Grange Fell, Borrowdale

 

Watendlath Tarn

Thursday, 13 February 2025

Ascent:          345 metres
Distance:       6 kilometres
Time:            2 hours 2 minutes

Grange Fell        415m              33mins
Great Crag         436m.      1 hr 29muns

The last day of the three-day visit to the Lakes. It had been a success even though we had not ventured into the higher fells. The weather prospects were better and the idea had been to climb Skiddaw and its nearby peaks but I had to be home at 6pm so time was tight. The alternative was to continue to pick off some nearby lower hills and save Skiddaw for later in the year when conditions might be better. 

John had decided to give the day a miss and left after breakfast. I thought we should nip down to Watendlath to climb Grange Fell and then maybe a couple of hills on the way home. It was still early when we arrived at the empty National Trust car park at Watendlath. It had been a regular visit when the family were younger. The children would paddle in the tarn, we would wander up Grange Fell chanting Jopplety Jopplety How, the name for the collection of outcrops on Grange Fell and return to Watendlath for an afternoon tea of rum butter scones and ice cream for the children.🙋

The tea room was closed for winter and today after a preamble around Watendlath and its tarn we made a quick ascent to the Grange or Brundle Fell. Jopplety How looked to be an enticing place for children to play but we just visited the nearby summit. Keith suggested that we could take in Great Crag, another Wainwright to the north. I had previously climbed this from Stonethwaite but it looked a logical extension to a short walk so we cantered over. The path was slightly boggy until the rocky staircase to the fine twin summits of Great Crag. There were good views of the snow-capped summits of Skiddaw and the Helvellyn Range was peeping above the long High Seat to High Tove Ridge. Scafell and its outliers to the south were blanketed in clouds. It was only 10:30am and the descent to Watendlath was just a couple of kilometres. We decided to go for a morning coffee and then head back north.

We decided to call in at the Rheged Centre near Penrith, a grass-covered building, visitor centre, gallery and cinema of historical importance. I last visited it on the way to a family holiday in Cornwall and I was pleasantly surprised at the range of activities and events on offer. After a coffee, scone and wander round we headed back to Glasgow to drop Keith and I was home by 4:30pm. Another 8 of the lower Wainwrights climbed and some surprisingly good visits to other places of interest. I am beginning to get the hang of not having to spend all the time on hillwalking trips on the hills.

Skiddaw from Grange Fell

Watendlath from Great Crag

Helvellyn Range from Great Crag

Skiddaw from Great Crag

Pensioner's Triple Lock

Skiddaw in the cloud from Latrigg

Wednesday, 12 February 2025

Ascent: 870 metres
Distance: 15 kilometres
Time: 4 hours 37minutes

Latrigg             367m          22mins              37mins
Dodd               491m    1hr   2mins       1hr  40mins
Castle Crag     300m    1hr 10mins       2hrs 22mins

The intention had been to climb Skiddaw and the 5 surrounding peaks, but they were hidden in the clouds, and a strong easterly wind and sub-zero temperatures made us think again. Perhaps I could collect a few of the singleton Wainwright fells. There were no objections from the others. As pensioners, we had had our fill of winter days like this in the Scottish mountains. There was no need to repeat the misery since we were no longer eligible for our winter fuel allowance but we still benefited from the triple lock.

Latrigg was just a 3-mile drive away, and we parked in the empty Skiddaw car park beyond Underscar. We followed a track for wheelchairs to the summit, passing the viewpoint over Keswick and Derwentwater, which were covered in a lighter shade of grey. We found a small stone at the summit, engraved as such but easily portable if anyone wanted to change the grid reference of this low, flat but worthy Wainwright. We skipped down to the car by a direct route, not exactly a Fandango. It was still not time for a morning coffee so we headed 3 or 4 miles up the shores of Bassenthwaite and parked at the Forestry Commission which now charges 50p for every 15 minutes and then produces a map that is guaranteed to mislead along the forest trail as in twists its way to the summit. It was still morning and I suggested Castle Crag as the next hill. 

We drove down Borrowdale past the old Barrow House Youth Hostel, the opulent but intrusive Lodore Falls Hotel and into the jaws of Borrowdale with its intrinsic charm relatively untainted by the commercialism of Lodore Falls. We parked before Grange in Borrowdale and walked across the double bridge to the village. We had stayed here in a cottage with three children under three and, as well as paddling in the river every day, we had climbed Castle Crag. It is an exquisite 2-kilometre walk from the village, past a fine campsite and along the river. The final section is on an ever-increasing gradient before a final switchback and steep climb through Scots Pine trees, scree and past a quarry to the summit. How we ever managed to get the three children with Aileen carrying Gregor, a two-month-old, to his first summit I know not.

