One of the reasons I love to watch films more than say regular TV is that I have found very little amongst my friends that can be quite so divisive. Take the Matrix movies for example; everyone I know agrees that the first of the trilogy was a groundbreaker in terms of plot and special effects. Presenting a dystopian future the way that it did is not in itself that new, but the way that it was done, well, as I say, we’re all in agreement. However, we are split about the following two, some people, (i.e. me,) feel that it carries on the canon of the first in a deeply textured way, exploring the values of humanity and our overwhelming desire to survive against all odds; exposing the philosophy of choice, responsibility and sacrifice, challenging the viewer to question their own set of beliefs. Others, (i.e. everyone else,) think they’re just shit.
OK, so there is enough just in that to fill books, I have read a couple on the subject, but what I really enjoy in the movies, particularly the last one is that the plot seems to revolve around the premise that the machines may well have planned the whole revolution and used it to reset the entire matrix. In fact if you really listen to the architects monologue at the end of the second film, this is exactly what he says, it’s just that Neo is so consumed with rage he is not really paying attention.
There are plenty of lists on the net telling you what the most stressful life events are; separation, Christmas, moving house, death of a family member and I am fortunate not to have lost anyone in my family recently, but the thought of a reset button, where I can start from scratch is extraordinarily attractive. It would have meant that I would have been able to go walking a little earlier in the year, and therefore updated this rambling monologue of my own sooner.
So a quick catch up from where we last met. I have to my horror and disgrace started smoking again, although that has a shelf life of about a month now. I did not manage to compete in the Reading half marathon. This I feel very bad about, but I managed zero training over the winter and as such would have done myself a very grave mischief had I attempted it cold. I have however entered into the Bristol half marathon in September for St Peter’s Hospice, so will be updating you on that. I’ve lost about a stone and a half over the last six months, but as a very good friend of mine said yesterday, couldn’t really call this “Slightly Overweight Man Goes Walking”, now could I? And decided to mess about on Dartmoor taking in 6 Tors (and two that aren’t listed) over four hills in an afternoon of fabulous walking.
The latest edition of Trail Magazine had a great circular walk in it over Dartmoor, so Ellie and I decided that Bank Holiday Sunday would probably be the best day to get out for the first time this year. We drove down to Plymouth and took a right into Dartmoor for about noon. The weather had been atrocious on the motorway, but remarkably when we parked the car up and got the wet weather gear on, the clouds parted and we were bathed in the most incredible sunshine.
The route is nice starting at a car park just east of Dousland, and circling Burrator reservoir. We set off and made a great pace as we struck out into open moorland.
The first Tor that we managed wasn’t really a Tor, it’s a craggy summit of a hill called Peek Hill, and as you get to the top of that you can see Sharpie Tor about 500 metres away, but we stopped and celebrated starting a tradition that was to carry on through the rest of the day. Sharpie tor is lovely, but the most impressive Tor on that side of the reservoir is without doubt Leather Tor.
From this distance it doesn’t look like much, but up close it was a little more impressive. We scrambled to the top and took in the views of Burrator which were quite spectacular.
If you look just to the top left of Ellie’s outstretched hand that is Sheepstor, our last Tor of the day, but the route takes you away from it to begin with as you move down the valley to cross a couple of streams. We descended Leather Tor, where I slipped and Ellie laughed, a lot, and picked up a small leat called Devonport Leat, and followed it to a car park where ice cream and Dartmoor ponies were the order of the day. Then we set off for Snappers Tor and Down Tor, which we got over in really quick succession. Quick push onto Combshead Tor, and we could see the valley we would have to cross to start on the gentle slope leading up to Sheepstor.
Combshead Tor was so blustery you could lean into the wind and not fall over. Stunning.
So across the valley and onto Sheepstor; I used to go climbing there when I was at Plymouth Uni, so it was a particular treat to go back there and wonder around the place. It also provides the most incredible view over Burrator, but from the other side as Leather Tor.
Well, we could delay no further and were soon walking down the west face of the Tor towards the reservoir dam and across to the car park where we had started. But nor before I got a snap of Leather Tor from the opposite side of the lake.
It looked a little more impressive further away.
So Trail Mag says its seven and half miles, and it should take five hours, I reckon that’s about what we did, maybe four and a half.
Next up we’re looking at a crack at Pen Y Fan again, and maybe Cadair Idris, I’ll let you know.
To quote Neo from the first Matrix film, ‘I used to eat Noodles there, really good noodles.’
Fat Bloke.
