High 2013-2014 Society 2013-2014
CUHWC has now officially provided its 25th year of hard mountain pleasure... Issue 4: 2013-2014
Cover Photo: Constanze Hammerle: Brecon Beacons, December 2013
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Editor's Foreword
by Vicky Ward
One of the earliest memories that I have of the club is sitting at the Castle Inn at my first pub meet, struggling to make conversation with people I didn't really know and generally feeling exceedingly intimidated. Looking for something to hide behind, I saw a copy of High Society (volume 2) on the table and started to peruse it. Suddenly the club didn't seem so frightening – the magazine made it seem fun and full of down-to-earth people! Hopefully, there is some fresher/new member out there who'll read this edition of High Society and think exactly the same thing... so whether young or old, have a little read! Among other things, in this edition you can learn how to identify British birds of prey, read about the unofficial Cape Wrath and Mournes summer adventures, and get to grips with the mind of the new mascot, Ben More. This edition also contains the standard crossword (thanks cookie!), a quiz to help you identify your inner biscuit, and rants from various members about hills they love to hate... Many thanks to all those who have contributed photos and articles for this edition of High Society, and also to all those who have made my three years with the club so phenomenal.
Ex-President, VW (Photo: © Philip Withnall 2014, CC-BY-SA 4.0)
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Contents
Binsey – the Hill that Once Was 5
“There’s pleasure in dragging though peat bogs and bagging” 7
My First Day Out 9
Backpacking to the Cape: Section 1 11
What Type of Club Biscuit Are You? 13
A Hillwalker’s Golden Rules to the Photo Faff 17
Backpacking to the Cape: Section 2 19
UK Birds of Prey 22
Shabby Hills 26
Letters 30
THE Crossword 34
"It's pretty unlikely that CUHWC is ever going to become a terrorist cell" [JH]
Photo: Paul Fox: Bryn Brethynau, 2014
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"Well that's a 'blow' to my weekend" [MJ]
Photo: Rose Pearson: "Mystery Trip" (Northern Lakes) February 2014
Binsey – The Hill That Once Was by Rose Pearson
The two friends awoke early, for they had a long day ahead of them. They were excited and bubbled around the kitchen. The others took a dim view of their bubbles and derided their plans, but this only excited the friends who worked themselves into a frenzy. Bubbles went everywhere. A short while later, each downed their fifth cup of tea and headed for the door. Here they paused to strap on their boots as ankle support would be important on the long journey ahead.
Moving briskly, they stayed true to their path until the Cockups. Here they deviated. Upon reaching the top of the first they met three others; greetings were exchanged and a photo taken before the wind picked up and they were blown asunder. A short while later the friends stood atop the lesser of the Cockups. They surveyed the view. To the west there was grey. The south was worse; east no better. Shivering they turned north before at last their eyes were drawn north-west. They gasped; there, bathed in a ray of sunshine, lay their destination. The excitement was all too much for the lesser of the two, who had to pee atop the very tip of the Cockup.
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They hitched their rucksacks high on their backs and set off, their determination renewed. Across mud and grass alike they strode. Time passed, and they found their stride shortening and their breath catching. They looked around and lo, in front of them was a rise. The pair wound up and up, until suddenly they were surrounded by gold that came dancing down from the heavens and flitted lightly all around. The friends were filled with wonder and joy. Silently they spun and in every direction the earth swooped down, for they, they, were atop Binsey.
Refreshed they waited, for they were expecting two friends. Hours passed and the light began to fade. Still they waited. At last, the light was gone. A darkness entered the air, and in every direction the land lay blighted. With it, a cold wind came; it told the friends 'The glory of Binsey has passed. You are no longer welcome.' And so they departed, the grass tugging at their heels. Their hearts were heavy, for they knew they could share the wonders they had seen with no-one, not even their absent friends.
They trudged back through the mud and grass, below the now futile Cockups, along the Cumbria Way. With each step they took the sky grew lighter. This gave them hope, and soon they were thinking of home. A meal. Two cups of tea. Friends. They were greeted upon their return with wonder, as all could see they were changed. But they could not share what they had seen, and with time the others grew distrustful. Now, many years have passed. The others have left, and only the two friends remain. You can still see them wandering the hills. Always looking to the north-west.
The Art of Splinters Photo: Andrew The Roaches, May ‘14 Williamson: Roaches Day Trip May 2014 The flesh and bone of the forest, Poem: Jade Cuttle fraying, light splits and splays, I tear my way through the shadows, the spill of the sun, spitting out its last ray, this forest has frayed, but so will beauty when you peel back her layers.
The veins of this forest are alive, the burst of its blood bleeding blue across the grass, trodden in, peel her petals from the path, the tumble of her scent in blossom then bloom, cut this tree and you’ll see it bleed.
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“There’s pleasure in dragging through peat
bogs and bagging”
A statistical exploration of the J Hobbs Collective Wainwright Bagging Extravaganza™ by Mark Jackson
Come on, you knew I would probably have done this even if Vicky hadn’t prompted me to. The challenge was completed on 14th September on some hill or other (hooray!) after this article was submitted, so I am hastily editing this article now (12th October) to reflect the finished situation under the pretext of proofreading the magazine for Vicky. (Note: proofreading also happened. Blame me for remaining typos.) Most new Wainwrights bagged by person
This isn’t so much a register, then, of how many Lake District walks people went on last year, but more a measure of how keen people were to seek out new frontiers. The front runners were pleasingly close together – was there a race to the finish line?