There were good views towards Rossthwaite, and towards the high fells leading to Scafell Pike. The cloud level and snow line were intermingled. We explored the quarry before returning to the car, very happy with the three walks we had made on a day that could have been no fun had we stayed in or attempted Skiddaw. We still had time to visit the outdoor shops in Keswick before returning to the Keswick Hostel. 

After our evening self-catered meal, I started a conversation with three cyclists who were probably in their early seventies but clearly still formidably active. They were former professional cyclist from Lancashire and Yorkshire, one had won the Tour of Britain and had ridden the Tour de France. They all had palmares that were a testimony to their northern roots. Youth Hostels are full of legends.

Keswick from Latrigg

On Dodd

Ascent of Castle Crag

Rosthwaite from Castle Crag

Castle Crasg quarry

The Ennerdale Three

 

Grike Summit

Tuesday, 11 February 2025

w     Grike                488m             50min          
w     Crag Fell.         523m      1hr  18mins
b      Whoap.             511m
w     Lankrigg Fell.  541m.     2hrs 36mins

Our winter few days in the Lakes promised low cloud, below-freezing temperatures on the fells and stiff easterly winds. I collected Keith from Glasgow during the morning rush hour, adding an extra 20 minutes to the journey. We still made Ennerdale Bridge by 11:30 am and John. arrived from Selkirk 20 minutes later. The three low hills to the west of Ennerdale were the most remote hills left on my Wainwright round and the most westerly and therefore the most likely to be cloud-free. They would allow Keith to collect an additional 6 Birketts of the 541 peaks in the Lake District National Park over 1000 feet). 

The forecast proved true, our hills were cloud free but to the east, almost all the fells had their heads in the clouds. We parked at Scally Moss on a road over the moor that acted as a rat run for traffic to the Nuclear Power Station at Sellafield. It was after 12 noon before we started walking, there was a bridleway heading towards Grike. Keith took a less direct route to collect the Birkett of Blakeley Raise on the way. We met some environmentalists testing soil samples for Natural England and arrived at the summit of Grike to some shafts of sunshine and a white bank of clouds to the east.

It was an easy trot over to Crag Fell where we had some food and peered down on Ennerdale Water before the cold wind prompted the next leg over to Lankrigg Fell via a dog leg over the curiously named Whoap. Despite it being February, the ground was not too boggy. The final climb to Lank Rigg was the only steep climb of the day, just as well because I was well short of hill fitness after the grey wet days of recent weeks. We were served some wonderful light conditions on the summit of Lank Rigg although it was difficult to see Sellafield.

John and I took a direct descent from Lank Rigg towards the River Calder but had some difficulty finding a crossing point and had to walk back to a Ford before the final kilometre towards the road. Keith meanwhile had shot off to climb three more Birketts and still arrived at the car ahead of us. It was 4:30pm, Sellafield was out and a caravan of Teslas and vans were racing back along the rat run.

It was almost 6pm by the time we signed into Keswick Youth Hostel. We decided to eat out and found a Wetherspoons brimming with ccustomers and providing a surprisingly good meal with a pint of b eer thrown in. I have not previously been imporessed but this was a well run establishment that had caotured a significant clientele amongst young and old alike. It had been a far better day than we had expected but the forecast for the next day was dire.

The trot across to Crag Fell

Whoap and Lankrigg Fell from Crag Fell

Ennerdale Water from Crag Fell

Lankrigg Fell and afternoon shadows

On Lankrigg Fell

Sellafield glowing in the distance

Oh, Canada

Trump gets his uppance

I was awakened at 4 am by my phone lighting with a newsflash. The Canadian Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, had made a response to President Trump's diplomatic idiocy of imposing 25% trade tariffs "beautiful word" against Canada and Mexico. What a cockwomble! 

Trudeau's response to the waning flat-track bully was diplomatic, courteous, and respectful of international friendship and agreements. It was delivered in French and English as were questions from the assembled press. Watch Trudeau's response to President Trump. The Mexican President was equally strong in her response. Hopefully, this is the beginning of world leaders standing up to Trump rather than genuflecting to him.

It made me thankful that the Madness of X President Trump had been challenged. I hope that other world leaders take note before Trump further damages international agreements and institutions with his nationalistic transactional rhetoric.

It was 5 a.m. and I made a coffee while listening to some classic live Canadian music that summed up Trump's view of Canada, Helpless and Canada's response Both Sides Now. 

And with Mark Carney possibly becoming the next Canadian Prime Minister, Canada may be able to do the world a big favour in defeating the American oligarch.

I 

Heathrow and the fiction of growth

Yesterday, the Chancellor, Rachael Reeves gave us yet another reason to doubt her ability or judgment. With all the modesty of President Trump, she announced that expanding Heathrow Airport by adding a third runway, building two new car parks, burying the M25 motorway, and upgrading two of the five terminals would kickstart the UK's economic growth. Her moral compass is skew-whiff.

