A short note on both my compatriots and the people along the trail. Andrew, I’ve known for many years as both our lines of work crossed on a number of occasions. We’ve walked a number of local trails around Leicestershire and odd days mainly locally and a trip to climb Mont Blanc. We both have a passion for walking, but in different ways. Andrew enjoys walking trails, he likes a specific start and an end point and has walked multiple trails all over the world. Whereas I more often than not go out on mountain days, short and sharp. It’s the love of the countryside and mountains that brought us together and he’s shown me some beautiful parts of Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire that I wouldn’t normally dreamed of doing. Holly, I’m slowly getting to know, she’s a data analyst with DHL and lives in a caravan on an airfield… not your typical stereo type. The reason she lives on an airfield is her passion for parachuting… I’ve yet to ascertain why she has this fascination with jumping out of a plane with just a small piece of nylon to stop her impacting the ground at 125 miles an hour, but no doubt I’ll learn as the day goes on by.

The ‘O’ can only be walked in one direction, dictated by the National Park. Therefore those that start on the same day stay together and friendships are made. A passion for walking and photography brought together an Italian, named James (not even going to try to spell and pronounce the Italian version). As with all keen photographers our first and only concern is how our cameras would fair in the ever changing weather and the paranoia of ‘do we have enough batteries’ even though we both carried plenty of fully charged spares! We parted company with James at Camp Grey as we were spending two nights there and he was moving on. I enjoyed his company, even though we only ever really met up in the evening, as a walker he was, basically a machine and walked twice the speed we did. Another group we met were a fairly large group of Americans on a fully guided trip with porters. They were quite a mixture of ages from mid twenties to late sixties. One of the older gentleman (I’ll call him ‘wiggy’. A little unfair as I saw him doing his morning ablutions one day and it definitely wasn’t a wig, just goes to prove you shouldn’t judge people’s hairstyles, although the colour was definitely not natural) approached Andrew and I at the first camp and struck up a conversation, well, shall I say a very one sided conversation. We both know exactly where he’s traveled in world as does, from hearing him strike up other conversations, everyone else who he talked at! There were other brief acquaintances, mainly American who wandered in and out of our spectrum, but in the second half of the trail, people and groups changed every night.

One thing that has really struck me on this trip is the number of twenty somethings and thirty somethings that are on a sabbatical and those that were couples and where both couldn’t take a sabbatical then the other resigned their jobs to be able to travel for an extended period of time. Work ethic’s have definitely changed since I was at work. For the better? As an employer maybe not but as an employee, absolutely. Most of these people were professionals and not the everyday jobs that most of us have or had, maybe they know that on their return they will be snapped back up into the job market.

I thought that the GR20 was a busy trail, but the GR20 is considerably harder that the Torres del Paine, so the number of people far exceeded what I expected, especially as it’s the end of the season. The ‘O’ route northern section was less busy as the walking is more remote, but once the ‘O’ route joins the ‘W’ Route then there are people everywhere and walking it East to West and visa verse! Busy is an understatement.

One last thought. The common rooms in the Refuge’s were always loud with conversation and laughter… the reason, no internet!!!

Jeremy and I are once again at Welshpool Service Area on our way to do a further two days of the Wales Coast Path. I can’t resist mentioning the petrol station, even after six years of retirement. Have times changed since I retired, not a great deal. The Irish are still light years ahead in shop development but the UK are slowly catching up. There is however, a more worrying aspect of shoppers being asked to work free of charge for the big multi-national supermarkets and forecourt operators (oil companies own very few service stations these days, so I can’t blame them) and that is the onset of self-service checkouts. I appreciate that petrol stations and supermarkets took self service to a new level 50 or 60 years ago, but now they appear to be taking it to a level beyond reasonable. Asking the customer to not only fill their vehicle or trolley but to then put it through a checkout themselves, with some snotty 18 year old correcting any errors you make, which looking at the number of flashing red lights on the top of the tills is very frequent, and the 18 year old run’s from one red light to another, confused and bedraggled! Fast food outlets have gone the same way with screens that do all the ordering and payment. All interaction with people has gone… More importantly, does the customer get paid for being a cashier, obviously NOT… what’s next, whatever it is I’m sure AI will come into it somewhere!!!

I digress, which isn’t unusual, we meet there because it’s convenient and as much as I might slate companies like Mcdonald’s, their food is consistent and well priced. The weather forecast for the following couple of days has not been favourable so we decided to erect our tents in a campsite at the halfway point, rather than risking bivvying in the rain, which isn’t an overly pleasant experience. This meant paying for two nights when we were only sleeping there for one, but hey ho, we’re two well healed, retired gentlemen! We spent the first night at Aberdovey in the Dovey Inn, pleasant enough, except for accidentally sitting at one of the two tables reserved for locals, who obviously come down every evening for a pint or three. The stares were like daggers, I felt like a naughty schoolboy who’d just blown a spitball into the back of the teacher’s neck and then seeing the blur of a wooden chalkboard rubber heading toward me at high speed, and never quite being able to duck in time! The meal itself, well what can I say, it was like all chain pubs, adequate.

