Taking a break out of my usual routine of tootling up to Scotland for a week of unpredictable weather, questionable cooking and general laziness, we decided instead to head South almost as far as we could get without going over a cliff. The first place to spring to mind was Devon, and so it was that we found ourselves at the King’s Down Tail Caravan and Camping Park late on Saturday afternoon.
From the outset, the weather was not promising. I say we arrived late afternoon but it was really sometime around evening when we finally got there – my own fault for setting off on a Saturday morning with thousands of other holidaymakers, all of whom apparently had the same idea that ‘South = Warm’ and headed off the same way. To describe the traffic as bad would be a missed opportunity to use the word ‘atrocious’. Ever the skinflint, I could have reused the same word for the weather and the state of the camp site, which had hosted a wedding reception in the back field and hence was full of churned mud.
But hey, we’ve been to Scotland plenty of times and it always rains there, so after throwing the tent up in record time – during a downpour I might add – we moved in to our temporary home and after a hasty tea of sausages, beans and eggs we settled down for a good night’s sleep, ready to be up and away early the next day.
Sadly, the rain continued on Sunday morning but we were lucky to escape the confines of Base Camp long enough to attend a fair at the Donkey Sanctuary down the road. We entered the dog into a show in the ‘Most Handsome Dog’, ‘Waggiest Tail’ and ‘Best Rescue Dog’ categories, all of which he failed miserably, and had a nice afternoon out looking at Donkeys and watching them do general Donkey things. The ladies raided the gift shop while I took a few photos and all was good. At least until it rained again, but we were back in the car by then.
Monday was still wet but bearable and we visited nearby Exmouth for a walk along the front, as well as a walk along the Exmouth to Lympstone cycleway. Dog impressed a crowd of onlookers with his considerable swimming prowess – quite amazing considering he won’t even get in the bath without a lot of shouting. The rains eventually returned and we retired to the tent, damp but in good spirits.
Bobby, NOT running.
Tuesday was overcast again and we headed off to Torquay for a walk around the marina. We photographed plenty of boats and seagulls, ate sandwiches and just generally strolled around like a bunch of tourists. I needed to get online to keep an eye on things but both of the web cafes we actually found were closed. Dog was not allowed to show off in Torquay, but after visiting the excellent Bygones Victorian Museum we continued on to Babbacombe Beach where he was able to romp in the impossibly clean water to his heart’s content.
Wednesday saw us in Sidmouth where I found a small computer repair shop which also provided Internet Access. 50p later and I was satisfied things had not collapsed in my absense, so we took a look around the main town cantre. Sidmouth is a great little town, and once my Lottery numbers come up I’d genuinely consider moving there. There were no CCTV cameras, none of the infestations of roadsigns that plague our area and the only time we heard a siren was when an ambulance went hurtling by.
After the town we visited the beach where Dog had a good run, rolled in some partially-eaten fish and chased the seagulls while we posed for photos – not without some trepidation – in the tiny caves at the base of the crumbling cliffs.
Thursday dawned clear and dry, and we wasted no time in piling into the car and driving off before it changed its mind. Our initial destination was Canonteign Falls where we climbed the hillside around the 220ft waterfall, right to the top. The view was well worth the climb and we probably took just over an hour altogether. Back at Base Camp, I misjudged the level of mud and almost got the car stuck. Whoops.
After a brief lunch we headed off for Beer where we browsed the shops and walked along the pebbly beach. Like any good tourist, I also took the time to pose alongside the town’s excellent road sign. I may even have bared my impressive belly at some point. Finally we visited Lyme Regis for an hour or so, a seaside town full of narrow, twisty back streets, semi-hidden restaurants and art galleries. Mum tormented a young seagull by stealing it’s toy doll (seriously) and we strolled along the seafront for a last look at the South before heading back to the campsite for our last night.
The good weather on Friday only served to angry up the blood as we crawled through three motorways full of bloody tailbacks. The M5, M42 and even the M1 all suffered from ‘too many cars’, even on a Friday, and it took almost as long to get home as it did to get there. We finally made it home, unpacked the car and put up our feet. I am tempted to say ‘Never Again’ with regards to Devon, but it seems we simply picked the wrong week for weather and the wrong time to travel. Maybe next year.
