Latest from Rambling Man

A Sunday Picture - Eastbourne

2012-05-27T09:00:00Z

The best thing about a coastal walk is probably the chance to walk on the beach, and that's certainly possible at the end of my favourite coastal walk which runs from Seaford to Eastbourne.

Most of the route follows the South Downs Way as it reaches its climax, but the old SDW actually ends at the base of the hill at the very edge of the town. If you want to get to the railway station, you have to make your own way there.

But if you are doing so, what better way to do it than to walk down Eastbourne's extensive promenade, and perhaps dunk your hiking shoes in the English Channel? Maybe get some fish and chips from the pier, or sit on a bench and enjoy yourself.

Ah, coastal walks. Such fun.

Ridgeway - Day 7: Wigginton to Ivinghoe Beacon

2012-05-24T11:00:00Z

The sun which had been shining so brightly through our bedroom window earlier had managed to hide itself behind some clouds as we bade farewell to the the Greyhound Inn and left the village of Wigginton.

Now joined by Tal's partner Jenni, who'd been unable to join us on the previous days walking, we headed out for our destination: a mere four mile walk to the end of the Ridgeway at Ivinginghoe Beacon.

A prominent hill, and once home to bronze Age fort, our route would lead us over a few more modern additions to the landscape, starting with the busy A41 road whose dual carriageways noisily allow the driver of the automobile to get between London and Birkenhead, should they wish.

The Sunday morning traffic was light, but there was at least no need to play Frogger as the Ridgeway was grandly carried over the road. That was left to the neighbouring A4251. Now replaced by its neighbour, this road follows the line of an old Roman Road known as Akeman Street, which allowed Roman army to march between St Albans and Cirencester, via Hemel Hempstead.

From there it was just a short hop to another form of transport as we passed by Tring railway station, sited two miles outside the town it claims to serve. As the Ridgeway crossed over the railway tracks (via the safety of a road bridge) I stood and looked down the West Coast Mainline, willing one of the fast Pendalino trains to thunder by as it whisked its passengers to Scotland, Birmingham or Manchester. Maybe some would even be going to Birkenhead. Faster by rail than the A41 after all.

The station's actually far closer to the village of Aldbury, a quaint village surrounded by a pond that looks like the kind of village that would be used for filming an Emma Peel-era episode of the 1960s cult drama, The Avengers. And funnily enough it was, staring as a village where people could be sent to be murdered. The Ridgeway doesn't have any truck with such modern nonsense though and leaves the village be, instead heading up through Aldbury Nowers. A 20 hectare nature reserve with a curious name, the path headed on through chalk grassland and woodland; gaps in the trees occasionally giving glimpses of nearby Tring.

Nearby Pitstone Hill gave even finer views before the Ridgeway headed over to a car park and on to the National Trust's Ridgeway Estate; a crimson warning sign politely telling those visiting that the land was once used for military training, and that anyone seeing anything suspicious should give it a wide berth and inform the estate office.

Despite the grey clouds now covering the sky, plenty of people had parked up, and were now making their way up the line of hills that would ultimately take us up to the beacon. Go up one then head up along a simple ridge to the end at the Beacon.

As we steadily climbed the path, we looked over to the a steep side of Incombe Hill where a runner was busily exercising. Up the sharp incline he'd run, almost to the top, before pausing momentarily and heading back down again. As we watched him go, the general consensus was that he was mad and that was confirmed when, at the bottom, he started making his way back up again. This time he was followed by his dog, a small black terrier which must surely be the fittest dog in the South East.

Shaking our heads with disbelief we headed on through the woods of Steps Hill, then across a road mostly filled with walkers. 0.3 miles to the end the final Ridgeway signpost proclaimed on one side. 87 miles to Overton Hill it muttered on the other.

It was the last push; our rucksacks and hiking boots seeming a little out of place when surrounded by families in trainers and a small girl whose Ugg boots clearly were two sizes too big and certainly not providing anywhere near enough arch support for a growing child.

And then we were at the top, admiring a wide panoramic view of the area; the villages and the fields of Southern England. The Ridge had ended. Well, actually the ridge carries on a short way, double backing round to Gallows Hill, but down here at the base that final ridge is hidden from sight. But this was a time for celebration, not pedantry. And besides, the Beacon itself is higher up and thus a more fitting end.

Of course the original trading and drovers road that was the Ridgeway didn't end at the Beacon. Nor did it start at Overton Hill. In fact it linked Lyme Regis on the Dorset coast, with another seaside town of Hunstanton in Norfolk. A four hundred mile journey travelling with history. But then given it had taken a year just to do a fifth of that distance, that was one journey I wasn't counting on finishing any time soon.

A Sunday Picture - On the beach at Birling Gap

2012-05-20T09:00:00Z

All this May, a Sunday Picture is celebrating my favourite coastal walk - that along the Seven Sisters, over Beachy Head and in to Eastbourne.

I love it to bits, even on a dull, gloomy day such as the one this picture was taken on.

This photograph was taken at Birling Gap, where there is a beach and some steps down to it. On the grey stone beach you can sit and look at the crumbling chalk cliffs and marvel at it. Then move because a chunk has fallen off.

That crumbling of the cliffs means that this part of the coastline is always changing and, sadly, always reducing in size. Chalk cliffs erode and collapse. It's a shame but that's the way it is. And that's also why you could go there tomorrow and this view will be just ever so slightly different.

Ridgeway - Day 6: Princes Risborough to Wigginton

2012-05-17T11:00:00Z

"Are you here for the Chilterns walk?" asked a pair women, somehow correctly guessing that the two people stood in front of them at Marleybone station were also walkers. Maybe the hiking boots and rucksacks gave the game away.

"No, but they might be," I replied, pointing to a group of similarly clad people who were also loitering in the station.

Either the two women had already approached that group, or they'd decided that the group didn't look like the kind of people they'd like to be associated with, as they politely thanked us and headed off in completely the opposite direction.

They'd got something about us right though. We were off for a walk in the Chilterns. It just was highly unlikely that we'd be doing the same one. Ours would be no gentle day walk with a pub lunch and a stop for tea before heading back home. Oh no. We were to do something grander. A two day epic no less. For we were about to complete an 87 mile journey. We were off to finish walking the Ridgeway.

"When are we going to finish the Ridgeway then?" was a question that had sprung from Tal's lips so many times that it seemed churlish to point out that when we did reach Ivinghoe Beacon, he'd still actually be some way from completing the trail as he would only have done the eastern half. Still, no one would argue with his enthusiasm, nor indeed anyone else's, for reaching the finishing line. But despite the desire, there just never seemed to be the chance to do it.

I'd walked the eastern half from Overton Hill to Streatley in March 2011 with my partner Catherine. 42 miles, mostly of (funnily enough) ridge walking through Wiltshire and in to Oxfordshire. The route took us along downsland, near remnants of ancient forts and castles, and past mysterious white horses carved in to the chalky hills.

A few weeks later, in early April, we were back with four friends in tow to heard for two days of walking along the River Thames, then following old drovers roads and fields until we reached Princes Risborough, which is a town whose very name must surely vex all those that subscribe to the almighty power of the apostrophe.

They'd been good trips; the spring weather fine, the sun shining brightly and the company more than acceptable. "We must do the rest" was a regular rallying cry, but circumstances conspired against us until, nearly a year on, we once more found ourselves stood on the platform of Princes Risborough station; this time eschewing sun tan lotion in favour of the almighty power of waterproof clothing. Well except for Tal who'd decided to travel so light that his few belongings were shoved in pockets; a plastic bottle of water sticking out lopsidedly from one of them.