We’ve missed two days of the walk. Why? Because, as the bird flies it’s about 2km but the estuary dictates that to walk the path proper we’d have to walk one day up the estuary and then one day back, so 2km becomes nearly 50km, so we thought we’d leave it for another time. The start of the walk was 5km of golden beach walking, easy as the tide reseeded leaving the hard wet sand, solid beneath our feet. Jeremy and I spent the time discussing the serious issues of the day, running the country perfectly with socially aware capitalism, putting the world back to perfect temperature equilibrium but more importantly what exactly we identify as. As I don’t want to offend anyone I won’t tell you what our conclusions were, all I’ll tell you is that all official forms would revert to two answers to the question ‘Sex’, which of course would be ‘Yes please’ or No thank you’. Who, in the late 70’s would ever have dreamed that a Monty Python sketch on the steps of a Roman Amphitheatre would ever become reality… up the Judaean Peoples Front or was it the Peoples Front of Judah! Who cares, a bit like knowing what people identify as, really!

The day was overcast but dry and the coast path stayed along the beach into Tywyn and a stop for a very welcome cup of coffee. I’m growing to like these civilised walks with coffee stops, must be a sign of age! I do miss the mountains, though, and the sight of Cader Idris so tantalisingly close, with its summit popping in and out of the cloud was defiantly calling. This section of the coast path had its fair share of road walking, tough on the most experienced walker’s feet and Jeremy’s were already starting to get an elevation of skin filled with serous fluid (Common name… blister)! The road walking became a forest track as we moved away from the coast, inland and eventually dropped steeply in Llwyngwril and our campsite for the night. Our tents were there ready and waiting as were Two Pints of Lager and a Pork Pie, no packet of crisps, though!

It seems that I’m destined to trespass, whether on purpose or by accident. I won’t go into the rights and wrongs of trespass and the right to roam, but that afternoon I left Jeremy fast asleep taking an afternoon nap that many people of his age seem to require! I went looking for a place to take some sunset photographs, for later in the day. I came across a gate that had a sign on it that read ‘No Access to the Beach’… that wasn’t a problem I had no intention of going to the beach. So I wandered through the gate, which was open, and crossed the railway into the field beyond. Someone suddenly started whistling, I’m not a dog, so I thought nothing of it and carried on my merry way. The whistling became more intense and I had a nagging feeling that the whistler was trying to get my attention, again, though, I thought I’m not a dog and I certainly do not answer to being whistled! The whistle turned into a shout and I felt that I had to at least turn and acknowledge the shout that I now knew was aimed at me. It seemed I was trespassing, and the whistler gesticulated that I should remove myself from the field. A sign that says ‘No Access to the Beach’ doesn’t mean private property, it means exactly what it says ‘No Access to the Beach’, the statement is in no way ambiguous and I had no doubt what it meant… I didn’t want ‘Access to the Beach’ I wanted a good spot to photograph the sunset. If I wanted ‘Access to the Beach’ I’d have followed the signs, that were plentiful, pointing the way to the beach. As you’ve probably gathered I was a tad annoyed, if it was private why not put a sign up saying ‘No Access Private Property’, I’d have happily obeyed, but it seems that a sign that says ‘No Access to the Beach’ meant ‘No Access at all’! As it happens I ended up following the plentiful signs to the beach and finding the perfect spot to photograph a very dull sunset… a clear sky makes for a very uninteresting scene.

Day two was not so controversial. We set off heading away from the coast, inland and into the low lying coastal hills only to return back to the coast and to a place frozen in time. A place that consisted of a single, linear street of one story buildings and a railway running down one side of the road, reminiscent of a mid west Prairie town in the US. Although, the population had carried on aging whilst the town had stood still. The young appeared old, decrepit, with faces resigned to a life of servitude and misery, whilst the old seemed content in their gnarled pitiful existence. It was, I have to say, a little creepy and disturbing. However, it’s here that we decided to take breakfast. One thing they did know was how to make an extremely good fried egg and bacon bap and with the yolks still running down our chins we hot footed it away from this town with no name.

Instead of continuing along the Wales Coast Path, over the tolled footbridge, we walked by the Fairbourne narrow gauge railway to its terminus and awaited the pedestrian ferry across the Mawddach Estuary to Abermaw. The first ferry of the day appeared ten minutes after our arrival. Jeremy had a captive audience, the poor ferryman couldn’t escape as a torrid of questions was aimed at him as we crossed the 200m of the estuary mouth, as always though in a very friendly and engaging way that few people are able to resist or resent. After such a hurried exit out of Hitchcock’s 1950s Fairbourne we savoured a caffeine break by the harbour at Abermaw, a place that couldn’t be more opposite, colourful, lively, and vibrant, as the Americans would say ‘Fairbourne, was the wrong side of the tracks’ or in this case, estuary!