We took advantage of another Bank Holiday Weekend to drag the tent out of the garage, pile it into the boot along with a load more camping gear and head off up to Rosedale for a couple of nights of peace and quiet. That was the plan at least, but Rosedale was crammed to bursting point, as was the Spires camp site just down the road, so we ended up at the Upper Carr Lane camp site on the south edge of Pickering.
Hills - Not for Caravans
Since we’d spent most of Saturday actually looking for somewhere to sleep we didn’t get to see much of the area. The weather was cold and windy but thankfully dry, so we spent most of the first night tucked up in the tent, reading and gossiping about this and that. Beans, burgers and buns were in abundance, so we were well fed and watered.
One of my favourite aspects of driving through camping country is the sheer number of hills in the area. Coming from the relative flatness of Lincolnshire, the dips, dives and dales around Goathland (Famous for being the setting of TV’s Heartbeat) are a cheap thrill. Even with a fully-loaded Picasso, comprising a dog and two screaming women, you can throw yourself up and down the hills with wild abandon and without actually breaking any laws.
If only the same would apply to the motorcyclists who plague the area like flies on a turd. Hardly ten minutes passes sometimes without a group of bikers hurtling past, ignoring all rules of the road as well as common sense, overtaking on blind corners, double white lines and oncoming traffic – and sometimes all three – and generally causing a nuisance. Perhaps I’m just jealous.
Sunday we passed through Goathland and on to Scarborough where we let the dog off his lead for a run along the beach. Having only previous seen the waves at Cleethorpes, he was in his element with the much rougher surf and he kept us amused for a good hour while we threw things in for him to retrieve.
Sunday night we camped at the Flower of May site near Scarborough and had a quiet night there – far fewer screaming kids, a lot less wind and some considerate neighbours. It did turn cold later on, but the next day was a scorcher and we headed back to the beach for a short walk and a bite to eat before heading for home.
Camping seems to be growing on my dear old mum who is looking forward to retiring in six months and heading out on her own. Come August we’re off up to Scotland for a tootle around there (including a brief stop at Glen Nevis) and after that she’ll probably take herself away for the occasional weekend, whenever the desire arises.
Of course, all good things must come to an end and I find myself in the office this morning, with hundreds of junk emails to sort through. The weather is dull, grey and wet and the weekend away already seems like a distant memory. Sigh…
Climbing Ben Nevis was brought forward a couple of weeks this year as Easter fell at the end of March rather than early April. In addition, there was a sudden cold snap for the UK which started off in Scotland and worked its way South.
Ben Nevis
K and I set off around midnight Thursday, driving up to Fort William to arrive at the Glen Nevis campsite early on Friday morning. We spent the day setting up camp, shopping for provisions and catching up on a little sleep as well as sneaking a quick look at Ben Nevis itself, plus examining the weather reports for the summit. It was K’s first hike up the mountain and he was unsure what to expect. I was fairly more certain, but the erratic weather conditions on Ben Nevis can catch anybody out.
Saturday dawned quiet and clear in the glen which is always a good sign. We could see some snow blowing around the summit but it was clearly intermittent, suggesting occasional wind rather than a continuous gale that would have caused serious problems. We had a quick breakfast and set off up the steeper path near the Hostel.
As soon as we joined the main path from the Ben Nevis Visitors Centre we could feel that the wind was gusting, and from previous trips I could tell that it was going to be a cold one. The forecast had given temperatures of -1°C and -24°C with windchill taken into account, and it certainly felt like it! By the time we reached Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe, K was ready to add a jumper under his coat and a quick, almost military operation was needed.
The rest of the trip up the Ben was uneventful but tiring. With the cold snap came much more snow which helped pack together the loose rock at the expense of making everything more slippery and twice as cold. All things considered, I think I prefer the ascent with the snow than without it, as the rocks played hell with my feet last time.