She asked the owners of the airport to bring forward revised plans for the expansion by the summer. If the plans were approved the expansion is expected to take more than 10 years to complete. She claims it will create 100,000 jobs, an inflated consultant's projection that is as unlikely as the KPMG estimate that HS2 would make £15bn of savings by improving connectivity between London and Birmingham. This was later admitted to be unrealistic. She also claimed it would enable a significant increase in the export of goods and that whisky and salmon are two of Heathrow's biggest exports. This has been rubbished by Scottish companies who have pointed out that almost all the whisky exports are by shipping containers through ports and salmon goes from Scottish airports.

The new owners of the airport, FGO Topco, is a consortium of French, Qatari and Saudi Arabian investors. The previous owners, Heathrow Airports Holdings, estimated that the expansion would cost £14bn. The new owners will no doubt significantly revise these costs because of inflation over the past few years. These costs will be paid for by charging airlines. The charges at Heathrow are already two and a half times higher than Gatwick and other European hub airports. According to the travel journalist Simon Calder and Willie Walsh, the former British Airways chief executive, there are severe doubts about whether these could be afforded or sustained. There are then the direct costs to the UK government from M25 tunnelling, upgrading rail connections, infrastructure costs resulting from a massive increase in traffic and ameliorating the environmental issues. 

This discussion on the pros and cons of this LBC video is a useful primer to the debate.

Heathrow's expansion plans are an ill-conceived proposal that the Labour Government and Rachel Reeves will come to regret. The patina of her brassy boast that she would be the first Green Chancellor has already been polished off. It is her London roots and Oxford education that has taken over with her so-called big growth agenda focused on London and the Oxford to Cambridge corridor. The abandonment of decarbonisation targets along with the deregulation of Planning and continued austerity suggests that Labour is performing a volte-face on the very issues that enabled it to gain power. It has not taken long for Reeves to be scammed by advice from private investment companies and hoodwinked by Treasury shibboleths.  

There are many reasons why reviving the Heathrow Expansion Plan is a mission too far.

First, the environmental impact and increased carbon emissions that she claims can be overcome do not accord with the substantial body of evidence that is outlined in this briefing paper on the environmental impact of  Heathrow Expansion.

Second, is the impact on London residents. The number of flights would increase from 480,000 a year to 720,000 a year, a 50% increase to almost 2000 flights per day. The flight paths into Heathrow in prevailing winds are directly over central London with 750,000 people subjected to excessive noise levels. This does not include other communities with landings starting at 4:30 am and certainly disturbing residents as far away as Lambeth. I am regularly awakened by the early morning aircraft landings when I stay there.

Third, the congestion in the vicinity of Heathrow, including the M25, adds cost delays to many businesses and extends travel times for road users. Congestion will only increase, diminishing efficiency and halting the growth of many businesses.

Fourth, the effect of further increasing the capacity of one of the world's busiest airports will reinforce the primacy (the ratio of the size of the largest city to the next largest cities) of London and divert funding from other regions which are in desperate need of investment and levelling up. The years of London-centric investment by the Tory government are being replicated. All the evidence is that countries with a high primacy of their largest cities like the UK, France, Mexico and Thailand are less successful in achieving economic growth than countries with greater parity of size in city regions.

Finally, there are better hub airports like Frankfurt, Schiphol, Amsterdam, Charles de Gaul, Paris, Vienna and Zurich. They have been designed as fully integrated airports with excellent transport links and suffer few of the delays that are endemic at Heathrow. Nor do they have flight paths over the city. 

On my last three transfers at Heathrow Airport, admittedly the last one was in 2016, I missed my connecting flights on every occasion. I no longer use it as a matter of principle, even Gatwick works better. The UK seems obsessed with building and expanding oversized infrastructure projects like airports, power stations and hospitals. They become too big to be either effective or efficient. Heathrow is already a case in point, so why make it worse whilst increasing air quality, and noise pollution and breaching climate change targets. The investment could be used to improve transport links and infrastructure that affect the lives of the vast majority of people instead of stroking the desires of frequent fast-track flyers. Heathrow expansion will not reap any highly dubious benefits for at least ten years, nor will Rachel.

 

Irony of Ironies

Gaza - returning to devastated homes

Auschwitz Death Wall

It was 27 January, the 80th anniversary of the closure of Auschwitz Concentration Camp where over 1 million Jews, mainly from Poland had been killed in the gas chambers. World leaders gathered at Auschwitz to commemorate the anniversary. Similar events took place around the world. At the United Nations building in New York, the Israeli president, Isaac Herzog, spoke to the assembled nations about the Holocaust and the continuation of antisemitic genocide.