"Only supposed to be a light shower!" I exclaimed by way of consolation as the rain soaked through his jeans, but even a bit of poor weather couldn't dampen the spirits as we headed off in search of the Ridgeway once more.

The rain soon eased off and a steep climb up Whitecliff Hill probably saw sweat make us wetter than the rain managed to.

Whitecliff Hill was clearly a popular spot given the size of the bench at the top of it. Easily providing room for thirty people, the monstrously sized bench could probably have housed fifty people at once if everyone had budged up. On a sunny day it would no doubt be rammed full with locals all looking down on their home town. But with just the five of us up there, its size seemed like overkill.

Leaving the view behind the Ridgeway headed off to a mixture of woods and downsland as it meandered on, almost as if it was struggling with the concept of leaving Princes Risborough behind.

A group of Territorial Army members marched past, heading in the opposite direction and they were followed by a veritable squadron of pensioners, armed with walking sticks and rucksacks which were, no doubt, weighed down by large flasks of tea.

Then came perhaps one of the Ridgeway's most surreal sections as signs attached to fences warned the walker that the field was protected under Section 128 of the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act of 2005. A gate led on to a driveway; huge CCTV cameras staring down at the small right of way that crossed it.

Turn right down the driveway and the walker would find themselves at an ornate gate near the main road. Turn left however and you'd be able to get to the weekend home of the UK's prime minister.

Previously owned by Lord Lee of Fareham, the 16th century Chequers manor house was donated to the nation in 1917 in order to provide a country retreat for the leader of the country. Somewhere where they could relax, unwind or even entertain should the need arise. A political disagreement between Lord Lee and the then Prime Minister Lloyd George almost ruined the handover but didn't stop it finally happening in 1921, and successive Prime Ministers have been visiting the place ever since.

Yet even the power of the number one politician of the country can't stop the general public from legally entering at least part of the property, and many walkers use the legal right of way that crosses the driveway. As we walked over, I tried to imagine what would happen if we deviated off route and headed towards the house. Then I remembered Section 128 of the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act of 2005, and with visions of police armed with machine guns, I decided it was probably best to head to the small gate on the other side instead.

The gate would eventually lead us through woodland and up to the summit of Coombe Hill, home of a large stone memorial to the men of Buckinghamshire who died in South Africa during the Boer War. And from there it was just a gentle descent to the town of Wendover.

From the copious quantities of banners and posters, there could be little doubt of the views of the local shopkeepers on the forthcoming High Speed 2 rail link, connecting London with Birmingham and beyond. Almost every local shop had a large poster in its window, providing a loud and visible message to David Cameron should he have decided to pop to the local Budgens for a pint of semi-skimmed.

"I wonder if you were to own a shop and you put up a "pro HS2" poster whether you'd suddenly lose all your trade and be treated like an outcast?" I mused.

"Probably," replied Catherine as we walked down the high street.

As we sat on benches eating a slightly late lunch, Wendover's market stalls began to pack away after a morning of trading; the man on the Ostrich meat stall telling a customer that he was packing it all in.

"It's been too popular," he explained. "I've sold it all. Only got the breeders left now. I'll still have the eggs to sell but I need to bread some more birds before I can come back."

All around the locals bustled with their Sunday chores and soon it was time for us to head on too. There was still six and a half miles before we could call it a day.

A series of lanes and woods led us on, passing through the tiny and quiet village of Hastoe where a sign told us we could find a haunted forest and a witches castle just a mile down the road. We found neither, instead walking through Tring Park and down an avenue of lime trees. Planted in the 19th century, the area was once owned by the powerful Rothschild family whose former mansion is now a school.

The trees hide an obelisk and a summer house as well as another Rothschild addition: the glis-glis. A large doormouse of to 19cm in length, the creatures are normally found throughout western Europe but are resident in Tring only after an escape from the private collection of Lionel Walter Rothschild in 1902. Now an estimated 20,000 glis-glis, also known as the edible doormouse, live in the local area. The Rothschilds may be gone but their legacy lives on in more ways than one.

The glis-glis were hiding as we headed on our way to the nearby Wigginton and the Greyhound Inn where we'd be staying the night and imbiding a few of their fine selection of ales and eating their scrumptious food. A pint of the Tring brewery's Ridgeway seemed rather in order for reasons that no longer seem obvious, and the pub's homemade pork pies and Scotch eggs also went down well as we loaded up with calories for the next day.

Ivinghoe Beacon here we come! After a good nights sleep anyway.

Next time the end is in sight as we arrive at Ivinghoe Beacon.

Joining the dots in Wainwrights

2012-05-15T11:00:00Z

Like many walkers, I have a set of Wainwright's guides on my bookshelf. Seven in total. As well as Wainwright's Pennine Way Companion and his A Coast to Coast Walk, there's five pictorial guides to the Lake District.

They're all a variety of ages. There's two, recently published second edition Pictorial Guides (the Far Eastern and the Western Fells), both recently published and both spanking new. Then there's the 2003 edition of A Coast to Coast Walk; hastily updated by the publishers with alerations in a jarring serif font sitting next to the neat writing of AW. Oh and a slightly earlier Pictorial Guide to the Southern Fells from about 2002.

Then we start getting older. The Pennine Way Companion gives no clues on the date of publication but the yellowing pages proclaim it to be the 48th edition.

Then there's the wonderfully smelling and well-thumbed copies of the Central Fells (20th edition) and Eastern Fells (17th edition.)

The older ones have been "borrowed" from Catherine's dad, although he doesn't seem to have missed them. They're a particular joy to read; the crinkley feeling paper and Mike's blue underlining.

But the real best bit comes on the area map near the front of the book. The map that shows all the fells covered in the pictorial guide. For Mike went through both copies, linking the images up; inking in all the ridge routes recommended by Wainwright in his text.

It's a wonderful edition. You sit there looking at it, thinking "wow. I can go all the way from Walla Crag to Grange Fell via six other fells, all without loosing too much height!" Then you realise you'd probably not be able to do all that all in one day and then you have to start thinking about where you might wild camp on those fells. And maybe do it over a four or so days.

The other night I sat down to think about a trip in June and dragged out my copies of the Southern Fells and Western Fells. Armed with a pencil, I diligently went through the two books working out the possible ridge routes. The result in the Western Fells was wonderfully epic. A possible route over 21 fells. Great Borne to Grike over goodness knows how many miles. How long would that take, I wondered?

Then a bigger question popped in to my mind. As I stared at the network of spindley lines, I couldn't help but ponder... Was it? Could it possibly be? Hmm... Maybe, just maybe this was how Tubular Fells came in to fruition. Did the creator of that tube map-meets-fell guide sit there joining up all the dots and go "Well there's an idea?"

Whatever, it didn't matter. What did matter is that suddenly possibilities were visible; ideas could present themselves. The ideas in my head were endless. All I needed was a plan.

A Sunday Picture - Flagstaff Point

2012-05-13T09:30:00Z

All this May A Sunday Picture is celebrating a stretch of coastline between Cuckmere Haven and Eastbourne in the South East of England. It's a lovely coast and my favourite coastal walk.

Most of the times I have walked it, the weather has been fantastic and the coast has been busy. But I first walked it on a gloomy February day in 2009. It rained. And the coast was still beautiful.

On this particular day (a weekday as I recall) the coastal path was completely empty, leading to a rather surreal experience when the fog came down shortly after.

Anyway this is a sarsen stone monument on Flagstaff Point on the Seven Sisters. It commemorates William Charles Campbell who bought and donated this particular section of coastline to the nation. It's owned now by the National Trust.

