A Few Days In The Lake District

Terry Abraham watching the sunset from Bleaberry Fell

A magnificent sunset high in the fells at a wild camp. Woken early in the morning by throbbing disco music. Rather different ways to start and finish a three night camping trip in the Lake District. I was there for the premiere of Terry Abraham's Cairngorms In Winter film at the Keswick Mountain Festival but before the showing and the Keswick crowds I'd joined Terry and one of the films Kickstarter supporters Mark (whose account of the trip can be found on his blog here) for a peaceful camp in the hills, my first in the Lakes for twenty or so years. Climbing out of the lovely, wooded, steep ravine of Cat Gill I'd found Terry and Mark camped not far below the summit of Bleaberry Fell. The slope was broken here by little terraces on which the tents were pitched, tiered above each other. Clouds sped across the sky on a gusty east wind but the tops were clear and glowing in the low sun. Dusk was gorgeous with a deep red sky. Just as the sun was dropping out of sight a squall of heavy rain and a fierce wind swept in. We watched the last colour fade from the sky from the shelter of the tents. 

Rainbow after squall at the camp on Bleaberry Fell

A quiet cloudy dawn made for a pleasant start to the next day. We wandered back down Cat Gill and along the path beside placid Derwent Water to busy Keswick where we camped on the festival site as far from a noisy generator as we could manage. That evening as we returned from refreshments in the town (food as well as drink!) rain started to fall. Dawn came and it was still falling, steadily and heavily, straight down from a sheet metal unbroken sky. The festival field was beginning to turn into a quagmire. By lunchtime we were beginning to wonder if the tents might float away. Streams were pouring down the streets of Keswick. The entrance to the festival field was a morass of thick, sticky mud. Having foolishly not bothered with overtrousers (well, I was in town!) my thin trousers were soon sodden and my legs cold. Terry's almost new waterproof jacket slowly leaked. I'd forgotten Lake District rain. Only Mark, sensibly attired in over trousers and properly waterproof jacket, was dry. Thankfully in the early afternoon the rain slowly drizzled to a stop, after fifteen hours without a break. The tents were safe. We could dry out.

Blencathra from Bleaberry Fell

Wandering round the festival and the town I met other outdoor friends, many of whom I only usually see at communal events like this. It’s one of the joys of such get togethers. I won’t name everyone I met – that way I can’t offend anyone I forget! Many of them came along to the film premiere, which was held upstairs in George Fishers outdoor shop, which was originally the photographic shop of the Abraham brothers, pioneers of climbing photography back in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It seemed appropriate that Terry Abraham’s first film should be shown here, though sharing the name is no more than a happy coincidence.

Mark looking down Cat Gill

After the film there was a question and answer session with me and Terry, followed by several hours of more informal discussion in various pubs. Eventually I returned to the festival field and slurped stickily through the mud to my still damp tent. I was astonished the next morning to discover that Terry had somehow managed to cross the field in white trainers and clean jeans without getting a speck of mud on them. In the dark. Without a torch. I had mud splashes up to my knees from walking over it in daylight. I reckon Terry must know the secret of levitation. There is no other explanation.

The welcome night’s sleep was abruptly shattered at 7pm by the pounding bass of speaker-distorting music. This was for the send-off of four hundred and fifty entrants in a triathlon race. As a fellow camper, who shall be nameless, said, with feeling, “why do triathletes need ‘expletive deleted’ disco music to get them going?” Staggering out of the tent clutching a mug of hastily made coffee I watched, bleary-eyed, as an endless procession of wetsuit clad bodies plunged into Derwent Water. Not my idea of a good start to the day. My mind went back to the camp on Bleaberry Fell. That was the civilised way to begin a new day.

 

Morning at the camp on Bleaberry Fell

More Reviews: Cairngorms In Winter

Terry Abraham at work on a stormy day

Several more reviews of the Cairngorms In Winter film have appeared over the last day. I'm delighted that so many people think the film worth reviewing and even more delighted at the praise it is receiving. Thanks everybody.

