Tryfan.

As I tuck into a Gregg's Cornish pasty, lovingly prepared at some nameless services, bathed in sun, I finally begin to think that we might just get a view.

The thought stays with me, when we stop again in Conwy.

 

In line with one of my main principles, we're in no rush and Conwy is one of the prettiest places I know of (and, as we discovered, has a cracking little pub right on the sea front (the Liverpool arms) perfect for half a beer, smelling the sea, watching the boats and generally perfect for a relaxing stop on the way).

 

I'm off with Jim to go re-tackle one of the most enjoyable hills I've ever done.

It's to the north of Snowdon, but this is no tourist honey trap.

There's no railway, no cafe on the top. In fact, there's not much room on the top at all.

This is a brutal, wild hill and there's no easy way up..

There are however, lots of ways to make it harder. It's a Mecca for climbers and more adventurous walkers. Full of jagged rocks, cliffs, gulleys, false summits and unrelenting climbs.

 

This is a world where you go up, faster than you go across.

It's steep. When I say steep, I mean that if you slip at the wrong point, you could be going down. A long, long way. Possibly for the rest of your life.

Welcome to Tryfan.

 

 

Although its close to (the higher) Snowdon, this is a different kind of hill. It's like something that's been ripped straight from the Cuillin's. and then bleached by the sun.

Its special, because its one of a few mountains in the UK where there's no way to the top without having your hands on rock. You can't walk this, it has to be climbed. Go here, and you can stop saying that you walk up hills, and start saying that you climb mountains. A small difference, but one that gives you a warm feeling of pride inside.

 

About this time last year, we went up, having heard that this was a hill that begged to be summited.

On that occasion although the weather was beautiful in the morning, by the time we made it to the top the weather had turned (as often happens).

The top third of the mountain (and all the way back down) was wet, cold and the view went on for all of twenty feet.

 

Hoping for better weather this year, we stayed at the same site as before, on one of two campsites at the base of Tryfan.

Gwern Gôf Isaf .. This place was good enough to be used as a base by Sir John Hunt who used it as his base camp when he was training for Everest back in '52. So it's more than suitable for us. It's well maintained, and the owners cant do enough for you (and are excellent company if you run into them in the pub). If you don't want to take a tent, there's even a couple of bunk houses with the exclusive use of stoves, gas, electric sockets and toasters for people saying in them..

**N.B. the other campsite close by is the confusingly named - Gwern Gôf Uchaf (Uschaf = highest, Isaf = lowest) so make sure you have the right one!

 

Right. So.. The hill.

It's compact in every dimension but height, compared to sprawling monsters like Snowdon. It just looks so damn high from the bottom. You'll look up, and wonder how on earth you'll get to the top..

 

We favoured the same route as before, walking up the side of the stream, then going straight up the side to the saddle at the side of the far south peak and the three main peaks. It's insanely steep, but still manageable without the need for ropes.

As we discover though, in the sun it's a real slog. And thirsty work.

Normally on a walk, over five hours we would go through a bit over a litre of water each.. I know some would say that's too little, but it's just what we use naturally.

This time, we use about five litres between us.. So don't try and save weight!

 

Once you pass the saddle, you start to attack the main three peaks (which is the literal meaning of Try-fan... Try meaning three and Fan, meaning peaks or tops).

It stops being steep and just becomes a tangled route up the cliffs themselves. This final part is also where you have to skirt up the side and get an incredible (but not always welcome) view down from this point on..

About this point, something magical happened. We pass higher than the clouds. Something that is always.. Just.. Take your breath away beautiful and exciting.

 

Then, suddenly, we cross the ridge to the central, highest peak. Slightly shaky, heart in mouth, tired, exhilarated, scared and incredibly happy.

I'm stood on something that's over three thousand feet in height.

Yep. That's three thousand. If you've never been that high outside an aeroplane, take a moment to think about how high that actually is. It's higher than any building in the world. Ever been to france? The Eifel Tower is 984 feet.. Barely enough to get you level with the cobbled path in the photo higher in this post, let alone onto the hill itself.

 

On the top, the view is not only present, but stunning. It feels like I could see all the way back to Yorkshire from here.

 

There is also the small matter of Adam and Eve.. Two pillars of rock about seven or eight feet tall, they are visible from the campsite in the afternoon, looking like two people stood on the top. Stepping between them, is supposed to give you the freedom of Tryfan.

(No. I haven't. I will one day.. But they're right next to the cliff. Natural selection reminds me that my balance isn't that good ;) )

 

After a very enjoyable hour on the summit, having had sandwiches, and lounging on thick swathes of grass (yes! Grass! At this height!). We reluctantly make our way down to the site and then on to Cobdens Hotel (better beer AND better prices than other pubs round there).

Not only is it where the locals go, it's where they are happy to be convivial. They are proud of the area they live in and each of them has a thousand funny or embarrassing stories about the others. It's well recommended.

 

Make sure Tryfan is on your list.

It's a hill you'll never forget, and one that Jim and I will be back on, for years to come.

 

Wild camping, by myself.....

 

I'm about to set off on my journey and there's a writhing knot of apprehension in my stomach.

I'm about to try something I've never done before.

 

Wild camping, on my own....

 

 

Yes. That's right. I'm going out to the middle of nowhere, with no backup, no support...

What's that I hear you say? I'm the most experienced one?

