Ben Lui

Caledonian Forest below Beinn Dubhcraig

Purple Saxifrage? below Beinn Dubhcraig

Ben Oss and Ben Lui from Beinn Dubhcraig

Ben Lui from Ben Oss

Beinn Dubhcraig from Ben Oss

Good Friday was always the day for the annual family walk when I was a youngster. A thermos flask of tea, an aluminium sandwich tin with meat or fish paste sandwiches, a boiled egg, an apple and, if we were lucky, a penguin biscuit for a picnic lunch. We caught the Ribble bus from Preston to Longridge and walked up Jeffrey Hill by the little-used road that runs along its summit ridge and passes the reservoirs that provided Preston with its water supply or Longridge Pop as it was known. It established a ritual and I have always regarded Good Friday as sacrosanct for walking. I have managed many good walks in recent years and it was a chance to get some solace after a hectic few weeks working in Shetland.  Today was predicted to be a dry warm sunny day so I planned to climb the 4 Munros by Tyndrum. They are dominated by Ben Lui, the highest of the four. 

Ascent:        1625 metres 
Distance:         22 kilometres 
Time:                6 hours 50 minutes

Beinn Dubhcraig         977m      1hr  58mins
Ben Oss                     1029m     3hrs 12mins
Ben Lui                     1130m     4hrs  49mins
Beinn a' Chleibh         916m     5hrs  25mins

The morning mist promised a day of warm sunny weather although the hills were lost in low clouds during the drive up to Dalrigh just before Tyndrum. The traffic was heavy at the start of the Easter weekend. Surprisingly, on one of the busiest days of the year, there were several sections of resurfacing taking place after the winter damage to the roads. I had decided to climb the four hills east to west and the south-easterly breeze endorsed this decision.  I have done the four hills together on four occasions twice in each direction and the route planned today was a replica of the route taken in 1995 when I led a party of six on the Water Aid Munro Challenge to Ben Oss.  I persuaded two colleagues to climb the four hills whilst the others retired to a pub after Ben Oss where we met them afterwards.

The climb up Ben Dubhcraig is always tricky, After crossing the railway line there is a good track but it is important to cross the burn and ascend through the Caledonian forest and then the plantations on the higher slopes. Having negotiated the plantation, I decided to climb the northeast ridge, which although a little longer, provided a good route to the summit. It was coolish at this height but a T-shirt sufficed and I was walking well.  The sun had burnt off the cloud but it was still hazy so photographs were less clear than I had hoped.

I had a short break on the cairn and on the descent met and had a long chat with a Glaswegian who was attempting the same route but had only recently taken-up hill walking 'as a means of keeping healthy' - good decision. The route across to Ben Oss is deceptive and for the second time I made the mistake of following the path which keeps low to the east of the hill and I ended up having to double back to make the summit.  The views of Ben Lui were good and Loch Oss provided a sense of remoteness nestling between the two Munros.

There is a 350-metre drop to the bealach from Ben Oss before the ascent of Ben Lui can be attempted. I was surprised to find the energy to make a steady pace to the summit which was a climb of 450 metres.  It was quite windy and after a short stop for a drink, I continued, jogging down to the next bealach and making good pace up to the undistinguished Beinn a' Chleibh.  I had decided to drop down to the A85 rather than go back over Ben Lui and past the goldmine but this meant banking on hitching a lift which is usually a bit optimistic.  On the descent, I met my Glasgow friend who said that he had been chasing me all day but had given up on the ascent of Ben Lui.

I returned to Fionne Coire and descended down the corrie on the waterlogged path to the forestry plantations below, followed the burn down to the railway track and waded the river Lochy. I managed to hitch a lift back to Tyndrum with a Mancunian Irishman who was in a party of 4 cars full of people who had come to Scotland for 11 days to escape the royal wedding hysteria.  He dropped me by Paddy's bar in Tyndrum and I walked the last few kilometres back to the car incensed by the lack of provision for cyclists or walkers on this section of the A82.  I was home before 6pm and, on checking my previous outings, discovered that this was my fastest round of the four hills; there was still life in the legs.

