A pilgrimage to Trainspotting

Corrour Station, on the northern edge of Rannoch Moor, lays claim as the highest station in the UK at over 1,300ft above sea level. Perhaps more famously, it also features in the film version of Irvine Welsh's bestseller 'Trainspotting', as the location where Renton, Spud, Sickboy and Tommy, in a more wholesome moment in their recreation, decide to go for a walk. As Tim's 8th favourite film ever, what a great place to follow in their film star footsteps, we thought.

The benefits of a small bit of planning shone through as we succesfully met up on board the West Highland Railway train at Rannoch Station – Tim over from his new home in Germany, me (not so) fresh from the overnight journey on the Caledonian Sleeper from London. The sight of my friend, a died-in-the-wool (and some may say, mildly self-righteous) vegetarian, armed with a bacon sandwich and cup of tea, was almost enough to move my sleep-deprived eyes to tears.

As well as being the highest station in the UK, Corrour is also renowned as the remotest, with the nearest public road-head being quite some distance away. As such, it's a prime location for the adventurous walker aiming to get away from the four-wheel dependent crowds. Being a weekday in mid September, we were two of only a handful to alight here, stepping out into blue skies and with joy in our hearts. As Welsh's character Tommy says, 'Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?'

The weather forecast for the day had been noticably vague, so we had made no definite plans for the first of this two-day trip. But with a cloudless sky and only light winds, we hit upon a route over the hills to the bothy at Loch Ericht, returning to Loch Ossian Youth Hostel near Corrour for the following night.

Heading east from the station, the access track to the hostel was a gentle start to the day and an opportunity to loosen the limbs after the last 12 hours spent aboard a train. Our first peak of the day was Carn Dearg, which at 941m offers an impressive vista in all directions, most notably back towards Ben Nevis and the Grey Corries. Tim claims that after lunching in the lee of a comfy rock, I stole a short snooze, something I appear to be making quite a habit of on these trips!

Refreshed and revitalised, backpacks were slung across shoulders and we headed forth to ascend the twin peaks of Sgor Gaibhre and Sgor Choinnich, then on to Meall a Bhealaich, where I was reminded of the joys of the South West of England Coastal Path – the reality of travelling only a little horizontal distance forward on the map for considerable expenditure of energy. Maybe we were both lacking a bit of mountain fitness, or just getting a bit lazy after a busy summer, but we opted to divert away from the final planned peak of the day, Beinn a Chumhainn, and head instead for the valley of Alder Burn and the footpath to Ben Alder Cottage. The night was spent there in comfort and warmth, the midges only a mild irritant that did little to distract from the beauty of the place. The stars were something to behold as they reflected off the water of the loch, and the bottle of whisky, nobly carried by me, led to a philosophical conversation and a solid sleep.

The next day dawned another fair one, and we set off at a good hour to attempt Ben Alder by way of Bealach Breabag and Sron Bealach Beithe. Disappointingly, the summits themselves were cloaked in a damp fog, so with little reason for hanging around we descended by the natural line of the mountain's western spur to find the path alongside Uisge Labhair. From here, the undulating path was surprisingly tiring as we headed downhill for several miles to Corrour Lodge. With weary limbs, the final miles around the banks of Loch Ossian were a challenge, and it was with relief and flagging energy levels that we arrived at our overnight accommodation.

Our stay at the YHA Loch Ossian was a real pleasure. Our welcoming host made a good fire, and the guests for the evening made for entertaining conversation. A stunning sunset and a good night's sleep cleared the head, and with the spring returning to our step, we caught the mid-morning train back to civilization.

Posting by Gary
Photos by Tim

The Keswick conundrum

Keswick presents problems for an indecisive walker. The town’s reputation as the hub of outdoors activity in the Lake District is well deserved. The giant peaks Skiddaw and Blencathra rise up to the north, provide a challenging day for anyone keen to scale the heights. To the southwest, the fells that circle the Newlands Valley form a classic horseshoe, while a stroll around Derwent Water will attract those looking for something more leisurely.