In 1933 there were 560,000 Jews in Germany and following the Nurenberg Laws in 1935 and 1500 other local laws, they were to become non-citizens. 250,000 Jews left Germany between 1933 and 1938 and by 1940 there were 100,000 Jews who had migrated to the USA, 50,000 to the UK and 50,000 to Mandatory Palestine, the protectorate that had been established in 1917. Most had paid substantial taxes to the German authorities to obtain permission to leave. The vast majority of the six million Jews killed by the Nazi German regime were of Polish or Russian background.

Meanwhile, on the same day, tens of thousands of Palestinians were marching back to their bombed homes on the first day of the Gaza ceasefire. 47,000 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli bombing and troop operations including 25,000 women and children.  90% of the population of Gaza's 2.3 million people have lost their homes. The country has been devastated by 16 months of war during which the Israeli Government has denied any access to Gaza by foreign journalists and medical and food aid has been heavily restricted.  It is the irony of ironies that these two events occurred on the same day.

This is Gaza in 2025

A Baby Boomer's Re-union

Margo, after we were the last out

23 January, 2025

We met at Margo, a Glasgow restaurant, for the 50th anniversary of the formation of Strathclyde's Regional Report. There were ten of us at the re-union: four Davids, Kathy, Rob, Keith, Laurie, Gerhard and Sue. Names straight from the post-war inventory of Christian names.

In February 1975, four of us, two from the West Central Scotland Plan, David and me and two from the Glasgow Corporation Planning Department, Sue and Linda, met for lunch in a pub across from Central Station. We had been recruited to produce a Regional Strategy for the shortly to be established Strathclyde Region. We were all in our mid-twenties, had four Planning degrees, two Geography degrees and an Oxford PPE degree but only 15 years of work experience between us. We recruited 6 new graduates to help us, bringing the team's average team age down to 24 years, we were Boomer scribblers. 

We were innocent of the planning policies that had led to the demolition of much of the urban fabric of Glasgow and its surrounding towns. Nor were we responsible for the planning of large housing schemes and new towns that had failed to provide the range of essential public and private services for these new communities. Instead, we were armed with knowledge of threshold analysis, multiple regression analysis, and demographic projection models and shared a collective vision of social justice. Only the senior deputy director had any experience in strategic planning and he was both our mentor and severest critic.

We were melded into a team by tight timescales and encouraged by politicians determined to tackle the inequities arising from collapsing industries, social deprivation, unemployment and poor-quality services from schools to child care to housing. Despite, or perhaps because of, our relative ignorance of the nuances of bureaucratic behaviour, we were given license by politicians eager to make changes. We were less popular with senior managers who were defending the past and fending off politicians with a litany of excuses of financial regulations and legal requirements. 

We got the Regional Report completed within a year. The population and household projections for Strathclyde that we produced were realistic and replaced the grossly optimistic trend projections of the Registrar General. We prepared a strategy for urban regeneration and made proposals for the reallocation of resources towards disadvantaged communities and groups. Investment was shifted to public transport rather than urban motorways. We recommended the cancellation of a New Town and two new communities and for setting up a major project for Glasgow's Eastern Area Renewal. A Scottish Development Agency was created to focus on supporting indigenous industry and the clearance of derelict land. A Housing Corporation was established and created 29 Housing Associations to modernise Glasgow's tenements. All these things happened in the first year. We had been an unwitting but disruptive influence in the creation of a new model of local government, one that worked at pace.

We developed a network of contacts across all departments who shared the vision of the politicians. We also had our detractors in high places who resented a bunch of boomers disrupting long-established administrative procedures, challenging hierarchies and usurping their influence. In the next few years, we focussed on developing area initiatives, providing evidence for shifting human and financial resources to areas and groups in need. We worked with colleagues in other departments to reshape policies on community development, children in care, disability, homelessness and addiction. We consulted with District Councils to provide housing policies responsive to the growing needs of the elderly, disabled, single parents and the single homeless. We were more active in corporate planning than physical planning and this was recognised by the politicians who insisted that we become part of a reshaped Council management structure in 1980. By this time with comings and goings, there had been 18 people in the team.

We were transferred in August 1980 to a new Chief Executive's department with a staff of 350. It was responsible for all administrative, policy, legal, civic and partnerships functions. It may seem excessive but Strathclyde was the largest council in the UK providing services to 2.5 million people with 25 departments and 103,000 employees.

The team were split across different sections and over the years people drifted to other jobs in other departments and other organisations, particularly after the 1996 reorganisation of local government that disbanded Strathclyde Regional Council. Strathclyde Regional Council had been too successful in resisting the blandishments of Mrs Thatcher's neo-liberal policies and resisting the Community Charge (Poll Tax). The experience of the team had prepared them for a wide range of careers. They had morphed into the Chief Statistician for Scotland, three Chief Executives, one Depute Chief Executive, two Directors of Housing,  a Director of Health. a Director of Tourism, two Professors, two Depute Directors of Social Work and various other managerial positions.