Choosing between three walks

2012-05-10T22:11:00Z

I recently had an email that posed me an interesting question. They were hoping to do a long distance walk in 2013 but weren't sure which to do.

So far, they'd come up with three options: the West Highland Way, the northern section of the Pennine Way from Hawes, and the western section of the Coast to Coast. But which one to pick?

Of course when it comes to choosing a walk there are many factors at play. Are you after scenery? Variety? A path that's constantly full of bog?

Each of the three walks they were looking at had their merits. And as I sat down to consider it, it was a very difficult question.

If you want to get away from things, and not see too many people out on your walk, then the Pennine Way is most certainly a good choice. Despite its fame, it's really not that busy, especially outside the Peak District and Yorkshire Dales.

The northern section is remote and has a lot of wilderness. Of all the three options, this is one where you'll really get away from things - although always have access to a pub in the evening! In many places it is quite samey, but you do go through some stunning sections. Tan Hill, High Cup Nick and above Byrness are pretty amazing. That said, you get a fair share of featureless moorland too.

However if it is wet you'll have to contend with a lot of bog. Got to be honest, if I was going to pick one half of the Pennine Way to do, I'd do the Southern section from Edale to Hawes - the Peak District and the Yorkshire Dales are stunning.

The Coast to Coast on the other hand has some amazing views, especially in the western section which goes through the Lake District. Get good weather and it's truly beautiful. Get bad weather and you could easily end up on a rather miserable walk. As a walk it's a lot busier, and if there's one downside to the Coast to Coast it is its popularity. Sometimes it can be like a convoy out there.

The West Highland Way also has truly stunning scenery, and it is quite varied as well. One minute you've got mountains, the next you're wandering around a beautiful loch. It is also the easiest of the three and (in my mind anyway) has a huge bonus - you get to complete a whole trail in one trip.

Again it's a busy walking route, although not quite as busy as the Coast to Coast. However you need to pick your time carefully. Even in early June we were completely eaten alive by the local midges. Leave it to August and you may really struggle.

Picking one of the three is hard. Very hard. But to be honest, I'd be inclined to say the West Highland Way. It offers stunning scenery and lots of variety. It's a fantastic trip and highly rewarding. Just make sure you pack your midge spray though.

Did I get it right? Disagree? Have your say below! And if you're about to plan your own walking adventure, check out the guide to planning a trip on the Coast to Coast and the Pennine Way.

Changes at Rambling Man

2012-05-07T11:00:00Z

If you're a regular visitor here then you might notice some changes to the website. On the other hand, frankly I wouldn't be surprised if you don't.

Over the last few weeks - well, okay, months - I've been busy beavering away on a revamp to the website which, to be honest, is more design evolution rather than design revolution.

Evolution because the new site design is extremely similar to the old one. When you have something nice, why get change it for changes sake?

So if the main look is very similar to the old one, why change anything at all?

The reason is simple. In the year this site has been live, it's grown and developed in various ways I didn't originally think of. More updates, more content, more video. Sadly the old site was creaking a little behind the scenes and every time I tried to add something new to the mix, it got more difficult. So it was time to start again.

The new site has a several new benefits:

new homepage - the new look homepage is a vast improvement, giving you quick and easy access to the latest content and showing off what is here far better than before. Plus it looks nicer thanks to good use of images!
new mobile version - I, like many, have a smartphone. And I'll tell you something - I get fed up with websites not catering prohperly to mobile users. So if you have a phone with a small screen, there's now a simplified version of Rambling Man just for you. You don't have to do anything - it just appears if you're on a small screen. Just use the same web site address as normal and it will all work. And don't worry. If you have an iPad or something, you shouldn't see the mobile version there.
support for bigger monitors - on the other end of the scale, Rambling Man can also go wider too. Before the maximum page width was 1000 pixels - now it goes up to 1200 pixels wide. So if you've got one of those widescreen monitors, the site will look lovely in it.
adapts better to all screen sizes - I've always tried to design my websites to support whatever screen size you lot use. But that's not always easy - if I used a large image, people on a small screen would get horizontal scrollbars. That shouldn't happen with the new site - images will scroll and resize automatically. Oh and video will too. As long as you have a relatively recent browser, it should all work nicely. No more needing to resize your web browser just to make these pages fit - it will now just fit to whatever your browser window is.
easier to read - sometimes the smallest changes are the least noticeable but have the biggest impact. I've adjusted the fonts used on the site. The new settings are - in my mind anyway - much easier to read. I hope you agree.

What hasn't changed is the content and the ethos of the site. But the new design will make it easier for me to add content, and to restructure the site as it grows. This year will see the addition of new sections on the Clarendon Way, Glynwr's Way and the North Downs Way, as well as (hopefully) several additional Wainwrights. And that's just the start.

Indeed with all this on the way, quite how I'm supposed to find time to actually do any walking is an entirely different matter!

A Sunday Picture - Caw

2012-05-06T07:02:00Z

I wrote recently about my favourite coastal walk being over the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head. And this seemed like a good enough reason to spend the whole of May showing you some photographs from that walk here on A Sunday Picture.

So let's start with a photograph from May 2010 of two seagulls on the edge of one of the Seven Sisters. And why not?

Video - Camp Food Taste Test 5: Batchelor's Pasta 'n' Sauce

2012-05-03T12:19:20Z

Hold on to your camp food because Rambling Man is taste testing again!

Yet another video recorded during my now infamous Southern Upland Way trip, this video comes direct from the Chalk Memorial Bothy in Scotland. And it's there that we put Batchelor's Pasta 'n' Sauce to the taste test. But is it tasty, or are we asking "WHERE'S THE FLAVOUR!?"

You'll have to watch in order to find out!

A Sunday Picture - Two Men On A Stile

2012-04-29T09:30:00Z

Say hello to Tal (on the left) and Jacko (on the right.)

Jacko's actually called Steven, with the Jacko being derived from his surname. But Tal really is called Tal. Well Taliesin. And he's not Welsh.

I went to high school with Jacko and, for some years, he also lived down the road from me in London. Meanwhile Tal went to university with Jacko and lives down the road from me in London.

None of this is very important. It's just that I don't have much to say about this photograph.

Limestone Way - Day 2 - Flagg to Matlock

2012-04-26T11:30:00Z

Given its range of facilities (well, the only nearby pub) and much bigger size, Moneyash would have been preferable to stay at rather than Flagg. Unfortunately one of the village's B&Bs was full, whilst the other had stopped offering it entirely. The only other option had been the Bulls Head pub, but with their website proudly stating that they didn't do breakfast before 9am, Flagg it had to be.

We had time constraints, and that meant setting off early. At the end of the day we'd be returning back to London and in order to get there at a sensible time we'd need to be on the 4:15 rail replacement bus service from Matlock. Even under normal conditions, the 13 mile journey would have been easily achievable as long as we'd set off around 9. But only eating breakfast at that point? No chance.

So, just as the residents of the Bulls Head were tucking in to their sausage and bacon, we were always on the trial having walked once more down the sheet of ice that linked Flagg and Moneyash (which proved to be a trifle easier in the daylight), past Moneyash's frozen duckpond and out on to the farm tracks and fields on the other side as we approached One Ash Grange Farm.

The farm had once been home to Cistercian monks who occupied the farm from 1147; legend proclaiming that the farm was a home to those monks who misbehaved. By the 18th century it was Quakers who were present instead, with the farm being given a licence to be a Quaker meeting place in 1700.

