Friday, 28 June 2013

Auntie June

Auntie June (bottom right with Jack) at wedding
It is Auntie June's 90th birthday today but we couldn't make it over to Sydney. As a child I had dozens of Great Uncles and Aunties, mainly from Lancashire and Yorkshire but also from Aberdeen. Some of them are in the photo of my parent's wedding above along with my two grandmas (second row left and front centre). June had been in the WRAF and she was married to my father's brother, Jack, who had been a fighter pilot and then a test pilot for the RAF after the war. Although there were quite a few family friends whom I called Aunt, June was my only real Aunt. She had style and a generosity of spirit, she came from Great Yarmouth and was always cheerful and encouraging no matter what escapades I got up to with my four cousins.

June was responsible for keeping the household on an even footing.  Regular house moves, twins amongst the four children and Jack's determination to do everything, including collecting speeding offences, at 100mph would have frazzled most mothers. June just provided an oasis of tranquility. She was always cool and calm and had a can-do approach to life which made all visits a pleasure. And she knitted quicker than Jack drove. My geography knowledge was founded on visiting them in all parts of the country in the 1950's as they were waltzed around RAF bases.  Later when Jack entered civvy street they settled in Kings Lynn, Reading and Bath before the family emigrated to Australia in 1963.

It was eight years before I saw her again when she came over for a visit to family in the UK. I had just finished a Master's degree and about to start work but she asked if I could drive her and my grandmother's sister, Auntie Elsie, around the attractions in the north-west including the Lake District. We spent several days in her hired mini during the height of an unusually hot summer. I think she gained the illusion that the north of England was a holiday hot spot. June lapped up every day and was always at ease and full of goodwill wherever we went stopping for ice creams, cream teas and the odd picnic. The company of good women is one of life's rewards.

A few years later I visited Australia with my brother over the Christmas and New Year period. June arranged our accommodation in a family flat overlooking Manly beach, lent us her car for several long trips up and down the eastern seaboard and made a Christmas BBQ on the beach that made snowmen and sledges seem unnecessary Christmas images. She filled eskis for us to take to Sydney Cricket Ground to watch Australia versus the West Indies and arranged a series of family events at a time when she was carrying a broken wrist and in the midst of some family turmoil. When we were taken by our cousin, who is on the far side of the wild side, to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge to see in the New Year, we were told that the charge for this offence was six months in jail. All hell broke out with Jack but this was mollified by June: "well you didn't get caught so I guess it doesn't matter boys" was her pragmatic retort.

So June, many thanks for being that calm and supportive Aunt. You were just about the only person from south of the Trent that I knew as a child and you gave a good impression of southerners despite what those up north said! You were appreciated by all the family, everyone rated Auntie June as 'a thoroughly good egg' as you might have said.

Ninety is still young by today's standards, so enjoy your day and make sure that you have that drink and seafood that you fully deserve. And when are you next coming over?


Thursday, 27 June 2013

Toujours Ardeche

Chambres d' Hotes
For the fourth time in six years we retreated to the limestone plateau south of the Ardeche Gorge staying in accommodation that never fails to inspire. We stayed at Le Garn in the Gard district of Provence but within minutes of the Ardeche. Our room this time included the terrace shown and a large bathroom. Breakfasts were a feast of fresh soft fruits, yoghurts, home made jams, several types of fresh bread, cakes and coffee. They lasted well over an hour and made the morning runs and swims an essential part of generating an appetite.

It is a wrench to leave the accommodation during the day. As well as a pool in a walled garden, there are superb walks in the immediate vicinity through the olive groves, and cherry, fig, almond and peach orchards all surrounded by fields of Lavender and vines. Neverthelss we ventured out on most days into the quiet countryside, towns and villages that make this corner of France a veritable nirvana.

Our starting point was Barjac, an exquisite French renaissance town that sits on the boundary of Provence and the Ardeche. Its buildings meld with the surrounding landscape and there is sufficient commercial activity to make it  a destination in itself. Although not part of the tourist trail it has all the qualities that towns require including a boulangerie, a score of local shops and half a dozen good eating places, local musicians and a well frequented boules arena. We visited other small towns like Issarac, Balazuc , Aigueze, Orgnac and Vallon Pont-d'Arc, the Roman amphitheatre at Orange and the source of the Loire in the Cevennes. We had the perfect French meal at a nearby family restaurant at mas de trescouvieux. The week flew by and the images of high summer in the Ardeche are indelibly etched in our minds as the perfect antidote to those cool wet days at home.