Ruth Pettit 30 Phil Withnall 29 Peter Kirkwood 26 Joe Hobbs, Ian & Emma Patrick 22 Michael Fordham 21 Tom Leach, Marcus Taylor 17 Jo Smith 16 Tom Ashton 14 Paul Fox, Vicky Ward 13 Valerie Ashton, David Pettit, Simon Williams 12 Eleri Cousins, Andy Howell, Mark Jackson, Jane Patrick 11 Tom H 10 Fiona P, Anne N, Chris A 9 John O, Dave F, Andrew W, Alex E, Charlotte Z 8 Becky H, Tom D, Alex K, Simon B, Rose P 7 Laurent M 6 Helen & Michael A, Peter & Lottie B, Andrena B, Paul C, Sophie D 5 Chris B, Alison B, Toby S, Matt L, Roger B, Lucy W 4 Ivories, Blakes, Greg C, Haskins, Sherly L, Stuart B, Jack B, Erik W 3 Antonia C, Freya, Helen P, Constanze H, Laura I, Katie A, Kat H, Baileys, Simon T, David C, Mary 2 S, Helen F, Jade C, Peter W, Sarah H-W, Tom O, Julia H David G, Clare G, Clare J, Dave M, Immy C, Dilip, Karol P 1
50 40 30
20 10 0
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Most successful partnership: Ian & Emma Patrick (22). By some distance. Most successful day: Unsurprisingly, 7th June, the Saturday of the Patterdale trip. 18 new Wainwrights bagged. 13th September wasn’t far behind, though – 17 hills. Most successful day for a single person: That Patterdale success was mostly because that was the day Peter K managed to bag 11 of the Far Eastern fells in one walk. Most varied day: The following day, 8th June, and also Saturday 13th September. Both had 5 different walks each including at least one new top. Most successful trip: Scales (the Mystery Trip) with 29. Very close behind are Patterdale (27) and the ‘clearing up’ trip on the 13th and 14th September, on which 24 new hills were climbed – but that was because there were only 24 left at that stage... Least successful trip (for number of people): The 25th anniversary washout dinner. Only 6 new tops despite hundreds of participants. Literally. Most persistent participant: Vicky wrote three successive route cards on the Seathwaite trip for – well – Seathwaite Fell. We finally got up it on the third attempt. Most socially varied bagger: Michael F, who did his bagging in the company of 8 different groups of people. Phil and Vicky weren’t far behind. This seems fair. Best soloist: Ruth did 17 under her own steam.
Choicest logs: Binsey (from Scales); Rose & Becky, 8 March: “Because Michael said it was too far away!” Robinson; Jo, Dave, Chris, Chris and Alex, 4th Jan: “After a snock-hunting expedition” Brock Crags; Phil W, 8th June: “Everyone else was swimming in Angle Tarn so I thought Brock Crags would be a nice 15 minute bag.” Angletarn Pikes; Peter K, 7th June: “12:45 am Evening stroll” Sour Howes; Andrena & Phil W, 12th July: “Meh.”
"I thought the cow song was particularly poignant" [JA]
Photo: Alex Katovsky: (Helvellyn) Patterdale June 2014
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My First Day Out
by Ben More
25 February 2014 Nobody ever asked me if I wanted to be a mascot.
I was quite enjoying a nice cosy existence in the shop when I was bought by a ridiculously overexcitable bloke called Chris, brought to a couple of ‘socials’, and then dragged halfway across the country with about 100 overdressed maniacs. At first I was quite flattered to be attached to such an enormous club. I should have known better.
Turns out I’m a replacement.
I suffered in silence for hours while a strange breed called ‘duffers’ droned on about the previous mascot, called Ben, and all the things he’d got up (to). Apparently my name is Ben More. What an ignominy, to be named after your predecessor. Even worse, my name apparently means ‘Big Hill’. I know I’m a bit chubby, but that takes the biscuit.
When I could bear it no longer, I slipped away when all the duffers were fawning over some kind of sub-species called ‘dufflings,’ and decided to high-tail it up the nearest hill. If I was a hillwalking club mascot, I was darn well going to climb a hill before I laid myself out and let nature claim me. My eyes fell on the pile of route cards. Holding the pen was a nightmare but, in between hiding under the table from Chris as he crashed around looking for me, I was at last able to fill one out as a parting shot. Waterproofs – no. Warm clothing – well, I had my hat and gloves. Food – are you kidding?
The hill turned out to be a little bigger than I expected. 335 metres, according to Mark, which is about 2000 bear metres. To cap it all, it began to pour with rain. I struggled onto the trig point, looked out over Rydal Water and…
Voices. Panting, footsteps behind. Horror of horrors! I span round. Two of the maniacs were running after me – a leggings-and-shorts-clad maniac called Joe and a larger, grinning maniac called Peter. ‘There he is!’ Joe yelled, eyes alight with the glee of the bear-catcher. I jumped off the trig point and legged it downhill through the bracken with the two maniacs in hot pursuit. The rain poured down. Mud and rocks went flying. What madness is this? I thought. I tripped. All the mountains went upside down. Then someone fell on me.
When I awoke it felt as though I’d had the stuffing knocked out of me. Fortunately, this proved to be only partially true. Unfortunately, I was at the bottom of Peter’s rucksack. Even more unfortunately, I was beneath quite a few rocks.
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I felt quite proud when I got back. For a start, I was covered in authentic Lakeland mud, I’d climbed my first hill, and I’d given Joe and Peter a bit of exercise. The club weren’t very impressed, however. Apparently ‘Ben the First’ was always much better behaved. I said to them, this club takes a bit of getting used to, and I wondered how he felt for the first few trips after being plucked out of his nice quiet existence in a Highland skip, and maybe if I was still mascot after 22 years I’d be a bit more mellow, and unless they wanted me to join the ranks of the 58% of members who dropped out after their first trip, they’d better start treating me with more respect than the bear minimum…
He says it’s to prevent theft, but Chris now keeps me chained to his desk.
“That's not history, that's just some stuff that happened in the past” [MF]
Photo: © Philip Withnall 2014, CC- BY-SA 4.0, "Mystery Trip" (Northern Lakes) February 2014
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Backpacking to the Cape: Section 1
Based on the adventures of Tom Leach, David Hoyle, Toby Livesey and John Ockenden on the Cape Wrath Trail, where they successfully managed to spend almost three weeks in Scotland without bagging a single Munro.
Written by Tom Leach. Photos by David Hoyle.
Part 1: First Steps
“Whereabouts are you going? Ben Nevis?” asked some geographically challenged American tourists as we waited patiently for the ferry at the pier in Fort William. “Not exactly – Cape Wrath, a little further,” replied David, after which their faces turned to shock as he explained that Cape Wrath was the most north-westerly point of Scotland, more than 230 miles away. Catching the five-minute ferry across Loch Linnhe marked the start of the trail, beginning a journey that would take us through the stunning mountains and glens of Morar, Knoydart, Torridon and Assynt. One felt an incredible sense of excitement, but also obvious apprehension, about the challenges that were to lie ahead. Just how challenging would we find “Britain’s toughest trail”?
We began by heading, oddly, south-west along the shores of the loch, now obscured by a blanket of low cloud and drizzle, snaking round the peninsula into Cona Glen in search of a suitable camping spot. We had barely left civilisation, yet huddling in the wet under the tent already (at least to me) felt exciting – to be living, out on our own, in the wilderness. After the first of many a simple camping breakfast, the next morning we climbed out of the glen, before descending into Glenfinnan at the tip of Loch Shiel, famous for being the starting point of the Jacobite uprising of 1745 by Bonnie Prince Charlie. Twenty kilometres of solid walking, with rucksacks containing seven days’ food, had left our bodies and minds drained, and hence we pitched our tents just north of Corryhully, spending a quiet evening playing rounds of hearts under the shelter of the Vango.