The farm's long standing history was noticeable as we walked past some extremely old looking pig styes, all made out of local stone rather than the more modern approach of sheet metal. And just beyond, a building that initially looked like a limekiln, but turned out to be an old cold store once used by the monks.

Limekiln it may not have been but peering inside its rounded entrance way, what greeted us was far more surprising. Behind the gate at the front sat a large, garish and so very plastic nativity scene. A weathered Mary sat adoring her cheap looking, plastic off spring, whilst a bug-eyed Joseph stared out of the door; his wide eyes piercing through the grating at all those that pass by.

"Path's between those two buildings!" came a helpful but dismembered voice as we stood near a fallen signpost, trying to work out where we needed to go.

The dismembered voice was right too as we headed through narrow gap and towards Cales Dale, one of two dales that fork out of the nearby Lathkill Dale.

Once more ice was not our friend as we gingerly descended from the farm towards the dale, and along a ledge between the tall limestone rocks and an overgrown slope to the dale's floor. With little shining in, but plenty of water dripping down the sides of the rocks, the ice was even more prevalent here than it had been earlier. Catherine abandoned the path, deciding to take her chances sliding down the slope, whilst I precariously tried to stand upright, grimly holding on to the rockface with a grim determination.

Inevitably though, I slipped and soon found myself stumbling down the overgrown section, frantically trying to grab hold of anything I could to stop my progress,

Thankfully the slope was not that big; the danger no exactly life threatening. The path out of the dale would, however, not be an easy one as we'd have to climb up the other side of the dale on a set of small stone steps that were, inevitably even icier than the section we'd just come down, although at least with more handholds.

Images of slipping, resulting in broken legs, filled my mind as I clung on to trees, to undergrowth, to frankly whatever I could cling tightly to. When, having got to the top, I saw a steady march of walkers heading in the direction of the path we'd just climbed, I just wanted to wave a red flag and shout "No way! Don't do it! It's a folly!" but instead I just stood, catching my breath and being thankful that the most difficult section of the day had probably been done.

Snow covered fields provided a better grip for the walking boot as we headed towards the village of Youlgreave. Just outside the village the Limestone Way seemed keen to head down another lane to the River Bradford, but taking one look at the ice filled start of the lane, we opted for a more sedate option of walking down the tarmac road to the village of Middleton, before cutting across some more fields and re-meeting the Limestone Way outside the village of Bradford.

From there we strode across more fields towards the gritstone tor that is Robin Hood's Stride; its base filled with happy looking families of Sunday walkers.

Sat near Harthill Moor, it's said that the mighty Robin climbed up one of the large stones which stand at either end of the tor. Once up there he put one foot in front of the other and walked to the other one; a remarkable feat showing near superhuman abilities given there's a huge 15m gap between them. Indeed it seems highly unlikely that Robin Hood ever even visited the place, but the local economy probably dined out on the legend enough over the years for anyone to suggest a slightly more accurate name.

Still it was, at least, a good spot for lunch. Or would have been had we got any. We hadn't asked for some lunch from our B&B thinking we'd be able to pick something up on a detour in to Youlgreave, but with the clock ticking away we had to make do with a biscuit and a sweet as we perched on a bench near the Stride. Our morning progress had been slow, resulting in worries that we'd not get to Matlock in time for the dreaded rail replacement bus we'd need to catch, and our rest relatively short lived.

A series of tarmaced lanes led us o the outskirts of Winster, but the thought of tiptoeing down yet another frozen walled lane up to Luntor Rocks was enough to put us off walking completely, and instead we diverted down Bonsall Lane which ran parallel to the Limestone Way. Fog hit the land and rain started to fall and as we walked through the cloud covered landscape the previous days bright blue skies seemed a long time ago.

The odd car passed us by, but all seemed quiet and calm. A poster on a telegraph pole invited us to hire a traditional mole catcher if we had such a need, and half a mile down the road the results of his work were clearly visible. Strung up on the rungs of a gate hung the dead bodies of ten or so moles like some grim and gruesome warning to others who felt inclined to dig up holes in local gardens and fields. Whether other moles on the neighbourhood saw their former colleagues and decided to move out to pastures new was another matter entirely.

Near Bonsall Moor the Limestone Way met up with we were on and we rejoined it as it meandered along another series of paths as they criss-crossed over snow covered fields as it headed towards Bonsall. But first there was Uppertown to pass through, a selection of houses sitting further up the hill yet still almost on top of its neighbour.

A farm shop offered such mixed delights as cigarettes, cans of Coke and hanging baskets and we left the main Limestone Way route to head off to Matlock.

When it originally opened the Limestone Way terminated at Bonsall's larger neighbour, but since the extension to Rocester, the Matlock path's now just a simple link path. For us with a train to catch, the two miles to Matlock was just too far away with Matlock Bath station being much nearer. After negotiating the icy laden path to Bonsall village we bade farewell to the Limestone Way for this trip and headed down on a path that took us through the village and past a quarry. Morose looking cows stared at the frozen land they were expected to eat from as we headed down hill and gained a view of Matlock Bath far below.

A series of house lined lanes led us down the steep hill to the valley floor and across the road to the station. A glance at the watch revealed we'd got there with about twenty minutes to spare before our rail replacement bus departed for the sunny climbs of Derby.

Sheltering under a tiny piece of canopy outside the station we stood and waited whilst happy looking families passed through the station to the nearby car park having had the thrills, spills and excitement of a trip on Matlock's cable car.

An automated tannoy announcement revealed the bus would be there shortly and a taxi drew up meaning we weren't alone in waiting but the bus was nowhere to be seen. And then, just as we were wondering what we were going to do, a bright red train pulled in to the station.

"We were waiting for the bus!" was our cry to the guard's query if we were getting on board, his response being to look at us as if we were completely mad. As we left, another automated announcement informed us that the next service would be another rail replacement bus, leaving from just outside the station.

We leapt aboard the two carriage train, it's heating turned up so high that it was more sauna than public transportation vehicle. And as we pulled out of the station half an hour after our bus was supposed to have gone, I couldn't help but think about the extra half hour I could have had in bed if we'd known the trains were actually running. Or perhaps, mercy be, maybe we could have stopped off and bought some lunch; taken things a little easier.

Still, this train was nice and warm. Hey, guard. Would you mind putting some more water on those coals for me? That's great, cheers now. And yes, of course you can see my ticket...

Some time in the future we will head to Rocester. And tell you all about it too. But not yet.

I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burned to a cinder

2012-04-24T11:43:00Z

One of my earliest memories of music was a cassette tape owned by my parents by a northern folk band called The Houghton Weavers. Amongst the songs on that tape of slightly lightweight twinkling banjo and acoustic guitar, overlaid by vocals in a thick Lancashire accent, were such tracks as Sit Thi Deawn, My Brother Sylveste, All Around My Hat and Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk Cats and Dogs.

Also on that cassette, somewhere on side A, was a little song known as The Manchester Rambler; it's evocative chorus of "I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler from Manchester way" sung in an "all together now!" way.

It wasn't until university that I discovered that the song was actually by folk legend Ewan MacColl. And it would be some more that I discovered how the song was inspired by.

The Kinder Mass Trespass; a defining moment. A day in 1932 when the people headed to hills they were not allowed to roam on; the day when they took on the landowners and the gamekeepers and headed up Kinder. The Occupy movement of their day in some ways.

Of the 400-odd people headed to the hills, one was a certain Ewan MacColl. A song was written, but most importantly of all, the cause of all ramblers started to be heard after that day.

