Moors revisited

On Friday, around 5PM, I submitted my paper on sea level in Iceland. And with that, a very hectic week came to a dead stop. I looked around, and there wasn’t anything specific planned for the weekend. Strange! But it meant I could go explore the surroundings again!

I picked a walk around Goathland – there seems to be an old mine there, and I might visit that one day. So why not check out the surroundings first? So after a quiet morning (after a week like this I wasn’t going to rush) I got into my car and drove north. I would drive most of the way to our Tuesday venue, but upon reaching the moor I would go on instead of skirting around its edge.

It was beautiful! Soon the whole world vanished, with the exception of purple heather. I should come here more often! But first things first. Goathland was indicated, and no time later I recognised its railway station, which is part of the historical, steam-powered North York Moors railroad. I parked the car, changed shoes and was off.

The moors at the start of my walk

A very old Rowan tree

It was a varied route. It started on the moors, which were festooned with signs saying “extreme fire risk”. It then went through farmland, then came through some woodland. And then went past a pub. A pub! When I had gone hungry I had sat down to have my lunch, only to realise I had left my sandwiches at home. Oh dear! But the pub was so kind as to offer me some nutrition. And some company; a friendly family had piled into the chicken coop sized room for a refreshment too. It’s nice to chat away with total strangers.

Lunch!

From the pub the path went back onto the moor. That was where the description went vague. After a while I figured I had ended up a bit too far south, but as the paths had not been joined up I figured there must be a cliff or something in the way. I decided to just go on; I did find a path going in the right direction, and it even came with a bonus; I soon heard heavy chugging, and lo & behold, a steam train thundered by. I recognised it as the one of which I have a portrait in my bedroom! We have to stop meeting like this.

The Sir Nigel Gresley! Such a handsome chap.

Revived by the encounter I went on. The path initially seemed fine, but deteriorated. I figured I would at some point reach a ford, and from there on everything should become clear again. But then I found a path. Which went nowhere. And I got confused. And then I heard “are you lost?” I was. My next question was “am I on your land?” and I was. I apologised.

A nice jumble of bridges

The chap, by then joined by three cheerful dogs and a not-so-cheerful man who probably was the chap’s father, showed me to the gate, and said that if I would turn right on the road I would reach Goathland. I asked him if he could point out on the map where I was; he couldn’t. That made me feel better about having gotten lost. But where the road crossed the railway again I realised where I had ended up, and got back onto my route. The last few kilometres were nice, and ended at the very cute railway station. And from there is was only a few hundred meters back to the car.

The cute railway station of Goathland

Just outside Goathland I saw it hadn’t been an exaggeration, these fire risk signs; I saw clouds billowing up from the heather. It wasn’t a big wildfire, but it was big enough to have road-blocking fire engines and gesturing men, which provided a photo opportunity. And then I could proceed home! Where the evening still had a pint with friends on offer. It’s good to have a day off once in a while!

 Fire on the Moors!

Kindness or justice

A smile from a stranger can make my day. But rudeness from an acquaintance can break it. Almost a year ago, I got a new computer in my office; this time, a laptop with a docking station. It immediately blew up my USB hub and everything in it. I didn't realise then it was the new computer (or rather, the docking station); I thought it was just bad luck. So I replaced the peripherals and plugged them in again. When they blew up again I realised something was really wrong. And I figured it was the combination of docking station and hub that didn't go well. A bit daft; the combined user's manuals for each item suggested they would be compatible. But clearly not!

I contacted the helpdesk. And they contacted Toshiba (the manufacturer) and Viglen (the middleman). Neither felt obliged to compensate me. Someone suggested I file a claim with the university's insurer, and so I did. Weeks went by; they seemed to be overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of the case. I was not in a hurry but did want to be able to close this file. I was told they were on it. They were, allegedly, still on it when I moved to York. I kept mailing and phoning, and kept being told that they were on it. I was getting impatient.