Borrowdale and Derwentwater

Derwentwater and Newlands from Dodd

Watendlath from Great Crag

Reenacting pushing John in during the descent of Scafell Pike in 1991

Borrowdale and Derwentwater from Seathwaite Fell

Keswick and Derwentwater from Latrigg

Last year I wrote about my almost complete round of the Wainwright Hills and this weekend I came a little closer to finishing.  I attended a moving remembrance celebration lunch for Robin in Bolton le Sands on Saturday and then drove back into the Lake District to meet Gregor at Grasmere. He had managed to climb 10 hills including Helvellyn after I dropped him at 11am at Penrith on the way down the M6.  I was keen to climb a hill when I picked him up at 5pm but he declined and I left him at a pub in Keswick where he could watch the FA Cup semi-final.

I climbed Dodd, not a hill I had been looking forward to, it is clothed in coniferous trees and looks like a runt of a hill sitting below the conical splendour of Skiddaw.  But like all hills, it has its virtues, good tracks most of the way to the summit and superb views from the summit towards Derwentwater and the Vale of Newlands in one direction, Skiddaw behind it and Bassenthwaite below it to the west. The summit had been recently shaved of trees so it was a bright sunny platform to enjoy a spring lakeland evening.  On the descent, I passed the Osprey nest but no birds were on show so a return to Keswick and then a drive along Derwentwater to Borrowdale to the campsite in Stonethwaite that we had used last September.  It was getting cool but the site was fairly full and the smell of food drifted from the campfires. We elected to go to the nearby pub and enjoy the excellent fayre on offer.

It was a coolish night and by dawn, we were shivering in the tent so we decided to make an early start just after 7am.  We walked back to Stonethwaite and ascended Great Crag via an excellent but steep man-made path up Lingy End and to Dock Tarn.  Great Crag was hardly worthy of its name but it provided an excellent view of Watendlath.  We had spent many an afternoon here when the children were young. They would enjoy paddling in the beck and then we would have rum butter scones and ice cream in the hotel before I dashed off over the fells to get back to Langdale.

We returned to the campsite, packed and then drove to Seathwaite where hundreds of cars were parked below the starting point for Scafell Pike. Our objective, Seathwaite Fell,  was a lot nearer and involved a walk to Stockley Bridge and then taking the path to Styhead Tarn before climbing the steep slopes to the summit.  At Stockley Bridge, we passed the pool where the six cousins, then aged 7 to 12, had bathed after an ambitious and successful expedition up Scafell Pike in September 1991.  Gregor had pushed his Uncle John off the rock and he recreated the act in the photo above. I recall that John was not well pleased at the time but will probably enjoy this reminder.  We were surprised at the volume of walkers on the route not many of whom looked like they would get to Scafell Pike.

Summoning the energy for a third excursion of the day is never easy so we decided to take in Latrigg, a minor hill that sits above Keswick and which I had surprisingly never climbed. Like Dodd, it was a saunter through coniferous plantations but even in the heat of the day it was pleasant and the summit was a grassy meadow that would make a perfect golf course.  We sunbathed for ten minutes admiring the beauty of Derwentwater, Newlands and Borrowdale. We took a direct descent through the densely afforested slopes.  We were suitably tired and despite my intention to take in Beda Fell near Ullswater it was getting too hot to make a fourth climb of the day so we returned to Glasgow arriving back before 5pm.

Happiness

Twenty four years ago I heard Richard Layard, now Lord Layard, speak on happiness at course organised by the cabinet office. It had an impact then and I have watched with keen interest in recent years as he has developed his papers on happiness: the fundamental purpose of life. Happiness is as much about giving as it is about living, altruism works both ways.

This week the media have latched onto it with a slightly cynical air following the launch of Action for Happiness, but more commonly referred to as give someone a hug. There was a report on Radio 4 and several infantile articles in the press about the search for happiness.  Given the unchallenged assumption that the pursuit of wealth is a worthwhile objective and therefore the basis for ranking countries, regions and individuals I find this obsession with wealth indicative of a society that lacks a moral compass

So what are the things that make you happy or content, I would suggest the following in no particular order.  They are from the top of the head and reflect my profile of happiness.

• Feeling well
• A good burst of exercise and the release of endorphins
• Being in a place of outstanding beauty usually the mountains
• Seeing someone you love achieve something - whether your child taking its first steps, or getting a qualification or job that will enhance their life
• Completing an innovative project that will make a difference to people or place
• Knowing you have made someone happy or helping them to recover and thrive 
• Having no debt
• Being in the company of others who have vitality and inspire you
• A good book or radio programme or film or sporting event
• Memories particularly when relived with friends
• Sticking to principles rather than being greedy or selfish
• Achieving targets or events that stretch you
• A good meal in good company

Even thinking about the concept of happiness and well being challenges the way in which we are duped into believing that material wealth is important.  It is the individual and local things that matter most not the products, services and charges that corporate organisations and government try to market to us.They are no more than the flotsam of possession or greed that deviate us from the pursuit of happiness.