So, I've been told that the Pyg Track is not one of the easiest for attacking Snowdon, and that in fact if we'd done the summit taking the Llanberis pass, which is where we'll have a hack at it on the 17th, it would have been a lot easier. In fact, my mate Dav, when retelling this story to his old man and mentioning the Pyg track was stopped in his tracks as his pa spluttered and muttered that this was, apart from Crob Goch, one of the most challenging ways to get to the top.Now, I'm not arguing from a position of strength, but, it felt bloody hard.Now I've got to say a couple of words about my mate Dav, apart from the fact that he's owed about 17 punches on the arm because of what he put me through this weekend, he is a sound bloke, loves a few pints of real ale, shoots rabbits, and cooks a mean nettle soup.
When we spoke about having a crack at Scafell Pike he was bang up for it, we decided that we would drive up n the Friday evening, put the tent up in the dark, eat something rubbish and sleep. The plan on the Saturday would be to get up at about 7, break camp, and get onto the mountain about 7:30.
The best laid plans of mice and men...
We drove up after work as planned, but Dav wasn't used to my particular sense of driving humour, and by humour, I don't mean that I shout at every driver that drives like a tw*t, but honest to god, it's nonsense. I swear that everybody that takes a driving test not only needs to take the theory, and the practical, but needs to take an IQ test as well. Is it just me?
"YOUR A KNOB!" I remember screaming at one point as one bloke tried to squeeze a Honda Accord inbetween my X-Trail and the round-a-bout 13 inches in front of my bonnet. "Steady fella" Dav said, "he is driving a car made by airfix!"
"You're right, I should try to be a bit more... W*NKER"; as his brother tried to fit into the three millimetres that were left between me and the Knob.
"Your going to give yourself a hernia." Dav said.
"I know", I commented, "I'm going to get myself into real trouble one day, as I spout off in front of one fella, only to find his brother standing behind me."
"Yeah," said Dav adopting a deep gruff voice, "you can't talk to my brother like that!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise that I was speaking to a famlily of tossers!"
"Yeah," he said, laughing, "I bet you don't get half way through saying the word Tosser."
Fits of giggles, and that was pretty much the tone for the whole weekend, to the tune of 'Kilbasa Sausage', by Tenacious D, and you've got a feel for how it went.
So we got the camp site at Wasdale Head on thee Friday night and looked at the wet field, the closed camp shop and the pub.
So we had a pint of beer, and then put the tent up. Easy tent, nice tent, my favourite tent. (We've got three.) So I said, "Food?", and Dav said, "Beer?" So we had a couple of beers, and then we has some food... and then we had a couple of more beers, and then we slept.
So at 6:30 in the morning when my alarm went off, and I had wrapped myself stupid in my sleeping bag, we bravely slept in, and got up about 7 ish.
After some fairly gross bacon sandwiches, we packed up, slapped everything in the back of the car and went for the mountain.
Now, Dav, love him, dress him in purple and slap him silly, doesn't know much about maps. Actually, neither do I, but this is my blog not his, so most of whats about to happen is his fault, not mine.
I read on one of the sites dedicated to walking up to Scafell, that the route from Wasdale was steep but steady, so we chose to camp there and set off early. After drinking several pints in the Wasdale Head Inn the night before, we attacked the route from Wasdale up to the west and attacking Corridor pass. Once through, Dav saw this 100 foot 60 degree mass of scree that looked as scary as Voldemort, but not to put us off, we scrambled up to the base of the saddle between the Pike and Broad Crag. Look it up on the map, where we thought that the Pike was on the left, and Scafell was on the right, was in fact, Braod Crag on the left, and the Pike on the right.
So, the first peak we bagged that daty was Broad Crag, not a bad peak, but definately not the one we were after.
After having a bit of a set to with a party that was convinced that we weren't on the right peak, we turned about face, and tackled Scafell Pike, the right peak, and got there about 12:20 in the afternoon. great stuff.
Then we fell down the 100 metre scree that we'd ascended to get to the wrong peak, and traversed along the ridge to get to another two peaks, who's name escapes me, because frankly between my near exhaustion, and Dav's unique take on how to read a map, I was pretty much done for. 'Cept to say, bagged my second national peak in a month, and breaking news, gonna get to do Ben Nevis in a couple of weeks, at least two weeks before we do the whole three peaks thing any way. We met a couple of people that showed us what we actually needed to do, which didn't involve a single step of the track that we'd actually taken, but nevertheless, Scafell Pike we did, and although we managed Englands tallest mountain, a round walk of about 12 miles and six hours of the worst company of my life (:-) Dav, your ace), we found our way back to the Wasdale and came back home.