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Part 2: Into Knoydart
Ahead lay the famous ‘rough bounds of Knoydart’, an isolated peninsula accessible only by foot or boat with more than three metres of rain a year. Climbing out of Glen Dessarry, and threading beside the Finiskaig River (see photo), the landscape immediately became wilder as the path opened out onto a stunning view across Loch Nevis and out to Morar. Stopping briefly at Sourlies, we continued along the shoreline under the cool sea breeze to Carnoch (carefully navigating across the waist deep bog), and began the tough climb toward Mam Unndalain, passing through a landscape more in keeping with the temperate rainforests of New Zealand than the Scotland we thought we knew. Heading up to the bealach, the path faded as we fought uphill though the chest-high bracken, before we descended to the cosy bothy at Barisdale Bay, tucked away on the shore of Loch Hourn.
Morning drizzle again greeted our start from the comfort of the bothy, as we continued along the rough-going coastal path into Kinloch Hourn, camping under the might of the Forcan Ridge and Sgurr na Sgine that evening. Unsurprisingly, with the weight of our packs, few were in the mood for a spot of Munro-bagging, so instead time was spent discussing our responses to the normally frequent query “Are you on D of E?”, although it was regrettable that the isolation gave us few opportunities to respond with “Yes, do you know the way to Keswick?”. We’d already covered the time and distance of a Gold expedition, with only another four to go!
Soon enough, we arrived in Shiel Bridge, our first stop-off point after five days with no mobile signal or fresh food. Our initial hopes of gorging on a feast at the Shiel Stores were, however, sadly diminished. Rather than the “excellent range of everything you’d need if camping”, as the owner initially assured me, the range was sparse at best, with group morale severely damaged by the prospects of five days of lunches of tuna or cheese on oatcakes.
Back en route, we plodded uphill towards the Falls of Glomach. What initially appeared to be a stunning campsite on the windswept moorland above the falls rapidly became, in John’s words, a “sh*t one”. Still, warm weather, combined with a mild Scottish winter, had produced a perfect storm for the midges, as they descended upon our camp. Whilst we had all attempted measures to combat the midges – one of us going as far as taking 7,000% of his RDA in Vitamin B in the apparent hope that it kept them off – nothing appeared to be able to stop them swarming. Basic evening tasks became impossible without a dose of swearing and cursing, forcing us to retreat for an early night in the tents.
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What Type of Club Biscuit Are You?
by Vicky Ward
The matter of club biscuits has always sparked much debate among avid hillwalkers. Should digestives ever be bought? Is the custard cream or the chocolate bourbon the king of the sandwich biscuit? Do Jaffa cakes deserve mention in this noble league of biscuits? Each biscuit has its own personality and its own traits; with this in mind, have you ever wondered which of the classic club biscuits best describes you?*
1. How often do you go on trips? a) As many as possible – GO TO "The only thing I have to QUESTION 2 choose is the overall b) A couple per year – GO TO personality of who I want QUESTION 3 to walk with" [PF]
2. What is your average walk length? a) Under 25km – GO TO QUESTION 4 b) Over 25km – GO TO QUESTION 5
3. Was there a time when you went on more trips? a) Yes – GO TO QUESTION 8 b) No – GO TO QUESTION 9
4. Do you drive for the club? a) Yes – GO TO QUESTION 6 b) No – GO TO QUESTION 7 Photo: David Hoyle: Cwm Dyli Easter Vacation Trip 2014 5. What's your opinion on fell running? a) Pretty cool – GO TO QUESTION 13 b) Only crazy people do that – GO TO QUESTION 4
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6. How many freshers do you know? a) A fair few, I try to make an effort – YOU ARE A CHOCOLATE DIGESTIVE b) I think there's one called Tom? – YOU ARE A DIGESTIVE
7. Are you on the committee? a) Yes – GO TO QUESTION 6 b) No – GO TO QUESTION 10
8. Do you still live in Cambridge? a) Yes – GO TO QUESTION 9 b) No – YOU ARE AN OATIE
9. Are you majorly involved in another outdoor club? a) Yes – YOU ARE A JAFFA CAKE b) No – GO TO QUESTION 11
10. What's your opinion on club stash? a) I have way too many old T-shirts kicking around – GO TO QUESTION 6 b) I really really really want one/I only have one and wear it to every event – YOU ARE A CHOCOLATE BOURBON
11. What's your opinion on wind and rain? a) Why on earth do trips still run in this kind of weather? – YOU ARE SHORTBREAD b) Och well, not perfect weather but I'll go out anyway – GO TO QUESTION 12
12. So why don't you go on more trips? a) Just too busy doing other stuff, I get on with everyone but I have to practice my circus skills/work – YOU ARE A JAFFA CAKE b) It just hasn't occurred to me to do so – YOU ARE SHORTBREAD
13. What's your opinion on night walks? a) They're OK sometimes in nice weather, but most of the time I prefer to socialise in the bunkhouse in the evening with lots of tea and biscuits – GO TO QUESTION 4 b) Best way to spend an evening... YOU ARE A GINGERNUT
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The Digestive Biscuit Description: Always at the bottom of the club kit box, this biscuit can remain untouched for trips, always present but never noticed. If absent, the world seemingly falls apart and everyone clamours for their return.
Hillwalker Description: You probably aren't on the current committee, although you’ve probably been around for years. You probably struggle with the majority of the freshers’ names, yet you tend to go on most trips in the year. Because you're probably a driver, a keen cook or a standard walk leader, your absence is most noted...
The Chocolate Bourbon Biscuit Description: A club staple, this creamy chocolate indulgence kick is full of calories and vital for the club's vitality.
Hillwalker Description: You're full of energy and love the club just as much as it loves you. You're as CUHWC as the chocolate bourbon is chocolatey. You have the T-shirts and check the website regularly. You will probably be on next year's committee and might be pegged for president one day.
The Jaffa Cake Biscuit Description: Although a cake, these little morsels sneak themselves into the biscuit box on occasion. Upon making an appearance, these little gems are scoffed down in a frenzy to leave hillwalkers mourning their quick disappearance.
Hillwalker Description: You probably appear on 1-2 trips a year being greeted on every trip with exclaims of “Haven't seen you in some time!” or “You should really come more often”. In your absence people may reminisce about how much of a legend you are. However, your allegiances probably lie elsewhere and you are probably involved in another outdoor club...