It took some time but things started changing. 17 years later the National Parks and Access to the Countryside Act passed through parliament, and the steps were made to creating the National Parks in England and Wales. Funnily enough the first one to be created was the Peak District, and the very first official long distance walking route set off on its journey nearby. There can be few walkers of the Pennine Way who don't delight in walking over Kinder Scout.

80 years on, some things haven't changed much. Despite Ewan's lyrics proclaiming that "no man has the right to own mountains", some people still do. But thanks to the work of those pioneers who helped raise the course, now we can walk over them and enjoy them too. And I for one am eternally grateful.

There's an entire website dedicated to the Kinder Trespass which includes details of the 14 mile Trespass Trail. Meanwhile over on the Guardian website you can find it's report on the Mass Trespass which is a fascinating read. Meanwhile the Ramblers have created an interactive map showing some of the places walkers still can't go

A Sunday Picture - Smithymire Island

2012-04-22T21:36:34Z

In 2009 I did the Cumbria Way, my first solo long distance walk.

Prior to that I'd always been walking with someone else, with the exception of one, perhaps two day walks in the South East of England.

Apart from getting very wet and very lost (and learning the lesson about not buying cheap waterproofs) on my first day, it was an excellent walk and I enjoyed it enough to want to do more solo walking.

One of my favourite sections was coming over the Stake Pass and in to the village of Rosthwaite in Borrowdale. It was an absolutely cracking day for weather and everywhere looked so beautiful and lovely, putting me in a really good mood.

Smithymire Island caught my eye in particular. It's where Langstraith Beck and Greenup Gill meet, becoming Stonethwaite Beck (and which later meets the River Derwent.)

The sun just glistened beautifully on the water; the heather topped fells looking beautiful, covered in purple. It was magical.

The next year we passed by the same place whilst on the Coast to Coast. Funnily enough, it was raining. And somehow it all didn't seem quite so magical.

Can't think why.

Limestone Way - Day 1 - Castleton to Flagg

2012-04-19T11:30:00Z

Most walks you'll find a consensus on which way to walk them and it boils down to a rule of "South to North" or "West to East". Or perhaps both at the same time.

The Limestone Way is different. Consensus says you should start at Castleton and head south. Well that's what the Long Distance Walkers Association reckons and whoever edited the Wikipedia page agrees. And so does the Ramblers Association. So it must be right.

In a way this feels slightly wrong when you set off from Castleton and instantly enter Cave Dale. The walker starts their journey with a highly dramatic dale; its narrow valley lined with limestone walls, with caves dotted around the place. As you climb uphill suddenly you realise you're being watched as you look up and see the ruins of Peveril Castle are towering over you on the top of the valley.

You stop for a moment, turn around and stare at the beautiful surroundings; the bright sun shining down on you creating an almost idyllic picture. And you think wow. What a start! How can it get better than this?!

Then your mind ponders for a moment, and wonders all of a sudden whether the walk has just peaked far too soon. That the most stunning scenery may well be within the first half hour. Maybe you should end your walk here instead. Maybe Castleton would make a thrilling, dramatic climax to your journey.

And then you tell yourself to shut up and start walking again. Oh and watch out for that ice. What ice? That ice you've just slipped on obviously!

Giant icicles clung tightly to the rocks of Cave Dale as we delicately climbed up hill; each tentative step an attempt to avoid the layers of ice on the ground. Slowly but surely we gained height as worked our way out of the dale and on to the hill top of Hurd Low and over Old Moor. Up here on the relative flat, the going got easier as we merrily tramped our way over grass, covered deep in snow.

Soon the Limestone Way returned to narrow lanes, these ones at least less icy as we headed back downhill a little more towards a lane, following the regular fingerposts which pointed us in the right direction; more icicles dangling from the ends of the signpost.

Nearby Adam's Well and Cop Well were hidden in the snow but going was made easier when we briefly a series of roads to take us to Limestone Way Farm. Which was named first? The Way or the Farm was left for as an open question for slightly more existentialist walkers.

The Pennine Bridleway joined us as we headed down a steep, rutted track with a flurry of 4x4s coming the other way, squeezing us on to the sloped sides. For many walkers motor vehicles are a blight on their walking routes as urban drivers head to the Peaks to bounce around and make use of the 4x4 mode that doesn't get called for much when all the driver is doing is dropping young Tabatha off at school.

As the fifth car went past I had a momentary worry that this was what most of the Limestone Way would be like but the reality is that most of the route is just bridleway and there's no cars allowed. Within half a mile we'd turned off the track anyway and entered Hay Dale.

Part of the Derbyshire Dales National Nature Reserve, Hay Dale was a delightful tree lined dale; light, airy, attractive and beautiful, even if its rare flora and fauna hidden under the snow. Limestone surrounded one side of the dale and as we completed our journey through it to Dale Head a large limestone rock greeted us. Its sides were stepped meaning plenty of ledges to sit on and, given it was lunchtime, there seemed no better place to stop and tarry a while.

Nearby Peter Dale was, in contrast, a slightly different proposition. The two dales almost run in to each other, with only a small gap in between where the local road has been squeezed in. But whilst Hay Dale was bright and airy, glistening in the sun, Peter Dale was dark, moody and morose. The weather hadn't changed, but the dale was hidden from the sunlight. It's said that JRR Tolkein used Derbyshire as the inspiration for much of the landscape of Middle Earth, and if Hay Dale was near the Shire then Peter's Dale was something else. Not quite Mordor, but somewhere not far from its borders where happiness doth not reign.

Peter Dale led on to Monks Dale which looked even more dank and depressing. A sign at the end warned that the path through the dale was not easy, and not surprisingly the Limestone Way had decided to head along higher, easier ground instead, using a series of roads and tracks to reach the end instead.

The tracks took us to the same place; the tiny hamlet of Miller's Dale. Little more than a road, a church and a few buildings, it's where the River Wye (one of three different Wye's in England) cuts its way through the hills. Over the years the flowing river has cut a deep gash through the land; a tight, narrow valley dominated by high hills on each side. Oh, and by a pair of viaducts too.

The first was built by the Midland Railway in 1866, and the line formed part of the Midland's route from London to Manchester. The tiny hamlet featured a three platform station where passengers from Buxton would change for expresses to London. So busy was the Midland's line through the area that a second viaduct was opened in 1905 resulting in four railway tracks crossing the ravine.

No trains cross either of them now. The line was closed in 1967 as part of the rationalisation of the railways by the infamous Doctor Beeching. The station site is now a car park, its buildings are public toilets, in use to support people using the 8.5 mile Monsal Trail which follows part of the former trackbed.

Such easy walking is not something the Limestone Way would have any truck with and after a brief journey along the main road, it headed off on a steep, narrow track called Long Lane; penned in by fences and dry stone walls as it rose up hill.

Long Lane seemed an appropriate name as going up it seemed to take a very long time indeed. Almost entirely covered in ice, the ascent was torturous, and anyone passing by would have seen two walkers cling gingerly to anything they could get their hands on.

Oh for a pair of crampons, I thought as I glumly noted that the nearby fields were full of snow instead, and would make far easier walking if only we could actually get in and out of them.

The mile long traverse of the road seemed to take forever but at the top our patience was rewarded by a firm, ice-free, tarmac lane as we approached the Waterloo Hotel. Sited on the A6 road, a mile away from the village of Taddington, it looked a welcoming sight on what was slowly becoming a gloomy afternoon; the bright morning sun and clear blue skies now being filled with cloud.

A series of lanes took us the couple of miles to the village of Flagg, looking seemingly lifeless despite the plethora of houses. Our sole company was a horse and rider which trotted off down Flagg's main street; the sound of two coconuts being tapped together, filling the air.

