CYHA NEWS

In the annals of group histories there are many apocryphal tales of horrendous Easter journeys and several people who may claim to have experienced the Worst Ever. All seem to have been surpassed this year, when vehicles without periscopes and breathing apparatus battled through the floods of Eastern England to reach the Lake District (some parts of which were above the water level).

Our centre in Rydal was sensibly located and drainage was adequate (even in the archaic showers). There was a cooker and tin opener of similar vintage, luckily supplied with detailed instructions for use by younger members only familiar with convenient modern appliances. There were also instructions how to clean the toilets, prepare expedition rations and fight fires, so there was little excuse for people not to assist with the chores, as long as they could read.

The Bonzer tin opener was well used due to sheer numbers of people (and enormity of the tins). Bystanders would have gained the impression that an Everest trip was being equipped if they had witnessed the delivery of supplies. There was a record number of people (34), including some from as far afield as Canada, Poland, and South Africa, representing a diversity of accents and interests. The South African girls went pony trekking in the snow, Greg (from Canada) was amazed by the autom otive challenges of the Kirkstone pass, various people attended Taiz¾ prayer sessions (I was on my knees too, for different reasons!), and Polish sausage featured in some of the interesting sandwiches.

The conquest of Fairfield on Sunday (my own Easter miracle) was celebrated by a drink of ginger wine (kindly supplied by Ian senior) and cream eggs (kindly supplied by Lorna). Ian junior and Ian senior led the descent, which seemed almost more arduous than the ascent, but which afforded similarly dramatic views in the sunny intervals between the snow showers. All of us agreed that, when we could see it, the Lake District looked at its very best, with shimmering snow-capped peaks a nd lak es which looked (deceptively) blue and inviting. An Easter day to die for - which someone (perhaps) did - a bit before our time…

We all agreed that although we'd rather have stayed at Rydal Mount (Wordsworth House - opposite) - it was an excellent trip, due to the weather, the people (it's not that the regulars are sick of each other, just that we like cultural diversity and to see old friends)

We are sorry about Trevor's damp car upholstery and that he left with a cold (presumably due to sitting in it too long), but hope he and the car recover fully and will share the view of the rest of us, that it was all worth it in the end.

Easter Sunday. It was a beautiful sunny morning, but you could see your breath. Wintry showers developing according to the Rydal Hall weather bulletin.

Trudi suggested the Fairfield horseshoe - over the road, up Nab Scar, along the ridge to the top at Fairfield, then to Hart Crag and down the other ridge.

Fourteen of us set out; Trude, Lorna, Dave, Dave, Ali, Helen, Clive, Gary, Jim, Robert, Neil, Lesley, little Ian, and big Ian. We puffed and sweated up the hillside in the warm sun, sheltered from the wind, and peeling off layers of clothing at every stop. Windermere glistened.

Clive was pursuing a one-man cairn eradication campaign. Some passing walkers took exception to this and a heated argument ensued as we watched complete strangers violently expressing the views of the rest of us. They eventually gave up in disgust and cairns had become deep taboo.

On the ridge we could feel the cold wind and began to be able to see for miles.

Dolly mixtures appeared by magic (out of Helens pockets) and chocolate Hobnobs - big Ian was keeping up his reputation as Mr Treats. Trudi kept us amused with her wicked but hilarious take-offs of club members not present.

As we got higher we started to come across patches of snow and naturally Helen and little Ian had a running snowball battle for most of the rest of the way up....

At Great Rigg we sat out of the wind for lunch, gazing down the glacial valley to Ambleside, lake Windermere, and the sea. Trudi tried to persuade little Ian to eat his lunch I bet Chris Bonington doesn’t sit at the top of Everest and say "Eurgh, all I’ve got is a cold sausage". Lorna muttered "I bet he does!".

And Mr Treats produced a bottle of Stones ginger wine! Very warming.

As we set off again the sky became dark grey and soon we were being battered by little snow pellets, not flakes, nor hail. Hoods up, heads down, and plod. The shower soon blew by (and not before time). "I’d sooner have this than bloody rain" muttered Robert.

And there we were at the top! People appeared from everywhere on the summit plateau. Some of us reminisced about being lost up there in mist, and the Easter Lorna had nearly brought on mass hypothermia by insisting on a group photo while we were huddled in the inadequate wind-shelter.

We could see the distinctive square top of Ingleborough in Yorkshire, over 40 miles away. Away to the north snow on the tops of the Galloway hills of southern Scotland showed glimpses of white. The western horizon was dotted with the snow-covered peaks - Scafell Pike, Great Gable, Bow Fell. The white snow-cap of Cross Fell stood out on the Pennines, the backbone of Britain stretching across the eastern horizon.

Below us, Grisedale Tarn was dark grey, and rippled by the wind from the north.

The panorama was so grand took loads of pictures. Green-fielded valleys, grey cliffs, brown-brackened hillsides, glistening lakes and sea, blue sky and threatening clouds, sheets of distant snow-showers, snow-capped peaks, tiny villages... it was all there.

Reluctantly we turned to go. It was freezing standing in the wind and we shrugged and stamped as we set off down again.

Pulling uphill to Dove Crag and Hart Crag restored the circulation. So it snowed again. The wind increased and we were pelted with pellets.

By the time it blew over we’d turned the corner and thankfully had the wind at our backs from here on. Ian muttered "English climate! The only place you can get sunburn in a whiteout!"

The snow was heaped under a drystone wall where it had drifted. Trudi offered little Ian her rear-end for snowball target practise - an offer gleefully accepted.