The Shortbread Biscuit Description: A rather refined biscuit, oozing buttery luxury. Not seen very often on club trips, probably not bought by the current Safety & Equipment Officer.
Hillwalker Description: You're a bit of a fair weather hillwalker. You like walking and hills well enough but don't like it when it's too wet or windy.
The Chocolate Digestive Biscuit Description: Appearing on most trips of the hillwalking year, the chocolate digestive is a safe, dependable biscuit, generally liked by all.
Hillwalker Description: You're probably on the committee or have been recently. You're a regular at socials and hillwalking is slowly becoming/already has become your life.
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The Oatie Biscuit Description: The oatie used to be a regular club biscuit but in recent years their presence has become increasingly infrequent. Older members reminisce of old oatie times, of their oat-like texture, honeyed undertones and crumble-topping uses.
Hillwalker Description: Once a club regular, you are probably now a duffer with older members occasionally discussing your past exploits and new members clueless as to who you are. You may make an appearance once a year.
The Gingernut Biscuit Description: Fairly regularly in the club biscuit stash but not dependably. Not being chocolate or plain, this biscuit is very different to all the other biscuits, providing great variety with its wacky ginger kick. Best dunked due to hard texture (especially kiwi variety).
Hillwalker Description: Usually appearing on 4-8 trips a year, you're quite a keen member. With your walks being long, arduous or downright silly, freshers are usually warned against joining your group as their first walk. Nevertheless, you are an integral part of the club's social infrastructure.
*WARNING: this quiz contains the personal opinions of the author and not CUHWC as a whole. As suggested in the introduction, biscuitry is an exceedingly controversial topic and opinions vary widely; although this article has attempted to present a neutral, average view it still cannot possibly imitate biscuitry’s complexity. It must also be noted that due to editing constraints many biscuits were unable to be included, such as the custard cream and the cookie.
Earlier in 2014, Patterdale MRT gave CUHWC members a tour of
WANTED their base. In return, we decided to fundraise for them, and one idea we've had is to produce a recipe book, with profits going to Mountain Rescue.
We need your recipes, since you're all such good cooks (if you've run a meal group, you have no excuse), plus your photos and illustrations. All recipes are welcome: starters, main courses, desserts, snacks; and they don't have to be suitable to do in a bunkhouse or on a camp stove. A range of submissions would be great! The only requirement is that you've tested the recipe.
Please send submissions to Philip or Becky by the end of Michaelmas Term: RECIPES [email protected] or [email protected]. *Preferably dead. Easier to digest.
Image: bit.ly/1p61Kk8 DEAD OR ALIVE*
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A hillwalker's golden rules to photo faff
by Constanze Hammerle
There are many different types of photographers, ranging from the DSLR-with-twenty- lenses-luggers to the millions-of-pixelated-phone-selfie-takers. While I have never met representatives of either of those extremes in the hillwalking club, there are quite a few hillwalkers who fit in between those two classifications.
Having learnt early on in my hillwalking career that all sort of faff is looked down upon while walking, the most important rule for taking photos while out in the hills is
Rule #1: Do not interfere with people's 'privacy'!
In the world of social media 'privacy' could solely be defined as not taking pictures when someone wees behind a tree or makes a horrid face when climbing a steep slope in slush. However, when hillwalking, 'privacy' also includes such things as walking speed. Try not to delay the group by constantly staying behind to take pictures and it's definitely best not to stop dead in front of a fellow walker to snap a quick shot – they could actually roll down a hill because of you! Repeat after me – people's privacy is more important than pictures! This brings us to
Rule #2: Photos can't replace the moment!
Honestly, none of those people wearing 360-degree-cameras on their helmets will ever take the time to actually watch all of their adventures again – they'd need a second life for that! So even if it might seem to non-photographers as if by taking pictures you are forgetting to live the moment, you should know in your heart that this IS the moment and you ARE feeling the happiness! The hills! It is of course okay to feel that very same happiness again later when you edit said picture. Repeat after me – pictures do not 'make' the moment – the moment 'makes' the pictures!
Rule #3: Share. Share share share.
So while "shared pain (of struggling up another crag after 30km of struggling up hills) is lessened (by the fact that there are eight others struggling with you) and shared joy is increased (by the fact that you're not the only one loving the bunkhouse fare)" – share your pictures! Share them in every way possible, of course keeping in mind Rule #1, and hoping that people will forget about Rule #2! Repeat after me – only a shared picture is a valuable picture!
As all good things go by three (or more, if they're hills – the more the better!) let's only have one small addendum to these rules:
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Rule #1a: Rule #1 can only be broken with the active, willing participation of the individual(s) to be photographed.
I know we all love hills and we love how green/foggy/rugged/epic/soggy/boggy/midgy our walks are, so without breaking any rules, take as many pictures as you want! But let's face it – the most beloved photos have faces in them, generally the more faces the better! So get people to 'willingly' be in your photos (a little convincing is allowed!) A loud voice (or the help of someone with a loud voice) might come in handy, as well as an innate ability to herd sheep into a pen within 10 seconds, and maybe a gorillapod. Repeat after me: looking at group pictures later on transports happiness!
So whether you are (already) following those rules or blatantly ignoring them in the hills, happy walking and snapping! I'll be seeing you (hopefully through my lens)! x Constanze
PS. If your camera costs more than a few pints and you're planning to use and abuse it out and about, come rain or shine (or fog and bog), maybe think of getting some 'whatever-happens' insurance for it. Just in case it falls off the kitchen table and the lens breaks.
"It's amazing the diversity of maniacs we have in this club" [CA]
Photo: Constanze Hammerle: Patterdale, June 2014
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Backpacking to the Cape: Section 2
Part 3: Across to Torridon
Tuesday morning brought yet more stunningly remote and wild mountain country, as we threaded our way through the vast open straths past the bothies at Maol-bhuidhe and Bendronaig Lodge with only the Highland cattle for company. Thence we proceeded on to Strathcarron towards the grand peaks of Torridon, stopping briefly at the bothy at Coire Fionnaraich for dinner before pushing onto the Bealach Ban under the evening light.
Our efforts were rewarded by one of the greatest views imaginable (see photo), as we looked down on Glen Torridon, towards the giants of Liathach, Beinn Eighe, and out to the Trotternish Peninsula on Skye, illuminated under a picturesque red sky. It was hard not to just gaze into the distance, staring at the unassuming beauty of our surroundings, and knowing that our efforts – overcoming the midges, the blisters, the rain, the distance – had been worth it. Standing here felt so special; lucky to be alone (and camping) in such a sublime place. Three hours the following afternoon was spent simply chilling behind the Triple Buttress of Beinn Eighe – swimming in the crystal-clear waters of Loch Coire Mhic Fhearchair, and resting on the sunlit slabs above the waterfalls below the towering cliffs of the Triple Buttress.