From Abermaw it was another six or seven kilometres of road walking, which considerably aggravated Jeremy’s blisters and even I was wishing that the end would come. It did, of course, ending at a campsite, where I had had every intention of leaving the car. However, due to the horrendous weather forecast our plans had changed and we had arranged to take public transport back to the campsite where the car was waiting. Jeremy waited at the station whilst I went to get a couple of sugary drinks from the village ten minutes away. Of course on my return Jeremy was sat, boots off, talking to a complete stranger. The stranger was ex-military, he had done a couple of tours in Afghanistan and had been wounded, not severely, but enough to be discharged. He was extremely vocal about the economic refugees who risked their lives crossing the channel from mainland Europe, hoping for a better life in the UK. His solution, well, all I’ll say is, it wasn’t pleasant and would have reduced the world’s population, considerably. Maybe he was one of the throwbacks from Fairbourne?

We’ll return here in late October or early November, I’m assuming to the normal Autumnal weather that global warming seems to bring these days, i.e. unpredictable. Basically no change from the pre global warming days, probably just a little wetter and a little warmer.

Jeremy and I are once again on the Wales Coast Path, this time determined to bivvy, (one down from camping. It would be Carolynn’s worst nightmare)! If you remember last time our wild camp ended up being a camp with beer on tap, live football and a bed with an en-suite bathroom! What’s commonly known as a pub with b&b! Well for Jeremy that is roughing it. So this time our middle point is literally in the middle on nowhere, the nearest accommodation is 8km one way and the same the other. So this time there is no escaping a wild camp.

We started the walk at The Harbourmaster Hotel in Aberaeron with the understanding from the weather gods that the sun would appear after lunch with the promise of no rain and unusually the weather gods, were good to their word. I can’t in any shape or form write an interesting account of our first few kilometres. It was the walk Carolynn expected the South West Coast Path to be… flat, with the sound of the surf breaking repeatedly on the stone beach.

I was a tad worried that after just 100 metres into the walk Jeremy spent 10 minutes talking to a complete stranger, if this was what lay in store then we wouldn’t reach our goal until well after dark! Fortunately the next person he approached, a fisherman, gave him short thrift, which seemed to set the tone for the rest of the day!

In fact it wasn’t until after we’d spent lunch at a petrol station (no better place, I say) that he got his mojo back. We needed water for our wild bivvy and as we passed one of the many large static caravan parks we sidled in to surreptitiously steal water, but no need, Jeremy charmed a couple in letting us use their standpipe to fill up our water bottles… the subsequent intercourse between Jeremy and the couple gave me chance to have 40 winks!

I’m ashamed to say that for the first time ever, whilst wild camping I was moved on. We found a place to bivvy, flat, sheltered and with a perfect view. Unfortunately we were a little too close to what looked like a holiday cottage. Can I say in my defence the cottage was literally in the middle of nowhere. We looked it up on the internet and found it was for sale, being the nosey old buggers that we are and the fact that it looked empty we decided to take a look. Big mistake after looking in a couple of windows, Jeremy came eyeball to eyeball with, I would think a very startled man! But what a recovery, Jeremy asked the startled owner, very politely if we could bivvy in the place we had picked. Understandably, the owner, after being subjected to a man pressing his face up to his window and giving him the fright of his life, was very reluctant, even though he didn’t own the land we were on! But we thought it would be prudent to move, anyway, as we could both understand him being a little anxious about two complete strangers who’d probably frightened him somewhat. It meant that the perfect bivvy was replaced with a sloping field, surrounded by sheep that appeared never to go to sleep!

After a fitful nights sleep, and a bivvy I don’t necessarily want to repeat, the sun eventually rose out of the hills behind us. The golden morning light it brought, raced down the hill towards the sea, bringing a beautiful yellow tint to everything as it passed. The flowers came alive, the grass glowed, but more importantly it brought two listless human beings to life! Breakfast was very similar to the evening meal, rehydrated porridge and blueberries… what can I say about it, well it was hot and to be honest, reasonably tasty, more importantly we had our first cup of tea… life just becomes worthwhile after that!

Today was somewhat more undulating than the previous day, the cliffs were steeper and the path more preciptous until we suddenly descended into the University town of Aberystwyth. A town I thought would be buzzing with students, but somehow seemed flat and muted, even grey and little dirty! The grandeur of the university buildings and sea front did not shine through and as we walked through even the sunlight couldn’t light up those old majestic buildings. We were in two minds whether to take the funicular railway up to Constitutional Hill, which mind won…??? The afternoon blurred into, what has become synonymous with coast paths… Nepali Flat! We walked into Borth mid afternoon. Wikipedia says that Borth is a village and seaside resort, I’m inclined to believe that it’s neither. It was, however at the end of our two day walk, and another section of the Wales Coast Path completed. The majority of these two days walk was along stunning clifftops, with beautiful hidden coves and beaches, but the major town and the walks end were disappointing, places that needed pride injecting back into their hearts. Borth especially was a village lost, with its linear seafront looking old and dejected. With its only redeeming feature being the 6km golden beach.