It was typical of the baby boomers era that the two brightest stars, Sue and Linda weren't in the list above. Linda died of breast cancer at the age of 31 and Sue left to have a family. After being out of the labour market for several years, she returned, initially part-time, as a planning officer in various councils in the South East where her husband had become a Director of Planning. Her ability to sift information, write and talk with clarity and nurture those around her, was lost in the man's world of boomer Britain. Most of the old team had not seen Sue for 45 years. I collected her from Central Station. After deliberating what had happened to the pub where we first met in 1975, I suspect it's a Sainsbury's Local, and a coffee in the Gallery of Modern Art, we wandered along to Margo.

There were many confused faces as we entered Margo, I had not told them that I had invited Sue. The other team members were sifting their mental identification cards to recognise the secret guest.  Sue then laughed, a laugh so loud that it could shake the Humber Bridge, she was brought up in Grimsby. It was a timeless memory, the background noise of working in a happy team. Sue also fires off questions quicker than she could fillet a fish. She had worked in a fish factory before starting university and reckons that standing in a line of 30 women in a fish factory for 8 or 9-hour shifts meant that she had learnt how to work and talk at the speed of the conveyor belt, she was multi-skilled in engaging in quirky topics just as bizarre but more amusing as those in Planning.

It was a happy and successful fiftieth anniversary, Sue bought a couple of bottles of Champagne, and everyone enjoyed the stories of how lives had unravelled. It was almost 5pm when we left, Margo was empty, one of the Davids got a parking ticket and the rest of us retired to the Atlantic Bar to continue the fun. There is talk of another re-union in the near future. 

Gallery of Modern Art

Blog Analysis - 2024

Revisiting my favourite Torridonian balcony summit in 2024

I started blogging in 2009 after I retired, initially to inform my son of what was happening at home when he called in at internet cafes on his round-the-world trip. The blog has since grown into a log of all the Munros and Corbetts, some of my long-distance walks, holiday trips, eulogies for lost friends, places in the UK and Europe, and a record of political shenanigans over the 15 years. There are 950 posts and another 40 or so are waiting for completion as I search for old photos or find the right words to capture some thoughts and events. It is a timeline of happenings and thoughts with photos to prompt my memories as l drift into the era of baby boomer eventide. 

For most of the past ten years, the traffic on the blog has been steady, with an average of 30 -50 hits per day, about 12,000 hits per annum. Two-thirds of those are from the UK and another 20% from the USA, presumably mainly Google keeping up with the latest postings. Other views were typically from France, Germany, Canada, Netherlands and Ireland. Ukraine and Russia kept a close eye on the UK but they have largely stopped since the onset of the Ukraine war. This last couple of years traffic has skyrocketed mainly from Singapore and Hong Kong. There is no indication of which posts they visit and the presumption must be that they are bots, Israel visits also fall into this category although they are at a far lower level. 

There have been over 260.000 hits although in the last couple of years, bots have probably added 60,000 or so hits. I occasionally check what is being read, there is no obvious pattern. It is an esoteric collection of my mumblings. Over the past year when I  posted 70 times, I was pleased that the most read 2024 posts covered all types of posts, the most read dozen are listed in ranked order below.

1.  A grand day out in Edinburgh Local Government

2.  Lurg Mhor and Bidein a' Coire Sheasgaich  Munros

3.  Desolation Democracy   Politics

4.  What about local government? Local Government

5.  Sunday Morning on the wee Ben  Trossachs

6.  Blencathra   Lake District

7.  The Crow Trap  Home 

8.  Scottish Democracy: Time for a Reset   Politics

9.  An Alphabetic Legacy of the Tory Years  Politics

10. Universities: the facts about fiction  Economics

11. London: Home of the Money Tree  London

12. Buchaille Etive Beag  Munros

Over the 15-year life of the blog, the all-time top four posts also cover a range of themes.

1.  The Top Forty Munros   Munros

2. GR20 Corsica  Long Walks

3. Strathclyde Regional Council, ashes to ashes  Local Government

4. Ronas Hill and da Lang Ayre     Shetland

These are followed by the West Highland Way, the Aonach Eagach, Vienna and a couple of Eulogies. 

Is it worth blogging? Well yes, even if only for the selfish ability to revisit and remember the things and events that have captured my interest in Q4. The rest is for others to judge.

The long and lonely downhill road of retirement

Ice Cold on Gullipen and Lime Craig

The bench on Lime Craig where my phone spent the night

The icy cold weather has persisted since the turn of the year. Unlike the south and north of Scotland, the Trossachs have been largely snow-free, although above 200 metres the ground has been covered by powder snow that is now crystallised from the night frosts. January can easily lull you into a litany of excuses for not going out but I have managed to go out every day climbing the micro hills and keeping my step count ticking along. As well as the Whangie, I have climbed Ben Gullipen and Lime Craig three times and had three walks in the Torrie Forest on days when either fog or nightfall made the trails to the hills dangerous on iced paths. 

