Sheepish in Snowdonia,

or Bleatings from Bethesda

As usual in July, we flocked to the furthermost corner of Wales, where the real men are Welsh (apparently) - and deeply suspicious of the English, and sheep are equally nervous of both. Staying in Essex and having a sauna and shower may have been a cheap alternative, in view of the sub-tropical humidity and lengthy journey. However, apart from Alison, (who had a good excuse) we took the endurance option and the M6.

Anyone who claims that Gore-Tex jackets don't create condensation hasn't worn them in conditions where the outside air is saturated with moisture. In these conditions, Gore-Tex doesn't breathe, and people have problems (hayfever being the reason Alison had stayed at home). It is hardly surprising, then, that the locals rounding up soggy sheep doubt the sanity of Englishmen who walk in the hills for fun. For one at least, his earlier visit to Chapel was obviously insufficient to generate a feeling of goodwill towards his fellow (English)man. He needed to make a sarcastic remark to deter us from coming back (as if the weather alone wasn't sufficient!) - and would obviously have shot me and not Polly, if she'd dared to chase his sheep. But in reality we had the opposite problem, when in Alison's absence, Flossie took a fancy to Dave and pursued him down from the hill, initiating a discussion about different types of Wellington boots, but that's a another story…

Joking (and sarcasm) apart, we stayed in a very well maintained bunkhouse (thanks to Shrewsbury Mountaineering Club), discovered an excellent hill to climb again in good weather, and realised that Mrs Ogmore Pritchard exists in reality (not just in Under Milk Wood). There was not a trace of dirt in Bethesda (apart from the mud on our overtrousers) and if the sun had shone and tried to enter one of the houses, he'd definitely had to wipe his feet…

Trudi

Ingatestone Walk

Many thanks to Roz for a splendid evening walk in the environs of Ingatestone. We started out from Trueloves Nursery (following the purchase of many plants to enliven our member's gardens) and took in fields and lanes in gorgeous evening light. In spite of a certain lack of navigational confidence, Roz and Lynn succeeded in leading back with perfect timing as the light faded. We almost all sojourned to the pub where we met up with Carol and rounded off the night with beer and conversation.

Bike ride to the Duck.

It had rained all day but the evening was dry. Jim led us a pretty route of country lanes to the pub. The last three left at closing time: "Where are we? Where's Chelmsford? Which way do we go?" Oh dear! "Aim towards the glare of the sodium lights" mystery tour took us to Writtle, from where we did find our ways home!

Sunday walk at Bradwell

Eight of us gathered on a slightly grey and bracing British summer's day. Nige told us of his holiday in the med in 40+ centigrade, so we felt we'd rather be in Britain!

Its only about a mile from the car park to the chapel of St Peter's in the Wall. I have always found this bare remote building to inspire a prayerful atmosphere. Some cynic remarked that its caused by the endorphins released by the mile walk!

We strolled along the sea wall and I regretted my lack of knowledge of bird life.

For lunch we visited the ecumenical peace centre of the Othona community. Founded in 1946 using some redundant MOD buildings, the community aims to foster understanding between people of different backgrounds. They run courses, welcome visitors who want to explore peace issues, and, by arrangement, open for teas! In the afternoon we hiked back to Bradwell along the sea wall, accompanied by the whine of the generators at the nuclear power station.

The leader didn't need to navigate (Dave P was with us), identify interesting plants (I thought you were kidding with "sea lavender" Nige), or make forays into the saltings (Trudi did). Most of us were brutally left behind at the pub where the llamas live while the drivers went to fetch the cars. And the sun had come out!

Lorna

Ongar Walk

On a rare sunny summer's evening, twelve of us gathered in Chipping Ongar for a pleasant march around the tracks and paths in the setting sun, stopping only briefly to look at the ancient wooden church at Greensted. Everyone must have been enjoying it because offered a choice of 1, 2 or 3 mile route back, the unanimous vote was for three. This we just managed, making it into the pub as the last hint of daylight faded.

Not over the Hill Yet!

All 15 Welsh peaks over 3000ft in 24 hours

When you get near forty, you begin to worry about your age, have you been putting enough money in your pension, are your grey hairs covering your bald bits, is your body about to retire. Hovering dangerously close to this daunting landmark, I decided that if I didn't have a crack at the Welsh Threes (W3s) this year, I might never do it. Lorna's eyes lit up when I asked if anybody was planning an attempt this year. Not realising this was the sadist inside her spotting an opportunity to see people suffer, I told her I was up for it and accepted her offer to get a group together.

