Lights Out: Lights On.

    Margaret Atwood -The Times

We took part in the Lights Out campaign to commemorate the fallen during WW1 this week. We lit candles in our newly patched up conservatory and sat amongst the flickering lights until it went dark outside. We agreed no electrical equipment so phones, music and kindles were turned off and we sat quietly, Simon reading and me with a sketch book a friend had given me for my 30^th birthday. The only sketches the book contained so far were ones by Simon and his 3-year-old nephew, sadly none of my own. I find I have less and less time for sketching ideas with having a full time job, a Labrador and a new house.

I have been giving myself a hard time lately about ‘not being an artist any more’. I felt I had no time for it; that being an artist was now in my past, no more exhibitions, no more commissions or projects. Why bother keeping my blog, it is all old work and it just highlights that there is nothing new on my CV. As if somehow I thought I could only be an artist if someone was paying attention to me.

However, sat in our candlelit conservatory, writing in my sketchbook I came to a realisation. You don’t choose to be or not to be an artist, you either are or you aren’t. I am now slowly coming around to the idea that the house and garden are my new sketchbooks.

I’m now appreciating that I don’t have to create ‘artwork’ to satisfy my creative needs, I can put my creativity into everything I do. I remember reading that Gilbert and George never cook; it was a life decision they made so as not to waste their creativity.  I don’t have the luxury they have to eat out every night, but actually I’m not sure I’d give up cooking, I quite enjoy experimenting with it. Walking the dog in the woods is as inspiring as a walk through any gallery or museum and the garden and house give plenty of opportunities to experiment with different creative ideas.

As Margaret Atwood says, being busy doesn’t have to mean the end of creative output, I just need to stop thinking about it so much and maybe spend more time with the lights, phone and television turned off.

 

Ancient Burntwood and The Mystery of The Green Man.

Three months ago we got a Labrador called Tommy, he was just short of two years old but pretty much still like a puppy. Shortly afterwards we moved into our house in Loggerheads, Market Drayton (not Loggerheads North Wales – that’s the next house!). We have been walking in the local woods, called Burntwood, it is a paradise for Tommy, full of tree hurdles from the storms, interesting smalls to sniff and a giant pool for swimming. For us there are some beautiful trees and loads of rhododendrons; I can’t wait for them to flower. We’ve also spotted some oddities; someone keeps remaking a green man face with leaves, sticks and mud, in the same place every time and there are a very intriguing trio of pumps hanging high in a tree with ‘April 13’ inked on the soles, as well as a play ground gone to ruin.

When we finally got the Internet sorted in the house I did a quick search and discovered that Loggerheads is built around an old Tuberculosis Sanatorium that was near the woods. Thought to have fresh air good for healing the patients, people were brought out here and made to sit out in the healthy air even in the winter. I’m sure this must have done more harm than good but I do like the idea of the woods being full of wooden huts with patients sitting in a beds dotted around the trees.

When you walk around the woods there are still some signs of the Sanatorium and what seem like some once manicured areas of trees and walls. I was still intrigued by all of these things so contacted the Forestry Commission who manage the woods. Roger, a very straight talking man from the Forestry Commission came around to tell me everything he knows about Burntwood. It turns out he knows quite a lot as he has been working in the area for 15 years. I can’t remember all of it but the areas I was interested in were part of the Sanatorium, they have been left to overgrow. He also told me that parts of the wood are Sites of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), the areas are Ancient Woodland, which means they have had native trees growing in them since before 1600 AD and are therefore considered completely natural and not planted. In these areas are Birch, Oak and Holly trees. Apparently living in the heath areas of the woodland are some rare butterflies and moths too, the Argent and Sable moth is a black and white moth that flies in the daytime and the Welsh Clearwing is a very odd looking butterfly. The Clearwing is only found in Wales, Ireland and, as the UK Mothswebsite states, ‘it has been rediscovered in quite good numbers at a location in Staffordshire.’ Location undisclosed but it has to be Burntwood.

On my few walks in the woods since the meeting I’ve enjoyed locating the SSSI areas and imagining what it would be like with the Sanatorium up and running. I’m also looking forward to trying to spot some of these odd looking moths and butterflies. I’ll see if I can spot the mystery green man creator too! As for Tommy, the woods continue to be a paradise of flying sticks, rabbits to chase and fallen trees to kangaroo hop over.

Wales to the Rescue: Saving doesn’t have to be Boring.

As somebody who has been self employed, working all day every day to either find work or deliver it, I find the summer holidays in my new job very difficult. If I’m not achieving something every minute of every day I start to feel a bit like I’m wasting time. I can’t sit and do nothing, I’ve got six weeks, in that time I should be able to make a fortune, go on an adventure, build a huge list of experiences etc etc. Whilst struggling with this dilemma last summer I managed to spend over £1000 in one month, not on any bills, that was just spends, money that I didn’t have. Now I’ve made the decision to buy a house I had to tackle this summer spending problem and decided I’d spend the six weeks not just saving but earning money as well. So far I’ve managed one and a half weeks working for my Dad, a few evenings decorating for a friend, I’ve put a load of stuff on ebay and have started a pile of things for a carboot sale. I’m trying to organise some art workshops for this week as well, so three weeks into the holiday and I think I’m doing quite well. The only problem is that about a week ago I had to start avoiding facebook. There are lots of people on there posting about their amazing holidays and trips. Adventures have started clocking up including a month in Norway, two weeks in the Alps, a campervan trip around Europe, beach holiday in Tunisia, working in Bangkok and to top that my boyfriend is planning an all boys sea-kayaking circumnavigation of some islands in Croatia. Cue feeling of frustration and jealousy… gah!