One thing you might be wondering is why did I call the post ‘Fry’s Chocolate Mint Cream’… well I bought a Fry’s Chocolate Cream and a Fry’s Chocolate Mint Cream. The Chocolate Cream was meant for Jeremy and the Mint Cream for myself, I’ll let you guess who ate the ‘Mint Cream’, but let me say now it wasn’t me! Not that I hold a grudge!

There are just a few days left of this trip. The one thing that has come out of it is that high altitude climbing is now in the past. Either my age is catching up with me or I’m just not suited to life above 6,500m. These type of trips also require more time away from home than I’m now willing or want to give and to be honest I just can’t stand not shaving for five weeks!

So what of the future? Well it looks like short treks such as the Torres del Paine ‘O’ route in South America or part of the Jordan Trail as well as, maybe, concentrating on wildlife photography shoots… but more importantly Carolynn and I getting away for short breaks around the UK and Europe.

Future intentions now laid down (yet to be discussed with Carolynn), what are my thoughts on this trip. I came to Nepal with the main aim being to summit Barunste a 7,129m peak in the Hunku Valley. I’m not going to go on about the journey being more important, as I’ve never believed that. The whole trip is important but, I’m going to say it again, I failed with the main aim of the trip. I have absolutely no problem with the word ‘failed’. It happens to most of us and it’s the lessons learned from failure that allow us to move forward. Whether that means a change in course or to try again. For me in this case, sensibility tells me a change of course is the way forward and I’ve come to the conclusion that I no longer wish to put myself mentally and physically through the punishment high altitude mountaineering puts me through. This was always going to be my last ‘expedition’ and not summiting, I can tell you, was a disappointment, but something I can live with and move on. Moving forward I’ll concentrate on trekking where instead of looking down, I’ll be craning my neck looking up enjoying the view and, just maybe, dreaming of the summits high above me!

One thing I’ve noticed since the last time I was here is that the Nepalis appear to be taking control of their tourist industry. The big foreign companies are still evident but don’t seem to dominate the market as they used to. Covid, of course, probably has had some influence on that, but I believe that they’ve realised the full worth of their tourist industry and how best for the locals to earn the maximum out of each Dollar spent. One thing that hadn’t changed is the amount of rubbish on the trails, towns and villages. There are token bins in villages, whether they ever get emptied looks unlikely. There is no comparison with Bhutan, where the locals seem to respect the countryside and very little litter is thrown away indiscriminately. However, expedition that have permits to summit any of the higher mountains have to lodge a $3,000 deposit, until they can prove that all items taken in to the mountain are returned, including all waste… a small step, but until the locals believe that it’s wrong to dispose of litter indiscriminately then the problem will remained. As always the Nepalis are friendly and with out fail are welcoming, they give without expecting anything in return and their smiles are always infectious and when someone smiles at you, you really can’t help but smile back, which is one of the reasons that I love Nepal and its people.

So that there remains no doubt, whatsoever, despite failing to summit Barunste I have thoroughly enjoyed this expedition. I came to Nepal to enjoy myself and that is exactly what I’ve done. I’ve looked on the mighty South West Face of Makalu at sunset and sunrise from Barunste’s West Col. Snuggled up in my down sleeping bag when the sun’s vanished behind the mountains and it’s been -20 degrees. Eaten freeze dried food that tastes somewhat like cardboard. Watched Everest and Lhotse grow ever bigger as I’ve walked up the Hunku Valley. Met the young intrepid explorers of the future as they stride the paths in absolute confidence with their big packs and small wallets. Met many OAP’s as they travel the world in the winter of their years, thinking that they are the intrepid explorers, as long as it’s in apparent luxury! Hopefully I look on all of these wonders without judgement of any sort as I’m just a moment in time to both Mother Nature and the people I meet.

I had a fitful nights sleep, as always, when I know I have to get up early. I wake up long before my alarm is due to go off, as usual. I swing my legs off the bed and take a shower, and trying not to wake Carolynn. 04:53 and I’m pulling out of the drive on my way once again to Pembrokeshire. Four hours sleep and in front, a four hour drive.

The traffic’s light and I make good time and arrive at Pembroke Dock railway station car park at 08:56. And at 08:59 the taxi arrives to take me to Milford Haven and the place I finished at, nearly two years ago. Happily it was at a Costa café so the first ten minutes of the walk was spent drinking a decaf medium latte. Decaf, I can hear you say. You don’t drink much alcohol, you gave up smoking 22 years ago, you try and eat reasonably healthily (with the exception of cake), you’ve never taken drugs, so why have you given up the one last addiction… caffeine? Well I read a NHS article that stated Raynaud’s Syndrome can be made worse if you drink caffeine. So I thought I’d try to detox my caffeine intake and see what affect it has. It’s my last real vice so if after three or four months it has no affect, I’ll definitely be going back to it, although I have to admit caffeine free tea and coffee tastes no different than normal tea and coffee. The only thing that worries me now, is god forbid, that I’m persuaded ever to turn vegan. I could turn vegan like Penny from The Big Bang Theory, she’s vegan but ‘loves steak, I mean really loves steak’!