The glazing of the paths first thing in the morning on pristine blue sky days has meant that my trail shoes have been ice skates with no edges. On some days it was -5°C when I set out although the wind chill was only minor in the gentle breeze. The views were perfect, and as everyone I met agreed, winter on these days provides the very best walking conditions. There are two types of January blues, those that put you in the doldrums and these weather windows that lift you out of the doldrums.

I lost my phone yesterday during a late afternoon jaunt up Lime Craig although I did not realise until I searched for it to check on a delivery after returning home. I returned to the car park at Braeval where on getting down from the hill I had chatted to a couple who had converted an ex-army military landrover into a camper van. They were about to spend their first night in their Heath Robinson mobile home in the forestry car park. I figured I may have dropped my phone whilst sauntering back from them to my car so drove back out immediately, borrowed a torch from the Land Rover man and made a 15-minute search with no result. I decided to return at first light and retrace my descent of the previous evening. As I reached the summit with no sign of my phone a young couple were leaving. I asked if they had seen a phone. "It is on the bench where you must have left it," they replied sounding pleased but not as happy and relieved as I was. Despite the freezing temperatures, the phone recognised me and some messages appeared.

The previous evening I had missed several phone calls, a WhatsApp message telling me the code to enter a Zoom meeting and my bus ticket to Glasgow for tomorrow. I realised my total dependency on the smartphone for almost every aspect of life: tracker, diary, newspaper, maps, photos, tickets, payment and the receptacle for hundreds of unwanted sales pitches and messages. It is almost impossible to access many services without a smartphone nowadays and that means that an awful lot of older people and technophobes are digitally excluded from society. Mind, this could include the irascible utterings of Musk, Trump and Farage, an advantage if it were not for the amplification of these by the mainstream media. Why do they persist in repeating the claims of these post-truth luminaries?

Stuc Odhar and Ben Ledi

Loch Venachar and Ben Ledi from Gullipen

Ben Lomond beckons - far right

A little night walk in Torrie Forrest

The Whangie, Kilpatrick Hills

 

The Whangie

Auchineden Hill (Whangie) summit

2 January, 2025

Ascent:       190 metres
Distance     4 kilometres
Time:          1 hr 16mins

After several days of wind and rain, the mercury dropped, the skies were cobalt, and the wind was a mere whiff. I collected Gregor, and we drove the 5 miles to the Whangie car park, now equipped with a QR code parking meter, the right to roam is now being commercialised.  I occasionally ran up the Whangie on my way home from work in the 1990s and competed in the annual hill race. Today it was a different time and place. The car park was full and families were venturing onto the muddy path coated with snow and frozen hard. 

There were lethal icy patches that required people to tread with some trepidation, although the children seemed happy to start the year with a few falls. My trail shoes gave me a reasonable grip as we walked out to the rock structures that formed the impressive corridor through the Whangie. The views over Loch Lomond and the Arrochar Alps were slightly hazy and the lengthening shadows on the Campsies to the west best captured the magic of a winter's day. 

We climbed from the Whangie to the summit of Auchineden Hill, the two are synonymous, where an austere-looking trig point stood guard. There was an impressive view south to Glasgow that was punctuated by high-rise flats floodlit by the late afternoon sun. Families were still struggling on their ascent as we hurried down from the summit. The well-worn path was already freezing but there were muddy boggy sections and sections of ice to keep us alert. As a short outing, the sun, snow and views made it a grand way to start the year. We were back before 4 pm and watched a few episodes of Slow Horses to tune into the zeitgeist of 2025.

Start of the Whangie climb

West Face of the Whangie

The Whangie Canyon

Glasgow from the Whangie

The Campsies from the Whangie

Christmas in the Smoke

Royal Courts of Justice

For the past 43 years, I have been home at Christmas apart from two occasions when we took the family skiing to Wengen and Mottaret. This year my culinary skills were declared redundant and I ventured to London to spend Christmas with two of my children and their families. I arrived a few days early to gain some points for child-watching duties to allow some time out for busy parents. The next day I went foraging for some late presents in central London. I passed the Royal Courts of Justice where several mini-demonstrations were taking place and then succumbed to the attractions of Somerset House where the Impressionist Room in the Courtauld Institute was virtually free of other visitors. I could revel in the exhibits including some post-impressionist paintings by Roger Fry of the Bloomsbury Group. 