The W3s, let's face it, is a bloody long walk, up some bloody big hills. It involves about twenty hours walking, (unless you're Tom or Gareth) over a route you would probably take three days to cover, if you were planning to enjoy yourself. You have to drive three hundred miles, then get up at an hour you only normally see during a very good party or bleary-eyed pee. Tackling such a challenge, I decided it would be sensible to have a high carbohydrate meal the previous day, refrain from alcohol and get to bed by 9 O'clock. Downing my second pint at 10.30pm was therefore not sensible. However, I was more worried about my walking companions. I find it tiring to walk at anything but my own pace. If the group were too quick, or too slow, it would make the challenge that much harder. It was therefore worrying me, that only a few hours before we set off, I was meeting for the first time the people who would accompany me.

Going too slow didn't look like a problem. Ian looked remarkably fit, with legs long enough to suggest he would complete the walk in half as many paces as I would. Chris, though older than me, also looked fit and was, I learned, a Marathon runner and Orienteer. Richard, who had yet to arrive, sounded young enough to also have a substantial advantage on me. Concerns as to whether I would be able to keep up and not hold them back were still troubling me as I tossed and turned at one in the morning, desperately trying to get to sleep before the 3.15am alarm.

By 4.15 am we were in Pen y Pass Car Park and by no means alone. There were more people booting up than you could shake a walking pole at. The traditional route for the W3s, starts at the summit of Snowdon. However CYHA have at some time in the past worked out that if you climb Crib Goch first you can descend from Snowdon into Nant Peris; avoiding an arduous trudge along the road from Pen y Pass and a difficult decent from Crib Goch. It does however necessitate a steep unmarked decent into the Llanberis Pass. It was on this treacherous dewy slope, that I slipped and fell. Feeling something give in my right knee, I got up gingerly and tested the joint. I have subsequently learned that I tore my medial ligament, but at the time it didn't feel as if too much damage had been done.

We arrived at Nant Peris carpark just after 8am. Colin was busily stirring a huge pot of porridge and Lorna was setting out a splendid choice of breakfast fare. Having eaten our fill and replenished our water bottles, we set off up Elidir Fawr. We found the climb draining, it is an unpleasant slog when you've not got time to stop and admire the views. Chris had triumphantly announced "three down, twelve to go" as we had left the summit of Snowdon around 7am, nearly four hours later, we were still only three down.

On reaching the summit, we met two young girls from Lancaster University. They were the back markers from a large group who were attempting the same walk, having started at 2am that morning. They explained that they had just graduated and had decided the W3s was an excellent way to celebrate. My stereotype image of students is that they are more likely to celebrate by 20 hours drinking than 20 hours walking and I was therefore suitably impressed. Richard was also clearly impressed, but for totally different reasons. We walked with them for the next couple of miles, which was the only time the entire day that he lagged behind. Unfortunately he neglected to get a phone number (obviously needs more coaching from Gerry). His mind was soon taken off these young maidens, when a bit of shoddy navigation by yours truly took us off course, losing time and height. The error corrected, we met up with some more of the Lancaster party in the shelter on Y Garn. We had by now worked out that even if we spent only ten minutes on each summit, it would cost us two and half-hours by the end of the day, but we needed the break. The descent into Devil's Kitchen is normally one I enjoy, but today the loss of hard gained metres, which would need to be recaptured by way of an unpleasant scree slope, negated any pleasure. The summit of Glyder Fawr was covered in thick cloud (as it always seems to be). By the time we reached Glyder Fach, it was chucking it down. Negotiating the boulder field in these conditions slowed us down tremendously, as did the navigation required with less than 10m visibility. By the time we reached the bottom of Tryfan, I was feeling done in. The most popular mountain in Britain was anything but popular with me at that moment. My knee was hurting badly and a compensatory pain in the other leg was beginning to manifest. By the time we reached the summit of Tryfan, (the eighth of the day) it was already past the time we had expected to reach the dinner stop.

It is always, of course, a pleasure to see Lorna and Colin, but they will never again present such a pleasant sight as they did in Ogwen Car Park. Another splendid repast was underway, despite the cooks having to contend with plagues of midges. There was no way I was going to give up at this stage, but I was really suffering. The stamina and fitness levels were holding up, but my legs were letting me down. Just walking across the carpark to the loo was an effort. I blamed it on the injured knee, but age was probably the true culprit.