I appear to have deviated from the subject. Costa, had my decaf coffee and starting putting one foot in front of the other. My destination by the end of the following day is about six kilometres, as the crow flies. More to the point I’d have to swim across the Milford Haven estuary, dodging oil tankers as I swam, so not exactly flying. So I’m going to take the easier route around the estuary, 47 kilometres. I’m guided by razor wire topped eight foot fences as I walk through, what must be one of the most highly contentious (excluding nuclear power stations) industries at this moment in time… the oil industry! I have to say that I find it fascinating. Jetties that are over two kilometres long, with two or three ships either unloading crude or loading refined product. Storage units that must take up one or two kilometres square, but the biggest of all the Valero Oil Refinery, dominating the southern shore of the estuary adjacent to the gas powered Pwllcrochan Power Station.

I walk between the eight foot razor topped fence and estuary for 10 or so kilometres, sometimes ushered through fully enclosed wire mesh bridges crossing the immense pipes that the oil is transported through, I get the feeling that my presence here isn’t really welcome, just tolerated!

After being hemmed in by razor topped fences, I’m now hemmed in, in a different way… Road walking and a lot of it to come. It’s at the beginning of the road walking that I stop and talk to a local. With her pink hooped bag and funny looking walking stick, she’s quite obviously litter picking, in fact she’s just waiting for the rest of her work colleagues to arrive. I mention her, and our conversation, because she works for Valero and explains that the company contributes a great deal to the local economy and provides funding for many of the surrounding communities. She was about to spend two or three hours, along with some other work colleagues litter picking on and around the beach… I can hear you saying, ‘that’s very community minded of her’, but this is done during working hours and fully paid for be Valero. These big multi-national companies do, in some cases have a softer underbelly. I know it’s to keep the locals sweet. I don’t have a problem with that, you scratch my back!!!

I take the Cleddau Bridge across the estuary from Neyland to Pembroke Ferry. It’s a shame that the ferry is no longer there, the bridge is functional, that’s about all I can say about it. A ferry would have made the crossing more in keeping with the coast path and there’s something quite romantic about crossing the water in a bygone way. I walked through Pembroke Dock, where there were still many remnants of its Naval military history, a town bigger than Pembroke town, itself, but as with many small towns in the present climate many of the shops were boarded up and its centre looked in need of some tlc.

The path wandered by the side of the Pembroke River to the county town of Pembroke, straight back to the 11th Century! Dominating the town was Pembroke Castle, built in 1093 and the birth place of Henry VII. It was early afternoon and I was near the end of my first days walk, so I sat and daydreamed, staring at the castle wondering what secrets it hid. An elderly woman passed me and stopped by the seat I was sat on and said ‘it’s beautiful, isn’t it’ I certainly couldn’t disagree. a piece of history that’s been there nearly a millennium and looked as if it could survive another. I doubt the same could be said of the more modern type of castles in the area, although they are far larger than the castle I was looking at, they don’t look as if they belong, they look unwieldily and out of place as they pump out their black gold, down innumerous silver pipes and light the night sky up with their gas flares. Mother Nature has a wonderful way of destroying a manmade eyesore, once their usefulness has passed and I’m sure that the oil refinery and storage facilities around the Milford Haven Estuary will not even be a footnote in the journals, unlike the castle that sits in front of me, having dominated its surroundings for nearly a thousand years.

The next day I walk the last section of the Milford Haven Estuary. The path is little used, I suspect because it’s not what most people would call the most scenic section. But as I’ve said I quite like the contrast of the heavy industry and the countryside. I walked for two kilometres alongside the oil refineries jetty, where two ships were unloading their raw product. As I walk along this section of the coast approaching the Pwllcrochan Power Station, a the deep humming sound of its generator gets louder as does the roaring noise of the Valero refinery gas flares and neither recede until I get halfway round Angle Bay.

The village of Angle was a natural lunch stop… a pint went down effortlessly as I sat surrounded by a loud loquacious group of thirty somethingsand their yapping dog a signal I think, for me to move on. The final few kilometres were the most tranquil as I wandered into West Angle Bay, my destination, and a cream tea that had my name on it, followed by an ice cream, that should have also had my name on it!