Shopping called and I drifted through Covent Garden and Soho and hit the crowds skedaddling along Oxford Street. I had some food at John Lewis and explored some Christmas offers before indulging myself by joining the Christmas throngs in Selfridges. Formula 1 cars mingled with Middle Eastern shoppers, who seemed non-plussed by prices as ridiculous as cryptocurrencies. I escaped and took a look at the M&S department store next door. Angela Rayner had created a stooshie by giving permission to demolish it, a listed building, but I tended to agree with her. 

It was time to buy something so I wiggled my way through Mayfair, pausing to look at the old American Embassy with the adjacent Grosvenor Square providing lots of space for demonstration, maybe the reason for the strange decision to relocate to Battersea. The bookshop in Piccadilly sated my shopping habits and I left with a good haul of books before heading back home. 

The next day, Simon had procured tickets for QPR v PNE, my first visit to Loftus Road and the first game I had seen for three years. I was pleasantly surprised by the intimate, ageing but comfortable stadium that had more atmosphere than many of the newer grounds that have been constructed in recent years. The sound system was at full volume and QPR's goalkeeper from the 1980s, Phil Parkes, was given legend status. He had been the player of the year in 1986 to the chagrin of Stan Bowles who had a stand named after him and seats installed instead. It was the year that QPR had their best-ever season, coming second in the old First Division. The game was not the best and despite PNE taking an early lead, justice was served in the second half when QPR scored a couple of goals. I have my worries about whether PNE can avoid relegation but games in the championship have random results, anyone can beat anyone and everyone can lose to everyone.

We nudged our way to Christmas day on raw cold days with visits to local attractions, the market in Herne Hill and walks around the local parks before the arrival of Gregor and Emily on Christmas Eve. They started Christmas day with the Park Run in Dulwich Park, it had its biggest-ever turnout with over a thousand runners including a couple of hundred Santa Clauses and parents running with a bigger fleet of baby buggies than in a Nursery Store. G came third but seemed content, he had not been training much and presents and bubbly were to come after a late breakfast. Meanwhile, my grandson was out pedalling the local bike trails. The excitement of a bike for Christmas is as timeless as ever,

Christmas Day morphed into Boxing Day, the day when everyone relaxes. We marched around the parks and woods, calling in for pub refreshments before eating remainders from the Christmas feast and dozing in front of the television.

We had the first slot for ice skating the next day. or Gliding as it is now termed in the sophistication of the former Battersea Power Station. The Thames was lost in a fog and I struggled to find my balance on my first foray on ice for 25 years. I used to be able to skate backwards but until my offspring escorted me for a few laps around the Glide circuit, I was dependent on staying near the boundary rail. It used to be the other way round as I pulled them around the rinks. I was told not to worry as I was the oldest person on the ice which was a double-edged insult. On my last circuit, before the siren went, progress had been made and I had my arm behind my back and leg aloft as if I was on Duddingston Loch. 

The final day of the visit was taken up by a visit to the National Trust house and gardens at Polesden Lacey in deepest Surrey. Several thousand others had the same idea but there is a 1,600-acre estate to walk around and we spent a couple of hours traipsing the walkways in the mature woodlands along the Mole Valley. The Tanner's Hatch Youth Hostel had been renovated and was being used for musical weekends. A carousel was pitched outside the house along with coffee and Greek food vans and the stables had been refurbished as a well-managed eatery. It suggested that the National Trust was more advanced in its thinking here than in many other properties that are moribund by comparison. 

My time was up as I caught the Sunday train back to Scotland. It was full to the gunnells with suitcases, buggies and baggy-eyed post-Christmas travellers. There were no Sunday buses for the last leg home so for the first time since moving six years ago, I had to call a taxi to reach home alone.

M&S on Oxford Street

Roger Fry, Post Impressionist -Blythburgh Estuary

Dulwich Park Run on Christmas Day

Bikes are not just for Christmas 

Formerly known as Ice Skating

Fog on the Thames, where the coal boats from the Tyne came in

 

Buchaille Etive Beag

Stob Dubh summit, Buchaille Etive Mor behind

Trance soundtrack for an ecstatic walk

Buchaille Etive Beag

Tuesday, 10 December 2024

Ascent:       1006metres
Distance:    11 kilometres
Time:          4 hours 56 minutes

Stob Dubh                    958m.     2hrs 41mins
Stob Coire Raineach.   925m.     3hrs 37mins

Some days just happen. Keith had messaged me on Sunday evening saying the aftermath of Storm Darragh might yield a few days of freezing but sunny weather. I suggested we climb Buchaille Etive Beag, Glencoe had been glazed with snow during the storm. It suited us both, neither of us had climbed it on our unintended sixth rounds, but we were no longer into Munro bagging!! I picked him up at Crianlarich at 8:30 a.m., having driven through the morning fog on empty icy roads. Crossing Rannoch Moor, it was -7°C and much the same when we parked at the newish car park by the bridge before the descent into Glencoe. A dozen cars were parked already and the visibility was no more than a few hundred metres. 