Then, something magical happened … we went to the homeland last week, travelling around North Wales in the camper. We started with a great family holiday at Bala for two days, friends and family sailing and playing in the water. Then we went to the Rhinogs, the first time for me, which was beautiful and adventurous, as we couldn’t see a thing because of all the rain and mist! We found a great pub with friendly people; on awaking in a car park in Llanbedr one of the local allotment owners offered us a cuppa! Then we went on to another beautiful spot on the estuary in a magical campsite before heading home. Oh what an amazing time you can have on little money in Wales. Cymru am Byth! I’m totally inspired to continue to discover new beautiful and exciting places in Wales (oh and maybe England), who needs expensive trips to foreign places when adventure is right here on our doorstep! I’ve ordered a book on welsh scrambles, borrowed a few OS maps and can’t wait for the next trip!

Tarka the Blackbird

I’ve just finished reading Tarka the Otter and it was everything I expected it to be, whilst also being the opposite. I laughed, I cried, I exclaimed in shock and much to the annoyance of my partner I kept on insisting that I read bits out loud to him. I’m still recovering from the sad but heroic ending and still very confused about what some of the animals actually were! If you haven’t read it I would definitely recommend it. Sometimes when you read a book you are touched by the subject, sometimes you are so unaffected you can pick up the next book straight away. I have books that I can read over and over again, some that I cherish because of the way it looks or the way it feels. I don’t think I will ever throw Tarka out! Since beginning the book I have developed an insight into animal behaviour and an inquisitiveness.

Last week there was a series of bird stories flying around the staff room, almost all of us had almost hit a bird in the car, witnessed a tawny owl in the tree house or disturbed a nest of some kind. Mine goes something like this: I was retrieving a bucket in order to wash my car from the outdoor store and awoke a mummy black bird, she chi-rupped at me very loudly until I dared to return for the sponge at which point she swooped over my head and into a nearby tree. She continued to chi-rup at her baby that was still in the nest and looking more than a little straggly. The baby eventually made its escape but couldn’t manage more than a few meters before it grounded, mummy bird hot at his heels chip chip chi-rupping. That was it I thought, he has had it and it is my entire fault for wanting to wash my car. A good excuse to go to the car wash next time, but I couldn’t shake the guilty feeling. The next day driving down the road we encountered another baby black bird sitting in the road, the mother again on the side of the road chi-rupping what I can only imagine was something like ‘use your bloody wings you daft bat, get out of the road!’ But it only moved when I attempted to pick it up, it flapped and scurried into the hedge. I felt a little better but never forgot our blackbird. Then this morning I had a little surprise, I looked out of the kitchen window into the garden and saw two little blackbirds, one mummy looking and one a bit rough around the edges. At first I thought that they were fighting over some food we had dropped the night before, but then I realised they were sharing it, or were they playing with it? Inspired by Tarka I began to imagine their story since leaving the store, perhaps that was the push the baby needed to spread his wings and start on the difficult journey of becoming an adult. I imagined the mother teaching him how to find food, how to survive life outside the nest, maybe it was him we rescued from the road and that was another lesson learnt?Whatever their story is I’m confident it is the same baby and that he will go on to live a full and exciting life.

Making it Happen

So often teachers come to our centre talking about cuts; lack of money and resources or unsupportive management and parents. All of which makes the visit to us harder and harder.

Last week was a little more refreshing, a head teacher had come with his school and one morning, on a whim, he enquired about the possibility of doing a follow up kayak river trip in a few weeks time. My boss found a vacancy for him and by the afternoon he was on the phone to his secretary asking her to send a letter out to parents. Just like that a decision was made that will enrich the lives of the children who get to go and possibly become a pivotal moment for them, be that through increased confidence, making new friends or even starting a new hobby.

It made me stop and think about what it really is that holds us back, sometimes it is easier to blame others than to accept responsibility yourself. It reminded me of how I got my job. I had wanted to be a windsurfing instructor since I was in school, but in my floaty way I ended up on a fine art degree, so when I graduated I naturally began work in galleries and museums. My floating eventually swept me to dry land and I realised that I was working in an IT suite as an outreach worker, with a boss who appeared to be agoraphobic. I blamed several things for not having my dream instructor job, my location, lack of qualifications, even my partner. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my degree and enjoyed lost of things about the job I had. I’m still in touch with some of the people I worked with, but I knew things were headed in a direction I didn’t want to go and so I had to get out.

One afternoon I googled outdoor pursuits companies in my local area and sent out a letter asking for advice on how to get into working in the outdoor industry. I expected the response to be at most ‘no qualifications equals no job’, really I expected nothing and looked for other avenues of escape. A few weeks later I got a response, in the form of two letters and two interviews. After all that time, all I needed to do was ask. The only thing holding me back was me.

I’m glad that this head teacher came to visit last week; I’m glad that he has reminded me that you can’t just wait for things to happen. A small action can make a big change… Imagine what a big action can do!!

