Before I even start typing this new blog post a sigh escapes my lips as I think back to a lovely weekend I had.
Away from the hustle of work, the weekend was a curious mix of stress and worry and then relaxation and peace. The two days were quite markedly different yet part of the same little journey, through and over the hills and dales. The difference was, for me, the stress of the first day, wondering how successful I would be in finding somewhere to pitch my tent in a relatively populated area and not getting chased by annoyed Farmers. So the first day of wandering was more directed, goal oriented where the second day was much less so; as long as I got home for my Mum's roast dinner, everything would be good!
A mid morning start from the car in the interesting village of Bishop Wilton, where scouts were bashing one another with long sticks in readiness for a days walking themselves(!) I set off up a track that quickly emerged through a gate into a field with cows laying on the ground, chewing the cud. A sign of the weather to come? This chap didn't think so, looking on with his bug eyes...
In fact this Ent was a herald of something else quite curious. I wound my way up the hill and across the head of the dale, approached this time by some beautiful brown calves, where I came across a bench with a sign warning, "Do not put on the RING Frodo". I didn't see any other sign of Lord of the Rings but I wonder at how pervasive this creation of the imagination has become!
A couple of lefts and rights, over stiles and through kissing gates lead me to cross a road and over to Cob Nab and Manna Green. This is a set of ancient earthworks, and now Access Land, deep hollows grazed by sheep, surrounded by pretty hillsides covered in mixed coniferous and deciduous woodland, the chalk tracks and footpaths shining brightly when the sun deigned us with it's presence.
As I'm finding with the Wolds and typified with this area, the dales are steep sided and my recent cold and lack of fitness had me puffing my way up the far hillside. Turning to admire the view (or more accurately, pausing for breath), I was surprised to find a small herd of sheep at my back, maybe wondering what new sheep language I was panting at them!
Tracking alongside a hedge I was delighted by the Hawthorn still in blossom, joined by the cow parsley bobbing it's head gaily in the wind. Where I live some of the Hawthorn is starting to brown as the blossoms fade so making the trip a little farther north was definitely worth it for me. I joined a Roman road for a short section, not bothered by the tarmac but rather amused by the sight of a very old red Datsun driving towards me, the tarmac on this single road with plant filled cracks down the middle. It reminded me very much of childhood in Norfolk where occasionally our road would get it's periodic dose of tarmac and gravel before being splayed by the cars and plant life taking over once again.
Once again taking a turn onto a track I enjoyed seeing a vista of rolling hills, the hedgerows delineating the form as the hills bounded into the distance. When I planned my route I hadn't been looking forward to the next section especially; a crossing of a main trunk road with a car park area and a smaller road departing from the junction. I had imagined a dirty, litter strewn layby of some sort and couldn't picture in my head how the footpath would cross the roads. Emerging out of a thicket I needen't have worried. A small picnic area with 4 or 5 hikers enjoying their lunch, and a nice, arty plaque showing local paths and features of the wolds showed off a pretty area. A mown section through wild grasses and flowers lead the footpath to a good spot to cross the road and before I knew it I had joined Wayrham Dale, with cowslips and birdsfoot trefoil adorning the hillsides and chalk. Daisies love chalk and there were plenty of those too; I could have spent hours happily making chains if I hadn't been occupied by thoughts of the days mileage and where I was going to camp. Oh, and I wanted to also re-visit Mrs Smith in the village shop in Thixendale to catch up on her gossip of the past three weeks!
A small area of mixed woodland lent a sudden coolness to the warmth I had been experiencing in the dale. A little like the glens of Scotland, these small dales were curved, deep, and seemed to have their own microclimate. Plus they can be great conduits for funnelling the wind through if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time!
I passed the entrance to a very inviting looking dale, surrounded by more earthworks, emerging into Bradeham Dale where I'd hoped I could replenish some water in the well there. The well in reality looked a bit like a dew pond, and under the water lilies what water there was looked more like tadpole jelly than water! Luckily I spied a cattle trough and took some from there instead though I was hardly desperate.
