Water, Water, everywhere

Well here we are, fresh from a splendid New Year break in Wensleydale. No snow, but plenty of water. In fact so much that there was real danger that those arriving on the Friday might not get through. The Thursday arrivals had already had a soggy day with a walk curtailed by flooding and involving some wading. With most of our clothing drying on radiators throughout the hostel, there were frantic text updates on road conditions being sent hither and thither.

The Saturday weather wasn’t much of an improvement. Whilst it had at least stopped raining, we were being sand-blasted by 80 mile-an-hour hail. Trudi had to be held on to by a couple of sturdy fellas to stop being blown away. After this feat of endurance the weather improved and we had a couple of gorgeous days strolling in the Dales, with even a guest appearance from some blue sky.

All this set us in the mood for some serious partying. Having lined our stomachs with a superb three course meal courtesy of Marion, most of us prepared for the evening ahead by whetting our whistles at the pub next door. Thus primed, it was time to return to the centre and crack open the bubbly to welcome in the New Year. No party is complete without a little rowdy behaviour and at this point Nick deserves a special mention for his elegant footwork on the dance floor ...

News Year’s Day dawned to the traditional breakfast of fish fingers, followed by scrubbing and packing in readiness for the trip home. The weather was a bit grey & drizzly, so many of us elected to skip a local walk and stop off at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park on the way home. There was a special exhibition by Andy Goldsworthy featuring sheep tracks and quite a lot of poo - so we rounded off the trip with a deep philosophical discussion on the nature of art.

 Ali

See also Jim's photos of New Year trip.

A Cold Blow

Our November trip was to Coldblow hostel in Kent. Having been assured by the hostel manager that “Coldblow” didn’t mean that it was a cold, windy place, we arrived on the Friday night to find the hostel high on an exposed ridge on one of the coldest nights of the year. Luckily the hostel was toasty warm on the inside.

Saturday started icy cold, with a thick frost – so it was with some reluctance that we left the cosiness of the hostel. Even with our late exit, we were only just in view of the car park when Helen L sped into view, a late arrival to join us on our walk. The walk itself was a splendid stroll along the top of the North Downs ridge, then back along the valley. There were a couple of disappointments en route: we missed out on a pint in The Dirty Habit; the ploughed fields made for challenging walking conditions; and there was that long climb back up onto the ridge at the end of the walk – but the views were superb!

A description of the weekend cannot pass without a mention of the superb Saturday night meal. Congratulations go to Dave and Julia for pulling out the stops and serving up homemade fish and chips in mind boggling quantities. It was a lot of hard work, but much appreciated!

Saffron Walden walk

It seems that our walks in north Essex are always wet, and our December walk from Saffron Walden to Ashdon was no exception. But our spirits were not dampened, and after a fine roast lunch at the pub we returned to Saffron Walden to celebrate Lorna’s big birthday. A slide show included pictures of Lorna eating sand (as a baby), and standing on trig-points and mountains around the world. Musical entertainment from the Walden Buskers and huge quantities of birthday cake completed a memorable day.

Photo Competition

Once again there was a superb selection of entries to our annual photo competition, and many amusing (and some unprintable) captions. You can see the winners here.

Flocking to Oxford

Having been in the wilderness for a considerable time [on a sheep farm in Northumberland] – eating mutton and nettles (locusts and honey being unavailable…) the opportunity to mark my return to CYHA society in style, at Oxford YH, was most welcome, particularly as it was at very short notice. I broke all records by booking with just 1 ½ hours to spare.

I felt like a sybarite, faced with the inclusive hostel breakfast. Anticipating curly pieces of bread and meagre packets of jam, I was truly amazed at the groaning tables and tried to suspend my ascetical and troubled conscience in order to enjoy it. Quantities appeared to be unlimited and pain au chocolate disappeared into bulging pockets, just in case we failed to find sustenance in the town centre.

The exhaustive tourist information centre similarly offered a menu of delights: museums, gardens, cafés, colleges, … and shops. We milled around in the (thankfully) pedestrianised main street, attempting to achieve a consensus about what we would do and proceed to one destination without the help of a single sheep dog. Some frustrated people broke away from the group – the rest of us climbed St Michael’s tower and saw the dreaming spires of Oxford, now including the ziggurat of the Saïd Business School (which we had initially mistaken for the new, ultra modern Youth Hostel).

We proceeded from there to the Pitt Rivers Museum, adjacent to the Natural History Museum. This is a curiosity in itself – an esoteric collection of objects, apparently jumbled and juxtaposed in a dimply lit space where the ambience takes precedence over interpretation. We were drawn to the rather ghoulish shrunken heads, some of which were vanquished enemies, and some of which were sloths or monkeys. It was rather difficult to tell them apart, with the exception of one which closely resembled Bernie Ecclestone, complete with hair. The rest of the exhibition proved mind-expanding as we read about scarification and footbinding. Colin appeared to be spending inordinate mounts of time on his mobile phone, until I realised he was actually hearing the gory details on an audio-guide. I decided it was too much information which I’d prefer not to know.

A substantial lunch was taken at “The Grapes”, but I cannot recall any erudite conversation of a literary nature amongst scholars and gentlemen, in keeping with the traditions of the city. Debs did her best, but I found there was too much gossip to catch up on, which had to take priority.

In the afternoon, we taunted the insectivorous plants in the botanic gardens, which hadn’t enjoyed as good a lunch as we had. Having effectively shut them all up, we retired to the hostel to make radio contact with Colin & Asha who were helpfully preparing a “Brown’s Guide” to Indian restaurants and recommended “Chutneys” for authentic south Indian cuisine.

It was raining on Sunday, but not enough to deter us from walking to Boar’s Hill. We parked at the church in Sunningwell and attracted attention from the locals who judged from our equipment that we were expeditioning and probably wondered for how long we’d be leaving our vehicles in their attractive village.

We extended the 5½ miles (by special request of Debs) but arrived back just before a downpour, in a brilliant feat of timing, but just too late for Chris to avoid being stung by a wasp who was ending the season in style.

A good weekend – but the best thing of all – there wasn’t a sheep in sight!!

Trudi