Here's what people are saying:

SmirnieOutdoors

'Terry has vividly captured the grandeur and beauty of this rugged upland wilderness'

'Chris' easy, accessible and down to earth style left me feeling that I was on the journey with him'

'96 minutes of breathtaking scenes ......... I didn't want the film to end.'

blogpackinglight

'this is the best outdoor film I’ve seen in a long while, possibly ever'

'Terry has captured the full drama and majesty of the Cairngorms from the glens to the mountain tops. The time lapse photography is jaw dropping at times.'

flyingdogphotography

'This is a cracking film'

'Terry's filming is stunning'

Cairngorms In Winter - Another Review

Cairn Toul at Dusk

I'm delighted to say that the Cairngorms In Winter film has received another excellent review, this time from Andy Howell on his Must Be This Way blog.

It's a detailed review. Here are some snippets:

'This may well be the best 90 minutes that I’ve spent in years!'

'I find Chris’ pieces to camera to be quietly inspiring.'

'a montage of stunning mountain shots which are truly breathtaking'

'Terry Abraham’s photography though out is remarkable'

'a magical piece of work'

The Cairngorms In Winter Released Into The Wild - & A First Review

Terry Abraham on Mullach Clach a'Bhlair at dusk

Terry Abraham's Cairngorms In Winter film has now been released to those who backed it on Kickstarter. The response has been excellent and gratifying, making us feel all the hard work was well worthwhile. Thanks everybody!

The first review copies have gone out too and the first review has appeared on My Outdoors.co.uk. I'm delighted to say that the reviewer is impressed with the film. I'm particularly pleased with this observation: 'It goes against the grain of reflecting man's use of the natural environment for his kicks and instead returns the majesty and grandeur of wilderness to centre stage, glorying not in what you can take out but in what you can take in.' 

The film will have its first public showing in Keswick on May 18 at Fishers. This is already sold out but two months later the film will on the big screen at the Rheged Centre from July 22nd to July 27th. I'll be at the showing on the 26th and Terry will be there on the 27th.

A heavily laden Terry Abraham on the Moine Mhor

Makalu - Trekking In Nepal

Makalu

Just spent a few hours checking the proofs for a chapter on the trek to Makalu Base Camp that I've contributed to a forthcoming book, Trekking In Nepal. This is being edited by Kev Reynolds and will be published by Cicerone Press in September.

Reading my text and looking at my photographs (there are nine in the book) reminded me of what a wonderful trek this was, going from dense rainforest to the wild and remote Barun Valley. Of the three treks I've done in Nepal this is my favourite, with some of the most spectacular landscapes I've seen anywhere. You can see more photos from the Makalu trek in this blog post from a couple of years ago.

Guided Walks: Tomintoul & Glenlivet Walking/Cycling Festival 2013

Braeriach

Later in the summer (August 31/September 1) I'll be leading walks up Braeriach and Sgor Gaoith in the Cairngorms for the 2013 Tomintoul & Glenlivet Walking/Cycling Festival. Details here.

Backpacking & Wilderness

Pasayten Wilderness in the North Cascades

With the publication of Scottish Natural Heritage's Wild Land Map the question of what constitutes wild land or wilderness has come to the fore again. I understand that for the purpose of deciding which areas are worthy of conservation and protection lines on maps are needed but overall I think such designations are too limiting. Wilderness is more than just place. With this in mind here's another piece from the archives, written several years ago for TGO magazine, in which I look at the nature of wilderness.

Backpacking and wilderness go together. Backpacking is all about venturing deep into wilderness and experiencing nature at its most pristine and perfect. But what exactly is wilderness and how do you know when you are there? The answers may seem obvious but legislators and conservationists who have tried to define wilderness have found this surprisingly hard. Generally the conclusion is that wilderness is land without human habitations and little sign of human activity. In the USA there are designated wilderness areas, deemed to fit the definition of the Wilderness Act: “An area where the earth and its community of life are untrammelled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain”. As there is little land “untrammelled by man” (and what a lovely word untrammelled is) in the UK we prefer to talk about wild land rather than wilderness though the distinction is unclear. According to the John Muir Trust wild land is “Uninhabited land containing minimal evidence of human activity” while the National Trust for Scotland is rather more expansive, saying "Wild Land in Scotland is relatively remote and inaccessible, not noticeably affected by contemporary human activity, and offers high-quality opportunities to escape from the pressures of everyday living and to find physical and spiritual refreshment".