This tempting array of possible routes spun around my head as the 555 bus ambled through the Lakes. Being more familiar with the southern fells – the nearest during student days at Lancaster University – all the options were appealing. I was still undecided upon arrival at Keswick, but the imminent breaking of a fierce looking black cloud dictated that erecting the tent as swiftly as possible took priority.

The tent was positioned to avoid the rapidly expanding puddles in the Keswick campsite, but the aspect unintentionally signalled the way forward next morning. The doors opened to reveal Cat Bells glistening brightly in the morning sun. Decision made; I set off to Portinscale and the start of the Newlands Round. A bus service runs from Keswick to the foot of Cat Bells during summer months, but it would have been a shame to miss the early morning sights, sounds and smells of Overside Woods, with the few remaining bluebells struggling to compete with the wild garlic.

Cat Bells attracts the full spectrum of Lakeland walkers. Maybe it’s the easy access from Keswick, the relatively short climb, or just the indisputably cute name. Early on this overcast Sunday morning (the early rays long since departed) the carefully constructed zigzag path was rapidly filling up. Seven teenagers, heads down, rucksacks full, trudging silently in single file – they could only be a Duke of Edinburgh group, and the weary expressions and mud-splattered kit suggested they were at least three days into their expedition. Near the summit, two athletic looking men nodded a brief greeting as they hurried past, clearly heading for bigger challenges than humble Cat Bells can provide.

On Maiden Moor, I found myself having a late breakfast of Babybels and an apple next to a Dutchman heading for Buttermere. As we chatted, he told me this was his first visit to the Lake District and he was clearly enthralled.
"We have nothing like this in Holland…just look at that view", he said, gesturing towards High Spy and Dale Head.

By this time, the slate grey clouds were forming an angry mob over the summits, casting the landscape in a brooding, pallid light. I had seen the fells look more attractive, but it seemed a little churlish to quash his moment. Grinning wildly, he headed off into the murk and drizzle.

The light waves on Derwent Water were catching the few rays of sun that sneaked through, shimmering brightly in contrast to the gloom ahead. Tiring of the constant buzz of human chatter, an incessant line of hikers on all sides, I decided to drop down and return to Keswick via the lakeside. The map showed a clear path down between Maiden Moor and High Spy, so I took a bearing and veered off from the crowds heading onwards.

It felt good to be alone, a sense of rebelling against the masses – similar to playing truant from school. The walking clichés all applied – choose your own adventure, get off the beaten track, go against the flow – the experience many walkers crave. This preoccupied elation almost proved disastrous.

As I headed over the edge of Blea Crag, the valley scene attracted my attention, rather than the ground below. Instead of heading down Low White Rake, I found myself halfway down Nitting Haws, trapped on a narrow, exposed and slippery ledge. A bulging rucksack prevented an easy about-turn and scamper back up, and the free-spirited sensations of a few minutes ago quickly dispersed; solitude was now the last thing I wanted.

It took several anxious minutes, a Chaucerian selection of curses, and scrambling moves that you won’t find in any training manuals to get to the safe ground near Cockley How. Looking back, the obvious scramble down the rake was clear about 10 meters to the right; its taunting simplicity a stark contrast to the precarious drop I had been scrabbling above.

Mushroom soup was required to calm frazzled nerves and as the pan bubbled slowly, I looked over towards Skiddaw and Blencathra, both bathed in sunlight. Would I have had a more satisfying day there? Or on Castlerigg Fell, radiant in the midday sun across Derwent Water? Perhaps, but that’s the thing about Keswick – the wonderful array of options provides the perfect reason to return, again and again.

Posted by Carfreewalker

Photos by me as well

Going to walk on an egg

A fried egg sandwich with a cup of tea is a welcome snack at any time. As an unscheduled breakfast before venturing into a thunder storm for two days, it assumes previously unknown qualities – comforting, motivational and warming – not to mention a boost of caffeine and grease, those two staples of the UK diet.