One day I had the lady of the finances department, who was my contact person, on the phone. She promised ot get in touch with the insurer and get back to me the next day. She didn't. It was July by then. I was fed up. I wrote my grievances on the University's Facebook page; maybe it would take some publicity to kick them into action. I know they only have a page in order to pretend to be spiffing and lure in lots of new students, so they might think you can piss off a random ex-employee, but they might have a re-think when unflattering information appears on that page. I did get a response, but nothing useful. Then a local friend suggested the Small Claims Court.

It sounded good. I don't like having to utter threats, but if people clearly don't respond to persistence and friendliness, you have to resort to something. So I wrote my contact person I had waited long enough, and would go to said court if nothing had happened by the time I got back from holiday. And that worked! I guess they were just hoping for me to give up, so they could keep the money themselves, but that they knew they didn't have a case, so the Small Claims Court could well cost them a lot more than just the price of two hard disks and two hubs. So while I was in Belfast they asked for my bank details. Hurrah! I smelled victory.

And victory came, but it wasn't sweet. While I was in Scotland I recieved an email which boiled down to "we have refunded you from the kindness of our hearts, but actually you're not entitled to anything because it was your own bloody fault". Well thanks! Were they trying to cover themselves so as not to create a precedent, which future claimants could refer back to? Understandable, but not very nice. I wrote a message back, being as coldly polite as I can. And mentioned the outcome of the case on the University's Facebook page. Not very nice of me, either, one could argue, but I think anything that might make them wonder if it's a good idea to NOT provide central file storage, and then declare that any external hard disks you use in order to make up for that outrage are your own problem, has its value!

A kingdom for a kidney

I have more than enough blood, so a few times per year I give some away. I'm sure there are people who have a good use for it. I'm a registered organ donor too, but that's quite a theoretical matter: I'm not dead, after all. But then I came across the Facebook page "a million likes for a kidney for Matthew". It's a page set up by the parents of the Matthew in question, who has some condition that has lead to him having had both kidneys removed. They are trying to get attention for the fact that you can donate a kidney while being quite alive. And they would really wish someone who is a good match with their young son to do just that! And I had never really thought of it. I'm probably not the only one who associates organ donation with being dead first. But clearly, that's an oversimplification. I figured I have two kidneys, and I am quite healthy, and this kid has none. So maybe I should indeed see if I could give one away. So I called.

I got an answering machine. But the lady called me back, and after asking me some questions on things such as my health, my blood type, and my address she promised to send me a health questionnaire. It didn't go so smooth; the line was bad, and when I said I lived in York she thought I meant New York. New York? The website had clearly stated you needed to be a resident of the UK to qualify. But I stayed patient; I explained I meant York, in North Yorkshire. 

The address on the envelope, and a sample of the print quality of the form.  How NOT to make an effort to lure potential donors in...

Some time later I received an envelope addressed to "the parents of Margo Saher". And the town was named as "North Yorkshire". Luckily the mail services can make do with a postcode and a house number. The form was also clearly a copy of a scan of a copy of a scan or something like that. It was hardly readable. It all seemed like quite a bad start. I was angry; why address it to my parents? You can deal with me, thank you very much. The woman had even verified I was over 18, thereby mentioning I clearly was, but she was obliged to ask. And why not send a decent, readable form?

I filled it in anyway and sent it back, with an added letter stating that I would not guarantee I would consider any other mail that was not addressed directly to me. But I had been a bit too strict; the woman phoned me back, explained that she works for a children's hospital, and almost exclusively with children, so writes "to the parents of" on an envelope with the same routine as you and I lock our house when we leave. She hadn't meant to treat me like a child! And upon receiving my questionnaire, she phoned me back to invite me to come to Leeds to have some blood taken. I was slightly annoyed I had to come to Leeds for that: York is teeming with people who can take blood superbly! But well, in the greater scheme of things it's not a big effort. I scheduled the meeting the day after I would waved Marieke goodbye on the railway station.

That day I drove to Leeds, had my blood taken, and stood outside hospital again after about 20 minutes. And now it's a waiting game! I'm a bit nervous about it. Chances of me being a good match seem only to be 3:10.000. But once I've been tissue-typed anyway, they can just as well run my data past any other people in the UK who need a kidney. I don't know Matthew and I'm willing to consider giving him my kidney; so why not give it someone I've never even heard of? It would give someone an entire new start.