Well.. yes, It's true. I've always technically had the leader badge, but I've also had my friends to fall back on.. Paul is world class at finding elusive cairns in the fog.. and James? Well.. apart from the most vital task of bringing lunch (I always, always forget), he is also the best listener I've ever known. Perfect for bouncing ideas off..

I enjoy their company and we enjoy just mucking about, taking the piss out of each other and just generally getting some enjoyment out of life.

 

And perhaps, most important, I know if one of us injures himself, We can trust the others to find civilisation and raise the alarm.

 

This time. I don't have them.

I have no safety net..

... I have no idea if the wilds will be hospitable, if it will be the same calm paradise, in the total dark of night..

 

I'm committed now though. I've made my decision and its time to stick to it.

It's best foot forward at the bus station. There's only one bus out in the morning, and one bus back in the afternoon (the 273, if your wondering). So... although the service fits my needs, if I miss my bus tomorrow afternoon, it's a very long walk to the next nearest bus stop near the Ladybower Inn.

Ok.. If that was just a gentle Saturday stroll, then all would be well.. However, after lumping my pack all the way out here, and then back tomorrow - it's something I would like to avoid.

 

I find the stop for the 273 and board with a complement of old ladies, students and a few other walkers.

(and one real rambler... long of beard and faded of clothes. With what cash he had in his hand, that's where he was going (whatever it was, it took him to Stanage edge).

 

I get off the bus at the car park just past the war memorial. It's the only car park on the left hand side of the road, so while it's not possible to mistake, it is easy to drive past if you're not watching though.

 

There's no preamble today, no kit to get from the boot, or last minute adjustments. No trainers to stash... I'm already suited and booted, so...

I set off up the gravel track, that leads from the car park.

 

It's always a nice start to a walk. Ok, it's steep right from the off - you really have to pace yourself while you warm up. But, It's wooded and in the shade, so it's nice and cool while you're exerting yourself getting to the top...

 

If you come this way, there's a gate about 3/4 of the way up, and another gate at the top it's peaceful (apart from the off mountain bikers getting their kicks).. Once you get to the top, there's a stile.. You hop over and then the horizons suddenly go from being tens of feet, to being tens of miles.. It's a change in perspective that always gets me. I love things like that. Things that grab hold of you and slap you hard, even if you were expecting it.

 

Once out in the open, you follow the edge of the wood for a while.

It's usually very calm here and the sun really beats down on the tops here after the coolness of the wood.

 

It's also pretty flat and paved in places, which is a good thing. I often find myself stumbling on this path, because I'm so busy taking in the view, not looking at where my feet are..

It's a beautiful ramble along this top path with an incredible vista. You can see Win hill, Lose hill and in front of Edale itself, mighty Kinder.

 

Now, to those of you who just chuckled, Kinder is mighty. It's certainly not the highest peak in the UK and monsters like Everest, might be something like 14 times the height... But mighty I think it is. If you don't believe me, just try walking around the top edge in a single day, or crossing it in the spring, when the bogs are treacherous. Theres often still snow around at that time of year and every time you climb out of a grough, there's not only another one to tackle, but an unending line of them, unbroken all the way to what seems far enough, to be the other edge of the world.

 

Thankfully, there's none of that here.

There's a couple more stiles along the way, and one large ladder stile that takes you over a wall (a test of balance with a full pack!) and when the tops become boggy, there's a stone path to carry you over the worst bits. Oh.. And plenty of lambs at the moment.. Everything seems to have come later this year, a consequence of such a cold spring I imagine.

 

 

It's as dry as a bone up here at the moment.

I had noticed that the reservoir was starting to drop a bit, but the peat is so dry today, you can walk on the open, evil looking bits, without even getting mud in your boots.

 

It worries a me a bit, because I want running water in the stream in camp, but as I drop down past Alport castles, there's a spring, which was still bubbling nicely.

I stop and refill my travel tap, revelling in the taste of the ice cold water in the heat of the now mid-day sun.

It's quiet here, but I expected that. It's a Friday, so there aren't the usual number of people lining the ways (not that Alport gets the crowds, For some reason, it always seems quieter here.. A bit of a hidden gem, I've only seen it busy on hot, sunny weekends).

 

 

I've packed really light this time. No tarp, no groundsheet. No hammock or extra bits of kit.

No large saucepans or grills for the fire.. Just the basics... And it shows. I make excellent time... Too good in fact.

 

I arrive at camp by about 2:30... Way to early too set up shop.

I've actually been here for about twenty minutes, but there were a couple of walkers passing where I wanted to go, so I sat down and had a smoke, let them get out of sight before I plunged off into the woods..

 

Because its so early, I get some wood for the fire and break what I can by hand, setting up the piles, sized to make it easier later, but leave the noisy axe till later. I really must get a new pocket saw. It's so much less obtrusive, lighter and.. Well.. Safer.

 

I sit down, I stand.. I sit again. I write some of this blog on my phone, then remember why I don't use a phone to blog with.

I wander round restlessly. I realise that not bringing that book, might have been a mistake.

I'm going to be honest here... I'm bored.

I expected some feeling of being 'connected' to nature in some way, or something peaceful..

No. I was mentally drawing up shopping lists, working out what needed to be done when I got back..

Of all the things I'd worried about, being bored, was not something I'd anticipated.