Our expedition to walk across the Howgill Fells had suffered from an inauspicious start. Gary had managed less than two hours sleep on the overnight train to Carlisle, thanks to the snoring passenger in his carriage. The bus that was supposed to take us from Kirkby Stephen to Ravenstondale had sped past – the driver oblivious to our frantic hand gestures – meaning an unwelcome trudge next to the busy A685 at 7am. Dark grey clouds were swirling overhead; an ominous sign that the unpleasant forecast was likely to be correct for once.

Trying to delay the inevitable soaking, we wandered into the Black Swan Hotel in search of some comfort. Their delicious egg sandwiches rescued the trip from being abandoned in favour of two days in the pub, and all for a bargain three pounds each.

After draining the last drops from the teapot, we set off through Ravenstondale, which sits on the northern edge of the Howgill Fells. The day’s route was undecided, with no particular summit or ridge in mind. All we had planned was to ramble through territory unknown to us both until we found a suitable place to wild camp. The following day, we would complete whatever distance remained to Sedbergh, located on the southern side.

This approach to walking makes a refreshing change from a fixation on one mountainous target, or having to be back by a certain time for the bus. No rush, no pressure and time to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of the Howgills.

You have probably seen these steep, tussocky hills, even if you didn’t realise it. Anyone travelling to Penrith from the south will have noticed them sloping away to the right, opposite the more dramatic skyline of the Lake District. These fells are often overlooked in favour of their illustrious neighbours to the west, but this is to their benefit. They are much quieter, unscarred by a criss-cross of ever widening footpaths and, in the central valleys, offer a sense of solitude that is hard to find in the Lakes.

Fortunately, the forecast rain didn’t arrive until we reached The Calf, the highest point in the Howgills at 676 metres. Despite it being just past lunchtime, we decided to head for Bran Rigg to camp for the night – an afternoon doze suddenly seemed very appealing, with the rain getting heavier by the minute. A flattish hollow next to the small stream looked promising, with views down the valley to Castley and Crook of Lune – at least when the rain stopped for very brief interludes. The three dead sheep just upstream didn’t deter us – it was the only space large enough for two tents in this steep sided, v-shaped valley, and neither of us wanted to walk any further that day.

The bright sunshine next morning lasted long enough for us to take down the tents and have breakfast. By the time we reached the top of Brant Fell, however, the clouds had settled in for the day, making themselves comfortable on the rounded plateau between Arant Haw and The Calf. Heads down, we moved swiftly to the top of Cautley Spout, the highest waterfall above ground in the UK (Gaping Gill is bigger, but in a cave). This is one of the highlights of a trip to the Howgills; the path down sits alongside the series of falls, and the best viewpoints marked by the worn-away patches of grass where previous admirers have tried to capture the perfect photo.

The sun returned for the final stretch, along the valley from Cautley to Sedbergh. The warming rays lifted the scent of wild garlic into the woodland air, and wild gorse coloured the fields stretching up towards the Howgills. The contrast with the walk in to Ravenstonedale couldn’t have been starker – or maybe the warm, feel-good glow of the egg sandwiches was still working its magic. They really were that good.

Getting there
Kirkby Stephen Station is on the Leeds-Carlisle line, and there are occasional buses to Ravenstonedale (when they stop!). Sedbergh is served by many buses to all nearby towns and several villages. There are regular buses back to Kirkby Stephen to get a train home.

Where to eat, drink, sleep

There's nowhere that near Kirkby Stephen Station, but the Black Swan Hotel in Ravenstonedale offers a very warm welcome. Sedbergh has a wide selection of accommodation and places to eat, drink and be tired.