Scrae Field

Taken on the return visit in September

Scrae Field      216 metres, 

5 kilometres,  41 minutes from Wester Quarff to Uradale

Back in Shetland for the first time in three weeks, I was struck by the daytime brightness, the greening of the landscapes and the fluorescent quality of the seas. Returning from work to the house at 6:30 meant there was a couple of hours of light left and the conditions were benign. I persuaded my colleague to drop me off at Wester Quarff and pick me up near Scalloway so we could enjoy a meal in the Scalloway hotel, our favourite place for fresh seafood.  

Unfortunately, I had left my camera in the car but the visibility was not that good so this hill will require a return visit. At the start of the ascent I disturbed what looked like a former electricity sub-station full of pigs who came snorting to the fence as I walked past. As I climbed  the steep south facing slopes of Scrae Field,  sea birds wheeled overhead and rabbits made diagonal runs across my path. Arriving at the summit ridge I was surprised to find two military looking ruins facing westwards over Burra. There was a long peat bog along the ridge leading to the trig point and from there good views in all directions although they were marred on what was an overcast evening. I had arranged to be picked up 40 minutes later at Uradale so I jogged down the north-westerly slopes. Two red-throated divers whirled into the air as I hurtled past and a lot more rabbits scurried away as I made for the burn of Sundibanks.  

My lift was coming up the road as I arrived at Uradale so I lengthened my stride to arrive at the same time. We drove to Scalloway for another excellent bar meal in the hotel. So another Marilyn completed and an excellent evening excursion to complete my first spring day on Shetland.

Morning Runs

Back home after 9 days in Spain and this morning was just made for running.  A morning mist, dew on the ground, Spanish skies and cool enough to stay comfortable.  The birch buds were coming through, the river sparkled and the water was as clear as vodka.

The bird life was intense with ducks nesting, buzzards hunting and the ospreys are back. For the first time this year I managed to run my favourite 12 kilometre run, the time was only average but I felt completely at ease and I felt like I could have happily have continued running, this is playing for grown ups.  And what a great time of the year.

Granada

Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada 

The journey from Cordoba to Granada was via two towns: Baena at the centre of the olive growing region and Alcala la Real. The weather was improving but it still lacked the sharpness of light that we had enjoyed in Seville. The rolling countryside was decorated with olive groves and the distant landscapes gave way to the hazy blue profile of the Sierra Nevada which was capped with snow. Sitting in a plaza in Alcala we had the best of Spain: fresh orange juice and a tapas of mushroom and olives before a final half-hour drive into Granada. 

Granada is a city protected by a huge ring road which eventually flung us with centripetal force into the traffic-crammed centre. After some time negotiating the one-way traffic schemes, we found an underground car park to store the car for three days. We walked the final kilometre, dragging our suitcases, airport style, to our hotel which was conveniently hidden beneath the looming Alhambra Palace and adjacent to Plaza Nueva.

At an altitude of 750 metres, Grenada was cooler than the plain but the plazas were busy and provided numerous tourist-focused shops, bars and restaurants. Unlike Seville, which is a real working city,  Granada seemed to be dominated by tourism generated by the presence of the Alhambra. It attracts 3 million visitors a year and tickets have to be booked in advance.  We decided to take the 9am slot on our second day so we could spend day one getting to know the city.  We walked through the Albayzin which is across the river Darro from the Alhambra, a place of shady plazas and a lot less frenetic than the commercial centre. Afterwards, we returned to the centre and visited the Gothic Cathedral which seemed austere and dull after the splendours of the Mezquita in Cordoba. We were staying at the excellent hotel casa 1800, which had recently opened and provided afternoon teas, newspapers and a glorious patio to relax in after the exertions of walking all day.

Despite being there on the same day as the PM David Cameron, we saw nothing of him or his retinue of bodyguards. He had travelled by Ryanair as an empty gesture to populism. Taking a party of ten or so officials on Ryanair must have cost a fortune what with Sam's baggage and all the charges for the use of credit cards. I wonder if he hummed dam busters on takeoff?