Being an Artist Again

I graduated in 2006 with a degree in fine art, I spent almost 6 years volunteering as a board member at an art gallery, was a studio artist, took part in exhibitions, projects, commissions and residencies. I was totally immersed in my life as an artist and I absolutely loved it. My artwork had meaning and it was thought provoking, I was producing work about Alzheimer’s and was even invited to talk about it at events. It was more than pretty pictures and far from the clichéd watercolour painting of a fox.

Two years ago I got my current job as an outdoor education instructor and gradually I’ve slipped away from the art scene, I left the art gallery due to lack of time, I have a shed studio now but I never go in and let my website lapse. I hadn’t quite realised how far it had got until my boyfriend told me he struggled to describe what kind of artwork I do to one of his friends.

This was a turning point for me, it really shocked me and I immediately started work looking at the limited artwork I had done over the last two years. It consisted of drawings, some prints and some photographs. Putting together a new website really helped me to feel better about my past and current artwork. See it here www.katiemayshipley.blogspot.co.uk It has even sparked new ideas for artwork.

I’m nowhere near ready to start applying for exhibitions and projects, but I have got a few things up my sleeve…

BFF & Banff Film Festival 2013

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Last weekend I went to the Banff Film Festival in Stafford, I nestled in to my seat in the theatre full of down jackets and 40 something year old men and watched with awe, excitement and sometimes fear as the intrepid jumped, climbed and paddled their way across the screen. As inspiring as the dare devil acts were, for me there was one overwhelming theme that ran through the first few films: Crossing the Ice, Wide Boyz and Flow Hunters were all about groups of friends doing the things that they love… together.

I had a heart-warming moment as I thought of a friend’s birthday trip I was part of only a few weeks ago in Snowdonia. A T4, T5 and a VW Golf estate parked up in a lay-by housed 6 sleeping climbers one Friday night after work. We woke early took in the snowy views, yawned and headed off up to the Llanberis Pass. We walked up and up and up in low visibility, navigating through gaps in the clouds toward Parson’s Nose. As two groups of three we roped up and started the ascent with two more groups hot at our heels. We topped out on Crib Y Ddysgl and gently strode to the top of Snowdon in almost white out conditions, then gingerly descended down the Miner’s Path in the ensuing darkness. It felt good to get to Eric’s Café in Tremadog that evening to eat birthday cake, drink wine and chat about the day.

The highlight of the trip for me was at one point during the climb, a solo climber pranced quietly passed us stopping only to ask quickly ‘are you with a guide or instructor?’ to which I responded ‘no, we are just a group of friends!’ As I answered I was hit with a huge sense of pride and I can still feel it now, I’m so happy and constantly amazed that my friends and I have the ability and inclination to go on these adventurous trips. We all look after each other, without the need for baby-sitting or hand holding, there is little or no fear and no drama queens. Having capable friends around you makes these trips even more memorable experiences, knowing you can trust them with your life and that they are willing to trust theirs to you makes the experience and the friendship much stronger. Plus it’s just more fun to do things with your friends!

There was sadly one massive thing missing from the film festival, this was the inclusion of films about women (and no a cute film about a dog called Lily doesn’t count!). I know there are excellent films out there for example Jen Randall’s film Push It about her and her friend Jackie’s fun but remarkable ascent up El Cap; it even fits in with the friendship theme. There is only one thing for it, I’ve decided that I and a few of my female friends are going to have to get out there and start making films about the things we are up to. I’ll have to start saving for a video camera!

Check out a taster of Push It by clicking here...

Venting: Pros and Cons of Staff Housing

 

When I first started looking at working in the Outdoor Industry I was massively put off jobs/apprenticeships that required you to live on site. I had my own life, was renting a house close to my friends and didn’t want to have to up sticks for a job, it felt like it would be a backwards step. However, since getting my lovely, rare, 9-5 outdoor education job one thing has led to another and I am currently living in the staff housing. 
 

I’ve always told myself that it’s different to any other staff accommodation. Yes you can hear the evening or weekend activities when you’re trying to relax on the days you’re not working, but nobody ever expects you to do anything for work once you’re home or to work longer hours or anything like that. In fact it’s almost like not living at work at all. It’s actually really good quality accommodation and somehow I’ve managed to end up with a three-bed semi on my own for the last 6 months, well with a semi-permanent live-in boyfriend. And it’s cheap, although my savings don’t reflect that after the recent ski trip! But a few weeks ago something clicked and I haven’t been able to help taking a less positive look on the whole living at work thing.

It started when I got a bit fed up of people assuming they could access the house whenever they wanted, without giving notice. I never thought I was a prude but I just don’t want the fire inspector seeing my underwear drying in the spare room. I asked that we get 24 hours notice; the request was ignored twice until I shut myself in with my boss in his office until he saw clearly my point of view. I now get notice, but not about what they are doing in there. To cut a long story short a private company is buying out our service and they are doing all over surveys quickly before they take over in about a months time. I found out today that part of the survey involved them having to go into my built-in wardrobe; I officially have no private space and I was really pissed off. At least the guy who did the survey looked suitably more embarrassed about it than I felt angry. Now even innocent comments that are only slightly related to the fact that I live at work are met with a forced smile/grimace.