We reached the summit around 13:30 having spent a good 6 hours hiking, stopping for multiple breathers and photo opportunities along the way. The emergency shelter was covered in snow and ice in the extreme cold but was still surrounded by a large group of avid climbers. We stood for a few photos, made a phone call or two (mobile phones do work on the mountain, but you should not rely on them) and then decided to head back down after about half an hour. It might seem a short stay after all that climbing, but I had no desire to be on the mountain after dark and K was in agreement.
Ben Nevis Summit
The descent of Ben Nevis is a different kind of torture altogether. Where the climb is hard on the muscles, coming down the mountain does horrible things to your joints. Even with the aid of hiking poles, my hip and knees were all protesting by the time we’d reached the summit, and they were screaming blue murder all the way down. Although we didn’t stop as often, we did need to give our joints a few rests to recover from the repetitve pounding of descending what feels like a million steps.
In a couple of places, especially on the uppermost slopes, we found long stretches of snow free from rocks and other detritus, and we slid down these on our backsides where it was safe to do so. Probably nowhere is safe on Ben Nevis to do this, but we did it anyway. A Chinese couple who were fully kitted out with climbing spikes, axes and wotnot watched on in amazement (they probably thought we were mad) and then joined in, sliding down 20-25m at a time until we could see the path that had brought us up.
Back at camp we had a cup of tea, a burger and a nice long sleep. The rescue helecopter was out plucking a few unlucky souls from the sides of the mountain and it was still flying after dark, which brings home just how dangerous Ben Nevis can be – roughly eight people die on the mountain every year.
Sunday brought all our aches and pains around again, as we hobbled around the camp making cups of tea, reading (Blaze by Stephen King Richard Bachman this time) and doing the odd spot of cooking. We took a walk up to the Ben Nevis Visitor’s Centre and looked through the exhibits, I bought the DVD shot by a local chap for my mum who – despite being almost of retirement age – still wants to climb at least halfway herself. I figured it would show what she was in for if she attempted it at least. We also bumped into the Chinese couple again who recognised us straight away and laughed about coming next year.
The cold snap had passed us and headed towards where we live while we were up in Scotland, and I received a great photo of my little niece building her first snowman. Our drive back South this morning was cold but careful since we were heading through patches of snow on occasion, but on arrival home we found it had all melted – typical! Still, a nice long bath, a long-deserved shave, a cup of tea and a quick check of the email (mostly spam – grrrr), and I’m feeling a bit more human again. Job done for another year!
Some thoughts on provisions:
200g Fruit & Nut
3 Medium Bananas
1L Lucozade
Other stuff you need if you want to attempt this yourself:
We have just returned from a week-long trip tootling around Scotland. With the holiday closing in I wasn’t in the mood to do any updates, hence the lack of new stuff to read and wotnot. Here’s what happened, anyway:
Saturday – We’re Off! We piled a load of crap into the car and headed North. We had originally intended to go over to Mull, but after a lot of driving I was tired and decided that, since Fort William was closest, we’d go there instead. First night away it rained, of course.
Sunday – Driving Fun
Went for a drive along the length of Glen Nevis – some twisty, turny roads that are great fun if you get a good run at it and don’t hit too much oncomming traffic. Took plenty of photos of the wet campsite, enjoyed peace and quiet until two large tents went up, one of which was full of chavs.
Monday – Free Food!
A Bank Holiday in Scotland as it turned out, so we decided against catching the ferry over to Mull (since it wouldn’t be there) and stayed another night in the Glen instead. The chavs had gone, having only stayed one night, and the owner of the other big tent gave us a bag full of food because he’d had enough of the rain. Score!
Tuesday – Ferry to Mull
Drove to Oban and caught the ferry over to Craignure on Mull. We headed straight for Tobermory (setting for the Childrens’ TV Series, Balamory) and spend a few hours shopping and taking photos. Tobermory struck me as a genunely nice place, and didn’t really cash in on its TV fame to any great extent. Found a campsite on the outskirts of the town and settled down for the night.