 

Mildly annoyed at being excluded from the mystical group of 'oneness' with nature, I snatched up my wine and walked down to the river.

There was a large flat stone, a few inches above the waterline. So I sat. Took my boots off, rolled up my trousers and stretched back, bathing in the river and the afternoon sun at the same time. my face in the sun, my feet in the water, drinking my wine. I have to admit this was one of the most pleasurable things I've done in ages and I'd be happy to be back there, (but with a book!... I'm stressing this a bit, I know.. But only so you don't make the same mistakes)..

 

The water was fresh, deep and luscious where I was sat. A natural pool, maybe four or five feet deep.. I was sorely tempted to go for a swim proper. But as it was now late afternoon, it was also turning cooler and the shadow of the hill was getting close to this side of the stream. I didn't want to run the risk of not getting properly dry, or cold...

 

Not long after, my stone slid into the shadow and my beautiful spot chilled immediately.

Rather regretfully, I picked up my wine and wandered back to camp. I made myself some Dinner and then set about the firewood, chopping the larger logs into manageable lengths.

Sunset comes early here, because of the valley sides.. A good hour - hour and a half earlier than on the tops..

But even before the sun set, it cooled dramatically.

I lit the fire and went back to sitting, standing, sitting.. Restlessly moving around.

 

As the sun finally starts to set there's another couple of walkers come up the valley, I can hear them chatting just above the sound of the stream. Then one of them says, "There's a fire!" I realise I can't just let them think the woods are on fire, so I step out, say hi and offer to share. They're going further up the valley. I mention another spot further up, just around the corner that's a good place. They are soon swallowed up by the the surroundings and it's like they were never here.

 

I saved pudding till now.. Because I forgot to pack lunch, I thought spacing out my dinner and pudding would help me stay full for longer.

I heat through my pouch of chocolate sponge pudding and tuck in.

It's incredibly stodgy, like a block of lard in fake-chocolate sauce.. As there's going to be nothing else to eat tonight, I keep going for a while longer.

It's no good. I'm not going to finish it. I throw what's left into the fire and watch what I don't want, be boiled, then eaten by the fire instead.

 

Soon after, I start to feel distinctly uncomfortable in the stomach department. It's making those distinctive, but uncomfortable bubbling noises, that are never a good sign.

I sit it out for a while, hoping that it will settle, but it gets more and more uncomfortable.

Sighing, I grab my stomach and my loo roll and set off for a walk.

 

....Short intermission....

 

I stagger back into camp, feeling distinctly ill. I'm worried.

I realise I might made a school boy error. Although I've been using a water filter for drinking water, when I made dinner, the water I boiled my pouch in.. Well.. Never boiled. I used it to make a coffee with, after cooking my stew.. It might have been at a simmer for a long time.. But is that enough? Have I picked up a bug?

 

My guts spasm again. I decide an early night might be a capital idea.

I quickly round up my stuff and unceremoniously drop it in my porch to keep the worst of the moisture off it. I crawl into my sleeping bag and lie there feeling awful. I'm sweating and thinking how traumatic the walk out tomorrow could be.. Especially if I'm caught short on the path.. My imagination runs riot, I can't help but think about how busy it will be tomorrow, a line of people headed for Alport, spurred on by the beautiful weather, while I'm at the side of the path, saying "morning" to everyone, wanting to be invisible and being mortified with embarrassment.

 

I wake early. Sometime around seven.

Although I feel much better, I decide that being back at the visitor centre, with it's toilet block is a very good idea. I quickly break camp, helped by the fact that I had spare room in the pack on the way out. So I throw everything in, only making sure that I put heavy stuff in the bottom. I don't bother with breakfast, I'm not sure if Its a good idea or not.

I decide that it's safer to be hungry.

 

I shoulder my pack and start out of the woods. It's blindingly sunny as I walk out. It's a beautiful day. Within minutes, I feel better. I'm looking forward to the walk, looking forward to doing something.

The walk back out passes in a beautiful blur of countryside, the only annoyance being the spring I normally use to fill my bottle halfway, has a herd of cows on it. They all have young calves and watch me wearily as I give them as much space as I can. Sadly, it means topping off my water bottle is not going to be possible. I'm not about to try and put myself between a mother and her calf...

That leaves me about half a litre for the rest of the walk.

 

I arrive at the visitor centre with drips left in it. I'm hot and thirsty and my body is screaming for sugar.

I have a cider ice lolly and a coke. Ok, it's not isotonic and coke isn't perhaps the healthiest choice.. But I firmly believe that your body knows what it needs, especially when you're feeling under par...

I pop in the visitor centre and buy a book to keep me occupied (the bus isn't due for nearly four hours yet).

 

I stretch out in the sun by the reservoir, book in hand. It's about bomber crews in WWII..

As I'm laid there, reading, a Dakota flies over.. It's really low, skimming the treetops.. The bomber roars over, while I'm reading about the crews and bombers of that era. It was a welcome, exhilarating coincidence..

 

Without realising it, its time for me to wander up to the bus stop and as I board, I realise I'm sad. Really, really sad.

I don't want to leave. I may have had some trials and was interminably bored at times, but I want more. I've just slowed down, just relaxed...

I don't think it's going to be long before I'm back out in the hills again.