Had an eureka moment whilst driving down the M1 to Heathrow. Does our style of motorway driving defines us as a person! Carolynn, who’s sat beside me, I don’t think’s convinced. Haven’t we all driven down the motorway cursing our fellow drivers, very rarely praising them? Of course we have. That little Polo or Fiat 500 sat in the overtaking lane, doing 70mph, oblivious to the chaos as the traffic stacks up behind them. Dreaming. In their own little sphere of existence, unaware of what’s happening in the larger world around them, happy and content knowing that there’s nothing in their way. And then there’s the Golf GTI, Range Rover and BMW drivers speeding down the outside lane, angry with the slightly slower drivers in front of them, flashing their headlights and gesticulating as they pass. The high flyers, the heads up their backsides and ‘I’m more important’ brigade. They often excel at what they do but have little or no interest in the people that surround them as they drive ruff-shod over others lives to gain what is often just a small advantage. Then there are those that weave from lane to lane, often in Clio size cars or small low slung sports cars. They undertake and swerve in front of other drivers forcing them to break then speed off with a smirk. In a queue, they move aggressively from one lane to another only to find that another lane is moving faster. Never satisfied with where or who they are and their constant changing very rarely gets them where they want to go any faster and they most definitely annoy everyone else as they try to get to their destination. Now we come to the middle lane driver or cruiser, who everyone seems to curse but never admits to being, a Steady Eddy, takes no risks, doesn’t ride ruff-shod over anyone. Clucks and tuts at all the other people as they pass them on both the inside and outside lanes. Safe and sound in the knowledge that nothing will harm them and that others will always look out for them. The last type (forgetting commercial drivers) are the timid inside lane drivers. They use the slip road not as a means of getting up to speed but a means of dipping their toe in to the faster moving traffic, often stopping as they don’t like the speed of modern life. They then trundle down the slow land hiding behind the larger more confident trucks, hoping to be invisible and unobtrusive, blinkered, never daring to venture into the faster lanes. It’s all about ones Perception of Risk!

Which type am I? Who knows. One thing I’ve said over the last two years, though, is that other peoples perception of ‘risk’ can be very different from my own and hopefully I’ve learned to respect other peoples choices, but sometimes you have to remind them that, that works in both directions!

This, of course has no bearing on why I’m at Heathrow Terminal 5. I’m on my way to meet up with Stephen in Nice, before we then fly to Corsica tomorrow to walk the GR20. Terminal 5 is certainly busier than when I was here last time, just two months ago, when James and I were on our way to Iceland, but it’s not in anyway buzzing like it used to. There are no real queues for check in and bag drop off. Getting to departures is only slowed down a little by the paperwork required to travel anywhere at this time…patience was never one of my strong points, but retirement has mellowed me as I realise time is irrelevant and to just savour all that is offered. The reason I’m here. The GR20, a high level mountain walk over the peaks of Corsica. 180km spread over 12 to 14 days, with no set itinerary. No accommodation booked. Just a backpack and a tent. The only real pressure to finish is the already booked flight home on 25th September. Unusual for me to do a long distance wild camp, I have been used to porters, cooks and camp assistants who pitch and unpitch my tent, spoiled, I suppose. Anyway, I’ve cut my toothbrush down, only got two sets of underwear, two shirts, two pairs of socks…you get my drift, minimalistic. Weight is king, or lack of. My only luxuries, a blowup down pillow and all my camera gear, or should I say my lightweight camera gear. A small Sony RX100 vii, a Platypod, ballhead and filters, altogether they weigh less than my Canon 5D MKiv. Looking forward to seeing Stephen again, as it’s been nearly three years since our last expedition in Bhutan. He’ll mercilessly take the Micky, with me constantly on the defensive, although he might disagree. All I know is the conversation will be lively and interesting! 🤔

23:11, Heathrow Terminal 5, extremely quite. Just a few lost soles like ourselves waiting out the night. The Terminal is open, but closed. Devoid of staff , except security, who are there to check that you have a valid ticket and more importantly to remind you that a mask is mandatory at all times. The nearest person to me, other than James, is approximately 30 or 40 metres away.

In the morning I board my first plane for 17 months. James and I have checked in and dropped our luggage off using the overnight facility so, hopefully in the morning we’ll sail through security into International Departures. I was unable to check us in online as we had to prove that we’d both had, had the two doses of the Covid Vaccine. The big test is ‘will they let us into Iceland’. Have all my hours of internet research been in vain, have I filled in all the correct forms and booked all the right tests? Tomorrow I will know the answers!

We should have been climbing the Matterhorn this week, but neither the French or Swiss seemed to want us. Seems we’re the lepers of Europe. This is the second year that we’ve had to cancel the climb. I wonder if the mountain is trying to tell me something? That final arête of the Hornli Ridge, just before the summit looked to require a head for heights, that scares me. The steepness of the 1,000 metre climb from the Hornli Hut doesn’t bother me, but that short arête with 60 degree slopes on two sides, falling off for that 1,000 odd metres does. Fear’s a very peculiar sense and one that can be hard to face and pass your mind through. The thought of that summit arête has been troubling me for a while and I had already promised myself that if an any point I felt too insecure, I’d retreat. It seems though that I won’t have to face that fear, instead James and I are going on a four day trek in the heart of Iceland’s glacial region and then climb Hvannadalshukur. The highest mountain in Iceland, weather permitting. Firstly we are going to see the newly erupting volcano near Iceland’s International Airport, for me to take photographs!