Photos by Tim and Gary, using Laura's camera

Falling for the South Downs

The Devil’s Dyke, on a sunny Saturday morning in May, is probably not the best introduction to the South Downs. People sit impatiently in their cars on the approach road, waiting for a free spot in the vast concrete car park. Ice cream vans, motorbikes and squawking children drown out any sounds of nature, although the wildlife undoubtedly knows to leaves early. This was my first experience of the South Downs, and it left me distinctly underwhelmed – was it really set to become our newest National Park?

Ditchling Beacon, the second attempt at some peace in the countryside, was not much better. A smaller car park, but this only seemed to make those queuing to get in more frustrated. Several people who had made it were indulging in that peculiarly British pastime, the in-car picnic. Why sit outside in the sunshine when you can gaze at the view through your windscreen? And all this weekend disturbance could easily be avoided; both of these popular spots are well served by buses from Brighton.

This was not what I was hoping for from my new walking playground. Before reluctantly moving to Brighton, I had spent nine months in Aberfoyle, near Scotland’s Trossachs, with the ever-changing views of Ben Lomond to cherish each morning. This was followed by a year in Lancaster, with its easy access to the Lakes and Yorkshire Dales. A humble line of chalky hills, spluttering to a high point of 280m, offered little potential excitement. There’s no doubt about it; I was pining for these places, and the South Downs were bearing the brunt.

But I am not the type to nurture a grievance after the eighteenth heartfelt rant. Joining the local Duke of Edinburgh’s Award group as a leader meant regular weekends in the Downs, discovering new places and unexpected delights: Beachy Head, with its dramatic, plunging cliffs; the glorious Arun Valley and its varied birdlife; Cuckmere Haven, perfect for (outdoor) picnics, and the nearby Friston Forest. Maybe not household names, but they carry the same importance to local people as the more exalted walking regions to the north.

The South Downs has another advantage over some of these regions; every section of its 100 miles is accessible without a car. The towns and villages that nestle either side of the ridge are almost all well served with buses or trains. This includes locally run, walker-friendly services such as the Cuckmere Community Bus. This multitude of start and finish points, combined with the geography of the Downs, makes it ideal for linear car-free walks; start at one village, up onto the ridge, then down again once you’re done for the day.

After five years of learning to love the South Downs, I found, with no little surprise, that I had a favourite walk here – Southease to Lewes, via Highdole Hill. It doesn’t make my top 20 walks, maybe not even the top 50, but a day of gentle ups and downs in one of the quieter sections of the Downs gets all the right muscles twitching. It is also one of the few places in the southeast of England where you can escape the crowds, stretch your legs, and appreciate the sounds of cows and seagulls instead of mobile phones and traffic. And for that alone, it deserves a little recognition.

Southease to Lewes
Southease Station is the perfect place to begin a car-free walk. No café, no car parks and usually no other passengers alighting, and the footpath starts at the end of the platform. How’s that for accessibility?

A short distance from here, over the old wooden bridge that spans the River Ouse, is the village of Southease, and the walk’s first highlight. St Peter’s Church was built in the early 12th Century, and is a fine example of the architecture of this time. It’s well worth exploring if you are in no rush to reach the hills.

Cross the road just out of Southease and a footpath takes you right into the South Downs Way. There’s no fixed route to follow – head along the secluded Breaky Bottom, or climb up to Highdole Hill for views over Rottingdean and the English Channel. The walk is also dotted with those features that colour a walk; look out for the path-side monument near Whiteway Bottom, in memory of another admirer of these hills. A little further along is the mysterious collection of farm buildings the southern side of Castle Hill Nature Reserve, disused except for the crows and ravens who watch as you pass.

At Castle Hill, head briefly along the South Downs Way towards Kingston near Lewes. The Juggs Inn is a handy place to refresh before the final couple of miles to Lewes. In spring evenings, you may even be treated to a display of Morris dancing in the road next to the beer garden. Mock ye not this splendid tradition; our ancient Isles would be a more cheerless place without these grown men and women who, for our entertainment, hit sticks together and wear bells round their ankles.