Snowdon, Scafell, Nil, Dakes One!
And now, Ben Nevis, before I get to do the Three Peaks proper; going up to Bonny in a couple of weeks, which means that you get another bonus blog before I write the three peaks extravaganza.
Turned my ankle on the way back down the scree that we didn't need to do, spanked my walking for last couple of days, but OK now, might need to get one of those tubisock things if it happens again. Nevis will let me know.
Later
M
Sheep, Shit and Shnowdon
The only reasonable reason for my legs failing quite the way that they did is because the moon’s gravitational pull suddenly increased as a result of secret government experiments, making my body weight four times as much as it was when I was twenty five. At least that’s what I maintain.
But now, I am home, shower, nice food, and a glass of wine, I have dreamt about it since we began the five hour drive back this morning. The cottage was cleaned from our weekend the breakfast dishes washed and the sleeping bags packed, the settee that the sheep had used as their very comfortable bidet was dragged around the back of the cottage, and away we went. Not before we had taken the last group shot though, we posed in front of the most magnificent view of Snowdon from the front garden of the inspiringly titled ‘Snowdon View’ cottage, said our goodbyes and climbed into our respective cars.
What a weekend, we had arranged to meet up with Kate, Chris and Fran for a short weekend, and as a doff of the cap to my impending self imposed walking torture, had agreed to tackle Snowdon, Yr Wyddfa. The others had assaulted the peak in a number of ways, but as this was my first go, they were kind enough to have a go at one of the novice routes. If you’ve ever climbed Snowdon then you’ll be familiar with Crib Goch, or Watkin Path, but as I was a Snowdon virgin, the others agreed that we would take the relatively ‘easy’ Pyg Track. Having seen the ascent to Crib Goch, from Pyg track, I can only say that they are truly my friends. But I am getting ahead of myself.
We turned up at the cottage with the last phone call from Kate ringing in our ears.
“Yeah, looking forward to seeing you, but should let you know that there’s been a bit of a problem. We’re not sure if the last guys to rent the cottage left the door open, or if we’ve been broken into, but there were a couple of sheep left in the cottage, and they’ve made a bit of a mess.”
“Sheep?” I said. “Say what?”
As we turned up, Chris and Kate were trying to manhandle a piss reeking sofa out of the front door, and tempers were as frayed as a rug in the front room of a student flat. At one point, as they had tried to crack and creak the sofa through a hole that was only centimetres more narrow than the sofa itself Chris cracked and opened up on the arm of the sofa with a wood saw. It worked, we got into the cottage proper, and then set about helping them scrape the sheep shit from the floor of the kitchen. Literally, I was handed a paint scraper from the workshop, and scraped the dried in crap while the others, armed with a mop and fourteen rolls of kitchen paper lifted two weeks of sheep hospitality from the distressed wooden floor. Distressed?
It was a bonding experience, although, every time we saw a sheep that weekend we were less than sympathetic to their cause. What a great way to start the weekend though, seriously, I haven’t laughed as much in ages, and when we were finished, (and by finished, I mean took the carpet, the underlay, all of the furniture from the front room and bolted the door to the living room,) we ate chilli, drank beer and told ghost stories around a fire we’d built outside. The others, including M, apparently had a head for drinking and storytelling, but your story teller, dear reader, decided that as I had a walk on the next day would turn in. That in retrospect was a really good move.
The next morning at about 10:30 we tried to park the car close the start of Pyg Track, but the weather this weekend was phenomenal and so the traffic, car and human, so we had to park the car about a mile and a half from the start point. The five of us walked to Pen Y Pas, and started the walk proper. From the car park, we headed straight onto the Pyg track, and headed off to attack Snowdon proper.
At first the going was pretty good, steep for sure, but manageable, we had a good pace going, not quite the 4 miles an hour that I managed on the flat around the villages here, but a cracking pace nonetheless. The weather was awesome, and the views as we ascended were all the more stunning. We rounded the corner where you get to see the Minors track for the first time, and turned the corner as you make the decision not to grab Crib Goch, but decide, (as I did) that you’d rather take the easier route. (Insert cynical chuckle at this point!)
Good god, we made great time, laughing and trying to keep up with Chris, who was a nutter, I have to say, but asides from having to side step huge groups of people that were trying to climb the tallest mountain in Wales equipped with nothing but a pair of trainers and an iPod, we made it all the way to the point where the Pyg Track splits with the Miners Track, and I looked up at the Zig Zag.