Barjac Square and Fountain

Barjac scene


Village roadside flowers

Cherries


Lavendar fields in Malataverne

Balazuc Door

Goudargue market

Orange amphitheatre

Ardeche at La Baume

Breakfast: Imagine the taste


More breakfast treats

Cevennes meadow

Source of the Loire

Ardeche weeds

Everywhere

Olive Groves

Almond Groves


Lavender at Malataverne

Friday, 21 June 2013

Ardeche in a Kayak


First stop for lunch

Above the rapids which we went down in reverse, not sure how

Pont d'Arc, time for a swim

Pont d' Arc
Our group complete the trip

Holiday nibbles
Despite several visits to the Ardeche in recent years, we have never quite summoned the courage to kayak down the Ardeche river. Not surprising given that we have never canoed or kayaked in moving water before. We had been put off by a story told at dinner by a couple who had to abandon their trip when they capsized, lost their possessions and had to be rescued from the fast flowing water. But we are not getting any younger, the weather was warm, there was still plenty water in the river in June so we decided to take the risk for a trip down the river.

The two person kayak seemed robust and after we strapped our sealed barrel containing a camera and a picnic into a sealed container we gingerly launched ourselves into the flow of the river. We soon got the hang of the paddles and managed to steer round the big rock a kilometre down the river from Vallon-Pont-d'Arc. The next series of rapids were easy going with no real obstacles and we stopped for a picnic lunch on a pebble bank feeling buoyant and with a confidence about our paddling skills.

The rapids beyond were the tricky ones and we set out aiming to pass the first obstacle to the left and then turn sharp right to ride the rapids. My turn was too tight and we were beached on some rocks mid stream providing entertainment for the French holidaymakers lining the banks. Two or three minutes of pushing with the paddles got us off but we were facing upstream and got caught in the fast water. We went down backwards, I guess it looked cool from the banks and once we realised we were safe I gave a wave to the amused onlookers!

Another couple of kilometres and we were paddling under the majestic Pont d'Arc and it seemed only sensible to pull in and enjoy an afternoon swim. It was one of those moments that felt just perfect: warm day, easy swimming, Aileen was happy and there was only another 3 kilometres to go down mainly tranquil waters. We were buoyed and immensely pleased with ourselves as we spent twenty minutes or so swimming under the Pond d' Arc and then floating back in the slow moving current. Relaunching the kayak was no longer laced with any fear, we could do this kayaking malarkey. We paddled alongside a French couple, Aileen chatting confidently, her confidence was sky high and her latent linguistic skills and intelligence were displayed with a coy that I always found so endearing. We were  paddling with some style as we reached the landing and hauled the kayak onto the banks.  It ws not a long wait for the bus and trailer to arrive and return us to Vallon Post-d'Arc.

We had hoped to find an ice cream on the drive back to our rooms at Le Garn but the consolation was our daily ration of cherries and apricots that Evelyn had left for us when we arrived back. After a lazy walk around the cherry and almond orchards, we went for a celebratory 4 course meal in Barjac. It had been the perfect day until the tribute heavy rock band appeared in the square, Led Zeppelin are responsible for a lot of over zealous imitators. Their playing was dazed and confused, no not the song just the performance. Robert Plant would have screamed.

Monday, 17 June 2013

Les Alpilles, Saint-Remy de Provence

Van Gogh's Mont Gaussier
Mont Gaussier from the hotel
The summit path
Mont Gaussier
Ladder to the summit platform
Looking north over Saint-Remy to Avignon
The final pitch to the right of the cave
View of Saint-Remy from the summit
The summit along a 3 metre wide ridge
Meadow by the Asylum
A few years ago, I happened upon Les Alpilles whilst visiting the Van Gogh museum at Saint-Remy. Van Gogh lived in the asylum and painted in his studio, a former cell, and in the surrounding grounds.  The location was the inspiration for many of his most acclaimed works, he produced over 150 paintings and drawings during his stay at the asylum. I was so taken by the limestone hills behind the museum that we returned a week or so later and I spent a day exploring the Alpilles and then having a morning run up Mont Gaussier, the most impressive limestone pinnacle that overlooks the town. I returned this week for the fourth time.

