CYHA News

Spring Thaw

Just when we start getting used to the idea of climate change bringing us warmer, wetter winters, we find that nature still has a few tricks up her sleeve to catch us out. White Thursday (30^th Jan) saw me leaving work at 4.30 to miss the worst of the weather - it turns out lunch time would have been a better bet! Crawling along the A14 from Huntingdon I saw 2 inches of snow bring the East of England to a grinding halt. It took me 5 hours to get home and I wondered how we were ever going to get away to Bradenham that weekend. But I should never have doubted the battling spirit of our members! By Saturday night the hostel was full, and we had a wonderful weekend trekking along the snow-capped Chilterns in glorious sunshine.

I can't help noticing that most of my recent articles have been somewhat weather-orientated. Now that the worst of the winter is over and spring is on it's way; I'm hoping that if I have to mention the weather at all it will be to say how wonderful it was, to comment on sun-burn rather than trench foot.

Well, I can hope, can't I?

Ali

Bradenham - A Chilly Chiltern Weekend

The great February blizzard on the Thursday and out Editor's epic struggle home that night through the arctic wasters of the Cambridgeshire Steppe put the trip in jeopardy. Would we have to cancel? Who would dare venture on the M25 which had by all accounts become a giant ice rink strewn with cars and the bodies of hundreds of starving commuters? In the end we all made it, the roads being disappointingly clear.

Two good walks were had. Saturday, a fine day, included a visit to the Hell Fire Caves in half a mile of caves 300 foot down. It was excavated by a local aristocrat, who used it as a venue for an exclusive drinking club.

Sunday was quite a long walk through some pretty Chiltern countryside including a pub stop in a picture-postcard village where it was rumoured Jeremy Paxman lived. (And that's not it's only claim to fame - Turville is seen on TV as the village of Dibley… and the Windmill above the village was used in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!)

Dave J

Invasion of Radwinter

Who's going to travel 30 miles from Chelmsford for 10 o'clock on a winter Sunday morning for a walk through the Essex mud? Amazingly, twenty-one people turned up for this walk, not only from Chelmsford, but Watford, Cambridge, Rochester, Brentwood, Billericay and Leicester, all converging on the tiny village of Radwinter.

After waiting for the few that got lost in Saffron Walden, and leaving Lorna and Andy to catch us up when they'd finished their breakfast, we set out through the undulating fields and woods of north west Essex in pleasant winter sunshine.

We arrived on time for lunch at the Rose and Crown in Ashdon where they'd reserved a whole room for us, and served us very efficiently with excellent roast dinners, sponge puddings etc.

As we returned, there were some grumbles as our boots collected mud in the ploughed fields and got heavier and heavier, and one barbed wire fence to be climbed where a path had been diverted, but the golden afternoon light and extensive rural views made it all worthwhile. We covered the 10 miles just before it started getting dark, and I think everyone agreed it had been a fine day out.