After a resupply at the well-stocked Kinlochewe Stores – where we were able to enjoy fresh fruit for the first time in more than 10 days – we began our trek into Fisherfield, known as Scotland’s “great wilderness” and off the ‘official’ Cape Wrath route. Trekking along the coastal path to Letterewe, we then turned north, over the Bealach Mheinnidh, and began the stunning descent into Carnmore into the evening, camping in the shadows of A’ Mhaighdean. After a cosy night in the bothy at Shenavall, we proceeded to Ullapool, passing beneath the saw-toothed ridge of An Teallach. While euphoria greeted our arrival at the clear break point in the route, a good meal of fish and chips, and a sense that we were on the ‘home straight’, it wasn’t long before we realised that there were still six days, and more than a hundred kilometres, till the Cape.
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Part 4: Entering Sutherland
While easy walking through the estate tracks of Glen Achall and Glen Oykel followed, the climb toward Inchnadamph, through Am Bealach, beside the might of Conival and Ben More Assynt, formed one of the toughest on the trail. Climbing higher in Glen Oykel, the weather rapidly deteriorated, with heavy rain, strong winds and poor visibility hampering progress, together with the rapidly worsening conditions of the streams feeding off Ben More. Out came the emergency shelter, in which we huddled as we contemplated options. Continuing to the bealach risked encountering worsening, dangerous conditions; retreating back down Glen Oykel would be a massive setback. Alternative routes were few and far between.
It was only two kilometres to the bealach, and since the greatest challenge lay in one of the rivers barely a kilometre ahead, we decided to at least push on to there to judge our options. Thankfully, Allt an Dubh Loch Mhoir was crossable, although by no means trivial, allowing us to push on to the bealach albeit with sopping boots, and proceed down Allt a’Bhealaich into Inchnadamph for a quick resupply of now-depleted emergency chocolate. Snaking between the corries and lochans of Beinn Uidhe and down to Loch Beag, passing the sheer drop of the 200m-high Eas a' Chual Aluinn, the tallest waterfall in Britain, and around the peninsula to the bothy at Glendhu (see photo), we were again crossing some of the most stunning, but taxing, mountain country so far.
After Rhiconich lay eight miles of road walking to Blairmore, a few miles into Sandwood Bay, and a final eight miles across the bog of the Cape Wrath Training Area to the Cape. Descending into Sandwood Bay, the first sight of the lighthouse, our goal for the past three weeks, appeared, shortly followed by the vista of one of Scotland’s most unspoilt beaches. Pitching the tent under the shelter of the sand dunes, we took a quiet stroll, pondering how our goal – everything that we had worked towards – would soon be reached.
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Part 5: Cape Wrath
Reaching Cape Wrath from Sandwood Bay is not trivial. Whilst the distance is only eight miles, all of this is rough, boggy, trackless ground, with the area north of the Keisgaig River forming the Cape Wrath Training Area. Owned by the Ministry of Defence, it is the only range in Britain where the RAF can drop live 1,000lb bombs. Checking that we would not be at the receiving end of such activities was therefore imperative, and after (several) calls to Range Control we received confirmation that nothing was taking place for two weeks; we were therefore able to continue along the last leg of our journey.
Unfortunately, our departure from Sandwood Bay didn’t match the tranquillity of the previous evening: we were awoken at 3am as the tents shook under the force of the Atlantic winds, making for an uncomfortable night’s sleep, with half of David’s tent collapsing and requiring a frantic re-pitching effort in the middle of the night. Leaving the bay, the weather had little improved, with relentless rain and wind bearing down. After more than an hour covering a not-very-far distance, we stopped off at Strathchailleach bothy for some quick shelter, taking the time to look around the former residence of James “Sandy” McRory-Smith. Living the life of a hermit, he resided at the cottage for 32 years without gas, electricity or mains water. Progress was further slowed by the Strath Chailleach, which, fed by the previous rain, had turned into an raging torrent, forcing a significant diversion to the south until a suitable crossing point could be found. Continuing northwards, poor visibility meant following a straight-north bearing until we reached the distinct MOD fence that marks the training area.
Gradually, the cloud began to lift, leaving clear blue skies over the wilderness of Cape Wrath. Step by step, we edged through the bog until we hit the 4x4 track that ran along the northern coast, taking tourists to visit the lighthouse and cliffs at the Cape. Taking a simple left, we climbed up the track until the lighthouse came into view – obscured by the terrain since the descent to Sandwood Bay. Ten minutes later, we’d arrived, standing atop the sea cliffs gazing out across the Atlantic, closer to the Arctic Circle than London. 240 miles, nineteen days; our journey was over.
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UK birds of prey by Philip Withnall
Have you ever been out in the hills and seen a bird of prey? Probably. Did you know what it was? If so, then stop reading. It was on a trip to the Lakes when I last saw a raptor, and I had no clue what it was. A little bit of reading later, here’s my attempt at an identification guide for raptors, targeted at the average hill walker who wants to know which bird they saw and an interesting fact about it — not necessarily its detailed diet and breeding details (or those damned Latin names). Not included: owls (boring), hobby (too migratory, south England only), honey buzzard (too migratory), marsh and Montagu’s harriers (south England only), white tailed eagle (infeasibly rare). The most common are listed first, and for added interest, each raptor has a song.