Apparently the new companies plan C for the staff accommodation is ‘holiday lets.’ Who knows what plan A, B, D, E or F are. We could be out on our ear in who knows how long and I can’t really afford to move out, so I have no other option than just to try and relax and ride it out. I am, therefore, going to make the most of being able to save, walk to work, live in the countryside and have a big house to myself with off road parking! Maybe I can live with a few unexpected visitors after all…

Ski Trip... finally!

I've always wanted to go on a ski holiday, but you know the story... loads of people all say 'yeah let's do it' 'we should go as a group it's always better in a group!' but when it comes to the crunch nobody ever actually pulls their finger out and books. Well I'm happy to say I finally found a man who books! So a few weeks ago I was setting my alarm for 3am to catch a flight to Geneva.

I’d be lying a bit if I said I'd never ski'd before, I did spend a day in Scotland on very little snow, lifts closed, trudging up the slopes in my boots and trying to film a friend whilst ploughing slowly down. But when we woke up for our first day in the Aosta valley, I knew I was in for something completely different. Everyday of the holiday I was struck by the magnificent beauty of Mont Blanc and the surrounding mountains, how clean the streets were and how much fun it was to communicate in French with the Italian locals.

After the initial semi-stress of finding the lifts, ski hire and ski school, I was happy to bumble around on my skis with Alessio my instructor whilst the other more experienced of the group bombed off around the mountains. I quickly became confident on the skis but not so much with navigating the slopes and the lifts. My fear was that I would end up at the top of a black with no way of escape but down.

On my first day without lessons I got really fed up. I was on my own skiing the same slope over and over, getting quicker but stuck in a blue rut. I didn't have the confidence to try a red on my own and I didn't want to drag one of the boys with me. I was going to ask for the apartment keys, go back and never ski again... The two snowboarders in our group bumped into me at exactly the right time...'if you can do that blue you can definitely do this red... come on.' I was nervous but something clicked half way down. I could do reds! Now most of the mountain was open for me, my boyfriend showed me some more lifts and red slopes and I was off! Every slope left me more confident and I even started skiing down unknown slopes and getting unfamiliar lifts. I was so excited; of course Simon was too cool to be excited just saying 'I knew you'd be good at it' (not even a smile… tut).

By the end of the week I'd fallen lots, messed up so much my skis had popped off, had a ski tantrum, was happily skiing on reds and had seen most of the mountain. More than I thought I would ever achieve on the trip. It was tiring but worth it, up for the first lift every day, only coming down when the last lift had closed. Leaving us with barely enough energy for drinking and eating in the evening.

I hadn't really realised how much fun I had until I was putting my shoes on for work on the following Monday. I found myself thinking 'the last time I wore these was walking back to the apartment after my last day on the slopes.' Since then I've wished I were back there shooshing around. Before the trip I was so nervous about every aspect of the holiday, when people asked if I was excited I'd say 'I'm excited about the next ski trip, when I know what I'm doing.' It's still true; I'm so excited about my next trip, whenever it will be.

A bit more than sledging...

I’ve been reading Andy Kirkpatrick’s Psycho Vertical and it’s making me very excited about getting back out climbing after my sprain. I’m going skiing in Italy in Feb and have already fantasised about taking in a climb while I’m there. My fantasies however were stalled when I heard the news about the six climbers in Scotland. How tragic for the climbers and their families.

The news article took me back to last winter when I went up to Scotland with some colleagues for a week over February half term. I’d never done anything beyond sledging in the snow before, so I was a bit nervous. I’d borrowed some crampons and an ice axe and we headed off to the Cairngorms, staying in a log cabin that was really just a glorified static caravan. On the first day one of our party slipped whilst learning to use crampons and damaged her ankle, it was scary how quickly an injury like that can happen.

The following day five of us climbed Fiacaill Ridge. As we got up high the view disappeared behind clouds and mist and there was a strong wind. We opted for a gulley climb instead of a scramble and kitted up, attached by a rope to four guys I hardly knew and only my second time using crampons and an ice axe I stepped out onto possibly the steepest face I’ve ever walked on (well it felt that way given the conditions). There wasn’t much of a view but it was one of the most exciting walks/climbs of my life. At one point I was concentrating so much on my hands and feet I didn’t notice how high and steep the slope we were on was until a strange sound caught my ear, I looked across and saw a small bit of snow tumbling down hundreds of meters of slope to a very rocky coire bottom. I quickly shook myself back to the task at hand but I’ll never forget that stomach churning moment.

The trip was so much fun it was easy, I even earned the name ‘the iron lady’ from the guys we were with, luckily not because they thought I look like Maggie Thatcher but because apparently I am, and I quote, ‘nails!’

The most fun part was getting the down hill directions wrong and ending up sliding down the side of a red ski slope on our bums!

When taking part in these kinds of activities there is always a risk, but sometimes that is what makes it so exciting to do. Andy K describes it as a fire, one that burns inside you and is only satisfied with exciting and usually dangerous activities. Admittedly my fire burns at a slightly lower temperature than Andy K’s, I can’t see myself solo climbing El Cap, but the feeling is addictive none the less. Although my fantasies were stalled by the tragic news, stalling is all it is, the risk will never stop me dreaming up new adventures and doing the things that I love.