Designated wilderness sign in the North Cascades

There is a problem with these definitions. They leave out large areas of the UK beloved by backpackers, including much of the Lake District, Snowdonia, Peak District and Yorkshire Dales, not to mention many coastal areas. Popular long distance paths like the Pennine Way, West Highland Way, Offa’s Dyke and Cleveland Way don’t run through much wild land by these criteria either. Yet surely they do. The land in these national parks and along these trails doesn’t feel tame, which it must be if not wild. But feelings don’t come into official designations. Camp high on Cross Fell on the Pennine Way on a night of storm and wind, with the clouds racing across the moon and heavy showers hammering on the tent, as I have, and tell me this is not a wild place.

Many years ago I came up with my own explanation of wilderness: “If there is enough land to walk into, enough room to set up a camp and then walk on with that freedom that comes when you escape the constraints of modern living, then it is wilderness, in spirit if not by definition”. For backpackers I think this still holds. Trying to classify wilderness precisely doesn’t work, as it shouldn’t. The wild cannot be contained, defined and corralled into a neat box. If it could it wouldn’t be wild. As well as having a physical reality wilderness is also an idea, a feeling, a set of concepts that come together to shout “this is wild”. This idea is especially important in the UK and Western Europe where we do not have the huge areas of pristine land found in the Americas. Yet we do have many pockets of wildness that fit my description, places where you can feel you are far from civilisation even if it lies only a few miles away.

Camped deep in a wood with the only sounds those of wild life and the wind in the trees and you are in the wilds despite the nearby roads and villages. Climb into the Lakeland fells to camp by a high tarn and you are in a wild place though you could be back down in the pub in a few hours. The distance doesn’t matter; it’s the situation that says where you are. Strolling country lanes to camp on a crowded roadside campsite only touches the edge of the wild. Walk just a few miles on and camp in solitude beside a hill stream and you are part of it. In distance and time you are almost in the same place. In feeling and experience you are in a different world. I realised this when I camped in the Grand Canyon on the Arizona Trail. I was crossing the Canyon on the popular trails, which are spectacular but crowded and with strict regulations about where you can camp. I had planned on camping at the Bright Angel Campground at the bottom of the Canyon, a lovely but organised, safe, and tame campground with picnic tables, neatly laid out tent sites, toilets and fees. However the site was full so I followed a ranger’s suggestion and walked a few miles away from the campground along the Clear Creek Trail to an area where I could camp wild. Leaving the somewhat tempting lights of the campground and nearby Phantom Ranch with its bar and restaurant I followed the narrow winding trail below great cliffs as darkness fell. The instant the lights of Phantom Ranch vanished I felt back in wild country. Camp was on a flat stony platform just off the trail, where I simply threw down my foam pad and sleeping bag. The walls of the canyon rose above me, a hard blackness darker than the soft black of the sky, in which a myriad stars sparkled. There no lights, no sounds, no sign of people. Phantom Ranch and Bright Angel Campground were just a few hours away but no longer existed in my mind. For this night the Grand Canyon felt it belonged to me. At dawn I woke to the sun slowly lighting the colourful cliffs as the Canyon came back to life. I lay and watched the light and the glory return and felt incredibly grateful to be there rather than at Phantom Ranch. It was the finest camp site of the whole walk. Similar feelings of excitement, wonder and wildness can be found all over Britain by walking that little bit further away from bright lights and warm indoor cosiness.

Wilderness? Camp near home after a heavy snowfall

Once wilderness is seen as a feeling and a concept, an ideal perhaps, then various factors can change how wild a place seems. The weather and the time of year are significant here. A storm adds wildness to any place, as I found on Cross Fell, while winter changes the nature of the land. Under snow tame domesticated land can become like the Arctic. Last February, after exceptionally heavy snow, I set out from my front door and camped not far away on a rounded undistinguished hill, exploited for grouse shooting with heather burning and shooting butts. I could almost see my house from the summit. But all around spread a white wilderness, almost every sign of humanity hidden by the snow. It looked wild, it felt wild, it was wild. There are many such places that are transformed by storm or winter into wilder places that echo with what they once were. And many more that feel wild under blue skies and warm sun. Seeking them out is a large part of the joy of backpacking.