Following at a slightly slower pace, we came to the heart of the village - a primary school sited next to a bus stop - and followed the Limestone Way off the "main" road and down a side track towards Knotlow Farm. Just under a mile from the village, the farm sits almost on top of the Limestone Way and it also happened to be where we were staying the night, and where we were greeted with a warming cup of tea and a chocolate cream sponge cake with raspberries.

Flagg had lost its pub a few years earlier meaning we had a mile or so to walk to get to the village of Moneyash and the warm, welcoming Bull's Head Inn.

The sun was just setting as we set off, down the Limestone Way, this time unencumbered by rucksacks; our route guided by the dim glow of my head torch.

Another walled in lane, ice was once more everywhere and progress was again slow, compounded by the fact that very quickly we couldn't see far ahead of ourselves, and I muttered to myself once again about coming out in such icy conditions without spikes attached to the soles of my boots.

Somehow we managed to do the journey without breaking a leg on the ice and settled in to the bustling village pub with fires that roared so much that people seemed liable to faint at any moment.

Declining the option of stumbling precariously down the Limestone Way in the pitch black, we returned to Flagg down a plethora of dark country lanes; the occasional pair of headlights passing us by whilst the galaxy's vast array of stars twinkled down on us.

As we approached the farm, a caravan had parked up and seemed to have a roaring camp fire on the go.

"Rather them than me," I muttered, before heading back to our nice warm room and a good night's sleep.

Next time, day two leads the walker through more icy lanes to Matlock.

A Sunday Picture - At The Summit

2012-04-15T09:30:00Z

The year is 2006 and I'm in Norway.

At that point of my life I didn't do that much walking. It would be 9 months before I've even set foot on the Pennine Way for the first time (a short section of the Pennine Way being what got me in to long distance walking.) I certainly didn't do big hills.

At that point my walking was more... well pottering around on simple, flattish paths. But you don't get many of them when you're in the Norwegian fjords.

We were staying in a town called Balestrand and Catherine spotted there was a "hill" and suggested we walked up it. Little did I know that we were talking of a hill that went up 1098m above sea level.

There's a name for such a hill. It's called a "mountain". And given we started off at the bottom at pretty much sea level, well you can tell we went quite a way up.

It took us about four hours to get to the stop, and frankly I was shattered. But when we did reach the summit of Tjuatoten, well it was well worth it. Well worth it indeed.

Limestone Way - Introduction

2012-04-12T11:30:00Z

As I gingerly made my way along a narrow lane of 90% ice, I pondered how it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Why not pop to the Peak District to walk half of the Limestone Way? Would be good to get out of London and do something. After all, it had been one of the mildest winters in many recent years. What could go wrong? Hey, it was even a bridleway and that would be much easier to cope with if conditions turned a little.

And with that, the tickets were booked, the accommodation found. And then the cold snap arrived.

The snow came in a massive flurry and, such is the way of these things, the ice came too. Instead of walking around the Peak District on a balmy February Saturday afternoon, I was clutching on to anything I could in order to stop me slipping as I tried to get to the top of an incredibly steep, narrow lane.

Yeah. What could possibly go wrong?

The Peak District National Park is normally split in to two halves. There's the Northern section, known as the Dark Peak. It's full of large limestone boulders and moorland; bogs and peat. It features hills with suitably gloomy names such as Bleaklow and Black Hill. The Pennine Way goes through it and to anyone who walked it before huge paving stones were laid down, the words "quagmire" and "morass" will probably spring to mind.

In contrast, the southern half is known as the White Peak. There's plenty of limestone, but in contrast to its dark brother, there are caves and dry rivers.

Having grown up on the eastern flanks of Manchester, not far from the northern borders of the National Park, I'd been in the Peak District loads of times but I'd never walked in the White Peak - only in the Dark Peak. And it was something I thought I should rectify.

So when my partner Catherine suggested we head out of London one weekend, the Limestone Way seemed like an obvious choice to tackle. Starting in the village of Castleton in Derbyshire, its 50 mile long journey heads right through the White Peak and heads off all the way down to Rocester just over the border in Staffordshire.

It was also ideal for splitting up over two weekends thanks to its history. Created by West Derbyshire District Council (now called Derbyshire Dales), the route originally ran between Castleton and the town of Matlock, but was later extended south in 1992. With a railway connection in the middle at Matlock, it was clearly an easy one to split up over two fun packed walking wonderfulness weekends.

Or even for scrambling around on very icy lanes too.

Next time we set off from Castleton, making our way along those icy paths.

(Not So) Grand Walking Plans 2012

2012-04-12T10:50:00Z

It's become a bit of a tradition that at this point in the year, I blog about all my amazing walking plans for the year to come. I say a tradition. I did it in 2010 and again in 2011, so that's how traditions start, yes?

In 2010 I planned (and did) the South Downs Way, the Dales Way and finished off the remaining third of the Pennine Way. Oh and the Coast to Coast.

Then in 2011 the plan said the Southern Upland Way, the Glyndŵr's Way, the Ridgeway and a mystery walk to the Lake District. I actually went to the Lakes twice last year and got wet whilst trying to grab a few Wainwrights.

In previous years though I had lots of time. I could buy an extra weeks leave from work, pick a trail and head off in to the sun. Then in the summer of 2011 I was made redundant giving me even more time. Now I've got a new job, and don't have a lot of annual leave this year. And some of what leave I have has been eaten away by other commitments.

All of which means I don't have a huge amount planned this year, and it's going to be difficult to complete any full trails.

That's not to say I won't be walking this year; far from it. And there are some things that got put on the 2012 list, such as...

(Finish) The Ridgeway

If you read my 2011 walking plan post you would have seen that in 2011 I intended to walk all 87 miles of the Ridgeway. And we did do most of it, but for various reasons we never actually finished it in 2011. It got left with about 17 miles still to go. And those 17 miles were the only bit I didn't succeed on doing from last years plan.

The goodness is that Goal 1 has already been achieved! We finished it a few weeks ago. Expect a write up soon.

The Limestone Way

Going across the White Peak in Derbyshire, the Limestone Way was one Catherine wanted to do, and having never explored the White Peak, I readily agreed. The 50 mile route can easily be walked in four days and in a very snowy and icy February we did the first two between Castleton and Matlock.

My hope is that we'll do the remaining two days some point in May or June as after that other commitments will get in the way.

You'll be able to read about my very snowy, icy exploits on the first half, next week.

(Finish) the North Downs Way

Being unemployed and hunting for a job is an awful, demoralising time, especially if you're having to go to the Job Centre to sign on. So last year I started doing day walks on the North Downs Way to give myself a break and to keep myself going.

In August, September and October I did seven days on the route, doing as many day walks as I could fit in. I did the last couple just before starting my new job.

The North Downs Way has two route options at its eastern end. Both go to Dover, but the northern route goes through Canterbury, whilst the southern one heads near Folkstone and along the cliffs. Each option takes about two days, and whilst you don't have to, I've decided I'll do both. Because they're not easy for an overnight stay, I'll probably do it either as two sets of two-day walks, or as a four day walk.

No idea when I will do it. Maybe late summer, near August. Possibly early Autumn. But finish it I will.

The Scottish Enigma

Later this summer Catherine's brother and his wife are moving to Vancouver for a few years and before they go there's a large family holiday in the West Highlands, near Loch Tay.

Originally I'd thought we'd be able to combine that with a long distance route (thus killing two birds with the one proverbial stone. Unfortunately so far we haven't managed to find one that fitted in with our timings, where we'd be, and how we'd get home.