Inspired to be better

Last week I started writing a blog post about teaching kids climbing etiquette, in the text I got on my high horse and moaned about kids pushing in on bouldering problems at walls and having no manners, I politely asked that walls and parents considered adding etiquette to their coaching sessions. I have now paid the price for my nagative moanings, karma has come up and bitten me on the bum, well the ankle to be more accurate. Before publishing said post I went back to the offending kids haunt, the same wall where the kids had pushed in between my friend and I as we took it in turns to solve various problems. A few climbs in and I was reaching for the last hold of a climb on an overhang, I was pretty sure I was going to get it but I missed and came tumbling down. I landed on the outside of my right foot and felt it go pop! I have never broken anything, or torn ligaments, I’ve been pretty lucky. I can’t describe the pain, but I remember waiting for it to ease, I could hear my friend and the guy from the wall asking me questions and I was thinking ‘I’ll just wait until the pain goes before I respond,’ but it didn’t go anywhere. I think I then started repeating my friend’s name, just to say something, looking back on it now I probably sounded like a bit of a weirdo.

Four days later and I’m sitting on my sofa, leg propped up; at the hospital they said it was inconclusive, it could be a fracture or a bad sprain. Either way I’ve got a week of not doing anything with my ankle, three weeks of not walking outside (a mean feat for an Outdoor Education Instructor) and then a further eight weeks of no ‘adventurous activities’. I didn’t ask for a definition of ‘adventurous’ what is adventurous for a doctor who had never heard the word ‘bouldering’ before is most certainly different to what I consider to be adventurous. I’m skiing in February no matter what they say.

The worst bit is having to ask people to do things for me, some friends are great and just help you without you even noticing, others have to be asked and I hate asking for help. Without wanting to sound too dramatic, I feel like a burden, I’m usually very independent. If I was reaching for something and there was a tall guy around the corner, I’d much rather stand on a chair balanced on a table, with a yard brush in my hand and get it myself than have to ask. This week I’ve had to ask. I was in a shop yesterday on my crutches and I wanted to buy something, I sheepishly asked the woman on the counter if she wouldn’t mind picking up the bits that I wanted, she could tell I was a bit ashamed to do it. When we got to the counter she quietly said to me ‘Don’t’ worry, lots of people ask me to do this for them when there is nothing wrong with them at all!’

So if I can’t climb, or walk outside, what am I going to do for the next three and a half weeks? I remember seeing a stop motion video made by a climber who had broken his toe. He recorded himself campusing on the underneath of the stairs on a road bridge, his upper body strength improved massively over the time of the video; I need to improve my upper body strength but I’m a bit afraid of landing on the offending ankle and making it worse. I’m sure I’ll think of something, in the mean time I’m reading, starting with ‘Annapurna: The great adventure of our time’ and I’ve got a pile of other books. Perhaps they will inspire me.

If there is one thing this experience has already inspired me to do, it is to be a better climber… and practice my landing.

All female?

In the past I have consciously kept away from all women’s events, I remember going to the ladies only night at a local swimming pool and being frustrated by the rows of women swimming and talking simultaneously. The same week I went to the mixed night and there were only two people there, I never looked back. I’d rather just jump in the pool and get some proper swimming done that fuss over men seeing me in my cossie and have to crowd dodge. I’ve always kind of pitied women who need an all female environment to feel comfortable, maybe because I’ve always had close male friends and worked with men and women with no particular problems. I tend to think that if guys had all male events then we would all be making a fuss.

So when a few weeks ago at work, I was offered the opportunity to attend an all women’s Level One Coaching course in Paddlesport, I cautiously accepted the offer. I wanted to do the course but I had visions of posters with kayaks turned into high-heeled shoes like the Women’s Climbing Symposium, but how wrong I was. Initially I was a little confused when I got confirmation of the course and it turned out that a guy was going to be teaching it. If you were going to go to the trouble of holding an all female course why on earth would you have a guy teach it? As soon as we arrived on the first day it was explained to us why, because apparently there weren’t any women qualified enough and willing to teach it. That was a shame and I think this should be rectified; although I have to say Phil Hadely who taught the course was an amazing instructor and very knowledgeable. Phil explained that they felt the need for the all female element because they were concerned that women on mixed courses sometimes felt shy or overpowered by the bolshie 20-30 something year old guys that take over and compete. During the course I learnt a lot from the instructors and the other women on the course, there was a lot of knowledge and ability in the room and on the water. It certainly didn’t feel girl orientated and whilst I have no way of knowing if the course was better or worse than it would have been if it were a mixed course, I certainly wouldn’t change the course that I attended.

I’ve in no way been converted to attending only all women events, I’ll still be keeping clear of ladies night at the local pool, but that ug feeling has gone away when I see them advertised. At the end of the day an opportunity is an opportunity and the people that find reason to complain, be it because of badly designed advertising posters or because they think it is in breach of equal opportunities, well they are just going to miss out aren’t they.

Map Writing

My family have never been precious about maps. In fact I grew up in a house with a bookshelf full of maps all covered in drawings and notes from my Dad’s rallying days. Most local walks were (and still are) done using maps with pencil and highlighter markings showing us welsh rally routes. Our European road maps have our holiday destinations highlighted with comments such as ‘nice beach here’, ‘good windsurfing’, ‘great restaurant’ and ‘expensive coffee.’ Maybe that is why all my OS maps are now folded beyond recognition, hole ridden and falling apart. People have been known to flinch at the permanent ink used, comments on landmarks and marked routes.