 

The hospital in Leeds

But if I'm a match with someone that's not the whole story; the kidney-removal-surgery is quite heavy, so you need a) to be able to take time off work b) have someone around who looks after you in the first days. And that is harder than it sounds! I don't know how long I'd be out of the office. And who would look after me? My mother already volunteered, but how do I get from Birmingham (where I think this would take place) to Amersfoort if I'm fresh out of an operation theatre and in a lot of pain? So even if I'm a match with someone, it might have to wait until I have a job I can take weeks of sick leave from (I don't know if I can here; maybe I should discuss before I know if I'm a match...), and have such a stable life there are people nearby that would nurse me back to health. And who knows when that will be... Matthew, hang in there!

Tourist underneath the Yorkshire Moors

I thought we'd be crawling on our bellies through mud again, hitting things and lugging buckets of slop. well the first was true, but the rest wasn't! When I arrived at the meeting place I found the usual suspects, and two new chaps. And the plan turned out to be to go down Excalibur Pot, the adjacent cave we are trying to connect Jenga Pot to. The new chaps hadn't seen it yet, and neither had I. So tonight was for tourism! I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

Richard who was supposed to lead this realised his light didn't work and went back to the car to get another one, so Chalky went down first. I followed down the entrance shaft, and crawled into a small hole to the side. Beyond me was Chalky, trying to rig the next drop. He had no idea how that was usually done, so after lots of faffing Richard came down to do it himself. It was rigged with an electron ladder and a safety line. I didn't know the pitch, so I went for the safety line. I didn't have belt or cowstails with me, so if it was an unpleasant pitch I would have nothing to fall back on.

I got down without problems, and soon both Richards had done the same, and we could go on. Chalky and Sparky (they love their nicknames here) knew the way too! This was a pretty cave. We crawled, stooped and clambered through some narrow passages and muddy chambers, and came to a small streamway. It ended at a drop down. And that ended in a big, active streamway! This was a much more spectacular cave than I had imagined. We went downstream until it got too tight, and then we did the same thing upstream. It was beautiful! I just had forgotten my camera. And my light was dying.  So no pictures from me, but fortunately Richard took one of us below some strange things dangling from the ceiling. I came out cleaner than ever before on a trip with these chaps. And I'll be extra motivated next week when we resume the digging in Jenga Pot, because I now know what it is we're connecting it to! If we're successful, we'll have created a truly spectacular venue!

Scotland aftermath

I thought it would be my sister and me when we came back after the Scotland trip. How wrong I was! The first unwelcome visitor had made his presence very conspicuous by having eaten half my mint plant, and having shat all over the kitchen. When  I set out to clean up the mess I found the culprit: he had hidden under the scourer! But what was worse: it turned out that Marieke had come back in unfortunate symbiosis with a legion of ticks. I had one or two myself. I don't know if the region we had visited was a hotspot for Lyme, but I sure hope not: she had so many she's in big risk of infection if it is. But even if it isn't they're annoying things. She removed lots, but couldn't reach everywhere, so I had to remove lots too. And one lost its head, so it had to be cut out. Not the best way of ending a holiday! And there are certain things one prefers to leave behind while on holiday, but some of these came to haunt us anyway. So it was not the relaxed day of York-exploring we'd hoped for. But we still managed a book shop, outdoor shop, and a pub which served steak pie (all on my sister's wish list). And a bike ride in the sun! And, of course, we finally got to eat some of the mushrooms Marieke had picked! And then it was time to get back to the grinding stone...

Scottish flora and fauna

With only photographs to illustrate the itinerary and the company the previous blog post was quite full already. But I took all kinds of pictures of the resident organisms too! Pretty lichen, caterpillars, nice flowers... and a grisly scene of a clump of beetles eating a dead mouse. And a nasty stowaway; in one of the bothies I found a very big slug in my backpack. And it had clearly goen in with a full stomach! The thing had been shitting green gunk all over the place. It was evicted.
I also saw a herd of deer in the distance, and closer by a young tree that was only as tall as the small adjacent yellow flower. And bog cotton blowing in the wind! And I thought I'd make a compilation... I recommend clicking on it to see it at proper size! Enjoy!