Common buzzard Found: everywhere (all year round) Size: 51–57 × 113–128cm Fact: mews like a cat Flight: wings in a shallow ‘V’, fanned tail, glides a lot Identification: rounded wings, brown underparts, short neck Commonality: very common Song: The Buzzards of Bourbon Street, Gaelic Storm
http://bit.ly/1oR2M7F
Kestrel Found: everywhere, preferring moors and farmland to mountains (all year round) Size: 32–35 × 71–80cm Fact: re-uses other birds’ nests, such as those of crows Flight: hovers, appearing rigid, before diving on prey Identification: white underparts, dappled with black, wide fanned tail with black tips Commonality: very common Song: Beltane, Jethro Tull http://bit.ly/1mxVfX8
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http://bit.ly/1syRWmB
Sparrowhawk Found: everywhere except Scotland, preferring woods and farmland (all year round) Size: 28–38 × 55–70cm Fact: sometimes gets so intent on chasing prey that it hits trees Flight: flap-flap-glide Identification: perches before attacking, short, rounded wings, long tail, brown bars on underparts Commonality: very common Song: Never Trust a Lion, The Sparrowhawk Orkestrel http://bit.ly/1yh PDWL Peregrine Found: north-west coastal regions, Peaks, Scotland, Lakes, Snowdonia (all year round) Size: 36–48 × 95–110cm Fact: swoop at 290km/h and strike prey mid-air with their hind talons; seen on the White Peak day trip in 2014 Flight: shallow flaps, alternating with glides Identification: grey barred underparts, white neck, wide fanned tail Commonality: common Song: Hoods on Peregrine, Thrice
Red kite Found: everywhere, preferring woods (all year round), even in Cambridgeshire! Size: 60–66 × 175–195cm Fact: will often steal food from other raptors Flight: sustained, regular flaps followed by short glides Identification: golden brown underparts, grey forked tail, black wing tips with white patches further in http://bit.ly/1pjyKKv Commonality: common, more common near release sites Song: High as a Kite, Travis
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http://bit.ly/1ow1dMZ
Merlin Found: Scotland, Wales, Lakes (all year round) Size: 25–30 × 50–62cm Fact: has appeared on a Faroese stamp looking quizzical Flight: rapid wingbeats with occasional glides, wings held close to the body Identification: long, square tail Commonality: quite rare, often seen with hen harriers Song: The Spell, Grave Digger
Hen harrier Found: Scotland, Yorkshire, Wales, preferring moorland or farmland (all year round) Size: 44–52 × 100–120cm Fact: pass food to each other in mid-air Flight: low level gliding and searching, closely hugging contours, wings in a shallow ‘V’ Identification: wings in a shallow ‘V’, pale grey (male) or brown (female) Commonality: rare
Song: This is a Visit, Downtown Science http://bit.ly/1mxW9TJ
Golden eagle Found: north and west Scotland, preferring mountains (all year round) Size: 75–88 × 204–220cm Fact: nests are handed down over generations Flight: soaring, gliding, wings in a very shallow ‘V’ Identification: dark brown, golden protruding head Commonality: rare Song: Tequila Sunrise, The Eagles
http://bit.ly/1om6xn4
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Goshawk Found: Wales, southern Scotland, preferring woods (all year round) Size: 48–62 × 135–165cm Fact: named for ‘goose hawk’ as it was sometimes used to catch geese in falconry Flight: deep, rapid wing beats Identification: white underparts, broad wings Commonality: rare, more common in Wales http://bit.ly/1vrvlOm Song: The Gay Goshawk, Mr. Fox
Osprey Found: northern Scotland, Lake District, preferring water (summer only) Size: 55–58 × 145–170cm Fact: parties in Africa over the summer Flight: arched wings with drooping wingtips looking like a gull; plunges into water from 10m, often becoming completely submerged Identification: black wrists on wings, white/mottled underparts, narrow tail Commonality: very rare, visible at viewing sites in Scotland http://bit.ly/1ozUFrE Song: The Osprey, Dougie MacLean
Sources http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/families/hawks.aspx A Field Guide to the Wildlife of the British Isles, Alice Tomsett, ISBN 1-40544- 393-6 http://raptortrust.org.uk/what-is-a-raptor/british-raptors/ http://www.uksafari.com/birdsofprey.htm
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Shabby Hills As part of the 25th Anniversary Journal, a collection of 25 “Silver Hills” was selected – these were deemed to be excellent hills by their various authors, due to either the type of walk they provided, their views, or just particular days or experiences the authors had upon them. The following hills have been selected by their authors for the exact opposite reasons..... 1. Waun Fach nominated by Peter Kirkwood The highest point in the Black Mountains with extensive views across nothing. There are no interesting routes by which this hill may be ascended. Even sheep use it to wipe their arses. If anyone survives the tedium of the approach they will be greeted at the summit by an impassable ooze that sucks the life from even the most committed bagger. It is uncertain if anyone has found the summit for several Waun Fach (Photo: PBK) years. Once there was a rock standing at the highest point. Sadly it now lies below the height of the highest bog. Waun Fach's one redeeming feature has been lost. From the hill-bagging website the summit is described thus: "ground 20m NE of trig point base. Note trig point
(SO 21540 29975) no longer exists." Sheep wiping their arses (Photo: PBK)
2. Petit Mont Colon nominated by Dave Farrow 11pm: Crawling into an alpine bunk: silence, at last. Silence, peace, safety, sleep.
Suddenly, a water bottle falls from above our heads. Lands on the soft bed. Instantly upright, awake, alert: waiting for the rocks, ready to dodge them. Heart pounding, then it slowly subsides. Relief as I come back to reality and my bunk.
It mirrors the relief of earlier. 8pm: Standing finally out on the glacier, un-roped, yet at last away from rockfall and the shifting rock face. The others are still to descend the last abseil, but this one is safe: a shoebox-sized rock anchor, jammed in a crack at one end. This anchor doesn't move, doesn't squeak, isn't three tiny flakes tied together with old string, won't pop off if you get the angle slightly wrong. Yet still the noise of rockfall fills
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my ears.
Rockfall had become natural, normal, part of climbing. Background noise. From sunrise to sunset we'd been on this face; it felt like days. Before abseiling, we'd climbed to the col. Stones covering every hold; every hold coming off into my hands. Layers of rock sloping outwards, crumbling downwards. No step secure. Every movement dislodged cascades of rocks onto the others below. Before that, before the rockfall, the rock face? A distant memory. Rocks falling: background noise, natural, normal. Terrifying.
Guidebook description: A short rock scramble over very loose terrain and much better in cold, snowy conditions. 3. Fairfield nominated by Philip Withnall My main problem with Fairfield is its weather system. You can have glorious weather on Great Rigg or down at Grisedale Tarn, but sure enough once you make it to Fairfield itself, you find yourself inside a cloud. I’m no fair-weather walker, but having a view from the top of a mountain zero times in five ascents is maddening.
My second problem with Fairfield is the name. It’s only half right. A ‘field’ it definitely is, with its broad, broken up summit which has defied many a navigator. You could play a game of football up there (if the ball had some kind of built-in fog light so you could see it through all the cloud). It’s not ‘fair’ though. It’s barren, rocky, featureless and viewless. It’s grim without being bleak. It’s windy without taking your breath away. Fairfield’s a hill which Wainwright can keep. 4. Red Pike (from Ennerdale) nominated by Helen Phillips Red Pike and I have a strained relationship. We have tried to “see if it will work” three times. Nothing changes; each time it ends with me getting grumpy and silently hating the hill, I don’t think Red Pike thinks much of me either. Perhaps writing about my hatred will release this pent-up venom and act as a mountain relationship counselling session.