Wednesday – Balamory and Calgary Bay
Eaten by mosquitos. Went into Bala Tobermory again. Took a drive around Mull, enjoying the single-track rollercoaster roads immensely. Found Calgary Bay quite by accident and spent an enjoyable afternoon on the beach before heading back.
Thursday – Berwick-upon-Tweed
Found a castle and a bird sanctuary but both wanted £££s entry fee, so we didn’t bother actually going in. Hopped back on the ferry and headed for Berwick-upon-Tweed only to discover that the campsite we’d found using the TomTom was for caravans only. Drove around a bit asking locals if they knew of anywhere and ended up at a place in Coldington, arriving after 8pm and so finding nobody in charge.
Friday – Coldingham Bay and Eyemouth Harbour
Drove out to Coldingham Bay. M and I strolled on the beach while Mum climbed a nearby hill. We moved on to Eyemouth harbour where we fed the seals and did a bit of grocery shopping. Back to camp to read and relax (the whole point of the holiday) and we finally find someone in charge so we can pay up – good thing we’re honest.
Saturday – Home, James!
Up at 7am for breakfast and to start packing, we headed South on the A1 past Newcastle and stopped in to photograph the huge Angel of the North statue there. Stopped again at some services to cook up some burgers and have a cup of tea, before finally heading home, pausing only to refill the car at a nearby Tesco.
I dug the big tent out at the weekend and K and myself kipped in it on Saturday night. This was an excuse to ensure it was still in one piece and not leaking like a sieve, and all seemed to do just fine. Everything went up fine, and the only problem was with one of the spring-tensioned canopy poles, but it’s still usable.
We had beer, we had burgers, we had more beer and it was all pretty cool. We talked crap into the night and fell asleep around 10pm. Some of us have to work hard in the day.
Come August, I’m heading up to the Outer Hebrides for a few days – probably stopping off at Fort William along the way. I’ve even convinced my mum to tag along since she’s never been up to Scotland. Pics will follow if that happens.
Whoops – I completely forgot to tell anyone outside of work that I was going away for Easter, off up to Scotland again for another crack at climbing Britain’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis, near the town of Fort William.
As per usual, I stopped in the handy Glen Nevis campsite/caravan park at the foot of the mountains after driving up there through the night. My reasoning is that it’s easier to get a good spot if you arrive early, and as they open at 8am, I should be there.. well earlyish. In fact I got there at 7am and just mooched about for an hour.
Friday (Bank Holiday no.1) was spent getting set up and doing a bit of shopping as well as keeping one eye on the weather – a largely pointless task since one can have bright sunshine one moment and pouring rain the next. Such is the weather in the glen. It was mainly dry, and it was looking good.
Saturday I went up. I started out at 7am on the grounds that I knew it would take me ages. I’m 36 and three stone overweight so I wasn’t exactly going to sprint up the mountain. As it was, someone had already started out ahead of me and I could see him a few turns further on. This year I used the bridge near Cafe Beag, rather than the one at the Visitor’s Centre, since it was closer to the camp and a shorter climb, albeit a steeper one. Still, my legs were fresh, right?
My failed attempt from last Easter at least prepared me for the day’s festivities and I took a lot less weight with me this time. I had two pints of water, a honking great block of Fruit & Nut, emergency blankets and my mobile phone, with camera. I probably carried one third of the crap I had previously, and with my newly-purchased hiking pole (the vertical one, right) I made pretty good progress for a fat fella.
Some time around 1pm I got to the top with the help of a mad Scotsman called Bob who decided to cheer me on every step of the way up – effectively preventing me from dropping out from pure shame. Bob was taking some photos of the route up for a bunch of guys in Milton Keynes (“I’ll nip up at the weekend and take a few snaps for you!” – as you do). It was a hard slog but I got there in the end, and Bob took a photo to mark the occasion. Hopefully I spelled my email address correctly and it’ll be in my inbox before long.
Coming down I.. uh.. actually I fell asleep on a bit of ground that was less rocky than most parts, and only woke up when some young lady shook me to ask if I was alright. I think I did pretty much the same thing last year as well.