But I wouldn’t change any of them. Each map is a collection of memories, personalised with my experiences. A mud smeared pencil marked map is a relic from a journey, capable of evoking more memories than photographs. I’d rather buy a new map and end up with shelves full of archived expeditions, than rub away the traces of my journeys.

Long Long Mynd Hike

My Dad first attempted the Long Mynd Hike in 1996. The challenge is an 80km walk around the Shropshire Hills, for which you are given 24 hours to complete. Dad tried on and off over the following years and finally last year I decided to join him.

2011

He tried his best to prepare me for the challenge but ultimately nothing can prepare you as much as actually trying it. In fact I prepared very little and it showed. I had the wrong equipment on a ridiculously hot October day and made the mistake of checking my feet less than halfway round the route. One look at my weary blister ridden feet and I was on the mini bus waiting to be taken back to Church Stretton vowing I’d never do anything so painful ever again. Of course after a few days rest my feet were back to normal and clouds of doubt filled my head. Maybe it was just psychological? Maybe I could have carried on? I’m definitely doing it next year!

This time I bough better boots, socks and rucksack and I trained! I ran (I hate running) every other day for 2 months. I was going to finish it!

2012

My sister joined us for her first attempt, we tried with the same effort to prepare her and for a first attempt she did well, making 32km before retiring. Keeping Anna’s pace meant after her retirement my Dad and I had plenty of energy left to plod on into the night. Although my blister problem had been solved from the previous year a knee problem developed soon after the half way mark. I carried on regardless but inevitably gave up at 56km. I retired happy to see my Dad carry on into the distance as the sun rose. There was no stopping him.

My sister greeted me at the RV in the hike car park and we rested until 11am, by which time I could just about hobble and was cursing myself for giving up again. We made our way back to the hike headquarters to see if we could find out anything about Dad’s whereabouts. A quick radio check and yes number 076 was still walking and due to finish just before the 24 hour deadline.

I was beaming, bought a souvenir t-shirt and claimed my free breakfast! All of a sudden I didn’t care that I hadn’t finished, Dad was going to and I couldn’t be more proud.

We waited about an hour and went to the road just in time to see him appear in the distance. He practically hopped, skipped and jumped down the road to the finish looking bright and not at all like he had been walking for 23 and a half hours.

2013

On reflection I will be attempting again next year. I don’t care if it takes me until I’m 58, Dad’s determination has inspired me. The plan: to invest in some knee supports and walking poles and to do it solo. I might even do some more running, I can’t wait!

A Passion for Climbing

During my SPA training last weekend I met two twenty something climbers who live down south and had travelled up for the course based around Hathersage in Derbyshire. As I drove us to The Foundry from Stanage they chatted about the various climbing trips they had been on, both obviously really excited by climbing and willing to travel long distances to get as much experience as possible. They talked of leaving work early on a Friday to drive up north, spending the whole weekend camping and climbing and travelling back down last thing on a Sunday to work again Monday. Often they are beaten by the weather and would travel hours just to be rained off. Listening to them made me realise just how lucky I am to be living here in the midlands. Throughout the summer some of my colleagues and I travelled less than an hour in an evening after work to get a few hours climbing in before dark. But later it made me feel like I’m missing out, because I’m so close to these rocks I rarely make the effort to travel further and don’t get the bunk house experience. I’ve had a few weekends away, which have been amazing and I think they’ve inspired me to do it more often.

In a way they reminded me of an excerpt in Joe Brown’s Hard Years. I must admit although I appreciate the climbing he did I found a lot of the book to be laborious descriptions of climb after climb, that I’ll probably never be capable of ascending myself. But there was one section that really stuck out for me, it was where he talks about saving money in order to climb in the Alps for three months, for me this was the most inspiring section of the book. I’ve seen lots of places in magazines that I’d love to go and climb at but somehow felt that they were out of my reach, that they were for other people to climb, people with the money and time and the support of people that will go with them. After reading this passage those places suddenly felt a little closer, a little more achievable and I got the urge to make some plans. There is nothing set in stone yet and saving money is always something I aspire to, but I’m excited nonetheless.

Headcase Helmets

Reading the headcases article in the latest summit magazine brought to mind a scenario that I witnessed at the Roaches a couple of weeks ago.

I work as an Outdoor Education Instructor in Staffordshire and regularly take groups scrambling at the Roaches. On this occasion I was taking a small group of 12 year olds down the Devil’s Toilet gully just to the right of the Yong Area. At the same time there was a pair climbing next to our descent, the first climber had already led the climb and had set up on top, but was waggling the ropes. The Second was still on the ground, arms crossed and shouting ‘no…it’s just not working.’ It became clear that the couple were climbing with just one helmet. The Lead had obviously worn the helmet to climb and was attempting to send the helmet back down to the Second via the rope, not very well thought through as the rope was still clipped into the quick drawers from his ascent. As a result the helmet was now stuck on the top piece of gear and of no use to anyone. The Second would now have to climb without it and retrieve it when she got to the top, bringing to mind computer games where at the end of a level, when you have defeated the fire-breathing dragon, you are rewarded with extra lives. The Second was obviously embarrassed that my group and I had witnessed this so I quickly moved them on.