Undeterred, our current plan is to do various day walks and walk between various places. So far we're hoping to visit the Isle of Mull and Rannoch Moor, as well as getting some walking in around Loch Tay itself. So not much that will end up on this site. Well unless we nab some Munroes whilst we're there anyway.

The Mystery Lake District Walk 2012

Last May I took a trip to the Lake District. It rained and was really windy. Later, in September, I did another trip. It rained. Heavily. Still I managed to do eight Wainwright fells even in such terrible conditions (if I'd had the weather I would have probably done about 20 in the same time.)

Despite the fact that the weather is always terrible, there's something about Lakeland that keeps me going back for more and I'm planning on heading up over the Jubilee Bank Holiday weekend. The intention is to get my tent out and aim for Eskdale and Wasdale as I've never been to that part of the lakes.

Should the weather go well my three day trip should take in Harter Fell, Green Cragg, Illgill Head, Whin Rigg, Slight Side and Sca Fell. And maybe even Scarfell Pike and Lingmell. Although those last two might be a tad optimistic. Especially if it chucks it down like it probably will do.

Indeed the whole trip's up in the air until I get a better idea about the potential weather for the weekend. If the weather may be grim, I'm not sure I want to be in a tent, and so I may check in to Eskdale YHA instead. Well if it has any room left by the point anyway, and that's not for sure. Otherwise it might be a trip to some other hostel in the Lakes and a few different set of fells. Or perhaps just sitting in a hostel room doing some writing instead.

We'll see.

So anyway that's the plan. And now I've written it down it's time to make sure it all happens. Now, how do I do that again?

Photos - Limestone Way Photos

2012-04-11T09:00:00Z

Can't see them on this page? You will need JavaScript and Flash enabled. Alternatively pop over to flickr

Heading through the limestone county of Derbyshire, the Limestone Way heads through the Peak District National Park with some fine views.

Views worthy of taking photographs of.

A Sunday Picture - Ribblehead Viaduct

2012-04-08T07:30:00Z

Okay, I won't bore you to death with railway/walking related photos too much. This will be the last one. For now.

But what a location for a railway/walking related photograph. Do I even need to tell you where it is?

What do you mean you don't know? Come on! It's Ribblehead Viaduct in the Yorkshire Dales! The famous one! The one British Rail wanted to close down!

And that picture my friend, well that's a train going over the mighty Ribblehead viaduct. And in the background? One of the three mighty peaks of the Yorkshire Dales: Whernside.

You can see Ribblehead from afar from the Pennine Way, but if you're walking the Dales Way the pub near Ribblehead station is an ideal place to spend the night.

And if you do, you might just get a room with a serious view. A view not too dissimilar to this one. It's a mighty fine view that could only be improved by one thing and one thing alone. If it included a steam train.

Five Years of Walking

2012-04-03T12:30:00Z

There are times when you can look back and spot a life changing moment. And who would have thought that, for me, it would involve a day and a half on the Pennine Way during a particularly soggy part of March in 2007?

I can't say I grew up doing a huge amount of walking. My parents would usually take my sister and myself out walking for the afternoon, usually on a Sunday. But as I grew into my teenage years the inevitable homework began to dominate my weekends far more. That and the fact that I'd discovered computer games.

Perhaps it was because the Sunday walks always seemed to be like being dragged away from what I want to do, but the whole thing ended up getting negative connotations in my mind. I had things I wanted to do. And it just so happened that that mostly involved playing endless games of Theme Park, Railroad Tycoon and Sim City?

Over the years, little changed. I went to university at Durham, but the thought of leaving the city and exploring the local countryside never sprang to mind much, although the dire state of Durham's public transport network actually meant I rarely even left the city during all my time there.

And thus it was until we skip forward to my early twenties and I'd graduated, arrived in London and moved in with my girlfriend. Catherine had also spent much of her childhood on walks. Indeed aged nine she'd walked the Pembrokeshire Coast Path with her mother. At university she'd even gone on a couple of walks with the Durham University Hillwalking Society.

Down in London she decided we should get out more and bought a couple of books. One afternoon we spent a frankly dull afternoon twisting and turning randomly through the streets of the City of London as a walking route sent us to look at a never ending stream of box like churches designed by Charles Wren. We gave up half way through and went to the pub instead. Then there was the London Loop but that just seemed to involve canals and far too much litter.

Eventually though Catherine came back armed with a tome called The Time Out Book of Country Walks.

This turned out to be a great tome as it was full of day walks you could do from London. Even better, you could get to them all by train and there was always a lunch stop at a pub. I remember one of the first walks we did. We went past a bench that had a glorious view of a massive dung heap (it's on the South Downs Way near Amberley as I recall.)

A second volume, the cunningly titled Time Out Book of Country Walks volume 2, was swiftly purchased and Catherine began ticking off the walks we'd done.

It was nice to get out of London and see a bit more of the South East. And there are nice places to walk in the South East of England. Honest. But for someone who, like me, grew up in the north, it wasn't enough for Catherine and one day she suggested we should have a walking weekend, by walking along a bit of the Pennine Way in the Yorkshire Dales.

After visiting an old university friend of mine in Leeds the night before, we boarded the first train of the day out to Gargrave. As we did so, a steady stream of rain poured down and I pulled on my new (and extremely cheap and naff) waterproof trousers ready for setting off.

Over the course of the morning we walked along one of the Pennine Way's more gentle and less boggy sections, passed a dead sheep, and arrived in Malham around lunchtime absolutely soaked to the bone. Sitting in the hikers bar of the Buck Inn we watched as our sodden clothing slowly dried out and as the rain began to clear.

The next day was drier and we headed on through the lovely Yorkshire Dales to Horton-in-Ribblesdale, and had a cup of tea at the Pen-y-ghent Café which has an amazing collection of Pennine Way signing in books.

The next day, all of a sudden, the weather changed massively; bright sunshine everywhere as we left the Pennine Way and strolled on a lengthy hike around two of the large peaks that dominate the local area - Whernside and Ingleborough.

It was glorious; some of the finest walking I'd ever done, and as we headed back to London the next day (aided by the joys of a rail replacement bus service) I remember distinctly saying one thing.

"I wouldn't mind doing more of the Pennine Way."

That statement was uttered five years ago today.

Suddenly a switch in my brain turned on. A few day walks in the South East hadn't done much (probably the main reason I didn't mind those Time Out walks was cos we got to go to the pub for lunch) but up in the Yorkshire Dales I became addicted.

Ever since, I've been making up for lost time. We did a walking holiday in France that summer, and did some more of the Pennine Way that autumn and the following spring (we wouldn't finish it until August 2010 though.) The West Highland Way was completed in 2009; the Coast to Coast in 2010. And also in 2009 I did my first solo trek - the Cumbria Way.

The Glyndwrs Way, Southern Upland Way, Ridgeway, Dales Way, Clarendon Way and the South Downs Way are all done, and the North Downs Way and Limestone Way are in progress. I've wild camped, stayed in bothies and commenced the slow process of trying to do all the Wainwrights.

Maybe if my first bit of Pennine Way had been some boggy hell hole rather than the luscious green fields of Gargrave, things would have been different. But it wasn't, and even heavy rain and appallingly naff waterproofs didn't do enough to deter me.

And the Yorkshire Dales is still one of my favourite places in Britain. I went back twice in 2010, walking the Coast to Coast and the Dales Way. It's a wonderful part of the world that means a lot to me. And not just for the wonderful views, but also for what it did. It spurred me on to enjoy the UK's stunning countryside. It ignited a desire to get the boots on and get walking, and that flame has been burning ever since.