Scotland

Few people mean as much to me as my sister, but put us together for more than three days and we are at each other’s throat. She had been wondering for quite a time whether we could go hiking together one day, and circumstances made that extra topical this year. So then when I heard of group hikes along the so-called Stevenson Way I thought we might be onto a winner. The Stevenson Way, by the way, is a route that is based on the book “Kidnapped” by Robert Louis Stevenson, which is in turn based on historical events in mid-18^th Century Scotland. I hadn’t read the book, but the route looked nice. We would do the part called the Rannoch Moor walk. I was busy moving house to York, so I decided to let my sister sort things out and go with the flow. So we registered!

About a week before we would leave I received the travel details from the organiser, Ian. I was slightly concerned to see this group we had so actively sought to dilute each other’s company consisted of only three people. Oh dear! But now we just had to make the most of it. There was some confusion on what to expect and what to bring (this trip was new, and it showed), and there was some hurry because of my sudden trip to Belfast, but then on a Friday evening I was at the station to welcome Marieke. She was a bit agitated; just at the wrong time, and old foot/knee/ankle injury had flared up, and she wasn’t sure if she could do the trip. I decided to turn my “normal” backpack upside down, empty it and chuck it into the corner, and put all my stuff in the big winter pack. I figured we had best be self-reliant; if we had to pull out at least the rest of the group, which then would have been one lonely German chap and the mountain guide, could go on. I made sure I had a stove, lots of fuel, pots and pans, and coffee; we had all we needed. And the next day we were back at the station. And in Glasgow we met Susan, our guide, and Ian, the organiser, who would join us for the first day. 

Ian drove us to Glencoe, where we met the entire rest of the group, in the form of Olaf the German, and after an intermediate booze-buying stop (I had forgotten to bring any – must have been very distracted) and a final stop in Kinlochleven, where we divided the food and ate fish & chips so as to be nourished for the trek to the first bothy (the Scottish version of a mountain hut) we’d sleep in, we were off.

 

Kinlochleven, where we started

It was a wet day, but the terrain was beautiful, and our fellow travellers turned out to be very nice people. So far so good! But rather soon we met walkers coming the other way, mentioning that one of the bridges we were heading for had been swept away. They had had to wade! And we hoped to be able to avoid that: it tends to lead to very wet feet. But we got to the river, and had to admit there was no avoiding of wading. Through we went! Ian showed his chivalry by walking everybody’s bags through, and guiding us through one by one. You don’t want your customers to be swept away by a swollen river…

 

We would see much of this: Marieke getting excited about mushrooms, and educating us about them.  Susan in the background.

 

Lots of water on the hills! 

Ian guides Marieke through the stream

Later we would realise we would have to wade several time that day. It didn’t speed us up; by the time we reached the reservoir light was fading. The bothy was still many kilometres away! But in a bothy you can make a fire, and dry your stuff, so we pushed on anyway. It did come at a price; Olaf needed a patch of compeed before we reached the reservoir. We would get used to that: next year he might want to consider wearing compeed socks! By 10PM we switched on our head torches. And around that time, we reached a river we couldn’t wade through, and had to go around. And the path vanished. So by the time we finally saw a structure looming in the dark it was past midnight. Time for a quick fire, and then bed! 

 Ian and Olaf before it got too dark to take pictures

 

Well-deserved sleep in the bothy

The next day the easier bit of the trip. Ian left us, and in nice weather with showers we walked along a beautiful valley to Loch Treig. There we found a gravel road rather than a winding, boggy path (which was what we had had so far), so it was little effort to walk to a nearby youth hostel. And on this first full day already a pattern emerged: Susan and me up front, bantering away, and Olaf and Marieke some distance behind, probably also bantering. And with regular compeed stops.
The initial plan had been to camp, but with our boots still soggy we changed plan. So we checked into the hostel, doodled away some time, and went to the nearby Corrour station, which seems to be the highest and remotest railway station in the UK, and which has been made famous by Trainspotting. It’s not only a small station in the middle of a lot of nothing, but it’s also a restaurant. And we would enjoy that! 

