Something for the Weekend

With my changing circumstances I feel under a certain amount of self inflicted pressure to make the most of the opportunities available for walking near home, maybe saying my goodbyes to some special places, before I move to Norway.
Last weekend I headed on my Burbage Round, my classic bimble of along Burbage Edge, up to Fiddler's Elbow and then back down past Higger Tor and Carl Wark.

It was a good, sunny, September day, blustery with the remnants of Hurricane Katia threatening, so clouds were scudding across the sky forming moving mosaics of the fields and gritstone edges. Walking along the edges, described a little unkindly by someone as little more than a "Farm Wall", was made fun by the wind being funnelled up, and judging when the gusts would happen and when they'd recede, leaning my body weight into them, made for some entertaining moments.
Pleasantly faint jangling of climbing equipment from underneath gave some entertainment value as beginners and people on stag dos had a go climbing; the expertise, flexibility and strength of more practised instructors clearly showing as they deftly scaled up.Others were relaxing against their Alpkit Phud mats, nestled into the bottom of large boulders, while others were sticking Spiderman-like to the rough stone.

 So a good time was had, lots to see, lots of wildlife, lots of different textures underfoot from that nice, easy to walk on stone, broken into tiny pieces more like sand, to bouncing but dry peat (yes, you can bounce as you walk along). I particularly enjoy making a game out of trying to just walk on the exposed gritstone, well it's more like speed hop-scotch as you leap from one stone to another, trying not to touch dirt. It makes for interesting looks from passers by but also gives a good stretch. Until you hit the dirt patch and then decide whether you can make it out alive or not...

I digress.
One of the reasons I wanted to post this was that towards the end of my walk I decided to walk through the plantation near the old packhorse bridge. No reason in particular other than I don't often go in there.
I was pretty sickened to see the amount of trash left behind from people who had used the area as a camp site but leaving burned out fire rings, lager and caffeine drink cans laying around, food tins and bits of twine. There was a large water bottle, seeming innocuous to me when Burbage Brook was only 50 metres away, tops. I felt so disappointed. I tidied some of it up but there was broken glass everywhere. How can people do this?
Leaving that space I passed the springs and into the next bit of woodland. Here I found a few burnt stones laying together; someone had placed them there. About 5 metres away a hollow pit about 1m across, showed where the fire ring had been. I was alarmed to see smoke emit from the depression. Well, it was more a hole than a depression. The wind from Katia was hitting the side of the hole and I could see embers glowing in the ground. I spent a few seconds trying to work out the best way of tackling this; not strictly a fire, so do I call the Fire service, or attempt to try something myself? I opted for the latter and went back to the first site, found the water bottle and made the first of a few trips to try to douse the embers. On the second or third visit (it was a laborious task let me tell you!) I saw that the increasing wind had caused flames to start to lick up one side, despite my trying to quench and dampen the ground. The fire had just retained too much heat and had sunk into the earth, spreading for who knows what distance around, underground in the peat.
I decided to call the Fire department. No phone signal. Ah, but Emergency Services could be called. I tried to work out the grid ref then remembered I could just create a Point of Interest on ViewRanger and take that (yes, lazy I know). I did that and called the Emergency Services. They didn't seem to be very well equipped to take a grid ref so I explained where I was using the Fox House as a point of reference for them. They asked me to wait in the vicinity to I said I'd wait at the old packhorse bridge which is a very well known crossing point in the valley.

Time passed.

More time passed.

I heard sirens. Where the hell were they?

More time passed.

I got fed up.

I watched as other likely looking campers made their way down towards the plantation and the bridge. They were dressed as if they were going out into the city for an afternoon stroll. Rain was forecast. Oh well it's only a 20 - 30 minute walk out to the pub. Plastic carrier bags were dropped and picked up, shouts and laughter passing between one another.