What's the Devil's Point? (The Cairngorms in Winter)

With the Christmas festivities and New Year passing, my thoughts turned to the weeks ahead and an irresistable urge for some adventure. A couple of phone calls to like-minded friends, and some rooting around the internet for some cheap travel tickets, and plans were set. The Cairngorms in January - time to go and buy that extra fleece . . .

To maximise time on the hills and save some annual leave for warmer times, we decided to travel north overnight using the wonderful First Scotrail Caledonian Sleeper from London Euston. We left it a little late to get a get a bargain berth (one way tickets from only £19), so we made do with a reclining chair each for only a little more money. Setting off from London just before midnight, we woke to the sound of bagpipes (or was it commuters on their way to work?) in Edinburgh seven hours later. A short stop off allowed time to get a quick breakfast, and then northwards again to our destination of Kingussie.

Kingussie lies to the west of the main Cairngorm plateau, and is about as typical a Scottish highland town as you can imagine. With an appetite built up from the strenuous journey, and the thought of 48 hours without such an opportunity again, we sought out the local cafe and indulged in some solid carbohydrate loading. Thanks to the ladies at Pam's Pantry for the great food and hospitality, and to their guests for their interest in our kit and our sanity!

From the town we headed south-east on the road past Ruthven Barracks. This is an impressive ruin worth a closer look, but with a long day planned to our overnight accommodation, we pressed on to Tromie Bridge and our last brush with civilisation for a couple of days. Our target for the day was the beautiful glen of the River Feshie, where Tim had recommended a lovely little bothy somewhere along the banks. The weather was deteriorating as forecast, with some strong gusts of wind blowing through the hills and dampness in the air. The conifer plantations kept off the worst, though, and we made good time. Turning right at the meeting of Glen Feshie, we headed south along the banks of the river in diminishing light in search of the elusive hut that was to be our resting place for the night.

The Mountain Bothies Association works "to maintain simple shelters in remote country for the use and benefit of all who love wild and lonely places" and what a wonderful job they do. We don't want to spoil the tranquillity of this particular place by advertising it's location, so join them, give them your money, and make use of the places they care for. Should you discover this one, you will find it warm and dry, with a wood burning fire, plenty of room to cook and sleep, and fresh water and a 'flush' toilet a few steps away (well, a bucket's supplied and the stream is only ten feet away).

Day 2 dawned bright but windy, with a wonderful pink sunrise to waken the senses. Our initial plan was to head eastwards and upwards, into the hills around Mullach Clach a Bhlair. But with an ever increasing strength to the wind, we exercised due caution and opted to stick with the glen, heading south to stay low until the wind was on our tails. As we headed further into the hills, majestic views emerge, with the promise of more to come.

We were heading for the metal bridge over the River Eidart, but before reaching this there are several wide and deep tributaries that require both care and patience to cross. However, having chosen the right travel companions for the trip, both were in evidence as we skipped across the stones, and it was only the perspiration from our heavy sacks that made us a little damp.

From the bridge, we began 'heather bashing' across the slopes of Cnapan Mor, a difficult task at the best of times made harder by the soft crust of snow. But as luck would have it, we happened across some tracks left by a passing Snowmobile, and with crampons attached we strode northwards to the pass between Leac Ghorm and Beinn Bhrotain. At this point we had planned to drop down into Glen Geusachan, but dangerous large cornices had built up on the north slopes; with the associated avalanche risks, we continued instead over the summit of Monadh Mor and gained access to the valley from the west. By that time, light was failing and we had to don our headtorches for the final miles round Devil's Point to the bothy at Corrour.

The plan was to meet some friends who had walked up from Aviemore, and we were pleased to find them with a welcome brew waiting for us. However, as is the danger with the free accommodation, another group had also arrived (although we were in no way complaining - the hardy mix of Scottish and Welsh 'Munro Baggers' had shunned the lightweight approach and lugged 10kg of coal with them to keep us all toasty warm for the night) and with the limited space in the hut, we opted to brave the elements and bivvy in the shelter of the wonderful new compostable toilet. It was a dramatic bedroom, low cloud, bitterly cold, the imposing Devil's Point looming ominously just to the south, and in the middle of the night we found that we weren't alone (insert drum roll)... in the eery twilight hours, we were woken by two sizeable deer, and thankfully not the devil, grazing just by us.