Looking forward to a great trip.

I was sat inside Dubs Hut, a mountain Bothy near Honnister Slate Mine. It’s devoid of any human life, so I’ve decided to sit in comfort in the Bothy and cook my tea and read my book, rather than set up my tent. I was expecting it to be closed and locked. So it looks like a night under a proper roof rather than under canvas. There’s a slight feeling of guilt, let me be clear, nothing to do with the pandemic, the guilt is I really ought to be wild camping under canvas. 🤷‍♂️

After months of restrictions, I’ve at last managed to get away into the mountains, not my usual haunt, either. The Lake District and the Ennerdale Horseshoe. There’s no set route as far as I could tell so I’ve created my own, a tad under 50km and I’m taking three days.

I left home at 6am and arrived at Bowness Knot car park at 10:15. Good journey. First day 13.5km to Dubs Hut, just to ease myself back in gently. Bit of a shock as the first 2km were a baptism of fire, from 120m to 616m. I lost a fair amount of body moisture and realised how loud my heart is when pumping 160 odd times a minute! I eventually settled into a rhythm and the next couple of summits along the ridge fell fairly easily. My backpack, with camera and associated items that have to come along with the camera, weighted 16kg. After three to four hours of walking I began to notice the weight and it was rubbing on the two nobly bones at the top of my hips, which is a little uncomfortable. Compeed, hopefully to the rescue!

What I’m really trying to say is that the day took me longer than I’d planned, which doesn’t bode well for tomorrow, which is over 10km longer. Am I unfit, I hope not. I think more that it’s been a while since I carried that sort of weight over serious mountainous terrain for such a length of time.

Enough moaning. It’s been a fabulous day. So, so, weather, light showers off and on for most of the day with a cold North wind. The weather, though did create a wonderful atmosphere, with the thunderous rolling clouds blowing over the summits of Great Gable and Pillar, dappled with intermittent sunshine, a scene I could have watched all day…as long as I don’t mind getting wet and cold!

I lit a fire in the Bothy’s wood stove and cooked my diner…well, say cooked, I added hot water to a dehydrated packet mix. Chilli Con Carne with Rice and Rice Pudding with Cinnamon. A perfect end to a day, months in the waiting.

Sleeping for me, is always a little fitful outside my own bed. As expected I woke up early and decided to change my route due to the slow progress I made yesterday. I’d added a small loop to the Horseshoe so as to include Fleetwith Pike and then the café at Honister Slate Mine, my bit of guilty please! I made the choice to forgo my coffee and cake and instead headed for Brandreth and on to Green Gable. Near the summit of Brandreth I walked into the cloud and a view that was to stay with me until I descended Great Gable, a view common to many serious mountain walkers and one I try to avoid…a view of the inside of a cloud that’s moving at considerable speed, chilling the air to below freezing. Unlike my normal walks where the weather dictates my movements, here I had to work with the weather and cope with whatever it threw at me.

As I said I don’t go to the Lake District very often and the last twice I’ve been my, view from the summit of Great Gable has been identical, white, grey, snow, ice and limited to about 10m. As I descended towards Beck Head and Kirk Fell, the going got a tad steep, but I was following a path of sorts down the screes that Great Gable is so famous for. I have to say I had great fun scree riding, it’s been years since I’ve found a scree that has not been ruined by years of over use! I need to confess here, that I took the wrong path down Great Gable, the end result, however, was the same.

The pull up Kirk Fell, then Pillar were steep and steady, but most importantly the view from the summits ware worth every step.

Once I reached the final main peak, Scoat Fell the going got easier, the cloud stayed above me and the sun made the odd appearance. All the serious ascents of the Horseshoe were now behind me. My feet felt heavy, my shoulders were rubbing on the straps of my rucksack and those two nobly bones either side of the base of my spine were sore, even with the compeed on. I’d learned some lessons: one if I’m going to carry my heavy camera gear then I need to use one of my larger rucksacks or reduce the weight by carrying my Sony compact rather than the DSLR and two lenses. The Sony compact worked well whilst bivvying the previous year on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path.

The last few kilometres to where I hoped to camp were easy going. Springy underfoot and steadily downhill. My eventual choice of campsite, not exactly where I originally proposed, but sheltered, had a wonderful view back up Ennerdale and Pillar and the changing evening light drew both my camera and my eye. I was at peace.

The night was windless and cold, -5 or -6 degrees, a little too cold for the sleeping bag combination I had with me, but most importantly it was great to be out away from this mad world. No holier than thou, do gooders judging my every movement and my every word.