 

Review: Alpkit SkyHigh 800 (Down Sleeping Bag)

 

^{N.B.  I Apologise for the colour on some of the images, I’d put the camera in the wrong mode. I hadn’t noticed until I’d packed everything away and reviewed the images on the PC…}

There are many sleeping bags on the market. Some cheap, some expensive. You can get one on offer for a Tenner, or spend five or six hundred pounds on one. There is a big difference between a cheap bag and an expensive one, and there is also a big difference between brands as well. A good sleeping bag will allow you to camp later into the season, or all year round.

There’s advantages and disadvantages to the different types (a proper argument of which would take up an entire post). So to put it in a nutshell, Down is lighter and warmer for weight than synthetic, but more expensive and trickier to clean. You’ll often hear that synthetic stuffing will retain more warmth when wet, but if either was sodden, you’d be cold that night, whatever it was filled with.

 

I’m a proponent of Alpkit and they have long been respected for their sleeping bag range, which offered a good bag at a reasonable price.

They have two lines, the SkyHigh (I’ll shorten to SH from now on) and PipeDream (PD). The ranges are then categorised with the fill weights (hence names like SH600, SH800, SH1000 or PD600, PD800 etc. (the bigger the number, the warmer the bag)).

The PD range pack smaller, lighter, are made from more exotic materials and have a higher fill power (warmer for weight) down filling. Of course having a PD comes at a price (about 40% more when I bought my bag).

I chose the SH800 because it was within my price range (an important consideration), it’s rated to –10’c and I’d fit in it. You see, I’m quite a big lad. I’m 6’2” and there’s a vicious rumour that I have a fairly impressive beer gut . The SH bags thankfully come in small, regular and large (and now a kids size too). They come with a well made compression sack that’s been treated to help keep water out and a storage sack to help keep the loft when it’s in the cupboard. There’s a storage pocket inside the bag and it has an excellent draft tube and collar to keep the heat in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have camped in temps around –8 and slept well, so it does what it’s supposed to. It’s roughly comparable to a North Face Blue Kazoo (£180) or a Rab Ascent 700 (£200). When I bought mine It was £110 (+£5 for long size), meaning it was exceptional value. (Alpkit have made a comparison chart HERE)

Now however, they are £140 (£145 for long).. So there isn’t that much difference between this and the Blue Kazoo, especially when you consider that you might get an offer on a North Face bag (or one from another major manufacturer).

Buy from Alpkit and the price is what you pay – no shopping around for bargains. This didn’t used to be a problem as their stuff was priced so competitively.¹

 

The bag I have does have shortcomings as well. The two main issues I had are: The cord to cinch the hood had been stitched into the bag (as I couldn’t wait for the next batch, I just cut the cord and knotted it). It’s not a major problem in itself, but does possibly indicate slipshod workmanship or poor quality control. The other thing is that they don’t vary the amount of filling in the sizes, So the small is warmer than it should be and the large has a couple of panels that could really do with a bit more filling as it’s stretched that bit further. I didn’t mind paying a bit more for a long, but I was a bit annoyed when I found this out – I expected that they would be standardised across the range.

 

I like my SH800 and it has served me really well. It’s much lighter and packs far, far smaller than a synthetic bag. It lofts to a ridiculous amount. It’s kept me warm in the snow, toasty in the autumn and I’ve used it in the height of summer too. I’d love to say I’d buy another and would have, but with the price hike it puts the SkyHigh range uncomfortably close to the big brands..

^{There is nothing inside this bag, It really does loft to this thickness!}

 

¹  (sometimes they have clearance on some items. when it comes to sleeping bags however, It only applies to seconds, or ones with minor defects.. They’ve had such a good name and offered such great value that they often sell out within a few days of getting stock).

Review: Fiskars K40 Vs Gerber Crucial knife

 

I’m Pitting two very different knives against each other. One is a fixed blade with sheath. The other a folding knife/plier combo.

 

 

First, the Gerber Crucial. This is a folding knife and contains a blade with a blunted tip with scalloped serrations. There are two screwdriver heads, a mini crab style clip and a pair of pliers with several gripping surfaces including wire cutters.

The clip opening is reversed, which cleverly allows you to open your bottles with it.

I’ve had this knife for a good 6 months or so and it’s been walking, camping, used in the car and house. The knife has retained it’s edge and the tools have all worked well. They lock positively in place with a liner style lock, easily used one handed for the blade. The posi drive screwdriver is a little odd as it is narrowed, but works well, even on larger screws. The flat blade is large and feels indestructible but was difficult to open on my sample.

The pliers grip particularly well and the wire cutters have worked well, but did struggle slightly with multi-strand wires.

It feels substantial, heavy even. But put it on the scales and it tips in around 140g which is similar to other brand’s take on this style of knife.

 

 

The Fiskars K40 is a completely different beast. It’s a fixed blade, with No serrations, tools or gadgets. But this means that it can concentrate on being just one thing. Being sharp.

I have to say I was weary of this knife at first as the handle is the hollow type that Fiskars tend to favour. I’ve tried to wreck it (through use – I haven’t run over it or blown it up) and it faired well. It retained its edge well and the 10cm blade is still seated solidly

What is the K40’s coupe de grace to make you consider it for your pack?.. It weighs a surprisingly svelte 70g.

I already own a knife similar to this, a high carbon steel knife which is also excellent but requires more care, due to the type of steel it’s made from. The Fiskars knife uses Stainless steel, so it’s easier to look after, making this a better choice for beginners, infrequent users or anyone camping on the coast.