The forecast on Day 3 had changed noticeably from when we left home, and with aching limbs from the previous days exertions, we opted for the easier option off the hill, the Lairig Ghru. This long pass through the heart of the Cairngorms was once the main drove road to the south, and is a challenging excursion in it's own right. We were only tackling a section of it; easier, but not entirely without effort, as the icy conditions underfoot meant the mind couldn't wander too far, as we slipped over the pass between Sron na Lairige and Cairn Lochan at the Pools of Dee.

From this point on it was pretty much downhill towards the vast forest of the Rothiemurchus Estate. Our walk had a beautiful end as we meandered through the pines towards Loch an Eilein, and onwards to a night of relative comfort at YHA Aviemore.

The journey back to the South Coast the following day wasn't without a hitch, as it was the day that winter made a visit to London for the first time in years. But all credit to the train companies for getting us home in a timely manner for the princely sum of £32. A fitting icy end to a fantastic long weekend of true Scottish conditions. G.S.

A one-way ticket through the Yorkshire Dales

One of the joys of car-free walking is making up your own routes. Rather than sticking to a well-trodden path, or a particular peak, you can select two stations or bus stops – one to start and one to finish – and make up the bit in between. With this cunning plan in mind, I spread out my maps of the Yorkshire Dales and started scanning.

The problem with the Dales, though, is where to start? There are several train stations around the south and western sides, and good bus services through all the major dales, which means the whole park is easily reached without a car. The Three Peaks – Ingleborough, Whernside and Pen-y-ghent – were demanding a second visit, and Wensleydale boasts some of the finest walking in England. Or what about exploring a less familiar valley – Raydale, Wharfedale or Dentdale?

Time for Plan B. A brief check on the Trainline found cheap rail tickets from London to Gargrave, so that was the starting point. And a friend had recently spent a night at Grinton Lodge in Swaledale while cycling the Coast to Coast path; for want of a more noble reason that would be my end target. So, south to north across the best part of the National Park. As for the bit in between? Well, I could make it up.

Gargrave was bright and sunny upon arrival, and after stocking up on supplies (I had eaten my emergency chocolate on the train), a brisk amble along the Pennine Way took me to Malham. No time to visit the famous cove before darkness fell, so instead I made for the Lister Arms, maps at the ready to plan the next day’s route. Unfortunately, three pints of Thwaites’ Nutty Black scuppered any attempts at forward planning and I was soon tucked up in bed – at least I got an early night.

The stars were still out when I left the hostel and headed towards Gordale – with the next night’s bed in far-off Wensleydale, I needed to keep up a steady pace. A herd of cows huddled together in a field, the morning frost clinging to their shaggy brows. They watched me pass in my hat and gloves, envious of these warming garments.

But in my eagerness for an early start, I had forgotten that Yorkshire gets a bit chilly in November. The rocks and boulders that jostle around the foot of Gordale Scar were coated with a thin but treacherous layer of ice, and the stream was bursting down the waterfall – evidence of the recent heavy rains. After two short-lived attempts to scramble up, and two soggy boots from rapid downclimbing, it was time to change plan and head up via New Close Knotts.

Even this was far from simple; the Dales’ distinctive limestone scars are steeper than they look from the valleys. A stone kicked down by a stray left boot bounced down to the valley floor; I took extra care over the final few feet to make sure I didn’t follow it.