A Sunday Picture - All Aboard

2012-04-01T07:30:00Z

There's probably more, but so far I've only done one long distance walk which actually crosses, and I mean here, physically crosses, a steam heritage railway.

It's Wainwright's Coast to Coast and it crosses over the North York Moors Railway at a level crossing at Grosmont station. Indeed on our final day of walking, we got held up for about 15 minutes whilst the railway did some shunting of its steam trains.

Trust me, there are worse things to hold you up in the morning.

When we were walking the Coast to Coast I decided we should aim to get to Grosmont (where we were staying the night) as early as we could in order that we could take a trip on the steam railway. We just about made it in time for the last train of the day and set off on a lovely steam hauled journey.

Steam trains. I love them. I especially love the fact that almost everyone who gets on a steam train just seems to have an amazingly big grin on their face. Especially people who stick their heads out of the window.

It's a fantastic feeling, even if a bit of soot from the engine gets in your eyes. And it's an especially great thing to do after a long days walking. Sit back on a train, rest your feet and enjoy the ride.

In case you're not convinced, Wainwright himself recommended a trip on the NYMR. And he's the king of walking so don't you dare argue with him.

The wonders of Memory Map

2012-03-28T10:30:00Z

We got a present at Christmas that was very exciting. I say "we". It was actually given to my partner Catherine, but hey, relationships are about stealing each others stuff aren't they?

The present was a copy of Memory Map which, should you never have heard of it, is a piece of software for your computer that allows you to work with maps. You can plan routes, print out maps, programme your GPS, plot positions and all sorts.

On one CD we suddenly had the whole of the UK in the Ordnance Survey's 1:50,000 Landranger scale. Want to see what paths are available in Cornwall? It's there at a touch of a button. Where's that fell in the Lake District? Ah, easy. How far is it between Castleton and Flagg on the Limestone Way? Just draw a line and within seconds you've got it. Brilliant.

But perhaps my favourite mode is one I only tried for the first time today. It's the 3D fly-through mode. All you need to do is plot your route and click the button and Memory Map will manipulate the maps in to a 3D mode and show your path and the journey it tales.

Whilst you can look at a normal map and get an idea what the terrain looks like, I personally don't always get it right and the 3D mode really does a fantastic job at representing your route.

I spent quite some time exploring the joys of the Southern Upland Way, which I (of course) walked last year. I can't help but feel that if I'd had the 3D fly through then, I wouldn't have been quite so daunted by it all!

It's not absolutely perfect but the 3D mode is very clever and does a fantastic job of representing what you'll see as the picture at the top of this page shows. It's of Langdale in the Lake District and anyone who has stood near the New Dungeon Ghyll pub will probably recognise that view which is not a million miles away from the photograph below.

And despite the photo being taken on a pretty good camera, I know which I think feels more like being there...

Memory Map have recently released copies including the Ordnance Survey's 2012 mapping, and you can buy the 1:50,000 scale version at the Memory Map online shop for £99. You'll also find it in many outdoor shops but oddly Amazon doesn't seem to list the 2012 mapping as an option, only the older 2005 mapping. Memory Map also have a range of different mapping options, including 1:25,000 scale maps across the country, and you can put the files on your GPS or iPhone (apparently an Android version is coming soon.)

Officially it only runs in Windows 7, Windows XP and Windows Vista, however I've been happily running it on Linux using Wine if you're that way inclined. You'll also find Memory Map overlay files dotted around the internet, showing such things as the location of all the Monroes. The Long Distance Walkers Association also has a library of files for trails which are available from its website if you're a member.

A Sunday Picture - St Bees

2012-03-25T09:30:00Z

Okay, okay, I couldn't resist a few more railway/walking based pictures after last week's shot of the Caledonian Sleeper seen from the West Highland Way.

Admittedly this photograph doesn't have a huge walking connection, but I like it anyway.

It's of two trains at St Bees station. What's this got to do with walking? Well St Bees is at the start of Wainwright's Coast to Coast walk, which I walked with my partner Catherine in the summer of 2010.

Full of excitement after a lovely ride along the Cumbria Coast Line we alighted our train (the single carriage jobby on the right) and got ready for a good, long walk.

And what a walk it was to be.

There's no good walking in the South East? Hang on whilst I slap you with this wet fish

2012-03-21T11:30:00Z

My partner Catherine recently launched a website called London Hiker, which aims to help London based hikers get out there with their hiking boots on.

There's tips, ideas and articles about frankly why you should do such things in the first place. And recently one of them, well it raises a fantastic point.

The piece, Londonders - Is perfectionism stopping you from going hiking? tackles that thorny issue of people who come up with excuses for not walking. And being in London seems to be a huge one for people.

For starters there's this massive thing that some people have that there's no proper walking in the South East. And that's nonsense. Okay, so we don't have the wonderful fells of the Lakes, or the wild moorland of the Highlands, but there's some good stuff down here.

Some time ago Trail Magazine did a survey of its readers and one of the questions was favourite coast walk. And I thought about it, about all the coasts I'd walked and I knew, instantly, which one it was.

Stuff the South West Coast Path. Ignore the coastline near Robin Hoods Bay. Forget it all. For me, there was no contest. It was Seaford to Eastbourne, via the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head.

The footpath from Seaford takes you past a golf course and in to a nature reserve. And soon you get a fantastic view of where you're heading too. Cuckmere Haven, a fantastic estuary which almost feels wild and remote, and the cliffs you'll soon be on. You have to head inland to allow you to get round it, but here you join the South Downs Way and start climbing up the Seven Sisters. These are a series of undulating white chalky cliffs on the south coast of England, and for my money, this is one of the most outstanding pieces of scenery in the whole of the South East. Much of this amazing landscape is owned by the National Trust and for good reason.

Some way along you come to Birling Gap, a tiny collection of houses and a former hotel now owned by the National Trust. Climb down the many steps to the beach and you can see the white cliffs literally crumbling away. And when you're up on the top, why not stop off for an ice cream before heading up to the tiny, evocative Belle Tout lighthouse. Now a hotel, the tiny building sits there, amazingly close to the cliff edge (it's been moved further back already) with a fantastic view looking out to the Channel.

As you pass the lighthouse, you slowly get closer to Eastbourne. On a fine day open top tourist buses will be zooming down the nearby road at Beachy Head. Then you see the seaside town ahead of you. Slowly the hill descends and you finish it all off with a walk down the elegant promenade, towards the pier, before heading off to the train station to go back home.

It's one of my favourite walks in the world. Nothing can beat it. I've done it on bright glorious days, and in the pouring rain. I've done it surrounded by good friends, and I've walked it alone. I've done it when I needed cheering up, and I've trod those paths whilst I've been as happy as Larry.

And you know what? So few people ever seem to be there. Well British people anyway. Go up on the Seven Sisters on a sunny day and it's full of foreign tourists. One of the finest pieces of scenery in the South East, nay, Britain, is right on the door step of most Londoners yet you would be astounded by how few people have heard of it.

It's just over an hour on the train from London Victoria. The walk's a doddle to navigate. You'll find instructions in the Time Out Book of Country Walks volume 2 but it's dead easy to work out from a map too.

And once you've done it you will know the beauty of it all. And from thereon in, you will not accet any arguments that there's no fine scenery in the South East; that it's just a concrete box full of roads, smog and housing.

If anyone ever says that to you, then you have my permission to slap them in the face with a wet fish. And when you're done, take them to the Seven Sisters and show them how wrong they are.