The next section of this long sequence of dales had me laughing as, in the middle of essentially a green amphitheatre of a field, a solitary footpath sign with fingers to all corners paid homage to Piccadilly Circus. Without too much wondering which path to take, I headed on down into one of two Thixendales I was going to tread today, joining the Yorkshire Wolds Way for a short section. The clouds were bombing over the sky, itself a glorious blue, but incredibly changeable, heralding conflicting weather systems as clouds at different altitudes headed in opposite directions. The dale was quite sheltered most of the time, allowing me chance to examine bird boxes, most of them huge, sized for Barn Owls. Having watched a recent television programme (Countryfile) I suspected that they had been erected by
Robert Fuller, both to conserve and protect them, and also to aid his work as an artist specialising in wildlife. In fact a little further on I came across a tree house type bird hide.
It reminded me very much of a tree house my Dad had built for me and my brother when we were kids. Dad always builds things to last and the tree house was no different! As was this; this one even had a piped chimney with a balustraded section, I guess for people not to fall. But because it was sited across from another Barn Owl box, this one converted from a tree, it gave the game away!
With some wistfulness the dale rounded a corner and I could see a roadway in the distance. The dale started to open up; the ancient river beds must have been wider at this point and the silt left providing nutritious ground for arable crops to be viable rather than sheep and cattle. Joining the road, another single track, I walked the short distance into the village and was just on the outskirts when the heavens opened on me. With little debate I delved into my pack to put my waterproof jacket on, had got myself and my pack sorted when it all stopped. A deluge and then nothing, barely even spitting. Down the road a short way a chap with curly grey hair, a tan and a smile, laughed gently at me, remarking he'd had the same thing happen to him about half an hour before. I joined him in laughter and said it was Sod's Law! We had a chat about weather forecasting and sailing; I learned what I know about the weather (which isn't a huge amount really) from doing a Day Skipper Theory course back in 1997, and he taught those same classes, and more, going on into Ocean going qualifications with the RYA. So we had a very interesting few minutes until his "BusKing" mini bus arrived, marked for Driffield and packed with people in wet weather gear.
Besides which I had a rendezvous with Mrs Smith at the local village shop to keep! After meeting her on my
first visit to the Wolds and listening to her stories I expected and was looking forward to more of the same and was not disappointed...
All good things must come to an end they say, so after making re-acquaintance with her and Mr Smith I set off into the weather which was blowing with a little more intent now. Out of the village I struck off down another dale, this one heavily populated with sheep and lambs. Some were very skittish, and some couldn't care less, as I perambulated through the dale, head down against the buffeting wind, and then jacket done up against the rain that now started to sweep through. The funnel effect was very apparent and it was with some relief I took my first refuge in the shelter of a small, shrubby Hawthorn, obviously a bedroom for some of the ladies of the valley. I figured that with the weather system being so changeable, the rain would pass by soon and so it did, and so I re-emerged and continued on through more sections of sheep filled fields.
Being a while since I'd eaten anything and fancying a proper brew I headed to a decent looking area, although abound with the ubiquitous sheep poo (no wonder they have to be wormed) and sat myself down wearily with half an eye on the weather and the other on my sidewinder which always seems to boil water surprisingly fast. A jolt of caffeine and sugar later and I was set to go again. As was the weather which was clearly demonstrating it's precipitating prowess as I could see a sheet of rain descending from the cloud about half a mile away. Hmm. I debated with myself whether to carry on to where I'd planned to camp, which was another 3 miles or so away, or whether to camp somewhere in this sheepy vicinity and take my chance on farmers not wandering around checking on their sheep, and that local dog walkers would be feeling salubrious after an afternoon sat in front of the FA Cup Final on the telly with a choice beverage and not wanting to get wet...
Working out the odds I decided to stay put more or less, just to site the shelter around the curve of the end of the dale slightly to make most of the benefit of the hill. It rained. I pitched the shelter and then re-pitched it as the wind clearly demonstrated it wanted to come from
this direction actually! I'd not pitched the nest before so had a little bit of fun trying to hook the rear hook in before giving up, figuring it would only be resting on my feet anyway.
