Author Archives: essiep

Coldest night.

Posted on by
Reply

-6°C clear and still.
I knew it would be cold so took precautions.

image

Pistyll Rheaedr, highest drop waterfall in Wales.

Last night I used my survival bivvy over the sleeping bag. It gives an extra layer, especially when there’s a breeze.
My Rab bivvy is full sized, enough to pull over my head (and zip closed). It also has plenty of wriggle space which is enough for a fleecy blanket. That seemed to work well. I was comfortable even when the thermometer reached -2° inside the tent.
There were a few possibilities for the coming day. Walk on the hill again, shop in Betws-y-coed, or go home. The decision was made while fixing breakfast. The campsite has outside sinks and taps. They were frozen. No water! I’m not walking without water.
Betws-y-coed has one of the finest cafes in Wales. After careful packing, I headed for a nice lunch.

QMD: Cadair Berwyn.

Posted on by
Reply

0 to –8°C. April northerly. Mostly clear sky.
Full mountain day, after packing up camp, I heard the car rumble by, my colleagues had arrived. We convened a meeting around an outside table to decide which route.
Choices ranged from 7 to 12 miles. The big one got the go-ahead. Initially, there is a climb out of the valley along well maintained paths. Meltwater ran down and exposed ice on top of slate. Slate can be slippery at the best of times, but with ice!?
Before the first kilometer, it was apparent that we’d headed up the wrong valley. We wanted north and faced West. Oops.
I proposed that we take a quad bike track over the spur and intercept the path. Good.
Route mended, white summits poked above the grassy ridge.
From this point, the walk became fantastic. Fantastic in the sense that we strode out into a wonderland of snow and ice sculptures. Crunchy snow like this offers good grip and filled over those hollows between tussocks.
image

The higher we got, the more fantastic the scene became. Wind was the sculptor here, and it had been very creative. Grid wire fences had long crystal growths of water ice, razor sharp and pointing downwind. Either the ice grew quickly, or the north wind had remained this way for days.
Worrying about time, we decided to skip Cadair Bronwyn and descent from the Bwlch before.

image

Ice waffles.

The walk out was a considerable distance along sheep filled valleys.
Getting dark, we made camp at about 6pm. I was tired, partially my own fault. I didn’t eat enough. My boots repeatedly unlaced, the laces had iced up and slid loose.

Berwyn arrival.

Posted on by
Reply

-3°C to -6°C (at summits). Brisk NE, mostly sunny.
February mountain day! There’s a first.

image

The morning after.

Arrived yesterday about 6pm as it got dark. The camp owner fixed of us with some firewood and directions. I drove down the pastel track to the field but got the car stuck in the bottom corner. The mud was fees and gummy. The priority was to sit.I the tent and make food. The car can stay where it is for the night.
But there was an odd noise in the field.
For the first time I used firestarters with no kindling. Surprised, it worked quite easily. Sitting to fact your supper under a cold clear sky is, under these circumstances, a pure pleasure. It was so clear that even under a bright first quarter, the stars and clusters were in sharp contrast. Not far from the moon were the Pleiades.
There’s also little white lights of a another kind- horses. They hung their heads over the gate to greet. Some horses are agreeably good looking like the one in Poldark. Here were not those horses. The Shetland pony was especially ugly, a real bag of spanners.
After fixing the fire, next was time to cook. This is also the time snow started to fall. There’s another first- prepare a meal in snowfall. The tricky bit, apart from handling the pans with cold hands was visibility. Each flake was bright in the headtorch beam. In the contrast, more distant objects were harder to make out.
Eventually, fed and watered, I sat by the fire reading and occasionally looking up at the stars that appeared from time to time.
By bedtime, the whole sky had cleared and temperatures fell hard and fast.

Quicker

Posted on by
Reply

I rode The Jake with MapMyRide+! Distance: 18.33mi, time: 01:26:13, pace: 4:42min/mi, speed: 12.75mi/h.
http://mapmyride.com/workout/1345027265
Much faster today. The puddles are shrinking and surfaces firmer. In response, I put the hammer down. This north east wind is piercing though. It eats through your clothes and bites your skin underneath.
I did set off with the intention of riding the ‘cross. The fixed gear Paddy Wagon has a flat rear tyre. So it seemed series, at the time, to jump on the Jake.

Planning a hike.

Posted on by
Reply

Maybe next week:  Cadair Berwyn just beyond the Welsh border.
It’s approximately 800m high on a ridge with soft heathery slopes on the west and cliffs, opposite,
With luck, the weather will be terrible. Mist would be great, or blazing sunshine, either really. The sun brings colour, the mist brings interesting navigation.
I want to camp there for at least one night. I have never camped in February before.
Continue reading →

New music; Gesualdo da Vanosa

Posted on by
Reply

7°C, storm Imogen is still a force.
New CD,

image
first impression: It might be a new release, and it may sound ultra modern in parts. But the first compositions were written in the1600s.

We’ll see how this one grows in my esteem.
Listening to music has snowballed this winter. Having bought nothing last summer, the contrast is great. Now, more than one disc arrives in the post each week. More than I can keep up with really.
The iPod is an invaluable tool in digesting new music. The poor thing does need a repair however; the battery is exhausted. Add to that the car as a valid medium to listen and familiarise myself with new purchases.

The pleasure of muck.

Posted on by
1

Storm Imogen; 7°C, very strong SW , frequent heavy showers, drying later.
image
Meanwhile, on the domestic front, my laundry didn’t come not very fresh tonight. The powder drawer looked rather grubby so I took it out. It’s not too difficult to clean with lots of water and a few different sized brushes.
The drawer hole was a more grim affair. Inside was a pink gum of old washing liquid that the lodgers use. Perhaps they have tipped it into the wrong compartment. Whatever, it was a yucky job to clean. You have to be so careful when you do this. My forearms are slightly itchy now. Laundry products are very corrosive when concentrated.
Nevertheless, there is a strange and disgusting pleasure in getting such a filthy object clean.
At the time of writing. The machine is on a cold cycle with nothing inside but froth. That’s to give it a full rinse out.
I ought to do that every month.

Race horses.

Posted on by
Reply

10°C, light SW wind, heavy rain subsiding to light.
It has been a winter of storms. So many have passed over this island, and more are jostling to do the same. There are so many that we could regard this as all one storm rather than a chain of individuals. The Met Office now gives them names, Imogen is on its way.
image

With the scene set, picture a muddy field in the Wirral, most of the grass is obscured by thick gravy like reddish mud. In this field is the venue for a schools inter county Cross Country race series.
I took the young lad (who, it turns out, did very well for his school).
I dropped him off, on time and then took off to move the car.
Most of the day saw me searching for him having missed the race. Meanwhile, the youngest groups ran first.
I picked a spot where I could be easily seen, and could easily watch the races go off.
The images remain in mind now, it reminded me of a horse race. Lean and lithe, these kids stood pale from the cold and high on adrenaline. All sinewy and with only one thing on their minds, their race.
The start gun, actually was the proper thing, and loud too. The kids stood on the line, straining for a clue that the gun was about to fire. The whites of their eyes were visible. They took the event seriously, and very seriously.
Soon, the trigger pulled, all set off across the acres of gloopy mud. The front runners remained fairly clean but the trailing ones soon picked up the sloppy mud kicked onto their legs and lower bodies as they shrank into the far edge of the field.
Later, they would finish, strung out with a hollow look on their faces. Some would wobble to a stop and vomit from the exertion.
All the while, others stretched and sprang up and down to prepare themselves. Or, maybe they were cold.
The weather didn’t let up.