The visit to the Alhambra was a real highlight with superb Muslim architecture and detailing in the palaces.  The moulded stucco walls, water features, and carved lions (which were on show but being restored) made for an irresistible visit.  The bonus was a superb exhibition of Escher's drawings in the Palacio of Carlos V.  He had visited the Alhambra at the start of his career in 1922 and many of his drawings were influenced by the Muslim architecture and geometric decor. Equally impressive was the Generalife - the architect's garden - adjacent to the Alhambra and the site of the summer palace with judicious planting and more water features as well as an open-air concert area. 

In the evening we ate at a quality restaurant in Albaysin and our table gave a balcony view overlooking the floodlit Alhambra opposite.  The food as everywhere in Andalusia was first class and the entire visit to Seville, Cordoba and Granada in March had been a great success. Unlike the PM, we did not have the threat of a Ryanair flight home to disturb our penultimate day. 

We travelled back the next day via the Alpujarra in the Sierra Nevada National Park with its attractive villages nestling on the side of the mountainous terrain. In the afternoon we visited Nerja, a large but well-maintained and attractive beach resort. Quite a few Brits were sunbathing and it was certainly warmer than Blackpool in July.  We stayed for our last night in an excellent independent hotel high above Malaga so we could catch an early morning flight. 

After a swim in the outdoor pool and another fine meal completed the spring break, I had a long conversation with a Canadian website designer who was working on the hotel's website. She explained the damage that Trip Advisor and other hotel booking websites were having on the independent hotels. Most disturbing was that they were skimming up to 50% of the payment for late bookings. Her advice if you wanted to support local facilities instead of chain hotels, was to search by specific location rather than country or region.  She alleged that the chain hotels that operated in Malaga indulged in damaging reviews of their local competitors as well as submitting excellent reviews of their own facilities to improve their ratings on Trip Advisor. The next morning we were off early but the road network to the airport was badly signposted, I was doing laps of the town to find the right exit and we only just arrived in time to make the flight home.

A better class of Graffiti 

And a better class of cat

Columns with fine detailing

Court of the Myrtles, Nasrid Palace

Muqarnas vaulting in Palacio de Comares

Tiling in the Nasri Palace

Escher exhibition  - geometric figures inspired by the Alhambra

Generalife gardens looking over to the Alhambra

Alpujarra below the Sierra Nevada

Nerja

Malaga

Cordoba

Mezquita - the Great Mosque

We drove from Seville to Cordoba on a Saturday morning for the second stage of our Andalucian tour.  The exit from Seville was no easier than the arrival had been and we did a lap of the city before hitting the Urbana Norte and road to Cordoba. By perchance we were able to pass the amazing bridges and modern architecture that are the legacy of Expo 1992. It made us realise that public transport is definitely the way to travel to and from Seville. 

We stopped at the sleepy town of Almodovar during the journey, which allowed us to see a Moorish fort and have a drink in a local cafe where serious dominoes were being played. Cordoba was not far and we were there in the early afternoon, finding accommodation in a small family-run hotel near the city centre. We dropped our bags and took to the streets and we were instantly captivated by the narrow pedestrianised area of Juderia.

Tapas and sherry in a small wine bar seemed a good way to start the excursion and for the next three hours, we walked around fascinating areas around the Mezquita. We returned to the city centre which was dominated by chain stores and lacked the charm of Seville. An evening meal in a rooftop restaurant in Juderia was a perfect end to the day and the only downside was the arrival of rain and head cold which meant a restless night. The next morning looked like any Sunday morning in the UK, with wet streets and people staying indoors.  We had the place to ourselves and after breakfast, we went to the equestrian show in the Royal Stables.  It was surprisingly entertaining but as we left the heavens opened and for the first time since arriving in Andalusia we retired to the hotel to read.

Despite being a World Heritage Site and contender for the European City of Culture, Cordoba lacked the vitality and edge that was so evident in Seville but an evening meal in a bar near the university confirmed the impression that this was a safe and pleasant place to live or to study.  We visited a Moroccan tea house late in the evening and walked back at midnight through the empty rainswept streets.  The next morning we visited the Mezquita first thing and were amongst the first visitors, it was a strange experience to find a cathedral erected in the middle of the massive impressive Mosque.  This was our lasting impression of Cordoba before we headed south through the impressive countryside before the Sierra Nevada and then Grenada hove into view.