Looking back on the bothy

 

Towards Loch Treig

 

I was there too

 

If you look closely enough you see Corrour Station and a train 

 Loch Ossian; between the trees is the youth hostel

 

Inside Corrour Station restaurant

The next day we would yet again walk to a bothy; the one near Ben Alder. The route first followed the same gravel road, which turned into a path, which turned into bushwhacking. Along the way I had a small episode of parting with my stomach content (oh dear!); sometimes one’s stomach is a bit more obstinate than normal during a hike. But my fellow walkers took some of my luggage and soon I felt fine again. 

 

Breakfast: scrambled egg (from egg powder) with salami!

 

A hike classic: group picture in sun glasses

When we had crossed the water divide the sun came out, and we walked to the hut through a postcard. By now Marieke’s injuries had caught up with her, and she was walking with difficulty when we reached the hut. Good we had a day of rest planned!

 Sister portrait

 Towards Loch Eiricht, where the Benalder cottage is

It was very crowded in the bothy, so Susan decided to sleep outside. I decided to have a wash; the loch was cold, and I had to go to a far bank in order to not upset a group of camping teenagers, but I felt great after it! I even dared a small swim. And we went to bed early.

 

I had to go out for a leak during the night - and of course brought my camera

The next day everybody else left. We had the place for ourselves! We decided to climb nearby Ben Alder, except Marieke, who was in need of some recovery. So we packed some warm clothes and some chocolate- and cereal bars into small bags and headed uphill. We walked straight into the fog, and had little hope of seeing anything at the top, but that turned out to be undeserved; just before we reached the top the clouds parted, and we had amazing views from underneath our hats and gloves. It might have been August, but it was cold up there! 

 

Breakfast outside, as it was crowded inside. But outside it was crowded with different organisms...

 

Me under the Ben Alder top

We came back into the sunshine. Time for another bath in the loch before it would start to rain again. And then a lazy evening with a fire, a game of Tantrix, a bit of whisky and some banter. We now had gotten to know each other rather well; the pint-sized and tough-as-nails guide, who spoke French and Russian and had many a story from her long history as mountain guide and person who does all kinds of activities with kids of all kinds of disadvantages, who didn’t drink coffee, tea or alcohol but liked cooking and pixar-like movies. And Olaf the freelance illustrator, who spoke really good Dutch and felt a bit short-changed that he had travelled so far to go on holiday with some Dutch women, while he lived only some 60 km from the Dutch border. He was the man with the cool tools and the suffering feet, who was a veritable human lyre bird in that he could imitate all the sounds around. And he gave rise to a new verb; because of me carrying all Marieke's and my shared stuff I had a heavy backpack, and on day one he saw me laboriously lift it onto my back, and said "you don't have to do that' we'll help you!" And he did. And I'm not one for rejecting kindness, so I got into the habit of asking for an "Olaf" when we moved on after a break. And even though it was more often Susan who answered, it's still known as Olaffing.

 

Trying to dry stuff on and near the stove

The lazy evening didn’t stay lazy; Susan decided to go and get some firewood, and I went along. I soon found out that was not without disadvantages: my boots got wet(ter) again, I was attacked by midges (forgotten the repellent – d’oh!), and to make things worse I found an irresistible but damn heavy log. My whole bath was undone by new-made sweat while I lugged that to the bridge. When I handed it to Susan a bit chunk broke off and fell into the river –nooo! Carried that for nothing. I grumpily lugged the rest to the hut and was very glad to get there. We didn’t even burn it, but someone else will one day have fun with it I trust.

