CYHA NEWS

(Plus other scandalous happenings in Norfolk)

On the Evening of the Friday
We all gathered at the hostel
At the hostel by the river
By the river where the doglet
The small doglet of the Trudy
Leapt into the flowing waters
And created dreadful mayhem.
(Find and ask the fearless Trudy
To discover the whole story.)

On the Saturday we went to
Norfolk Lavender, the place where
Scented flowers may be sniffed at,
Purple scones may be scoffed slowly,
Scented tea may be drunk quickly.
Does this mean that noble hostellers,
Hostellers of the town called Chelmsford
Will discard their normal habits,
Will drink deeply of this new tea,
Tea so fragranced with the flowers
At their meetings, weekends, outings?
I don't think so.

After that we went on further
To the Palace of the Nobles
To the place set deep in Woodland
Where we met the dauntless Trudy
And the awful doglet Polly.
Sandringham.

Then, that evening, at the hostel,
Quiet, empty, echoing hostel,
Where, to find or call the warden
One must search for hours and hours,
We ate Ali's chocolate sponge cake,
Cake set all alight with candles
For the birthdays of the twosome
Joyful Janet, Happy Helen.
After that the boys all scattered,
Drawn by beer, bright lights, the city,
While the girls all congregated
Round their Czech friend, George the Masseur
Who, with shaking hands, proceeded
To unknot the nerves and tendons
In the back of languorous Janet.

Sunday dawns. The group all dally,
Linger over Trudy's fishcakes.
Finally we're set in motion,
Gather at a little quayside
In a village on the North Coast.
Burnham Overy Staithe.

There we went for a long walk that
Will remain for all and ever
In the memory of this writer.
Visited the church that fostered
That child warrior, the great Nelson;
Lunched on chocolate at the mansion,
Holkham Hall, a place of sunshine -
Set off for the coast, and found that
Clouds were gathering, dark and darker.
Rain began to fall, and fell more,
Fell and fell and then it fell more.
First we were just gently dripping.
Then we started moaning loudly
While our boots filled up with water,
Clothing plastered to our bodies,
Water trickling down our backbones.

Finally the rain had ended
And we reached our happy transport,
Changed our clothes while people passed by,
Drawn out by the lovely sunshine,
Passed by and peered in the windows.
This completes the weekend saga,
Saga of the Norfolk Hostellers.

Despite weather more reminiscent of November, eight of us enjoyed our "midsummer" evening cycle ride to the Duck at Newney Green. Better weather the following week saw 12 of us following Trudi into the undergrowth on a pleasant stroll around the Viper.

I completed the London to Brighton Bike Ride in 4 hours 45 minutes on Sunday 21st June. Following the gruelling ascent of Alpe de Ditchling Beacon, I sprinted down the Champs de Brighton Seafront to a hero's welcome.

Well done also to Lorna who stood in for an absentee at the last minute, and completed the course in just over 7 hours on her single speed shopper, and was then still fresh enough to want to ride back into town to find a pub showing football, when most riders didn't want to go near a bicycle again.

Clive - Walking on my own the navigation became an interesting challenge and the best bit of the day has to be the first mast / radio station appearing out of the mist directly in front of me (much to my amazement). The worst bit was the ascent, I had forgotten just how high Scottish mountains are, especially when starting from sea level.

Lastly I was pleased to find a couple of cars waiting for people coming off the mountain at the end of the walk.

Sarah - I feel strangely unable to describe my feelings about today’s walk. I’m still working out what they are. I have to say we beat the Army cadets into oblivion, they were in wimpy cars as opposed to on wimpy legs.

The best moment was when I started to believe Debs "It’ll clear as soon as we get past..."

The worst moments were a steady multiplication of false summits - never ending. Someone was out there building them as fast as we were climbing them. However, one more drink in the pub and I think I’ll start to "enjoy" it.

Steve C - Seemed unorganised right from the start, people walking on different routes. Midges first noticed soon after George turned back. Lovely views before we entered into the cloud. Interesting walking in the cloud, not knowing where you are and unsure in some ways where you’re going. Nice to have smiling faces around. Crags, stones & grass on the route to 766m, and on the way down. Lovely to see the sheep and lambs, ptarmigan at the top, and buzzards from the cars on the way back. It was wet in the cloud, not to mention wind and drizzle, so it was nice to be able to take a break in Colin’s mountain cover.

The Coastal drop-outs.

Trudi - We were thwarted to the north by disease and pestilence and to the south by landslide. We decided to ignore the written warnings but not the skulls nailed to the gate and the barricade across the path.

Beyond the tourist zone we did find an excellent path prepared by sheep, and a standing stone which loomed out of the mist. The other mysterious shapes coming out of the mist proved to be my companions...

Gary - An early call and an express breakfast and an almost instantaneous evacuation saw 14 of us crammed into 3 cars driving helter skelter along single track roads to catch the ferry to Iona. (60 miles in 2 hours. Ed) After making landfall we wandered to StOrans chapel where Trudi found John Smith’s resting place. I hope my final resting place is a similar spot but I’ll probably make do with a rose bush at the crem.

We then made our way to the Abbey. It is a tribute to the people of Iona that the restoration work carried out on the Abbey was obviously done in a dedicated and devoted way.

And so to Staffa. The crossing was interesting, a thirty-odd foot vessel in an increasingly choppy sea. Until, at last, Staffa came into view with Fingal’s cave prominent. As we drew closer there was a mad scramble aboard and a frenzied clicking of shutters. Once we stepped ashore, admiring the en route basalt columns, we walked to the mouth of Fingals Cave.