During the usual exasperation of preparing for the first winter walk: fitting boots and gaiters, fixing ice axes on the rucksack, packing crampons and easing ourselves into jackets, hats and gloves, I was chatting to the man in the next car who was ready to set out. He was dressed as the hillwalker equivalent of a mamil (middle-aged man in lycra) but with pricey mountain gear instead of Rapha, Castelli and Oakleys. He told me he had recently completed a Munro round and was starting on his ninth round. I was impressed and mentioned this to Keith who had been deliberating which of his many jackets and items of equipment to wear or pack for the outing. 

We started on the well-made path of large stones and small gravel. It had become a strip of black ice making it necessary to walk on the adjoining ground or perform a hiking on-ice routine. We caught up with the Mamil at 550 metres, he was fixing some step-in crampons onto his high-end boots. Keith congratulated him on being on his ninth round of Munros but discovered it was only on his ninth Munro in his second round. The kudos was immediately reversed when he heard that Keith was on his sixth round, he had never met anyone who had done more than three. Keith, who is instinctively modest, didn't bother to mention his 4 Munro Top rounds, 3 Corbett rounds, his rounds of the Grahams (Fionas), Firths,  and Wainwrights,  not to mention all his other walks. 

I decided given we had stopped to put on my crampons and Keith fitted his microspikes as the path was getting steeper and icier. My pace slackened as I kicked in my crampons to ratchet myself up the slopes. I ascribed it to the boots, the crampons and the fully loaded rucksack but it was probably a winter and age fitness syndrome. Keith was charging on in his micro spikes, his fitness permanently hardened by hillwalking three or four times a week.

At 700 metres, we emerged from the grey cloud and freezing temperature to gawp at the sheer beauty of Bidean nam Bian, the Aonach Eagach ridge with Ben Nevis looking near and looming big over its smaller siblings. Suddenly the ungainly crampons that had squeezed my boots and started blistering my heels no longer seemed to bother me. Even more so when we reached the bealach at 748 metres. We were treated to a balcony view of Buchaille Etive Mor and all the mountains stretching to Schiehallion. It was overwhelming as we had 360° of peaks surrounding us. (see video). 

They looked like a spikey meringue and were spectacularly delicious. Two young women arrived, they were equally mesmerised and asked if we knew of the App that gave you the names of all the mountains. We did but didn't know its name, we are old school and like to mentally exercise our mountain memories as we put together the jigsaw of peaks. We decided to climb Stob Dubh first, it is the higher and further away of the two Munros and would allow us to walk towards the midday sun and top up our vitamin D.

We drifted along, taking photos, the sun had warmed us, and our gloves were off as we reached the 906-metre top. We watched another walker set off to the summit with his drone following his progress. It was another kilometre along the ridge, and we loitered along goggling at the stupendous views of Ben Starav and the Cruachan range to the south aware that days like this are the reason for hillwalking. We pottered around the summit before finding a couple of boulders to sit and enjoy the moment. It was the first time I had brought a flask of coffee in a couple of years and it was warm enough to eat a sandwich, We both sent photos to friends and family stuck in cold foggy urban Britain. We spent 30 minutes chilling over an extended lunch, it was ecstatic at the Cafe del Dubh

We began the return before 1pm, dropping down to the bealach which was easygoing in the snow that had softened in the midday sun. The climb up to the second Munro, Stob Coire Raineach, was a slog and the crampons were probably unnecessary in the deep snow. We made it in under an hour and were gifted another set of views to drool over. The sun was shafting its beam from Morven through Glencoe and east to the Breadalbane mountains. We were in a trance. The full compass of the Scottish Mountains provided a halo of memories on a walk that had started as a trudge on a fog-filled freezing morning had reached its epic climax.  I reset to reality for the descent and removed my crampons before we galloped down the soft snow to the bealach. 

The sun was dipping behind Bidean nam Bian as we began the trek down the path. Initially, the snow and ice had softened but lower down and in the shadow cast by Bidean, it was refreezing and we found it easier to walk on the softer snow, it certainly exercised the quads. There were exceptional close-up views of the Aonach Eagach ridge as its crenellated summit was etched against the cobalt blue sky. We were down by 3:30 pm, it was still light but the car was frozen. After dropping Keith at Crianlarich, I made it home by 5pm. Now that was what I call an ecstatic day.

Bidean nam Bian

I 💙 Bidean

Towards Ben Nevis with bonus Brocken Spectre

Bidean and me

Keith on Stob Dubh

Cafe del Dubh - Keith sending photos

Bidean nam Bian again

Bidean and Aonach Eagach

Looking back to Stob Dubh as the sun begins to dip at 2pm

Summit of Ston Coire Raineach

Aonach Eagach and Ardgour

Aonach Eagach

Big Boy