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.

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.

A tale of two valleys: my first car-free walk

Every weekend in the summer, people swarm to the Lake District’s myriad attractions. The campsites book up months in advance, spilling over with families, barbeques and guy ropes; crossing the field to join a toilet queue becomes an SAS-style mission. Fortunately for those who prefer to watch the sun set without a Frisbee flying across it, there are endless opportunities for wild camping – pitching your tent in the wilderness, miles from anyone else.

A long weekend away was also an opportunity to think through an idea for a new walking website. Whilst a few guidebooks and walking magazines now mention how to get to a route by bus or train, the nearest car park is still what most walkers look for. I wanted to create a website where people could share walks in the UK that could be reached by public transport. A few nights alone in the quietest corners of the Lakes would be the perfect opportunity to think through ideas, work out a plan and, most importantly, think up a name.

After booking some very cheap train tickets from London to Windermere (a bargain £19 each way with The Trainline), and packing a brand new Terra Nova tent into a well-worn backpack, I head north. I time my arrival in Windermere at late afternoon, when most walkers are trudging down from the summits. This is a well-known wild camping trick; just 30 minutes later on Orrest Head (an easy 238m ascent), there is no one to disturb the views across Windermere and the golds and russets of the fells provide the perfect backdrop for people enjoying England’s largest natural lake from their rowing boats.

Heading deeper into Troutbeck Valley along the Garburn track, the trickle of evening walkers dries up completely. As dusk settles, I pitch my brand new tent on the grassy flanks of Ill Bell alone – the Lake District to myself at last. Some inquisitive sheep wander over to see what’s happening, unused to intruders disturbing their peace at this time of day. The setting sun sends soft purple shadows across the silent valley, and the scent of wild grass and bracken just overpowers the smell of damp boots.

By 7am the next morning, I’m heading north towards Stony Cove Pike. The plan is to head towards Helvellyn and wild camp near Red Tarn. Three glorious hours pass before meeting the first walker of the day. He issues a cheery “good morning”, displaying the bonhomie that flourishes between walkers in Britain’s mountains. By mid morning, the crowds are out in force, jockeying for position around the famous Fairfield horseshoe. And ever more they come; on Helvellyn, after the 200th “hello” of the day, my good spirits are in dangerously short supply – the solitude of a wild camp can’t come soon enough.

‘Closing Time’ syndrome strikes again as the sun goes down, and the fells are soon deserted apart from a few stragglers carefully descending Swirral Edge. Dark clouds are gathering, though, and neither my new tent nor tired limbs fancy a cold, soggy night on higher ground, so I head into Grisedale Valley to look for shelter. Some hope. As the winds pick up and the clouds explode, the tent starts playing games – there hadn’t been this many poles last night, surely?

But 10 minutes later, the stove is bubbling and the boots are off. I sit in the small porch to watch the storm unleash its fury on Patterdale and Ullswater. And there’s no better way to enjoy the Lake District than sheltered by canvas with a whole valley to yourself, whether it’s lit up by lightning or a sunset.

Next morning, the inclement weather means an early start (the rain started at 5am) and a head-down, hood-up quick march back over Fairfield and into Ambleside, where warm pubs and foodstuffs other than cereal bars await me. Refreshed, it’s a short stroll for the final night’s camping – this time in the relative comfort of the campsite behind Rydal Hall.

The final day presents a situation that will be familiar to many other car-free walkers. Anxious not to miss my train (pre-booked tickets are rarely changeable), I was again off early over Wansfell, taking the scenic route back to Windermere station rather than walking alongside the A591. But arriving two hours early left a slight dilemma; how welcome would I be in the Booth’s café, after three days of camping and little more than a splash in the sink as a token nod to hygiene? The scent of fresh coffee and the enticing smells of cooked breakfasts proved too strong; dropping my bag near the door, I sheepishly made my way to the counter to order. “Been out walking, love?” enquired the waitress. “You’ll be hungry, then. What would you like?” Clearly they are used to bedraggled walkers round these parts. The breakfast soon arrives, and I can stretch the weary legs and take out the notebook to write up my first car-free walk. Now, all I need is a name for this website…