Its been an ambition of mine to visit this cave for a long time, the Hebrides Overture being one of my favourite pieces of music. I could almost hear the music flowing out of Fingals Cave.

A bonus was awaiting us at the far end of the island, dozens of puffins. If you sat for a few minutes the puffins would land and wander around without a care in the world.

The boat back was, if anything, a bit rougher. One or two of our fellow voyagers were overcome (!).

A wonderful day!

George - In the old days of Caledonia Macbrayne in the late 60s I missed out on a trip to Staffa on the King George V, a wonderful turbine steamer, so finally I have made it to Staffa. Fingals Cave. Well, its great to see it in the flesh, so to speak, but the puffins were the real highlight of the day. These little caricatures of a bird, obviously designed by a clown, find us these giant walking monsters a true friend for when we sit above their burrows they feel safe from the gulls and ravens and out they come from within while others fly up from the sea offshore and land at your feet as you sit there totally fascinated and humbled at being their temporary guardian.

Staffa is a wonderful experience.

Last day on Mull. JFDI (Robert).

Dave J - Ben More, except those with doctor’s notes, who went to Ulva and saw an otter.

Brilliant sunshine greeted and our day and 11 adventurers decided to tackle the Big Hill (Ben More). 8 plumped for the madder plan of a horseshoe walk to the summit via various other ridges, bumps, and scrambles. 3 saner souls went for the direct route to the top.

The ascent gave great views across the sound to Ulva and out to sea to Staffa and other scattered islands. The Paps of Jura were spied.

A brief hail/snow shower ? us all into the big orange group shelter, but it soon passed.

We reached the summit at almost the same time as Dave, George & Gary where we congregated for the obligatory group pictures.

After a long slog back and multiple platefuls of chilli it’s time for the pub to increase the whisky count to 12 or so over the last 3 days...

P.S. We also saw a herd of deer!

Ian - After the usual breakfast blow-out came the horrendous task of burning off the accumulated calories. A short drive of 15 miles to a small woodland car-park, passing on the way some of the beautiful rhododendron gardens.

From the car park the foolish few (Tom, Ian, Lorna, Dave J, Clive, Robert) set off along a path passing a deer farm and then on to the hard bit uphill, down glen, uphill, down glen etc. Wonderful views in clear weather were with us the whole way. We all ate the usual 3 course lunch, a bit here, a bit there, and a bit elsewhere.

The group split up after reaching the summit. Two took the direct way down (via a waterfall) and the rest took the ridge.

Tom - An attractive back road brought us to the hamlet of Eleric. Suspensions groaned as we piled out of the cars (especially George’s). We were packed with our heavy food loads. We soon lost interest in the rocky track, it was time to start climbing the hill. It was tough going up steep tufty grass as I began to feel the effects of yesterday’s rush job.

A couple of hours toil brought us to the first summit. Fine views opened up all around as I showed off by naming the hills one after another. We still had 1,000 ft of climbing, Robert cursed when he realised this wasn’t the top. Loose slabs and boulder fields made for a tiring ascent rewarded by amazing views. Beinn Sgulaird is a superb viewpoint - memories from one Ben More to the other and most summits in view were "in the bag", more than 70 miles away in some directions.

Continuing along the ridge the rough ground was with us until we made the grassy descent to the road. We were refreshed by the only rain of the day.

Friday 29th May

Lorna - We started with a trip to Armaddy Castle to see the gardens. It was lovely pottering about sniffing the azaleas, comparing notes on gardening successes and failures, and admiring the lush rhododendrons, azaleas, aquiligeas and primulas most of which wouldn’t survive an Essex summer drought and thrived in the damp sea air at Armaddy.

Dave led us on a walk to see the "wishing tree", a remarkable sight with coins pressed into every available crevice in the bark - the poor tree is probably dying of metal poisoning.

We took some piccies and carried on towards the coast to see the view over the Sound of Luing. We spied a lump of rock in the sea just off the end of the peninsula, inhabited by a cluster of white cottages. It seemed a bizarre place to put a holiday village. "Easdale, down-shifters" said Trudi. We all muttered in agreement, pretending to know what she was going on about!

Curiosity won, and while Dave & Trudi carried on the walk (it still wasn’t raining!) we went back to George’s car and drove off to find this Easdale place.

I was fascinated by the economics that had caused a huge investment in this God-forsaken place, as was evident from the rotting quay, and the number of houses. A quick trip to the island soon solved it - every inch of the island has been quarried for slate.

The museum consisted of one small room crammed with exhibits. A home-counties voice said "£1.75 please" and I walked out, but George went in so we commissioned a report-back!

On the quay we saw the ferryman disappearing off for his tea-break - we were brutally left behind at the tea-shop! George told us how 500 people lived there in 1901 but the quarry went bust in 1911, and the resident population has built since the 1960’s from 6 old-age-pensioners to 50.

On the way back to Oban we met Dave, Ali & Trude (as you do on single-track roads) on their way to Easdale. It still wasn’t raining!

Dave P - Our last day, so we had to bag something big. Ben Cruachan was chosen as the most notable local Munro, also known as the "Hollow mountain" because it has a hydroelectric power station inside it. The horseshoe made an excellent walk, with spectacular ridges linking the multiple peaks. A fitting end to an excellent week.