But for the moment let me simply detail why Red It’s all seems so simple at the Pike (climbed from Ennerdale) is a beginning (Photo: AGW) shabby/stupid/silly hill:
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1. False sense of security You are on an obvious grassy path with a clear view of where you are heading (see photo) and can see a summit to aim for: your first mistake. This mountain is sly. Be on your guard.
2. Path loss and following fence lines Red Pike then proceeds to greet you with a myriad of tiny sheep paths of equal inconsequence, just as the going starts to get steeper. You then spy a fence line and in your naivety you follow this fence line. Fool.
3. Gradient I am unclear as to how it manages to do this, but Red Pike possesses a gradient that is demandingly calf-maiming but not steep enough to allow you to gain height rapidly. It maintains this exact gradient for the rest of the ascent.
4. The summit The gradient: not looking very With your false sense of security and innocent impressive (Photo: AGW) fence-following, after your hard leg-deadening slog, what have you achieved? The ridge to the east of the summit of Red Pike of course. Congratulations. Please perform an “out and back” so at least you have conquered the bloody lump.
I have climbed Red Pike this way three times. Every time it has been exactly as detailed above. Writing about it has not made me hate it less. The only way forward for my relationship with Red Pike: climbing it from Buttermere? 5. Castle Hill nominated by Rose Pearson I arrived in Cambridge with a broken pelvis. It was already 'sticky' and in no time I was walking unaided. On my first crutch-free day I found the CUHWC and signed up for Edale. Later that week, I found myself in the Castle Inn on Castle Street listening to all these funny words, which I would later realise were actually English, Scottish and Welsh place names.
I was eager to find some hills around Cambridge to run up and down, but as I was still a little too crippled to run I made do with thinking about running instead. I would ask
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people if they knew of any hills nearby. Every now and then someone would mention 'Castle Hill' and tell me some story about watching the sunset from its summit or the trials of cycling up it after a long day. I gleaned that it was somewhere to the north. As it sounded promising, I decided to find it when I could run.
Some months went by; I went on some trips and had a blast. The English and Welsh mountains I met were charming, and those funny names from the pub slowly took on more meaning. Winter came, and I could run. Finally, it was time to find this 'Castle Hill'. I asked around, and after chatting unsuccessfully to a few other international PhD students I eventually found a local who said to my dismay 'Castle Hill? Yes, it's the one with the Castle Inn on it'. The realisation that Castle 'Hill' is only 23m in height remains my greatest disappointment since arriving in the UK. 6. Binsey nominated by Anonymous Binsey’s really far away from anything and I don’t know why I walked to it. Whoever said it had unicorns was lying. 7. Yes Tor, Dartmoor* nominated by Marcus Taylor The South West of England has always been a bit of an odd place. But at one time, long before even the Romans set foot on British soil, giant cows roamed the lands of the moors. These creatures were ten times larger than their smaller descendants, whom the hillwalking club worship so dearly today.
Yes Tor stands as a testing memory to their dominance, and ultimately their demise. Modern folk flock to the famous lump, to admire the fossilised faeces on its summit and the debris littering the other hills across Dartmoor.
My pilgrimage to the Promised Land provided its mandatory dose of gusty winds and smatterings of rain. With no view to enjoy, we clung to the Tor’s rocky curves to shelter from the drizzle and burrow ourselves amongst the sheep droppings, a by-product of the only company we had on that cool October morning.
Afterwards, we popped over to the far less impressive High Willhays, standing two metres superior to Yes Tor, but in every other way far more inferior. I suppose if anything, Yes Tor proves that nothing on this land, great or small, can overcome the land itself, but oh, didn’t the giant cows come close with their towering sludge piles. And I’d happily battle the misery of the rain and wind to go and see it all again!
*NB. The original title for the Shabby Hills section was something less polite, more poo themed and beginning with an S. Bearing this in mind, Marcus's article makes slightly more sense. 29 | P a g e
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Letters Dear Editor, We write to clarify some claims made by Miss Victoria Ward BA (Cantab), Club President 2013-14. These claims can be found in a previous article in this renowned journal entitled “The Mournes… Just Why?” (High Society, Issue 3, 2013, Pg 3-5). No references were included in that article, and there may have been a conflict of interest in the publication of that article because of Miss Ward’s suspected employment by the Northern Irish Tourist Board. To ascertain the validity of these claims, an envoy of 8 CUHWC members (plus a member’s sister) visited Miss Ward at her home between 30th June and 5th July 2014. Please find below a list of Miss Ward’s claims and our preliminary findings.
Previous claims by Miss Ward
1. “They’re compact, one can easily do numerous mountains in one day” Our research found this to be true (Table 1, 2).
Table 1: Day 1 “Tors and swimming Table 2: Day 2 “More Mourne wall faffs” action” Slieve Binnian 747m Slieve Loughshannagh 619m North tor of Binnian 678m Slieve Meelbeg 708m Slieve Lamagan 704m Slieve Meelmore 680m Cove Mountain 655m Slieve Bearnagh 739m Slieve Beg 590m Slievenaglogh 586m Slieve Donard 853m Slieve Corragh 640m Total distance 19km Slieve Commedagh 767m Total ascent 1450m Total distance 17km Total ascent 1200m The researchers were astounded by how fiercely independent these mountains were, with no mountains wanting to string themselves together in a handy ridge line to reduce our ascent on these hot (unpatriotically hot) mountain days.
2. Their height when achieved from sea level provides adequate satisfaction
Whether a mountain provides satisfaction to a walker is highly subjective, but as the team was made up of: a top-notch bagger, a geographical ex-president, a PhD-ing photographer, an undergraduate explorer, a published poet, the club’s fell running representative, an accidental Mercedes driver, an Austrian visitor, an engineering fresher committee member and a girl obsessed by sheep we can with some conviction state that the Mournes are fairly satisfying to a wide cross-section of the club.
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3. Climbing and caving opportunities are numerous
No climbing was attempted on this trip, hence further research is required.
Caving was tested in Legnabruchan cave and Percy Bysshe cave. The research groups testified that these were dark, damp, smuggler-related and great fun (though no old smuggled brandy was found; this could be investigated in more detail in follow-up work once suitable supplies of brandy have been sourced for a double-blind comparison).