We made really good time up until the beginning of the zig zag, and I remember stopping Chris, (once I’d caught up with him) and asking him how long it would take to get to the summit.
“About 40 minutes”, he said.
“Brilliant” I said, imaging a barbeque and beer before 2 o’clock that afternoon.
Beer, burnt meat, stories, hmmm.
Did I mention the Zig Zag?
The only reasonable reason for my legs failing quite the way that they did is because the moon’s gravitational pull suddenly increased as a result of secret government experiments, making my body weight four times as much as it was when I was twenty five. At least that’s what I maintain. Those forty minutes were insane, I swear to whatever you hold holy, I stepped back three times every time I made four steps up. It got so steep at one point I used every point my body could muster, I mean at one point, EVERY point. We took a breath at the T-Junction between Yr Wyddfa and Crib Goch, when Chris and Kate decided to attck Crib Goch, and M and I went on to the summit. Fran was suffering from the sun quite a bit and took care of our bags and stuff, (after lunch, coronation chicken, mmm.)
We made the top of Snowdon, along with about 500 other people at about 1:30 pm about 2½ hours after we set off, which I’m told is a pretty good time. But bloody hell it was tough.
Scafell Pike in three weeks, but in the meantime , I have some work to do.
For you stats junkies out there, the ascent to the top looked like the following, the descent I couldn’t measure as the battery on my phone junked, but that is just the way it is.
Have you done Snowdon? Tell me I did good J.
So, a great weekend, and a stunning walk on Saturday. M and I set off for what I thought was going to be about round trip of about 10 km to a village nearb called Barnwell. We started off realtively early, as the forecast had said that it was going to get quite hot, so at 9:30 ish, I set up the Nokia Sports tracker, and off we set.
The going was really flat, which is pretty good, and it was really dry, so we set off on a cracking pace, stopped a couple of times to get some photo's, but over all kept it going really well.
If you're not sure, sports tracker is an application that triggers off the GPS on your phone and can work out what your speed is, the relative distance, the pace, if you ascending, and from a pedometer your pace rate.
It did freak out a couple of times, at one point for an instant I was apparantly doing 17 miles an hour, but I put that down to a statistical anomoly.
Its funny, statistical anomolies have come up a couple of times over the last few days, M and I were talking about Swine flu, and what the real danger was to Joe Average, and I remembered a piece that Derren Brown wrote in his book 'Tricks of the Mind'.
He asks you to imagine that there is a disease that affects 1 in 10,000 people, but if contracted you certainly die. There is a test to tell if you have the disease or not and it is 99% accurate. You are worried, so you take the test. After a short while, the results come back, and to your worst fears, it comes back positive. The book asks you to think about whether you should be worried.
If you do the maths, it works out that with a positive test result, you are still less than 1% likely to have the disease.
The maths is like this, the disease strikes only 1 in 10,000 people, so you are far more likely (9,999:1) not to have the disease, now, the book says, imagine a million people take the test, only 100, or so will have the disease, but 1% of them will be incorrectly diagnosed as having it (as the test is only 99% accurate), so if a million people take the test, 9,999 will not have the disease, but told that they do. So if you are told that you have the disease, you are 100 times more likely to not have it, than have it at all.
I have watched with a sick fascination the way that the media have manipulated this swine flu pandemic as the build up to global armageddon, and then re read Derren Browns piece about suggestability. Honestly, some 7,000 people a year die from influenza in this country alone, at the last count 13 people have contracted swine flu in the UK, and some of the people in the pub last night were talking about boycotting pork products.
But I digress, we got the Ashton, about 10:30 ish, and realised that walking earlier in the day had its draw backs. I swear to god when we turned the corner and saw the Chequered Skipper cordoned off, my heart nearly failed.
Got to say, if it had been later, we would probably have stopped for a beer.
But didn't, soldiered on, straight to Barnwell, stopped for 15 minutes and then headed back home.
The pace tailed off for a bit, but overall, for you newly converted stats junkies out there, the whole walk turned out like this.
Distance 11.4 miles
Speed (ave) 4.1 mph
No. of steps 19,379
Energy 1,120 kCal.
Not bad.
In other news, I'm doing a couple of dry runs.
Going to have a crack at Snowdon on the weekend of the 29th May, and then Scarfell Pike on the 19th June.
I will of course let you know how that goes.
The debate on the statistical anomolies rages around the breakfast table as we speak.
Let me know what you think.