If the early bird catches the worm, then the early walker gets the hills to himself. For the three hour hike to Arncliffe, I could enjoy the moors in blissful solitude, the frozen ground crunching beneath my feet. Along with three ascents, six tea breaks, and two slips, my route took me through four different dales – Littondale, Wharfedale, Raydale and Wensleydale. Crossing them in succession is more tiring than exploring one dale in a day, but added fascinating variety as each has its own distinct character. The bustling, tourist-loving Wensleydale contrasted with the hidden and elusive Raydale; Wharfedale was bustling with birds flitting along the river, collecting the last berries of autumn, while the sheep on the moors above Littondale huddled together behind a wall to shelter from the biting November wind.

After a refreshing overnight stay the Rose & Crown in Bainbridge, legs were fully restored from the 22 miles of the previous day and I set off at the more reasonable hour of 9.00am. The final day’s route headed across the grouse moors that rise up above Wensleydale, and head into Grinton in Swaledale. Grouse – and the associated shooting industry –dominate this part of Yorkshire. Grouse butts run in lines all over the moor, and every few footsteps would send one of these clumsy black birds into a whirring, stumbling flight over the moor, accompanied by a series of panicked squawk. They have every right to be scared – shooting is still big business round here. Graceless they may be, but that’s still no reason to blast them.

The frost had given way to snow on this higher ground, hiding the many bogs, streams and frozen ponds that scatter these moors, and I was cold and a little weary upon arrival in Grinton. Like all good walkers, I headed straight for the Bridge Inn, much vaunted by my coast to coast cycling friend. Several of the punters enjoying their Sunday lunch gave me disdainful looks – they hadn’t expected this snowy, hairy and sweaty intrusion to their dinner.

Fortunately the landlord’s father – doing an emergency shift behind the bar – was more welcoming. A keen walker himself, we were soon chatting at the bar about the moors above the village, life in Swaledale, and the history of Grinton. And as the unfriendly diners drifted away, my reward for three days of braving the elements presented itself – the fireside chair. Settling back, toes stretched towards the flames, and pint at hand, I could look back on a job well done – forty miles, five different dales and several pints of Yorkshire bitter. The final effort was to move my aching limbs from the fireside chair and climb up the hill to the Lodge – the hardest part of the whole trip.

Photos by me. Nice, aren't they.

Getting there

Gargrave Station is on the Leeds-Carlisle line, easily reached from either end. Getting back from Grinton involves taking the Dalesbus from Grinton to Richmond, and onto Northallerton for the nearest train station. Richmond makes a nice stop for a pot of tea if you have to wait while changing buses.

Where to eat, drink, sleep

Lots of options in each of the Dales - the ones mentioned in this blog were all very cosy and friendly, but better to make up your own Dales' route -there are loads of great places to relax after a day's walk!

The northern end of the Nantlle Ridge

Once known as Snowdonia’s best kept secret, the Nantlle Ridge is an eye-catching line of six hills lying southwest of the Snowdon massif. These days, the narrow crests and rocky peaks attract their fair share of walkers and scramblers, but rarely suffer from the overcrowding that afflicts other parts of the National Park. If the views alone don’t take your breath away, then the sharp breezes that whip in from the Irish Sea will finish the job.

To walk the whole ridge in one attempt presents major logistical problems; the six summits are laid out in a line, meaning there is no easy way to reach all the peaks without a long track back along one of the adjacent valleys. But a day traversing the four northernmost peaks combines the best these hills have to offer; enjoyable scrambling, the finest ridge walk this side of Crib Goch and the best views of Snowdon you can find.

This circular walk takes you over the peaks of Y Garn (633m), Mynydd Drws-y-coed (695m), Trum y Ddysgl (709m) and Mynydd Tal-y-mignedd (653m), finishing with a descent through the dense conifers of the Beddgelert Forest. The route starts and finishes at the bus stop in Rhyd-Ddu, which means you to travel using the Snowdon Sherpa, the walker-friendly bus network that serves the Snowdon region so well. Leaving the car behind allows you concentrate on the stunning scenery in this part of the world, rather than the busy winding roads.

From the bus stop, head up the hairpin road behind the Cwellyn Arms pub. At the first bend in the road, take the bridleway heading out across farmland. The path starts to climb the grassy flank of Y Garn, taking no prisoners as it heads straight up the steepest line on the hill.

