Chelmsford YHA Group

CYHA News

The Monthly Newsletter of Chelmsford YHA Local Group

February 2011

Christmas Cancelled!

Pen y Fan

In a shocking turn of events the CYHA Christmas dinner was cancelled for the first time in 18 years. Despite heroic attempts by the various participants: Helen was stranded in Surrey with 2kg of potatoes; Caroline in Billericay with the sprouts; Clive in Chelmsford with only a turkey for company and the entertainment couldn’t get off Jim’s drive. The evils of snowy weather!

Dave & I were trapped in Saffron Walden with turkey no.2, so we decided to make the best of it and invited Tom over for our own mini dinner. Tom donned full winter survival kit for the half mile walk across town, pausing only to stock up on sprouts and stuffing as he passed Waitrose. Thus we managed to salvage a very tasty triumph from disaster – we were certainly better off than George, who had a whole week of fish and sauerkraut.

Still, there was plenty of turkey left for New Year, so all we needed was a break in the weather to get us to Brecon. Sadly the winter season wasn’t finished with us yet as both Jim and Cress were struck down with lurgy and couldn’t join us, but the snow did clear in the nick of time and we got  6 dry days in Wales (unheard of, surely?). See Doug’s poem and Trudi’s article below.

Ali

 


Oh Little Town of Brecon…..

Oh little town of Brecon – how still we see thee lie… until a fleet of Focus cars brought us with our supplies…

 

Brecon town was in a state of post-prandial stupor when we arrived. Jim sadly was not with us but might have used the phrase "tote Hose" (dead trousers) to describe the place. Colin boosted the sales in the charity shops by spending £2.75 – this caused a flurry of excitement which might have become a wave when we descended on Morrisons to boost our food supplies.

The bunkhouse was comfortable and well-equipped (until I literally stuck the electric kettle on the hob). We were frequently reminded of its previous function (as a cowshed) by the not so gentle mooing of the clock on the hour, every hour (unless silenced by a lump of Blu-tac). In hindsight, I should have melted that down (although it would have been even harder to explain).

On day one we were shrouded in mist, climbing to Pen-y-Crug first and speculating what the view would have been like if we could have seen it. As the summits cleared briefly, we resolved to climb to them next day & get above the cloud. Our plan worked and it was spectacular on the top of Pen-y-Fan, with ridges of cloud below us in the valleys. We felt we had achieved considerably more than our 2,000 ft of climbing as we looked down on it. The only disappointment was the modest 6 miles recorded by Ali’s pedometer at the end of the day.

On New Year’s Eve we again set off into the mist taking a circuitous route which involved navigating inhospitable terrain and much discussion. I don’t know where we went, but it seemed a Long Way and there was Fog. We were regarded with considerable suspicion by shaggy, wild-eyed ponies, who looked as if they had cantered out of a Thelwell cartoon.

New Year’s Eve found us in the conservatory of the George Hotel, having rejected any pubs that looked lively. Brecon was stirring and Nick & Lorna even found somewhere to dance, briefly indulged by the clientele, who appeared as bemused by us as the ponies had been (and had similar hairstyles).

We began 2011 with a pleasant, dry walk along the canal, with a beer in the Royal Oak pub in Pencelli, where our custom made only a meagre contribution to the considerable cost of the recent refurbishment.

Throughout the week there had been much bantering about Fan-y-Big, and we managed to climb it on Sunday, though Tom informed us that it’s pronounced ‘van-y-beak’. We trooped up from Tal-y-Bont reservoir to walk the ridge, with an optional extension to Cribyn. There we encountered the world, his wife and the dogs, which was why the path back became horribly eroded towards the end (them and the mountain bikes). Anyway, it was a photogenic day with the remaining snow showing the cornices & gullies to best advantage and rushes looking like windscreen wipers made of ice & frost. Cold fingers fumbled with lenses to capture the magic of a ‘proper’ winters day.

On the final morning the ‘Breakfast Busters’ ascended Pen-y-Crug (again) and actually saw the view. There was a Police presence in the town on our return, so we speculated that we might have actually managed to wake the place up?

All in all, an energetic trip despite the lack of sunshine, Mike & Cress, Jim, Steve and (for a brief period) Andrew’s clean boots.

 

 

Trudi

The Curse of Modern Technology-a cautionary tale

(of a recent incident, re-imagined and embellished by one who was not actually present when it occurred)

To the heart of deepest Brecon

To a house where comforts beckon,

Came a trenchant foe of waste

A lady of restraint and taste,

A taste she held particularly

For the English drink of tea.

One fateful day our girl was cursed

With dreadful, dehydrating thirst,

Her mouth had never felt so dry,

Without some tea she'd surely die,

And so she filled a kettle up,

And desperately sought a cup,

Went to the stove and turned the knob,

Which quickly heated up the hob,

On which she placed the brand new kettle,

Dazzled by its gleaming metal.

But as she waited quietly there,

A smell of plastic filled the air,

Breathing in the sickly smell,

She soon began to feel unwell.

The atmosphere held scent of plastic,

A thought that seemed almost fantastic,

Since a glance at the warming kettle,

Clearly showed it made from metal.

But when our lady tried to lift it

She found that she could barely shift it,

Adhering as to the hob like mastic

The kettle trailed strands like blue elastic.

Applying logic to the case

She could observe a plastic base,

A simple and logical explanation,

Which dampened rising speculation

About the possible solution

For the olfactory nasal pollution.

So hostellers all, whereso'er you roam,

Be it ever so far from your own Essex home,

Seeking a life which embraces ecology

There is no escape from modern technology.

Even in Brecon, it's not eccentricity

To power a kettle by good electricity.

Doug

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