 

 

Which knife would I use?

For wild camping the K40 has the ‘edge’ (ho ho!) due to it’s light weight and a fixed blade can be used more confidently. Maybe you suddenly feel the need to carve a spoon, or make a pan stand. This knife can do this for you. The extra weight of the Crucial does give the advantage of pliers to grip a pan, but a decent pair of plastic pan grips weigh less, and grip more firmly. For wild camping, the driver heads and bottle opener/clip are essentially dead weight in your pack

If I was car camping, I’d simply take both.

If I owned a caravan or were simply walking I would take the crucial. The built in tools would come into their own and this would be a handy piece of kit that looks and is much less threatening than the K40.

Barn Farm Campsite, Birchover.

 

Last weekend I went camping at Barn Farm in Birchover. While sat there in the rain I realised I’m being too hard on myself. I may not be able to be out there every day, but I never had time to do that. I may not be able to go to the lakes at a moments notice, but I do perhaps feel I’ve been avoiding going out to some places because I felt like they would be boring to you.

It’s a bit stupid and it’s not true. If it was, why would there be so many people out there this weekend. Family's, DoE groups, Lone backpackers, Teenagers, middle aged caravan owners and older.

We were there because this is what we enjoy. The first day we were there, it was wet. Really, really wet by the time I was in my sleeping bag. but it didn’t matter. The tarp I’d thrown between the two tents kept us mostly dry and my son had his first taste of real freedom, being allowed anywhere on (quite a big) site, as long as he told me where he was going first. I barely saw him except when he was hungry.

He’d come running past with several friends he made, in and out of each other’s tent’s (if he turned up in you’re tent, even for just a few minutes, thank you. You made his weekend).

There was one family In a dark blue transit van. Inside someone had made some caravan style bed/bench seats out of chipboard, with a caravan awning on the side. It may not have look like a bought caravan, but it did look damm comfy (if a bit darker). I applaud anyone who tries stuff like this. Without backyard tinkerers there’d never have been a caravan industry for people to buy from anyway.

 

The site itself is a big one. 4 fields, each one a good size. This did mean that the toilets were often in demand, but you rarely had to queue for more than a minute or two.

The showers are hot (and surprisingly, free). The busy toilets are cleaned regularly and I’ve never known them be out of loo roll. They’re building a small shop (not yet finished) and there’s a laundry and games room for the kids. There’s two pub’s close by, both of which have a good reputation for their beer and a small village shop that carries the usual essentials.

If you want a walk, there’s a several stone circles and standing stones nearby (I wanted to visit these, but with the weather being so unpredictable we skipped these for the sake of the kids and went to Bakewell instead). The Limestone Way  also runs fairly close to the village.

There’s also Matlock as well as Bakewell, nearby for shopping. There’s the heights of Abraham, or If you like old houses (or it’s forecast to chuck it down all day) Haddon Hall is only a short car ride away..

A word for those with camera’s.. one of the alpaca’s has a ‘stealth cloak’ and is therefore unphotographable, coming out only as a silhouette

 

So, Yes, I like this site. It can be very busy and finding it in a car is a navigational pain in the ass, but it’s worth it.

Defining your moments.

Think back over your life and I’m sure you’ll have lots of memories you can call on. Your first girlfriend (or boyfriend), The first time you bought beer in a pub, your children being born and the first time you.. umm.. Well, you get the idea.

How often do you know in that instant that you’ll remember it forever?

When you think about it, your defining moments were usually chaotic, emotional times and you were so busy doing whatever it was, you just didn’t realise it for what it was.

 

I know what you’re gonna say… But just think about it for a moment.

When my first was born, people said beforehand that I would never forget seeing him for the first time and that’s true… But I didn’t think “I’m gonna remember this forever” at the time.. I was too busy counting toes, checking the missus was ok and generally worrying, to have the realisation right then and there..

It’s a bit like realising you are dreaming, while you are dreaming.. Or knowing, just as the ball leaves your foot, that it’s going to be a goal.. It just doesn’t happen very often.

 

I’ve had a few of these moments though.

I was on the top of Bleaklow one one such occasion almost a year ago. I can still feel the wind rushing past my face, through my hair and whipping my clothes. At the time, the clean feeling I had bordered on the spiritual. I can’t describe what I felt inside, but right there, at that exact moment, I knew I’d never forget it.. I knew that I’d have that memory for the rest of my life.

Later, that same day, I was sat round a fire with two of my closest friends, drinking wine and swapping stories. Not the normal, down the pub, guess what happened today stuff, but genuinely interesting stories (and I’m aware I sound slightly vomit-worthy).

I hear the music coming from one of the phones, the crackle of the fire, the colour of the wine and the gentle smell of pine as strongly as if it were happening now. It wasn’t just me either. One of my friends commented later on this exact same thing.  (original post here)

 

So why am I telling you this?..

These are not all moments that just happen. Some were created and shaped with planning, foresight and a little luck. A favourite trick of mine is to work out roughly how long the walk will take and set off at a time that means you’ll hit one of the tops at sunset. It won’t happen every time, but when it does fall right, it’ll hit you like a freight train.

(TIP: A GPS is a help here, because it will show your ETA, you can see if you need to pick up the pace a bit, or stop and chill out for a while before carrying on. My Garmin also displays sunrise and set times for your geographical location as well).