As usual, going down was the hardest part, on tired legs. Trudi produced a Woolies plastic bag and used it to sit on and slide downhill. Ian was surprised "Mum! She’s mental!".

It became rather steep and a bit scrambly in places. The path was on the other side of the wall but we hadn’t seen a stile, so we all climbed over.

And then we came to a cliff-edge. Well, nearly. You could clamber down but it was practically vertical for 20ft. It was safely negotiated by everyone, except the sensible ones who found their way onto the big track below.

At five o’clock it was 14 tired and happy souls who piled into Rydal Hall Youth Centre for several cups of hot tea.

Driving up to the Lake District on a Good Friday morning can be demanding, even in good weather. But throw in a flood or two and things can get more than a little exciting, particularly when Trevor's driving!

The A1 Northbound was closed, and as might be expected, traffic ground to a halt. But we didn't, instead making a diversion via a village called Kimbolton. Before we got there though, we passed a sign saying that the road ahead was closed. Since everyone else was driving passed it, so did we. However, less than half a mile further on, we were forced to stop by a queue of traffic. Some gave up and turned around, but two lorries, with a better view ahead than most, pulled out and steam ed ahead. If they think it's OK thought Trevor, then I'll go too.

We got some strange looks from people at the head of the queue, but on we went - for another 100 metres. We stopped at the water's edge. Before us was a lake where there should have been a road. He'll turn round now we thought, but oh no, we'd come this far and nothing was going to stop Trevor now!

We watched the second of the lorries as it ploughed its way through, noting the depth. It couldn't have been more than a foot deep. As it came out the other side, we moved ahead at a sedate pace and made it through to the other side without incident.

The feeling of relief on our safe arrival at the other side was to be instantly shattered. It wasn't the other side at all! Around the corner there was more, a lot more...

This time the water looked deeper. Another lorry had pulled up behind us. We were well and truly committed and the only option was to go forwards. Being able to feel the water gurgling underneath the car was one thing, watching the water trickle in through the door seals was another. Karen's first thought was for her lunch, that was soon scooped out of harms way. As the waters rose, inside and out, the car was beginning to struggle to force its way through and thoughts were focused on the deterio rating note of the engine..

Ahead of us we could see a fast flowing river crossing the road, the bridge submerged. Trevor coaxed a few more rpm from the engine, while Phillip emptied a small plastic bin for Gareth to begin bailing. As we passed through the river, Trevor had to fight the current and Karen apprehensively watched the water rise outside until it was just below the door window. Again the note of the engine dropped, and we eyed the cold, muddy water outside. Now was not a good time to stop! None of us wanted to g et out right here and push, but it was only for a moment, and there ahead was dry land.

Winding down the window Gareth started to bail, but rounding a corner in the road we found a place to stop and do a proper job. Gareth watched the faces of the people queuing on the far side as the water was emptied from the car, but it was quite clear that only a few could put two and two together. One by one they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight..... and one by one, back they came.

The rest of the trip was your average bank holiday nightmare. We arrived after a nine hour journey having been caught in more traffic jams, despite bypassing the worst of the M6 hold ups. It was a journey to remember, and a new standard in tales of woes on the road.

Ostensibly this weekend was arranged to visit the Body Shop factory, (& get some free samples of exciting products), but since such things don't interest me I was unsure whether to even go on the tour, demonstrating the pathological indecisiveness which has stopped me from becoming a multi-millionaire like Anita Roddick. However, I was eventually persuaded, if only to make cynical comments about a company which clai ms to be environmentally responsible but produces luxury goods in elaborate packaging.

Nigel was interested in the architectural plants, western ranch-style shop (I wonder why?) and the sculptural group of naked people, who had previously faced the main road, but had been moved to avoid distracting prudish motorists. We then entered the factory itself and a mock-up of the original Body Shop in Brighton where Anita Roddick sold products in bottles used by the local hospital for specimens (they were the cheapest available at the time). It was reassuring to learn that real f ruits are used in the manufacturing process (though arguably it would be more beneficial to eat them) - but Nigel felt it would be a very bad career move to become a fruit technician, as you might end up peeling bananas for the rest of your life. We passed the labs where products not tested on animals were tested on us and where petitions against animal testing were used as wallpaper.

In the afternoon, still in search of the elusive glowing complexion (and declining to gain this by any artificial means), we went for a brisk walk along Bignor Hill to create optimal test conditions for our samples of peppermint foot lotion.

On returning to the hostel Nigel disappeared for ages with his cucumber and avocado body balm, whilst I thought creatively about the commercial potential of the pile of potato peelings in the sink. Thanks to Geli and the vegetable technicians for turning the hostel kitchen into a processing plant almost as efficient as the Body Shop factory.

On Sunday we walked along the river, past the castle to Arundel Park, only spoilt by lots of environmentally unfriendly tourists disposing of packaging into the landscape. Anita may be influential but here's still a lot of people who haven't got the message!

Well, OK, so it did rain a bit... but not much and the walk was really fab. We had an extremely pleasant stroll by the river to the old watermill at Great Bardfield (it was here that Nigel and Tom found the local village chip van!). Thanks to Lynn’s expert navigation we completed the walk with plenty of time for a well deserved bun in the teashop at the end.

A good night at the ten-pin bowling saw Lynn demonstrating spectacular beginner’s luck (or as she claimed beginner’s skill, perfect alignment and style), and Steve demonstrating his unbreakable will to win!