Sunday was a day full of pain and stiffness. My calf and thigh muscles feel like they’re made out of wood, and are driving splinters into my nerves whenever I try to do something complicated like stand up, or sit down. I spent most of Sunday drinkin cups of tea and reading ‘The Skin Gods’ by Richard Montanari, which wasn’t a bad way to spend a day when all’s said and done. The rescue helicopter was out in the afternoon, plucking people from the lower slopes.
Today, Monday, (Bank Holiday no.2) is still pretty bad, even after soaking in a nice hot bath for an hour and then having a shower on top of that, but I can move a little bit. I think I’ll take the lift at the office tomorrow, all the same.
Yes indeedy, it transpires that my mate K isn’t going over to Amsterdam as previously planned, so for a laugh I said he could always go camping up in Scotland with me. He says yes, I say ‘OK then!’ and we’re now off on a trip up to Glen Nevis (again!) at the end of the month – hurrah!
If the weather holds we’ll have a go at getting up that mountain again, but I’m still a fat bastard so it may not happen. There’s a Bank Holiday on the Monday so if I can take the Friday off we’ll make a long weekend of it.
No, no, I’m not dead, although there were sure as hell a couple of times yesterday when I thought I might have died and not realised. I didn’t make it to the top but I had a bloody good try, and I’m satisfied with what I managed.
Part of the problem was that I was packing too much weight – both in my rucksack and on my gut. It didn’t take long for my legs to start burning from the unaccustomed exertion, and that was in the first hour. I can’t believe I thought it was a good idea to take a 70cl bottle of Grolsch up there with me. Damned thing weighed a ton by the time I got round to opening it!
By the time I got back to camp I was suffering from both exhaustion and slight drunkeness, which was not a good combination. I staggered into the toilet block on legs that felt like jelly and plonked myself down on a loo for my first piss in about eight hours. My legs took some coaxing to support me and the three steps outside gave me some difficulty, but I eventually made it back to my tent where I promptly collapsed into a heap.
This all happened yesterday. It’s Sunday afternoon now and the reason I didn’t post then is because my mobile has packed up. I can still switch it on but I can’t enter the PIN, since the bottom row of buttons doesn’t work, including the zero which happens to be on of the required digits. I think it got soaked in my sweat, and holding it under the dryer didn’t make any difference. I’ll have to post this on Monday.
But anyway, I’m still alive and I’m recovering well. I finished my book earlier and don’t really have anything else to do but try and get my legs to work properly. Sadly I’m back at work on Tuesday – bah.
I also have the beginnings of a rather splendid beard.
Evening approaches at the end of my first full day of rest since January and it’s been pretty good so far. Weather is still a bit on and off, but if it stays that way tomorrow then things should be fine on the Big Hill. Still concerned about the snow though.
I have a family of ignoramuses (ignorami?) who have set up camp about 20 yards further up the hill but I think I can sleep through their incessant jawing as long as the kids keep quiet. I feel sorry for the nice young couple they’ve set up next to.
OK, so I made it into Fort William at about 5 this morning after driving all night, but the campsite at Glen Nevis doesn’t open until 8am meaning I have to kip in the car in the car park at the foot of mountains. No problem – it’s not like anything could keep me awake, at least.
I got into camp for 8am sharp, picked my spot and got unpacking. This turned out to be the international signal for ”Let there be rain” and it promptly started pissing it down. Of course, the signal for ”Stop bloody raining” turned out to be as simple as finishing the hasty erection of the getting into it. Who would have guessed?
First thing on the agenda was to relieve myself and get some kip. By 11am I was ready to face the world, and after a brunch of Branston Baked Beans and a nice cup of tea I went into town, detouring briefly to drop a couple of hitchhikers off at the Tourist Information Centre, to buy a few bits. That’s as exciting as it gets today – I’m here to relax!
Took a couple of photos of mountains while I was waking up. Most of them have snow on, and they’re not the biggy. Should be fun tomorrow!