So. Boldly go and stretch yourself. Being slightly out of your comfort zone makes normal memories slightly sweeter anyway. With a bit of luck, you’ll realise that you’ve just scored a goal, even while you’re still kicking the ball.

Review: Gerber Bear Grylls Survival Series Ultimate Knife

Phew! What a title.. Bringing us to a a new piece of kit  I've been given to review, A knife made by Gerber.. The knife Mr Grylls thinks we need.

I’m very wary of kit that has a star’s name stamped on it. More often than not, It’s an excuse to ramp up the price and drop the quality. But bear with me on this piece of kit – it caught me by surprise.

 

First let’s get, what is for me, the biggest shortcoming out of the way.. Yes. It is serrated… I’m not normally keen on serrations, because they either can’t be sharpened, or are really difficult to sharpen. There is a good reason for them on this blade though. It makes the knife easier to use on a wider range of materials (If you’ve ever tried to slice bread with a fine edged kitchen knife, you’ll know what I’m talking about).

The knife is made from ‘High Carbon’ Stainless Steel, is 12.19 cm long (that’s 4.8 inches for those of us who use such things) and weighs 318g (417g with the sheath).

It feels right, in the hand. Balanced, with a full tang. In photos it does look a bit full on – a bit of a GI Joe, Rambo knife. In your hand it becomes the right size. Larger than a Mora perhaps, but still well proportioned. The grip is rubberised and very positive. This isn’t a knife that will slip out of your hand under hard use. It’s also drilled so you can more securely lash it to a stick and make a spear.

 

The Fire steel included in the sheath body works well and  is capable of starting fire in tinder (tested). In fact, It felt slightly more effective than my ‘light my fire’ fire steel, although that could be down to inconsistencies in the tinder I used. It also has a little rubber seal to keep out any sideways rain.

The sheath is well made, and has several features of it’s own. It can be threaded onto a belt or on a strap that runs vertically. The knife itself is held in place with a Velcro strap and a clip on the knife guard, which strengthens what I’m calling the ‘tactical’ feel of the knife. Yet again though, this is a useful feature, reducing the chance of losing the knife and making a more positive ‘home’ feeling when drawn or sheathed. When another Velcro strap further down is undone the blade guard flips over, revealing a sharpening stone on the back.

This brings me to a minor, but annoying niggle. The blade wasn’t that sharp when I got it, meaning I had to pull out the water stones to sort it out.. Happily for the purpose of the review this meant I could attack it with the stone on the sheath first to see if it is up to the job.

This is not a fine grit stone for getting a fine finish to the blade. It will however repair a damaged, blunted or nicked blade to a useable level out in the wild. It’s a steel plate with diamond finish, rather than a stone, meaning it’ll be pretty much impossible to break.. (After I’d used the stone in the sheath, I used my own water stones and the blade did sharpen enough to shave hairs off my arm, so another tick in another box).

 

I’m not keen on the whistle on the short lanyard on the handle. I know this is most likely to be the only piece of kit I may have to use here in the UK if things did go wrong, but it feels like an afterthought and always seemed to be in my way. The cord is also not long enough so that it could be slipped around the wrist to prevent the knife being dropped, which is one of the main reasons for a rear lanyard. Although this could easily be cut off (and reattached elsewhere), I’m not that comfortable bringing an unsheathed knife to my face when I’m in trouble.. If I’m dazed, hypothermic and shivering or panicking, this could cause an accident.

 

Finally, that leaves the ‘hammer’ in the pommel or butt of the knife.. There are disturbing reports on the net that this can be smashed off.. Gerber states this problem was limited to early runs of the knife and has now rectified this, but it’s worth being aware to stay clear of older stock, or only use this part of the knife if needed – you wouldn’t use your normal knife as a hammer.. Right?

 

 

I started to realise that I’d been looking at this knife all wrong. The clue is in the title. Although it may make you laugh at first with it’s pomposity, It’s a knife designed to save your life, to be used in extreme situations, but for a price a normal person can afford. If I really was stranded a ’la Bear in the Patagonian mountains, this would excel. I can’t think of anything else that covers so many situations or eventualities, but still performs each function in a useable way.

I like this knife. It snuck up on me and surprised me at my most cynical. It ticks every box for a remote wild camp and even looks good to boot.

Is the £62 price tag justified though? Well.. Yes.

Considering you get the fire steel and sharpener, then it may not be a bargain – but it is value for money.

 

Review: Decathlon T2 Ultralight Pro Tent.

 

Hello to all. I’m sorry for the brief absence, but I’ve been parenting and other things that have swallowed all my time over the last week or so.

You are still here though, and that’s all that matters.

 

The topic for today is a cracking piece of kit for the money, the T2 Pro.

 

 

I got this tent on the strength of recommendations of several Formers, most notably a gent who goes by the name of Twiglegs.

The tent, marketed as a 2 man is really for one and a half. It is cavernous for me and comfy for me and my 8yr old but it would be, umm… Snug for 2 adults.

It’s pitched all in one which is an advantage in Britain's weather, as you wont get the inner wet when pitching. It weighs 2Kg which is light for the price range and after you’ve put it up and down a couple of times, it can be pitched in about five mins. Needing 4 pegs for the tent itself, 3 for the guy’s and 2 more to tension the inner. The 2 poles are made from alloy and after having being tested to destruction I can confirm they break at the sacrificial points at the joints and take a big load (i.e. having a big 7yr old trip over and stand/land on the pole itself.. Cheers again for that me boy).

