalogue for something suitable, we discovered this guide by Alison Raju.

Although we had no knowledge of it, it was obvious when we got onto the Camino that it was a global destination! As to the pilgrim aspect of the route, I would say that around 50% of the walkers had a spiritual agenda of some sort, a lot of young people, (especially from Spain and Italy) seemed to be doing it as a rite of passage experience, and a sizable proportion were walkers who liked the historical aspect of the route, and the medieval towns and villages along the way.

All walking routes have a history of some sort, but on the Camino the sense of continuity and the shared experience of the countless people over the millennia are palpable. This route will take you through a landscape that changes constantly, – from high plateau areas called the meseta, through rolling agricultural country, across fabulous historic cities such as Pamplona, Burgos, and Astorga, and the stunning beauty of Santiago itself at the end of the Camino. All of this is recommendation enough, but the thing that makes every hamlet, every dusty path and every pilgrim hostel so memorable is the people who you share it with.

The only way to describe this walk is life-changing.

This ‘tell us your story‘ article was sent in by Phil Robson.