To my delight, I felt great going up Pen yr Olwen. We were behind schedule and needed a good start. My goodness Colin's noodles gave us the carbohydrate boost needed to shin up that Mountain. We climbed nearly 700metres without stopping. Once on Pen yr Ole Wen, it is rewarding to know that you have now completed all the major climbs. It is also misleading. There is still a little matter of 12 miles to Foel Fras with numerous contours in-between. It was fast approaching 8pm.

I had led virtually all the way up to the ridge, but on more level ground Ian's long legs and Richard's youth and fitness took the pace up a level. Chris and I struggled to keep up. My worst period of the day, was the section from Llewellyn to Yr Elen. We were walking away from our final destination, to pick off a peak and would have to virtually retrace our steps. This was soul destroying. I was also in agony. I had assumed I had walked off my knee problems but we had been ascending most of the way since dinner. Now we were losing height into a saddle and my knees were taking the strain. I would have gladly given up at this point, but the quickest way to civilisation was the way we were going. The others had to wait for me to catch up on Yr Elen. I suggested they finished the walk at their own pace and wait for me on Foel Fras. To their credit they declined, which probably cost them forty minutes or so. Although tired we were delighted with the evening. At the time most CYHA members would be nipping off to the pub with bulging bellies, we were treated to a beautiful twilight. I don't know how we would have coped had we encountered the poor weather conditions of the afternoon.

We were still able to walk without torches when we completed our goal at 11.30pm. We shook hands, patted each other on the back and said "never again." Lorna had arranged to meet us on Foel Fras, to guide us to the camp. We were early though, so set off to meet her on her way up, which we did after a short distance.

"Much further to go?" someone asked her.

"Yeah, it's a bit further yet," she cagily replied.

"How much further?"

"Umm, quite a bit actually".

"Oh" said four dejected walkers.

"Much further to go?" we asked, about an hour and a half later. (We were walking at a snails pace by now. Chris had blisters and my knees had long since given up the will to live). Lorna decided to walk on ahead at this stage, saying that she would try and get her car up the half-mile of track we were going to have to traverse once we reached the valley bottom. I think in truth, she could bear watching us hobbling no longer. She didn't seem to have been gone long when we saw car lights in the valley below. "Good old Lorna" we said to ourselves. When we arrived at the track, there was no sign of Lorna, instead a jolly chap, in the latter years of his life, popped out of the darkness and said "Would you like a biscuit?" The biscuits having been greedily ripped from his hand, he then offered us a lift in his open backed Land Rover.

"I'm afraid you'll have to sit in the back" he apologised. We would have climbed onto a trailer full of s**t. It had wheels and was going our way. Bearing in mind it was now 1am on Sunday morning, this man's appearance remains a mystery. An angel from Heaven was my conclusion. They come in all shapes and sizes they say. We climbed wearily into our sleeping bags, only staying awake long enough to greet the second angel of the evening, who this time appeared disguised as Lorna proffering tins of Murphy's.

Andy turned up the next morning, to help convey us back to the bunkhouse, but not before we had devoured another of Lorna's breakfasts. I'm currently undergoing physiotherapy on my knee, but they tell me I will probably walk again one day.

I am sure I speak for Chris, Ian and Richard when I say that we couldn't have done it without Colin and Lorna. Thanks, we owe you one.

Neil

London Eye

OK this isn't really a club trip as it was just Dave and me, but it was just so excellent I couldn't resist mentioning it!

We got up at some unearthly hour and grabbed an early train into London arriving at the London Eye at 8.55am. Although the area was quite busy there was no queue at the ticket desk and tickets were available for immediate boarding. After a cloudy start it was now all blue skies and sunshine, so we didn't hesitate: "two tickets, please". With our tickets grasped in our sweaty palms we joined the fast-moving queue for boarding. Within 15 minutes we were climbing aboard our capsule!

The capsules are large, spacious and transparent except for the floor. Each one is limited to about 16 people, which gives loads of room to mill around. The capsules do not stop moving, even to let you on, but the motion is so stately that you are scarcely aware of it.

As the wheel turns and you begin to climb the whole of London is slowly revealed before you. It is surprisingly green and disorientating as you realise how close some parts are to each other (a relation that's lost when you travel by tube!). You see clearly the Thames folding back on itself, you see famous landmarks both old and new, including Canary Wharf and the Millennium Dome miles away on the horizon. One of the best sights is the almost aerial view of the Houses of Parliament.

It is well worth a visit. Go on a nice day. Take binoculars. Take a camera and lots of film - you'll need it!

Ali

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