It’s black in colour throughout, with some orange trim. I like this, as it means I’m not rudely awakened as 4:57 when the sun puts in an appearance. It also means little torchlight escapes out of the tent and it disappears at night (handy for wild camps).

The tent has fixed venting, A large triangular vent at the narrowest end and a half moon at the door end in the inner. The outer has the same triangular vent, but then has a roof vent above the door.

The inner has 2 large pockets. Phone, GPS, torch, book, glasses, wallet, cigarettes and lighter are swallowed up with room to spare. If I’m camping on my own, there is plenty of room for all my gear and rucksack in the inner with me, should I want it in there. The inner can be detached if that’s your thing, allowing you to use this as a fancy tarp, dry the inner before packing (and it dries quickly, being black) or separate it in your rucksack for packing.

(I have heard people say they don’t like the tent for this very reason, That the colour depressed them and it made them feel claustrophobic.. I have never felt this way. It maybe worth keeping in mind though as a 1 or 2 man tent will be a small tent).

When pitched the tent is tall enough that my head presses a little against the inner when I sit straight. It’s comfortable to sit on the inner, with your legs out, for cooking or chatting with mates. I have ended evenings before, sat in the porch, chatting to mates, making a brew as people start to bed down.

The Fly (outer skin) has good clearance all round, though if it’s not taught when pitched (or has several inches of snow on it, it will sag (and the inner sags with it), reducing room inside. The porch is plenty big enough to have gear in and cook in it. Although you have the roof vent, the outer zip will open from the top allowing more venting options.

It packs small and the bag provided has enough space to allow easy packing, even when the tent is wet and your hands are cold. It also has two buckles to cinch it smaller. the instructions are clear, easy to follow and are stitched into the bag itself. It also comes with 2 spare pegs ( and for standard pegs, theses are great all round pegs, though i would have liked cord loops to help pull them back out the next day. There’s also the now obligatory emergency pole sleeve so a break doesn’t have to end the trip.

This tent has been out in deep snow, baking sunshine, left out in the garden for a week, run over by my kid, and I’ve always had a good nights sleep in it. The vents are just right for year round use and the tent sits low enough that spin drift has never been an issue. I’m dubious about how it would perform in an exposed position in very strong winds. It’s been out in strong wind, with a bit of shelter and I still slept well, with no issues.

 

If you’re looking for a small, light, easy to use tent for less than £100, then there are not many alternatives as good as this.

Review: Fiskars Retractable Hand Saw.

I have been lucky enough to be given my first pieces of kit by Fiskars UK.

The first piece I’m going to look at is a retractable hand saw. Often cited as a vital piece of kit for bushcraft, it allows you to work with medium size pieces of wood for a minimum pack size and weight. The main thing I’ll use this for will be cutting small logs down to size for fires and for getting the raw length of branch when I make spoons.

If you’ve not heard of Fiskars before, Here’s an excerpt of what they have to say about themselves:

 “Established in 1649, Fiskars is the oldest company in Finland. We have worked with tools, cutting and steel forging ever since we first started operating 360 years ago. Our roots are in the Fiskars village, an idyllic center of art & design, where modern aesthetics meet old crafting traditions. Fiskars launched the world’s first plastic-handled scissors in 1967. Since then, these orange scissors have sold more than 1 billion pieces worldwide and their iconic status has resulted in the Fiskars orange being synonymous with scissors across the world. Fiskars is the world’s number one scissor brand.”

 

The saw itself is well made and feels solid. The blade has an orange knob that twists to unlock the blade, which is then pushed out and locked in place by retightening the knob in a small depression at the other end, holding it securely in place.

The blade is 6 inches long (there is also a 10”version and a more traditional folding type as well). When retracted the blade is completely within the housing. The main body is made of plastic (I’m not sure what type, the range is listed as: ‘fibrecomp’. It looks and feels like high impact ABS).

The saw is a steel blade, designed to cut on the pull. With large wide teeth for cutting green, resinous or dead wood, it is (and I mean this) wickedly sharp.

On my kitchen scales it weighs in around 90 grams, so it’s light and is about the same size as the long grip found on some walking poles.

Would I buy one of these?.. Yes. I’ve considered getting a retractable or folding saw for some time, and would have been handy on last years wild camps, so I’m glad I got it. It is a welcome addition to my kit list, small and light enough to go on the ‘might need’ part of my kit lists.

I have never….

 

It’s dark and a couple of hours before dawn. As I roll over I notice there’s a cold spot where my feet are.. I shuffle wondering if rain has somehow found It’s way into the tent. While I’m considering why there’s a chill down by my feet, a wave of nausea washes over me. I lie still, trying not to move my left knee, close my eye’s again and try to drop off as quickly as possible. This is going to be painful in the morning..

 

This is my most eagerly awaited weekend since Christmas. The first camp of the year. Over the last few years, I’ve been spoilt. Calm, clear, cold and snowy. Every single one a beauty. This year was shaping up to be similar, but at the last minute the weather bods can’t make up their minds. Heavy rain, snow, gale force winds, sun.. All were possibilities get thrown at me the week before I leave. The night before I set off, It starts to Hail just before I go to bed.