A night in Saint-Remy is a pleasure in itself but there is no finer way to start any day than by running along the road to Glanum beside the massive plane trees that were the subject of Van Gogh's painting, 'The Road Menders'. From the museum there is a meadow to cross, then a trail past the Glanum site of Roman antiquities before snaking up the dry valley through cypress and pine trees. The trail steepens towards a col where you take a sharp right turn into the pine trees and follow a meandering path into the maquis below Mont Gaussier. Although only 307 metres high, it is the most spectacular of summits.  The path arrives at a steeply raking iron ladder and above this, there is a fine narrow limestone platform that leads towards a final pitch of climbing to reach the summit. I was a bit daunted by the climb but the knowledge that I had managed it on three previous occasions spurred me on and, despite flexible running shoes, there was a good grip on the limestone, although it was crumbling in places.

The views back to Saint-Remy are spectacular and all around the plains of Provence disappear into the hues of summer haze. I gave myself five minutes to absorb the mesmeric views and then began the run down. It was still early and the heat had yet to build up. The meadows at the foot of the slopes were alive with insects and butterflies and the mile or so back down the road to the town centre was an exercise in avoiding the tree roots of the plane trees as well as the traffic. I had made it in just under an hour, excluding the glorious dream at the summit. Hopefully, it will not be the last run-up of this superb architecture of nature. Even Van Gogh failed to capture its full inspirational character although he did pull this off with the roadmenders.

The roadmenders


Sunday, 9 June 2013

Four Brothers and Five Sisters of Kintail

Sunset over Skye from below Sgurr Carnach

A midday to midday excursion over the Four Brothers and Five Sisters of Kintail including a balmy summer's night sleeping between the third and fourth Sisters.

Wednesday, 5 June 2013 

Ascent:         2110 metres
Distance:      18 kilometres
Time:            8 hours 4 minutes

m  Ciste Dhubh                          979m        2hrs   4mins
t    Sgurr an Fhuarail                   987m        3hrs 32mins
m  Aonach Meadhoin               1001m        3hrs 46mins
m  Sgurr a' Bhealaich Dheirg   1036m        4hrs 34mins
m  Saileag                                   956m       5hrs 20mins
t    Sgurr nan Spainteach            990m        6hrs 41mins
m  Sgurr na Ciste Duibhe         1027m       7hrs 29mins

The forecasts looked good for the next two days so I packed a rucksack and headed off first thing on Wednesday to catch the 914 bus from Crianlarich up to Cluanie. It was cloudy but still with the promise of a sunny evening ahead. The bus stops at Fort William for 20 minutes which coincided with the steam train to Mallaig pulling out of the station pulled by an LNER B1 locomotive. There were more people taking photographs than passengers. The thought of clattering over the Glenfinnan viaduct and skirting the magical coastline to Mallaig was an added incentive to making this trip one day but preferably pulled by a Stanier Class 5.

Despite the clouds, the day was warm and on alighting at the Cluanie Inn just before noon I simply crossed the road and started up the track that runs up the glen below the Corbett, Am Bathach. I made for the bealach at 600 metres where I dropped my rucksack before going out and back to the impressive hulk of Ciste Dubh. There are steep grassy slopes for the first 150 metres of ascent and then a good path cutting under an outlying crag before following the ridge to an airy summit. A pair of ptarmigan walked me away from their young during the ascent. The summit gave good views but most of the hills were looking sombre under a layer of thick cloud and rain threatened from the northeast.

Returning to the bealach and my rucksack I had some lunch before starting the unrelenting steep slopes up to Sgurr an Fuarail.  It was hot work with the added weight of the rucksack including a couple of litres of water. Just before I reached the top I noticed that a party of four were following me up, this nudged me along to the summit of Aonach Meadhoin which is just an 80-metre drop and climb along the ridge. Rain was threatening and a breeze was getting up so I swapped my wind top for my Goretex jacket. 

