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.

 

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.

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 .

It’s the Torch report!

I thought I’d share my experiences with my favourite torches. I’ve used all of these where it counts – out in the hills The only exception is the freebie (more on that later) as I haven’t been walking since I was given it.

From top left: Maglite Solitaire (purple), Key chain LED Lenser, Volvo fleet sales torch, LED Lenser Police tech, Energiser (red), Zippo lighter (for scale) Head torches: Alpkit gamma (Lava) and Decathlon Geonaute.

First off, the Maglite Solitaire. This is a torch many of you will be familiar with. It’s very small and light. It comes in a range of colours and only uses 1x AAA.  There is a spare bulb in the bottom under the battery spring. This is the only torch that does not use LED technology. The Maglite is the dimmest on test. This is the torch of choice for going to the loo in the middle of the night when on a campsite, as the glare won’t wake everyone else on the site up. Battery life is poor as it uses conventional bulbs.

 

Next comes the impressive LED Lenser V2 key ring torch. This is a little larger than the Maglite and also heavier, but it ooze’s quality. The cross hatched grip is perfectly cut, the LED has a silvered mirror wrapped lovingly around it. It’s much nicer to use than the the Maglite and would be adequate as your primary source of light but for the fact that it uses LR44 watch batteries (AG13 for our American friends). Although the batteries do last a long time, for this reason, I’m not sure I’d choose this for the hill. I have carried it as a backup before.

 

 

A bit of a surprise next. This is a torch given to me recently by someone who works for Volvo fleet sales. I’ve mentioned it as it as although it doesn’t look like much, It  has impressed me with just how good it actually is for a freebie, Many of the features are copied from far more expensive torches. It’s made from light alloy, has 9x LED bulbs providing a good beam. The batteries are 3x AAA in a magazine inside the torch.. It is a bit rough and ready. I'm not sure that it’s waterproof, though the lens cover could have a little silicon around the edge and around the on/off switch at the back to waterproof it.. Then I’d be happy to take this into the hills. This was going to be added to the car glove box, but my son swiftly decided it was his. If your local Volvo fleet sales guy can get you one, take it.

 

The LED Lenser Police Tech Focus (Long name!) is the brightest torch I currently use. You can focus or spread the beam like a Maglite. On it’s first outing it totally embarrassed my mates MASSIVE Maglite (the one that takes ‘D’ cells). It is lots smaller, much brighter and far lighter. This is one of my favourite torches. It takes 3x AAA, and runs on those for ages. It’s also over engineered to the same degree as the V^2. The bulb is one single high power LED. This torch feels indestructible. The on/off switch can also be adjusted for perfect balance between flash and on/off. It is however the most expensive here costing around £40

 

 

 

 

 

The Energiser glow stick is supposed to be a bit of fun. I found this in the local supermarket, it’s designed for clubbers and children. It didn’t take long to realise it’s the perfect nightlight for ben, It’s great for marking your tent, It’s also good for use inside the tent when your camp site requires lots of stealth. 

It takes LR44 (I think) and has a single red LED inside. It just twists on/off. The only downside is that it looks like something you might find hidden at the back of a lady’s sock drawer..

 

Next is the Alpkit Gamma. This is what I use when I’m walking in the hills at night. It’s so much easier than carrying a hand torch, It’s bright, but not as bright as the Police Tech. It uses 3x AAA.

It has several lighting modes, Main beam (which is slightly too narrow for my liking), A dimmed main beam (achieved by (very) rapidly switching the beam on and off. This mode annoys me slightly but I notice flickering things, no-one I know has noticed this). It also flashes as an emergency beacon. There are 3x smaller LED’s. White: a dimmer, lower consumption bulb. Red: to preserve night vision. Green: to preserve night vision and allow the contours on a map to stand out (red makes them hard to see or disappear - if you didn’t know).

There is also a ‘bar’ on the back (see pic, above right) that can be set ‘on’ or ‘flashing’ so if you are on the road the cars can see you from further away. There are 3 straps (one removable for over the top of your head) but I didn’t like this and as I don’t run/bike in this, I just took it off.

This torch is not only feature packed, but is very well priced (currently £12.50).

Sadly, as with all head torches, it makes you look like a berk, so I won’t use this on a campsite unless I’ve hiked in.

 

Lastly is the Decathlon Geonaute head torch. This takes 3x AAA batteries, has 3x LED inside the case (batteries at the front, unlike the Alpkit Gamma). The torch sometimes has an annoying habit of slowly rotating towards the floor ( I think this is related to how vital the task is), but you can unclip it from the headband and attach another clip. This allows you to clip it to anything handy (a jacket, the side of a tent/door etc.) which is a nice feature. It is reasonably bright and was used before I bought the Gamma. The spread of light is also better than the Gamma. Cost Was around £10 (This range does not currently show on Decathlon’s website). Good for tent lighting or kids, but not much else.