4. The Northern Irish hatred of Slieve Donard
Contrary to Miss Ward’s Research group's favourite Mourne article, the Northern Irish do not Mountain hate Slieve Donard, they love it: climbing it en masse, bedecking it 1 Slieve Bearnagh with a wide variety of plastic 2 bottles (8 collected by the group Slieve Binnian on one ascent) and rotting fruit (17 banana skins, 10 apple cores, Slieve Commedagh 3 bunches of grape) and rarely straying from the path from Figure 1: Results of blinded Newcastle to Slieve Donard. vote for preferred Mourne 7 Mountain We feel that this love and worship of Donard should continue unbridled, allowing the rest of the Mournes to remain empty and unsullied.
The view is not quite as naff as Miss Ward suggests. There is a fine view of both the sparkling Irish Sea and the Mourne Mountains previously climbed that day. It also has some interesting memorials to people struck by lightning on its summit. We recommend that club members who like to take ice axes on walks (whether they are needed or not) should avoid Donard when the weather is inclement.
Fairly shapeless, suffering from false-top-itis and faintly smelling of rotting bananas, the envoy did not vote Donard their favourite mountain (Figure 1).
5. The availability of ice cream in Newcastle
There are 7 specialist ice cream emporiums in Newcastle and we agree with Miss Ward, finding that these are perfect after a hot day in the hills.
Graham’s ice cream (figure 2) is particularly recommended for availability of sprinkles and price Figure 2: Graham’s ice cream shop “The (the Northern Irish, from our current finding, are quality is in the taste” pretty ‘skinty’) (http://www.newcastle- countydown.com)
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6. The Mournes can inspire you to write about fawns and children entering different worlds via wardrobes
Children’s fantasy fiction with a strong Christian message has not been written by any of the mainland envoy to date (August 2014) but observations are ongoing.
7. English demolition of Irish place names
The envoy accepts that we may be biased in assessment of this.
Ballynahinch may have been completely bulldozed, and we steam-rolled Slievenaglogh, but we offer up Miss Ward as your Nor’n Irish translator if you venture over the Irish Sea (Authors’ personal communication with Miss Ward).
8. The Mourne Wall is “Pretty in a rustic sort of way”
The Mourne Wall was found to be a truly impressive edifice surrounding the area, previously owned by the Belfast Water Board. It is 35km long and took 18 years to complete (McAfee, 1997). Impressive, magnificent but we refute that it is “pretty in a rustic sort of way” (Ward, 2013)
Figure 3: The Mourne Wall and some of the research group (displaying a remarkable increase in happiness from left to right), MJ
9. Miss Ward’s promise not to “mention my slight obsession again”
She has mentioned her obsession more than once since the publication of Issue 3 of High Society but the mainland research group can understand her love for these much maligned mountains of Mourne.
In conclusion, the research group has found that some of Miss Ward’s claims are excessively saccharine and deeply rooted in her defensive love for the area. We suggest to Miss Ward that her work is done: we have been suitably ensnared by the Mournes’ attractive features and will spread the word to a new set of freshers, so her legacy can live on. We Figure 4: Looking out to Silent Valley Reservoir. On the left, Slieve Lamagan and Slieve Binnian. On the right, Doan and Ben Crom (HP)
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hope this allows her to relax, and to transition from an over-protective parent – cosseting the Mournes and fending off every negative comment – to more of a best friend of the Mournes, who sticks up for them when they are put upon but doesn’t need to mention them quite so frequently. Yours faithfully, The Northern Irish research group
Mark Jackson, Charlotte Zealley, Marcus Taylor, Jade Cuttle, Matt Hickford, Constanze Hammerle, Felicitas Hammerle, Chris Arran, Helen Phillips
References McAfee, Pat 1997: Irish Stone Walls: History, Building, Conservation, O'Brien Press pg 100-104
Ward. Victoria Rachel, 2013 “The Mournes… Just Why?” High Society, Journal of the Cambridge University Hillwalking Club, Issue 3, 2013, Pg 3-5.
(In reference to Tom L's nipples)
“Are they prominent enough to be a Dewey?” [PC]
Photo: Mark Jackson: Unofficial Mournes Trip July 2014
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THE Crossword
By Cookie
Across
1 Second and third in phone call made by 29 (3) 3 Product of 29 making starter of bacon and egg in France (5)
6 Hiding in bothy enables one to laugh (5)
9 Neckwear saint prepares 3ac for consumption (7)
10 Making the most of 29 when 1001 left ruler (7)
11 29 in horses' biannual occasions (9) 12 Hilary lent Theresa eight rupees, maybe six initially (5)
13 Workplace of 29 miles or a metre (4) 14 Before awful period in history, Greek character left for great journey (10)
18 Initially, let's have guitar lessons, holding back my piano and organ (5,5)
20 Obscure papers in higher education (4)
23 Tremble, losing quiet glands of 29 (5)
24 Door man or wig maker? (9) 25 20 of 29 cattle at Hereford shows (7)
26 Had reservations for dining out originally but rearranged for Edward (7) 27 Main movements starting to introduce Debussy's eighth symphony (5)
28 Investigate further 55 in river (5)
29 Lower second taking third place – that hurts! (3)
Down 1 Able seaman heading in makeshift raft with mule (9)
2 Relatively hard to see through contents of Europa query (7) 3 First batch of sheep like 29 (6)
4 King Rex less confused when avoiding edges of Norfolk Broad (5,4)
5 Setter in endless fuss shows anger (5)
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6 29 shattered the lions (8)
7 After breakdown, retire to a new country (7) 8 29 sung a remix (5)
15 Police in Genoa start lapping at end of race (9) 16 Silly way he does make up (9)
17 Two chapters sure to be edited – they have masses in them (8) 19 Rugby position in which I would hit the ground after end of scrum (7)
21 Silly Sid is not nice for erasing all the compass directions (7)
22 Suppose donkey cropped 5 (6) 23 A French bed in the dark (5)
24 Ghastly cover holding edges of 23ac (5)
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Many thanks to this edition’s contributors....
Paul Cook Ben More Jade Cuttle Rose Pearson Dave Farrow Helen Phillips Constanze Hammerle Marcus Taylor Mark Jackson Vicky Ward Peter Kirkwood Philip Withnall Tom Leach
Bryn Brethynau, January ‘14 Photo: Andrew Williamson: Bryn ripping itself into ridges that tear at Brethynau January 2014 the sky, the deepest valley digs down Poem: Jade Cuttle into its own wounds, stones stand like scabs scattered across the skin of this land, I rip open the valley of my heart, an ice axe slots against my shoulder blade like a second spine, the only bone in my body that will not break, my heart bursts its banks, flooding through my flesh, my soul opens as wide as the sky, nearly swallows me whole, soars like the raven that seems to seek prey, yet seeking nothing but the wind’s caress, I let the wilderness into my heart, I breathe freely, I am alive and shall see these hills again.
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