It is a long walk over to Sgurr a' Bhealach Dheirg, the highest of the Brothers, by the time I reached the summit I could see the 4 walkers arriving on Aonach Meadhoin. The large cairn sits out on a ridge to the north. Looking back from here the glens were filling with clouds and I began to wonder what had happened to the good forecasts. There were quite a few slabs of snow along the ridge before the descent to the bealach before Saileag.  Saileag is a quiet hill and mainly memorable for being the occasion when my then 12 years old raced John and I to the summit. On a subsequent round in his early twenties, he managed the 250-metre ascent from Bealach an Lapan in 11 minutes. Even my descent today took twenty minutes although I was beginning to slow as the sun burnt its way through the clouds at last and began to make shadow play with the Five Sisters.

It is a long haul over the stony ridge to Sgurrnan Spainteach but the views were getting better all the time. I kept going until reaching the untidy summit cairn of Sgurr na Ciste Duibhe. The descent from here was was tricky with rocks and some slippy grass areas where the snow had recently melted. I headed for the bealach and then dropped to a green swathe about 50 metres below and faced west to the setting sun. No burns were visible but when I heard the water from a sinkhole I stopped and pitched the tent on a grassy ledge that gave me one of the grandest evening views I have ever witnessed.

I topped up with water, had a large pan of green tea and then macaroni cheese flavoured by a packet of mild curry lentil soup. It was a culinary triumph. I heard the bleating of goats overhead and three mountain goats were on the top of a nearby rock face looking down at me. I spent an hour sitting in front of the tent watching the sun pass over Skye and then set over Harris. I was reluctant to turn in but as the light faded I succumbed to sleep just hoping that the goats did not eat my shoes.


Fort William: the Mallaig steam  excursion

Five Sisters from Ciste Dhubh

Ciste Dhubh

Some of the Five Sisters from Aonach Meadhoin

Sgurr a' Bhealaich Dheirg cairn

Five Sisters from Sgurr a' Bhealach Dheirg

Looking back to cloud skirted Ciste Dhubh from Sgurr a' Bhealach Dheirg

South Shiel ridge from Saileag

Sundown from the Five Sisters

Thursday 6 June 2013

Ascent:       510 metres
Distance:    8 km 
Time:          3hrs 31mins

m    Sgurr na Carnach            1002m            27mins
m    Sgurr Fhuaran                 1067m            1hr     7mins
t      Sgurr nan Saighead           929m            1hr    53mins

It had been a comfortable night sleeping above the midge level. The views on opening the tent were of the North-Western Highlands in all their glory. The Skye ridge looked like a giant rip saw and the Saddle was a stone's throw across Glen Shiel. I had a brew and waited for the sun to hit the tent before packing and setting off at about 7:20am. First, a climb back up to the bealach watched over by the mountain goats and then taking the path up to Sgurr na Carnach. The skies were cloudless and there was a feeling of great privilege to be the only person enjoying the very best of days on this magnificent roller coaster of mountains.

I spent time on both of the Munro summits dazzled by the vistas in all directions and only reluctantly departed from Sgurr Fhuaran after 9am to make certain of catching the bus at 11:45am. There were patches of snow near the summit and Gleann Lichd looked inviting unlike the slopes of Beinn Fhada which looked as steep and unforgiving as I remember from a couple of occasions when I was naive enough to tackle them from the south-west as recommended by Irvine Butterfield. It is probably the only occasion that I have ever taken issue with his routes.

There is a steep descent of 250 metres to a ridge which leads along to the next climb up Sgurr nan Saighead. I undercut the top and dropped my rucksack before climbing the 80 metres to the top. I then headed down the ridge from Beinn Bhuidhe to reach the Allt a' Chruinn, passing the first walker of the day on his ascent at about 600 metres.  I followed the path down to sea level at Ault a' chruinn, and sunbathed on the green land next to the Jac-O-Bite cafe, where I have feasted after many long walks in Glen Shiel over the years. Today it was a case of waiting for the 914 bus. It was slightly late but as always it was a scenic and relaxing journey back to Fort William, where there was time to grab some food and then after meeting the Geddes, I hopped back on the bus to Crianlarich where I had left the car. I was home in time to replace my phone and then attend a function in the evening in Stirling.


Good morning Highlands

View from the tent on waking

Sgurr Fuaran from Sgurr Carnach

The Saddle and Beinn Sgritheall

Loch Duich

Sgurr nan Saighead from Sgurr Fuaran

The Skye ridge from Sgurr Fhuran summit

Looking back to Sgurr Fhuaran