It led me to question who should be wearing a helmet and when. You could argue that the need for a helmet had passed, that whilst the Lead was climbing both were most at risk, the Lead from falling and the Second from falling rocks. Although in such a well-climbed area many would say the risk of falling rock was minimal. I have to say that after witnessing such bad decision-making I’d be reluctant to trust the set up on top, I’d want a helmet. But all arguments aside, the situation I witnessed was ridiculous, made even more so by that fact that just to left of the Yong Area and are the steps that lead up to the Upper Tier; if they were that bothered the Second could have just run up and got the helmet.

Mountaineering Museum

I had an idea of starting a Mountaineering Museum: you could collect lots of different types of climbing gear, do displays on different mountaineers and climbers, show loads of amazing photos, do timelines of different ascents of mountains. I don’t mind admitting I got a bit excited about it! You could combine it with a climbing wall and offer it for school trips, exercise and education; schools would love that. I even had plans for the website, which would definitely be interactive, I’d invite people to send in pictures of their beloved climbing gear and tell us a story about it, where it came from or where they have used it.

I used to work in a museum, I used to love leaving my desk and going to look around the collection, I actually learnt something new every day, but it was all about pottery because I was at The Potteries Museum and Art Gallery; a mountaineering one would be so much better.

Shame I didn’t think about it before the Olympics, there might have been a bit of funding going spare. Still I’ll keep it in mind for in case my rolling contract stops rolling.

Campervan Food

I recently went away for a week in a campervan, we went around southern Ireland, started off in Dublin from the ferry port and went all the way south, then all the way west, then north to level with Dublin again and back across east. It was a fantastic week for loads of reasons but what I wanted to write about was how excited I was about cooking in the van for a whole week!

I enjoy cooking and have a small but varied cookery book collection. I take great pleasure in searching through my spice rack to find the right tubs, some of which are my own mixes for specific dishes. I tend to cook a recipe once from the book then try to recreate it with usually not the right ingredients, just what I happen to find cheap in the supermarket. I suppose that makes me quite resourceful in the kitchen ingredient wise, but not utensil. I have been criticised more than a few times for my lack of sympathy with my washer-upper, mountains of crockery, pans, pots and cutlery litter the sink by the time I’m finished. I saw cooking in the van as a bit of a challenge; we had two gas hobs and a grill, limited pans and utensils and not much space for my beloved spices. I prepared a box of tricks before we went...

Box of tricks: Olive oil, garlic, stock cubes, salt and pepper and an Italian herb mix (I wish I’d thought to add flour and maybe some thyme).

I also insisted on taking a sharp knife (I’d tried with swiss army before but it’s just not big enough) and a baking tray for under the grill. I wasn’t allowed much more, the driver wanted to keep things simple.

I had a few dishes in mind that I thought we could manage, but wanted to avoid the usual ravioli pasta with stir in sauce (although we did have this at the bottom of Carrantuohill after a soggy walk up and it did taste amazing!) We ended up with…

Cahore Point Creamy, cheesy, bacon and veg Pasta with home made garlic bread

Dungarvan Chicken Fajhitas

Carrantuohill Fruity Balti with Basmati rice and naan bread

Carrantuohill after the mountain A Well Deserved Rest Pasta and Sauce

Brandon Bay Thai Green Curry with noodles and chips (yes chips!)

Best Dish Doolin Sausage Casserole

Lough Ree Spag Bol a la Washer-Upper (I had a well deserved night off!)

I saw my real achievement of the week as the chips with the thai green curry, my washer-upper is fussy about having chips with curry so I thought I’d try it. It was pretty simple to do….

1.Cut the potatoes into chip shapes.

2.Boil them until soft

3.Put in baking tray sprinkle with oil and salt and pepper and put under grill

4.Leave for as long as you can bear it, so they go extra crispy (or chippy if you like)

5.Serve!

The Old Man of Stoer: Part 2/2

The Old Man Himself

Click here to see our film

We set off for Lochinver on the Friday of an extremely hot week in March, the drive was a slog but made bearable by the excellent company and copious amounts of food. About 9 hours later we arrived at the Lochinver Mission bunkhouse, an awesome place with friendly staff. We set off early the next morning on a windy drive and arrived at the car park in Stoer, the weather could not have been more perfect, sun and a light breeze. Ross and Wendy had researched the trip as thoroughly as anyone could and we set off on the walk to the Old Man. Once he was in sight the excitement started to build and the reality of what we had to do was a little daunting. What hadn’t been included in any information was the descent down to the base of the stack, if you’re considering doing the climb bear in mind it is a very steep path, perhaps a grade 3 scramble in itself. We got the group down and everyone chipped in to set up the tyrolion, though Jacko was in charge. The idea was that everyone would make an attempt at climbing the stack, a tall order considering that half of the group had never done any climbing before. On finally reaching the stack that half decided that it was above their capabilities and the climbers started to get really excited, we were actually going to climb it! The first three to climb were Ross, Wendy and myself. I felt privileged that they wanted me to climb first, but we had all climbed together before so it did made sense. We started on a traverse of the base, setting up a handrail to make it easier for the next climbers and then it was three more pitches up to the top. Ross led the first, Wendy the second and Ross again up to the top. The rock was perfect, we could hear Tom playing his ukulele in the background and a with a quick glance over to the mainland saw Kirsten carving a wooden spoon, a very chilled out day. For me seconding the climb wasn’t too stressful, really good grip thanks to the weather, the crux wasn’t the hardest part from my point of view but the whole climb was a challenge and really good fun; the nightmare day at Tremadog had prepared me well. No words could do justice to the feeling of topping out on the stack and we didn’t have time to really take it in as we quickly descended hoping there would be time for the next group to go up. The plan was for Ross to wait at the cave and belay the next two people up from there. Unfortunately when we got to the bottom of the stack the tide had come in too far and because of the steep cliff we were concerned about getting everyone back up in the day light. It was a tough decision to make but ultimately the right one as we were walking back to the minibus in pitch black and over uneven boggy terrain. The rest of the group did get a go on the tyrolion traverse and Pippa made it across the first traverse to the base of the climb. Understandably it was disappointing so I had to try hard to hide my own excitement at having reached the top of such a memorable climb. We made the most of the weekend by walking up Suilven the next day: a long walk in and a steep climb but well worth it for the view.