My mate Jim turns up in the morning and we caught up in the kitchen, having a brew with my good lady, swapping Xmas gifts because we haven’t seen each other for months, discussing whether the weather is going to turn. Paul texts in saying the snow is still falling in Sheffield centre, but he also thinks we’re good to go. The last chance to ditch heavy packs and switch to a car camp with a big tent passes and Jim fiddles with his straps while I kiss the kids bye for the next 24 hours. We set off towards the bus stop when I realise I’ve forgotten something vital.. My Fags.

As we turn round I have a foreboding this camp just isn’t going to go as smoothly as the ones in the past.

 

When our bus rolls into Sheffield station, We have less than four minutes to get to the right stop to meet Paul. While I visit the smallest room, Jim asks the info desk where the bus leaves from. We dodge out to the other side of the Station and we can see Paul bobbing gently with impatience while he convinces the driver, that yes, we are here and he can see us just over there. Never again will I trust that a route planner from the bus company will allow enough time for transfers.

Castleton, is as it always is. Small, large, pretty, beautified honey pot that draws all kinds. Though on this cold, wet, snowy Saturday lunchtime there are few sight-seers. Just a couple of locals and a couple who asked directions to the YHA (so – people are still using them). As we walk from the station, working out the kinks in our legs and having a pleasant smoke, I notice that although the tops of the peaks themselves are in the cloud bottoms, most of the hill is visible. I managed to think all this, get my Etrex GPS on and the route to follow loaded. It’s time to leave the town behind.

The entrance to cave dale Is a narrow passage between two houses. You’ll walk past it If you're not looking for it. As you walk into it, it suddenly opens into a small valley, with Peveril castle peering over the edge.

 

The valley is much steeper than I expected. I thought it would be a nice gentle way up the hill. It’s not STEEP but it’s enough so that by the time we near the top, we have to stop and strip down a layer. We have a pasty and I take off my fleece, meaning that Paul and I are now just in our Base layers and waterproof jackets. It may not have seemed so bad, were it not for the fact that the mist now thickens, meaning the whole world becomes uniform white. It was like one of these 1950’s visions of heaven. Let me tell you. Heaven it ain’t. (The view never got better than on the video you can see on the post before this one). As we head up towards Mam Tor, I notice my heel is feeling hot. Predictably, no one had any plasters, so I re-lace the boot and carry on. By the time we’re level with Mam Tor car park, my heel is on fire. I pulled out the pole I’d brought in case Grindsbrook was iced up and lean heavily on it. As we work up onto the opposite side of the road from Mam Tor, heading towards Rushup edge I manage to twist my knee on my other leg which means both legs now hurt. We push on along the top and thankfully my heel begins to ease off on the flatter sections.

As we cross a Stile, Jim’s phone chimes. This means we have a phone signal. We stop for a bar of chocolate, a sneaky tot of rum and a quick call home to reassure Shani that we aren’t dead. Paul confides he’s happy we’d stopped because he’s getting shooting pains in his thighs.

That was it. With me hobbling along we might have been ok, but if Pauls leg gets any worse the combination could mean we end up stranded, or worse - have the indignity of having to be brought down off the hill.. That’s not happening if I can help it.

I make the decision that we will come down at Chapel Gate, instead of continuing round over brown knoll and down Grindsbrook. We make great time across the top and we’re heading down the valley sides in no time. As we start down, the snow breaks a little and we see the brown of the peat underneath. It’s weird how much you can miss colour.

Darkness falls just as we reach the valley floor and we pick up the road at Barber Booth.

I’m sad that we have cut it short, but I know it’s the right choice, especially given my knee, which had worsened while going down into the valley, now seems to have a metal bar in the joint. Now all there is to do is to cover the last mile or so, pitch the tent and get to the pub!

 

Arriving at Fieldhead campsite I mention that it is much busier on the hills and on the site than in the last few years. While I wonder why this is, we’re struck with another mini catastrophe. Paul has forgotten his sleep mat..

I give him a pair of waterproof trousers and a sit mat he can put under him with the rest of his stuff he’ s going to use to try and help keep him off the floor. Thus braced, we set off for the pub.

 

Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but the result of cutting short the route means that we are in Edale much earlier than we’d expected to be.

The pub was busy, the beer was flowing and the food was hot. Pretty soon we had lost pretty much all judgement, to the point that we started to play drinking games.

I have a video I took of us. I won’t be sharing it, but lets just say, it’s not pretty.

When the Nags throws everyone out we headed back to the tents. in our stupor, it’s decided that a mug of tea is be a capital idea. Finally Jim lets the side down – he hasn’t brought a mug! I brew in the pot and use the lid as a cup, with Jim using the pan side – which isn’t easy to do without burning your lips. this turns out to be just what we wanted, so we make another before we retire for the evening.

 

And this is where we started. I’ve got a damp patch near my feet (which turns out to be condensation), my knee is agony to move and though I’m plastered, I’m starting to sober up. Definitely not the best part of a night.

But the worst part?

 

Paul has to get home to meet his parents, so the slow recovery, followed by a train out of Edale around lunch is replaced with a lurching, headache of a re-pack dashing for a train well before I’m ready too.. Even now, while writing this, the memory is fresh enough to make me feel wretched again.

 

 

And so for the moral of the story?.. Remember to pack your mug…. you might burn your lips otherwise .