 

 The bothy seen from a distance

That night we used two rooms! Luxury! And the next day we packed up and left. We walked past the loch, through utter swamp, until we reached another gravel road. We stayed on it until we reached an actual tarmac road. That was on purpose; Susan’s husband would restock us. This spared us carrying food for the whole week! And that very evening we would even have fresh fruit and veg! And the time we spent waiting wasn’t lost; Susan was worried about the rest of the trip. From here on it would get die-hard again, with lots of up and down and no paths. And no way out. She wondered if Marieke and her knees were up for that. No fun walking through the mountains if you’re in agony! But there might be another way; a signpost had alerted her to the probable existence of a path she wasn’t previously aware of. It would take us to the end point via easy terrain. And that would not be as beautiful, but it was feasible. We decided to go for it…

Good roads and phone signal

 Advice from a friendly local

When Susan’s husband arrived we were very glad to see him. Not only because he brought apples, oranges, carrots, grapes and more dry food, but also because Susan had told us about him and he sounded like a spiffing chap. And he came across and exactly that spiffing!

After dinner we walked on a bit, to get away from the road, and found a hilltop where there was the biggest chance of a midge-deterring breeze. Unfortunately, that breeze didn’t come. How happy we were with the midge nets!

 

Detailed signage 

Me in one of my favourite situations: just having had a bath! And on the river the midges didn't find me.

The next day we would largely walk through a forest, and then either camp in or near it, or push through to yet another bothy. And with fresh memories of the midges we hoped for the latter! And we made good progress. Soon we reached the end of the forest. Where everything suddenly became less straightforward; the path vanished and a swamp appeared. We tried to cross, but that involved lots of realising you couldn’t go on and having to turn back, talking increasing detours, sinking down to your thighs in the gunk, and getting stuck. Bad idea! We decided to follow the railway embankment instead. Not entirely the purpose of the embankment, but better that getting stuck for real.

 

The woods

 The railway, which floats on top of the swamp

After the embankment came the hummocky grass terrain. I don’t like that stuff! It’s very uneven, and you can’t see where you put your feet. Now it was Marieke and me in the back. I was glad to see the bothy! By the time we got there my feet hurt properly, and I decided on sitting on my arse for a bit, and drinking whisky (“so no change then” Susan remarked), until the pain subsided. Luckily it did. Time for another wash in the river! And that’s the advantage of travelling with continentals – then you can do that with several people at the same time! No British fear of the body. And it refreshed me no end, but that night I struggled to stay awake during a game of Tantrix…

 

Hiker (tired) and guide (chirpy) in bothy

 

The river looking pretty

The next day would be the last full walking day. All day on flat gravel roads. When I figured I was probably in more pain than Marieke I asked her to carry the tent, which she of course then did. We found a spot next to a river again. It was a nice spot, but it had many midges and ticks. We had had a few already, but here they were wandering around everywhere. But we had an escape – there was a pub at walking distance! That I couldn’t resist. So after my bath (I had forgotten we were in civilisation now – I was happily standing stark naked in the river when a dog walker came past. Oh dear! But she didn’t seem to mind, and even indicated that a bit upstream I could swim) we headed up there. I enjoyed the beer, and Olaf enjoyed the opportunity to get out his sketchbook and draw some of the other guests. And when we heard the place served food we decided to stay. Another pint! And even time for an exquisite whisky!

When we were about to leave we found Ian again, who would spend the night with us. And then drive us back to a convenient railway station the next day. We could report all had gone well! Yes, there had been injuries, tricky swamps, lost equipment (my spork and Olaf’s mug) and nasty beasties, but that was all within reason. We were getting a bit sentimental; tomorrow it would be over! It had been good. And Scotland said goodbye with a beautiful sunset. And with some gillie who tried to chase us off the land. Unfortunately for him, Susan knows the law of the land, and wasn’t having any of it!

 Our modest camp

 Goodbye from Scotland...

The next day we had breakfast (large amounts of porridge – Ian had brought more, as we had run out!) and packed up. Ian’s car was only a mile away. We said goodbye to Olaf who decided to walk to Bridge of Orchy where he would spend another night. And after admiring Rob Roy’s grave, and a coffee stop where we also shopped for tat we drove to Stirling, where Susan lived, and we caught the train to Edinburgh. It was over! And we had had excellent company in a beautiful part of the country. It had been a good decision! Anyone who fancies a good Scottish hike but doesn’t have the time, or can’t be asked, to organise it themselves, or who needs extra company: do as we did! It’s splendid!

And goodbye from us. Group picture: me, Susan (the guide), Olaf, and my sister. And a mushroom.