Ross had decided that we should film the trip, mostly for our own entertainment but also because the online films were a really important part of the research for the trip. The filming is a little shaky at times but hopefully there are a few entertaining and useful bits in there.

Click here to see our film

The Old Man of Stoer: Part 1/2

An account of my climb up the Old Man of Stoer with some very good friends: the only question is, what do I do for my 30th?

That Doesn’t Normally Happen

The story of my trip up The Old Man of Stoer starts in Tremadog, a week before we were due to go to Scotland.

I’d been climbing with Wendy and Ross for about a year and they were finally introducing me to multi-pitch in preparation for Ross. 30th birthday trip. They chose Creagh Dhu Wall and as usual I trusted their judgement and just went with it. I was feeling a little nervous, the approach was awkward and the top of the climb was a long way away, not to mention it had rained all night. Ross was leading the first pitch and had just disappeared around the corner when a couple rocked up at the bottom of the climb. I was belaying and Wendy was talking me through how the ropes would work at the top of the pitch. It soon became apparent that the couple and another friend that turned up wanted to climb Creagh Dhu Wall and the woman was frustrated that we were there. The couple proceeded to have an argument as they tried to make a decision weather to wait or move on. Eventually the woman acknowledged us and asked how experienced the three of us were. I can be quite hot headed and as I thought it was rude of her to ask I thought it best that I let Wendy respond, she explained that herself and Ross climb frequently and that this was my first multi-pitch (actually they are both SPA and current instructors – Wendy has the habit of underselling herself). They were obviously trying to figure out how long we were going to be, which made me feel under more pressure. Their friend then asked if we had rock boots, looking at our walking boot clad feet, all I could think was ‘please just go away.’ They were about to leave when Ross radioed that he was safe, so they decided to wait and see. I considered their behaviour to be quite rude and against the ethos I had come to associate with climbing, perhaps my next move wasn’t much better. After beginning my ascent I deliberately faffed around with the first bit of gear, I was nervous enough as it was, the last thing I needed was these three watching my every move. Sure enough it worked, they must have decided I’d take too long to climb and moved on. At the top of the pitch Wendy reassured me that that doesn’t normally happen, a phrase I knew well by the end of the day. The rest of the climb was a bit nerve wracking but not too difficult, the hand/smear traverse was a bit slippy which made reaching the top even better.

I put complete trust in Wendy and Ross and have a lot of respect for them as climbers, so when they say ‘we ab off that tree’ that’s what I do. Wendy went down first but realised half way that the rope had got caught around the corner on a ledge and was now above her. With no way to retrieve it she attached herself to another tree and Ross came down second to sort the rope. I had never abseiled on my own before so Ross had had to sort out my prusik before descending, which meant attaching my belay device via a sling. So when it was my turn and I approached the overhang with a crack above it my body swung into the overhang and my weight on the sling pushed the two ropes into the crack and jammed my belay device. I was stuck. My legs weren’t long enough to reach the wall to push myself away so all I could do was jump and hope it would come free. A quick shout down to Ross ‘If I let go with both hands will I die?’ the response was ‘no’ so with a wing and prayer I jumped and freed myself. To a more experienced abseiler that probably doesn’t sound too scary and to be honest I just enjoyed the challenge.

The last climb of the day was Christmas Curry and all was going well until I was half way through seconding the middle pitch. I was trying to retrieve a piece of gear from inside a crack, which I couldn’t see very well, and holding onto a nice big jug with my other hand. At this point it started to belt it down with hail. Still trying to retrieve the gear I now had a mini waterfall pouring from the jug and down into my sleeve and Ross shouting for slack so that he could get into a cave for shelter. I slipped and slid up the climb to Wendy’s belay ledge and literally hugged the wall knowing that the only way was up. On reaching the top of the climb I was massively relieved and exhilarated, but I hadn’t been put off I just had to choose my clothing more wisely for the sea stack next week. Incidentally when we reached the top of the first pitch of Christmas Curry a couple appeared at the bottom of the climb and asked very politely ‘we are lost, we are looking for Christmas Curry?’ To which we responded they had the right place, they seemed very nice and were more than happy to wait for us to move on before they climbed, only put off by the rain, restoring my faith in the climbing community.