They were about to pass closely by me so I called out to them to warn them that if they were camping, to avoid the area I'd been as there was a fire in the making and that I'd called the Fire service out. They were grateful. So much so that I picked up a gift from them later which in no way would I have been able to anticipate.
The Fire guys still had not arrived and this was more than half an hour after my call. I decided to head out to the road where, past Toad's Mouth I could see a National Trust Land Rover and a Fire Engine. I picked up my car, drove and then legged it over to them, peering up at the driver from the open passenger side door. I explained who I was. They explained that the operator had referred them to the Maynard Arms at Grindleford (how, I have no idea) and that they had no mention of a grid ref. I opened up the app on my phone, reeled off the coordinates and saw their eyes light up! I showed them the OS map on my phone and said that I had set markers on the ground to direct them to where the fire was. I didn't receive any criticism for wasting their time; conversely they said that I couldn't make a judgement how far underground the fire was so I did the right thing in calling them. They were polite, professional, courteous, good guys.
Feeling good that I'd done the right thing I drove off home. Karma seemed to be in agreement; for those who don't know, the gift from the campers mentioned earlier was a wayward pack of sausages that they had dropped en route to their camp spot. I took it as an offering from Burbage valley, that the Gods were pleased and that I had earned a couple of nights supper.

If you do come across a fire hazard on the moors, just call the service. It's what they're there for, what we pay our taxes for. And please, be aware of the risk of fires; even after the on / off rain that we've had, it doesn't really take much at the back end of a summer, for something to spark.
Transmission end.

Norway

One of my favourite adverts from years gone by was for Lurpak butter, where a group of older ladies were sat in their local cafe, served by a much younger Danish woman, and who were reminiscing about what regrets they had as they advanced in age.
One of the ladies turned around to say, "I wish I had more grass stains", much to the gasps, laughter and being named a hussy by her friends, and the phrase and laughter stuck with me ever since.

This adoption was just one of the reasons I decided to go to Norway for my 2 week holiday this year, and which, looking back on that point of decision, makes me wonder how one event or moment in time can have so many ramifications.

I had toyed with ideas of going to Knoydart and wandering in the wilderness there for a few days. I'd also thought about wild camping my way through Dorset in the footsteps of Tess d'Urberville and perhaps writing some sort of walking guide to coincide with the 120th anniversary of the book. I'd thought back to my week back in February with Kim where we'd spent a few fantastic hours in Rothiemurchus Forest and which experience I sought to recreate in part. And for quite some time I'd thought about joining a certain Norwegian friend, Thomas W. Gauperaa, to hike with him in Norway.

I'd become friends with Thomas back in October last year, through Twitter and each others blogs, with a somewhat similar appreciation of the environment and ways of expressing it. It was an interesting prospect to visit Norway and him, and, I rationalised with myself, not that much more in terms of cost and travel time than heading to Fort Bill. When the awful atrocity of Utøya happened on the 22nd July this year, I think my decision was made in some way, confirming to me that life is too short and to just get on with it rather than to ponder and deliberate too much.

Giving Thomas the good news(!) I then pontificated over what route to follow. In fact when I arrived a few weeks later I still didn't have much more of a plan than that I knew I wanted to walk in the forests. I wanted to almost lose myself in the similar environment to Rothiemurchus that the forests of Nordmarka, north of Oslo lend; and I also knew that my fitness wasn't up to much so a major hike in the style of Thomas and Joe wasn't really on the cards. The results of not having something prescriptive allowed one of the most enriching times of my life.

I discovered a part of Norway that I suspect many overlook but which stirred my soul. Areas very much like the hills where I started walking, with twisted dingle dells of stunted woodland or strapping birch trees with mini kingdoms of lichens and mosses and various fungi which were so much more wide spread than in the UK. That remnant of Caledonian Forest in Scotland extends for days worth of walking in Norway, with it's ensuing sense of space and guttural, primeval attraction. And of course the bog, which I became relatively intimate with, on one occasion more than I really wanted to, but which in retrospect lent me faith in my ability to handle 'unfortunate circumstances', and was a learning opportunity about the trails in this great land.

In addition to the natural environment I spent some time in Oslo itself, enjoying a city over looking the harbour with it's boats, the museums, galleries and metro. Many of you will now know that a major draw became Mr G himself, whose surname I still have to work to pronounce (sorry), with whom I shared lots of laughter and a passion for life outdoors. While I came back from Norway, I have definitely left my heart there. This Norwegian adventure has only just begun...