The following day was very short. A walk down to Ennerdale Water and an easy walk back to the car. A great couple of days. Very much looking forward to the final trips down to the South West Coast Path with Andrew and Caroline. Just three to go before we break out the champagne 🥂.

I still think it’s one of the greatest songs ever written. I know there are many people that would disagree, but it always brings a smile to my face and in these most peculiar times what could be better for your sanity. There are also a couple of lines in the song which, particularly resonate.

I mean, what have you got to lose?
You know, you come from nothing
You’re going back to nothing
What have you lost? Nothing

Death has never struck me as something to fear…just something that’s inevitable.

Incidentally this record’s available in the foyer, Some of us got to live, you know.

I do wonder whether this 100 days of captivity has made many people forget how ‘to live’. As the politicians of our four nations jostle for political superiority, instead of working as one. Europe’s borders clamp shut as individual countries unilaterally decide that the European Union is no longer a true union. Again, instead of working as one, to fight this pandemic. Hindsight journalists criticise every decision, constantly aiming for anyone’s throat, that dares to stick their neck out and make a decision…it all becomes just a little wearing and most of all emphasises the imbecilic nature of the individuals involved, although that’s probably not fair on the genuinely stupid!

Fortunately, away from the politicians and hindsight journalists there have been some real positives, all of those that are involved in the NHS, the transport industry, key services and retailer shop workers. Some of them, are badly paid, but have carried on during this pandemic, mostly unseen and always uncomplaining. Neighbours have come together to help neighbours, families have made the effort to talk to each other. Many children have realised that school’s are not such a bad place after all and that the countryside around us is a place to cherish. I hope that the people in Westminster of all political parties, can learn from the vast majority who would like to see us come out of this pandemic as a better and more tolerant unified country and world. Maybe, they’ll be able to ‘look on the bright side of life’ after all!

I didn’t really start this blog to rant, but one of the reasons that I’m sat at my computer, rather than getting ready for another mountaineering trip is because of the pandemic. I’m writing this because on 4th July, James and I should have been on our way to the Alps. To climb an iconic mountain that most people would recognise. It’s the mountain that every child draws, probably, unknowingly and looks the same from nearly every angle…steep and unyielding. Yep, The Matterhorn. It’s been planned since we came back from Mount Blanc in 2018. It’s a mountain that I have considerable respect for, especially the narrow summit ridge. The fear of the summits, apparent knife edge ridge is something that I’m going to have to conquer…I know it’s all in the mind and Like all fear is irrational….I’ll face it and conquer it. The ‘litany against fear’, from the book Dune, springs to mind.

A week before the lockdown I was in Scotland with my usual guide, John Lyall. I was there once again to make an attempt on the An Teallach ridge, this time in true winter conditions. I completed the ridge last year in February, so I can honestly say that I’ve done it in winter. However, the week I was there was one of the warmest weeks in February ever recorded and there was hardly a snowflake to be seen. This year was very different, An Teallach’s majestic ridge was covered in snow and ice, so much snow and ice, in fact, that John decided that the risk of avalanche from the overnight snowfall was too great.

We started up at 3am to catch the sunrise, but the heavy snowfall and the need to break trail meant we took longer to reach the ridge than anticipated, missing the sunrise completely, as it rose on the other side of the ridge. Next time I’ll camp on the ridge that I took the above photograph from to be sure of being there at the right time. The weather was reasonably kind this time and two other mountains I’ve looked at and admired over the years, were conquered! Sullivan, a mountain many dismiss because it’s not high enough to be classed as a Munro, their loss. It’s a beautiful walk with a view from the summit that some would say is unrivaled in Scotland. And listening to John’s tales of his climbing and guiding years, made it all the more enjoyable.

The other, Slioch which, when viewed from certain angles looks like an impenetrable bastion of rock, has been on my list for many years. The weather was, typically Scottish and on the summit I was forced to use map and compass to navigate off. Although not a true ‘whiteout’ it was difficult to disguise between ground and sky and those ‘bastions’ of rock surround the summit on two sides, were a little too close for comfort. A good reminder that map and compass are still required in certain situations.

I look on this postponement as an extra year to train before attempting the Matterhorn next July. In the meantime I’ve asked John if he’ll guide James and me on a two/three day winter climb of the Cullian Ridge on the Isle of Skye, next March. The 12km Cuillin Ridge has been described as the ‘holy grail’ of British scrambling and the ‘jewel in the crown of Scottish Mountaineering’, with the famous Inaccessible Pinnacle. Preparation, as always, is key. Hopefully, it will prove to be good training for the Hörnligrat route up the Matterhorn, later in the year.

Looking out into our back garden at the sign post Carolynn had Uncle Les make for me a couple of years ago for my birthday, with the names and heights of the more notable summits I’ve reached. Daydreaming (something every teacher I’ve ever had, says I’m very good at) of being back in the mountains, watching nature’s light and smiling at its ever changing beauty.

Let’s all be as one.