Cathedral in the Mosque

Juderia

Ole

Andalusian Equestrian Show in the Royal Stables

Seville

Seville - streets decorated with orange trees and infused with their blossom 

I am of that generation that put Spain off-limits and until this trip, I had never been to mainland Spain unless Catalonia is included.  My father had spent 5 years in the Eighth Army fighting fascism and regarded Spain as unfinished business with Franco still operating as a dictator until 1975.  As a result, we never went to Spain during the 1960s, nor indeed to any other country because we could not afford to, but if we could Spain would have been bottom of the list. It is curious how these memories were brought back when we arranged at the last minute to spend 8 days in Andalucia. When I went to Catalonia about 9 years ago, I felt justified by Orwell's 'Homage to Catalonia' and positive memories of the 1992 Olympic Games in Barcelona.

Arriving at Malaga without a map was a mistake that I seldom make and the car hire people did not provide one either.  We decided to take the coastal road along the Costa del Sol before heading through the mountains to Seville.  Despite all the tour brochures that I had studiously avoided over the years, I had not anticipated the 'Touropolis' that unfurled as we shuffled our way into Torremolinos and made for the nearest bookshop.  I needed a map and it was an excuse to spend half an hour in this mecca of the package holiday.  Breakfasts were in full swing, the sun was glistening on the lotioned foreheads of the Brit pack but the streets were clean and tidy and the sea was empty of bathers - it was still March. 

Back on the road, I travelled through Benalmadena, Fuengirola and several other resorts before carefully circumnavigating Marbella. I had no intentions of engaging with the Russian mafia, East End gangsters, Saudi Arabian millionaires or the drug cartels importing from Morocco. Malaga looked like 'Florida on the Med' and, according to the guidebook, was built on corruption, property speculation and right-wing politics. We headed into the hills and quickly climbed to 1000 metres in the Serrania de Ronda and then descended through the dazzling countryside to Ronda itself.

Ronda is a town built and protected by a steep river gorge.  It looks out over the lavishly coloured landscapes that regale the traveller at this time of the year.  We had a perfect lunch in a plaza near the town hall, with fresh orange juice, olives and gazpacho soup and coffee. At the end of the meal, the astute waitress informed us that the police would be booking parked cars in five minutes and bid us on our way- the first of many hospitable acts during our stay.  

The drive to Seville was over roads that progressively became straighter, wider and more densely trafficked as we neared Seville. Negotiating our way to the city centre and the Barrio of Santa Cruz, the pedestrianised zone, was a game of snakes and ladders until we eventually dumped the car in an underground car park for three days and walked the last few hundred metres to our apartment.  The train would have been more appropriate transport from the airport to Seville but we would have missed the once-in-a-lifetime chance to pass through Torremolinos and the chance to bypass Marbella.

Within half an hour of arriving in Seville, we had found a local bar and beer and tapas were taken in a sun-kissed plaza. They revived our spirits and made the excursion along the Costa seem a distant nightmare.  We meandered around the pedestrianised streets enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and the independent shops showing their goods in resplendent displays. The centre was free of the standardised chain stores that have made shopping in Britain such a 'to be avoided pastime'.  We enjoyed the choir of happy noise emerging from Plaza del Salvador where thousands of young Spaniards meet and talk and drink and behave.  Seville was a place to relax and enjoy the hospitality and atmosphere of a real city.

The next day was glorious and it reached 28°C. Following a long walk around the superb public realm, admiring the quiet trams, the quality of the pavements, open spaces, street furniture and open-air entertainment, we visited the cathedral and had a leisurely lunch in the sort of cafe that is still a rarity in Britain. We visited the bull ring, which hosted a wonderful collection of paintings including Goya line drawings of bullfighting. The city had clearly benefited from Felipe Gonzales's time as Prime Minister with fast trains, an Expo world fair and some humdinger bridges.  We walked along the esplanades alongside the Rio Guadalquivir and enjoyed the easy pace of life that infected the city.  

In the evening after early drinks, it was off to see Flamenco dance, guitar and song in the museum and then we had a late meal as most Spaniards do.  The following day saw us visit the Alcazar Palace with its breathtaking gardens and patios, we took a siesta, sunbathed on the apartment roof and just allowed ourselves to float in the current of life that makes Seville tick.  Unlike the Costas, Seville has been nurtured as a modern city, respecting its history but exploiting quality urban design and providing a totally people-friendly environment.  I would happily return to this city but not in the searing heat of summer.

Serrania de Ronda

Ronda landscapes and dayglo colours

Seville Cathedral 

View from Giralda

Plaza de Toros

Toros

Flamenco Guitar

Flamenco Dancing

Plaza Salvador - Seville's civilised meet market

Cathedral and Giralda

Alcazar ceiling