The summit of Y Garn offers the first great views of the day; to the north is the dramatic face of Craig y Bera on Mynydd Mawr, rising up above the Nantlle valley; looking east is Yr Aran, one of Snowdon’s most photogenic outposts. The summit of Y Garn also poses one of those enduring mysteries of the countryside – why did someone need to build a dry stone wall up here, and how long must it have taken, bearing in mind the journey to work each day? The wall that takes a near-perfect line down the rocky north-western shoulder is even more remarkable; anyone who has spent time attempting the arduous task of drystone walling will be impressed.

From the comfort of Y Garn, the scramble up to Mynydd Drws-y-coed can look a little intimidating; the drop down the right-hand side over Clogwyn Marchnad commands a healthy respect. But once you are in among the rocks, the holds are large and plentiful and the path follows an easy line. Those who prefer an edge to their scrambling can stick to the crest; for others, there are plenty of routes to the left of the cliff, a safe distance from the foreboding face yet with plenty of enjoyable routes.

Along the ridge to Trum y Ddysgl, the walk switches from a rocky scramble to a simple romp over smooth, grass-covered slopes. Before getting into your stride, look back towards the dark, mossy crags of Clogwyn Marchnad, the western face of Mynydd Drws-y-coed. You will no doubt see a few brave sheep risking life and limb to graze on seemingly unreachable outcrops – is the dining there so much better than the gentle slopes around? Maybe some sheep are just born with an adventurous spirit and enjoy a meal with a view.

Mynydd Tal-y-mignedd lies across another section of exposed ridge – the wind can take your breath away along here, as well as any stray rucksack covers and maps cases. The summit is marked by a five-foot high obelisk built to celebrate Queen Victoria’s jubilee. From here, follow the wall that runs along the southern shoulder before veering left past the rocky outcrops into Cwm Dwyfor. No clear path here, so just pick a line across open access land and head into Cwm Pennant.

The route joins a bridleway through the Beddgelert Forest, a sprawling coniferous plantation that stretches right across to the village that bears its name. The path skirts along the edge of the forest, soon passing an old disused mine shaft, now fenced off to prevent unwary hikers from missing the shaft, hidden amongst a sea of ferns and mosses.

There are reminders of Snowdonia’s industrial past all along this route, relics from a different age before the tourists started arriving in numbers. From the ridge, disused slate mines and quarries are clearly visible on many of the surrounding hillsides; at the foot of Elider Fawr, on the western flanks of Snowdon, by Llyn-y-Gader and dotted along Cwm Pennant. Are these an ugly scar on a beautiful landscape, or an important relic from past times in these valleys? Perspectives may differ, but they are an unavoidable feature of most walks in Snowdonia.

After leaving the forest, the bridleway skirts the bottoms of the hills you have just enjoyed, before dropping back into Rhyd-Ddu the way you came in. Time for a final gaze upon the distinctive skyline of these rewarding hills.

(Thanks to Laura Crow for the photos)

Getting there
Rhyd Ddu is located on route S4 on the Snowdon Sherpa bus network, which runs between Caernarfon and Porthmadog. A day ticket costs £4.00 (£2.00 for children) and allows you to hop on and off the network as many times as you like. For up-to-date timetable information, visit www.gwynedd.gov.uk/bwsgwynedd or ring traveline on 0870 608 2608.

Where to eat, drink, sleep
The Cwellyn Arms in Rhyd-Ddu has catered for walkers descending Snowdon by the Rhyd Ddu path or the Snowdon Ranger path for years, with a good selection of hot meals and pre-walk snacks available. Leaving the car at home also means you can enjoy one of the pub’s nine real ales. Near to the pub, the newly opened Snowdon Inn (01766 890321) offers affordable yet comfortable accommodation of all kinds, including Bed and Breakfast, a bunk house and a campsite.