Dave P

Return to Venezuela

Last November, Gerry, Tom and James went to Venezuela. This was Gerry's second visit to the country; here are some of his comments, and don't forget their slide show on Wednesday 26th March. Everything went to plan and very smoothly. After travelling by bus to Ciudad Bolivar, we got a plane to Canaima which also did an overflight of Angel Falls. We flew across the top of the tepui and the place where Jimmy Angel's plane had crash landed. The pilot flew through a "window" 300 metres wide. We went on the 2 day boat ride to the base of Angel Falls and swam in the plunge pool at its base. We relaxed on the Isla de Anatoly an extra day and went for a half day hike to a smaller tepui with an Indian guide. We got back after dark but it was wonderful walking in the country with green fireflies signalling in the grass and the stars overhead and lightening flashing in the distance. Another plane ride to Santa Elena de Uarien and we quickly hired a guide for our expedition to Roraima whose representative was waiting for us at the airport (this was easily done thanks to some networking, which we weren't aware of, going on between where we stayed on the Isla de Anatoly and the tour operators in Santa Elena.) The next part was a 6 day backpacking expedition to Roraima: 2 days up; 2 days at the top and 2 days down. Our guide, Roney, brought his 10 year old son, Andy, on his first trip up Roraima. Lovely experience of sharing food and tent with them for otherwise they would survive on little food and sleep outside on this trek. The top was wind eroded sandstone similar to some of the rocks I've seen on Dartmoor but coloured black, many more of them and strange shapes. Pineapple like plants and flowers of reds and oranges. Quartz crystals "flowed" down valleys and there were bathing pools (too cold to swim in.) Rare glimpse of a coatl - black furry like animal a bit like a cat/squirrel and tiny black frogs with suckers on their toes. Learnt lots about the Indian people; how they live; family relationships; folklore tales; spirits of the mountains. Also heartwarming to see father and son together. Very grounding. Cool and wet at night on the top. Very hot on the journey up and down. Back by overnight bus to Ciudad Bolivar where we began to see the effects of the troubles here: armed soldiers and police in the streets. No trouble though and we got used to their presence. Television continually covering the general strike, demonstrations and political speeches. Spent a day looking around the shops before venturing a bit further away from the hotel but even then didn't go far. Spent half a day on the other side of the Orinoco. Changed our plans slightly and arrived at the airport well ahead of time to be sure of getting our flight out. Venezuela may be off limits for a while now but there are other places. Gerry (thanks to Tom for the pictures)

COMMEMORATING MURDER

At least, that's how the English Civil War Society described it. On an exceptionally mild Sunday in January, John, George and I travelled into London. Each year the Civil War Society march through the city, and lay a wreath commemorating the murder of King Charles I. Not sure what to expect or the numbers involved, we waited in The Mall for the action to begin. With the backdrop of Buckingham Palace, the processors emerged from St James' Palace, and began their march to the sound of solemn drumbeats. Onlookers watched as a procession of 500 or so marched in full regalia from the period, down The Mall. They had come from groups all around the country, and their different coloured costumes represented the various regiments. They made a very brightly coloured display, with emerald greens, ruby reds and sapphire blues parading past in huge leather boots and cavalier feathered hats. Some foreign visitors who happened upon the parade seemed confused. Trying to explain what it was all about proved fairly impossible, and seemed to leave them more confused. Although all Europeans, here was an eccentric aspect of being English that was just not going to translate.

The call of 'pikes forward' and 'slope arms' became common place, as we walked with them through Horseguards, and halted for a short ceremony. This involved laying a wreath to commemorate the execution of King Charles I, as well as giving decorations to various members of the regiments for their 'long service' in the society. Much thrashing of chest plates went on to celebrate these presentations, strangely complimented by the police at the other end with cries of 'stay on the pavement' and 'not between those cones'. My neighbour throughout this ceremony, as my YHA colleagues had been temporarily lost in the jostling crowd, was a pensioner, who had travelled in with a coach load from Leeds to watch the spectacle. He told me, proudly, (although the alcohol fumes on his breath reached me ahead of his speech) that this was his 20^th year watching the parade. He obviously felt this deserved a suitably impressed response, and I could tell that 'Are you quite mad?' was not going to be appropriate. Instead I heard my voice articulating - "Good Lord, have you really? - remarkable". The ceremony concluded, and my temporary companion rejoined his now concerned party members, to locate fellow member Gladys, who was now lost. The players marched to Trafalgar Square, and then back down The Mall. Formally dismissed, they went off in different directions. I wondered not for the first time that day the view London Transport would be taking to bringing a musket or pike on board a tube train. Would they charge half price like a bicycle?

An expensive, but enormously portioned sandwich, made for a lunch to reflect upon our experience. We all agreed it was most eccentric. John and I then spent a pleasant afternoon in the National Gallery, where from time to time, members of the parade appeared in the various rooms. As a sole male in full cavalier regalia walked through one of the rooms, the guards looked bemused, and asked whether he was a ghost haunting the place. An interesting day, and my thanks to John, for being so knowledgeable about the history surrounding the event, and without whose fascinating commentary, I might have been as in the dark and bemused as some of the tourists we had met.

Jane

(thanks to John for the pictures)