Time went on and I settled in, cooking a meal of home made dehydrated chilli with pasta and a Babybel with a small tetra pak of Tesco Value Red Wine. With the spiciness of the chilli I couldn't really detect the wine other than a warm feeling!
No one appeared and I was undisturbed apart from the herd of sheep baa-ing loudly outside the tent. They'd all congregated noisily, hoping I'd provide them with a feed. No chance!
I had a lovely, toasty night sleep, despite the weather being blustery and stormy. I finally woke at about 7 to wonderful clear blue skies. I broke camp quickly after breakfast and a coffee. I hadn't packed that much so it didn't take long before I set off up the dale, through a couple of cows and heifers. I thoroughly enjoyed a very different sense of being outdoors to the day before. It wasn't yet a quarter to 8 yet I was alone in the countryside with the birds and wildlife to myself, the air clear to distant horizons. Gaining the top of the wold, views opened up towards York and sweeping around towards the Humber. I changed my planned route, following a road a little way. A friendly cyclist in brightly coloured jerseys whizzed past me with a greeting. I peered over a thick hedgerow into a field to where a tumulus was marked on the map, but very little other than a slight mound could be seen on the ground.
The hedgerows were thick and long, dew laden grass soaked my shoes as I followed a footpath along a field edge. It didn't look as if the footpath was used much at all. I caught glimpses of a small church in a hamlet, one with a square tower compared to the spires I'd been seeing roundabouts. Roofs were red tiled and as I came upon this group of houses an idyllic English country village was shown in true springtime splendour but for the addition of cars outside each house (they do spoil the view!).
I had a bit of a nosey around before finding again the track I wanted to follow that would lead me alongside South Wold and then on towards Cheesecake Wold. How could I resist that? Forsaking the cheesecake (disappointingly there was none on offer) I stopped for a brew and a late morning snack, perching in a custom made seat where grass formed a nice bottom shaped space in amongst tree roots. The pace of the day meant that I had plenty of time to enjoy and absorb the view, to spend time contemplating and just being in that moment, not worrying about anything. Bliss.
Even writing this takes me back to that moment and as I probably did then, with a sigh I return to my walk, passing a 'proper' tumulus with what looked like a mounded, wooden island in the middle of a field, before descending a little used road back towards the village I started from.
Just selling and replacing with lighter gear isn't really in the true spirit of lightweight backpacking; I'm learning it's more of an attitude thing, considering multi use items, simplifying and making your own gear. Lately, thanks in part to being beneficiary of my late Aunt's sewing machine, I've started to dabble in making my own things; the pooh stick, a fair number of stuff sacks and a prototype hip belt in some cannibalised fabric and oddments have helped sate my need to be connected with the outdoors when I haven't been able to get 'out there'. And that is what it's all about really.
The journey to light weight means for me the ability to continue to wander, to be at least adequately kitted out and not carrying more weight than I need. Instead of a pack weighing upwards of 12Kg (I think the record for me was something like 45lbs when I was in my early 20s, about 2 years before the photo above was taken of me in Austria), now it is more likely to weigh about 8Kg, including water and food. I can add odds and ends as I want and within reason but while I am strong, as I approach my 40th birthday in August I don't want to carry more weight than I need. And frankly I'm not fit enough to do that either at present. (Losing 'that' weight is also on the cards...)
Who knows what the next year will hold? I'd like to get fitter again and cover a bit more distance than I currently do. I'd like to improve my basic map and compass work and to do more walking in the dark! I'd like to do more sketching on my wandering. I'd like to do more local wandering, uncovering more flora and fauna and sharing that through my local communities and surrounding villages perhaps. I expect the learning / weight curves will continue but I expect them to flatten off somewhat. Generally I think I'll carry on going to places less conventional in the hill walking world; that may mean I don't walk so many hills...but if I retain the level of solitude but with pleasant, limited interaction with people rather than being annoyed by their overwhelming presence in more populous destinations, then I am sure I shall continue to grow on my lighter weight wondering wandering journey and be happy.
