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In May this year I walked the TGO Challenge as a firsttimer.

For those who don't know what the Challenge is all about : it's a non-competitive selfsupported

walk from the westcoast of Scotland to the eastcoast. I completed the journey in 13 days.

The real task seemed to be writing a triprecord afterwards. I've just published my TR, more than 4 months after completing the Challenge. I didn't make notes during the Challenge, the only thing put on paper was who I met where and when and that was a bit lacking at the end because of the rising numbers of Challengers met. I only need to look at a map to know where I've been and what has happened. I tend to write in English but I noticed I'm at a loss of words sometimes. I don't just want to write a "left at, right at" story. I think it's helpfull for readers to be able to follow you on your journey but you also want your readers to 'taste' the circumstances you've encountered. I want my story to be a guide and a good read at the same time. Some people are gifted whith that talent, I'm not. I have to work hard and my Oxford Thesaurus gets consulted often. I've read TR's with a lot of flora and fauna described in it but I'm no good at all at English names for those little flying, crawling and growing thingies. Even in Dutch I can't keep them apart.

Human contact can be interesting, especially with experienced hillwalkers, but that's mostly about walks in the past, not the present. I like to read and write about the landscape and the effort made to conquer (or failed to conquer) that landscape. Perhaps next time I'll take some sort of memorecorder with me. With a camera I can record what my eyes see and with a 'soundrecorder' I can record my thoughts and feelings.

The only thing I'll still need is time to put it on 'paper'.

Given a weekend pass by Miss W, I slipped off up to the lakes with old mate, Alan Sloman for a bit of R & R. We bunked off early on Friday, and were in Ambleside in good time for lunch and mooch around the gear shops before heading off to the Great Langdale campsite and the Old Dungeon Gill climbers bar to plan our week end walk.

In a local shop I bought a pie with an attractive crust, simply labelled “Pie” – no clue as to its contents. The pie vendor could shed no light on its probable ingredients, but reassured me that no one who bought one “had ever come back”.

The day had been disappointingly dull and misty, but the weather forecast in the climbers bar was optimistic, so we drank to the fine dawn that would surely follow, and met some splendid chaps one of whom sported a tee shirt with the initials RMI.

“What does that stand for?” asked Al.

“The Real Mens’ Institute”

“So, you’re hard men then?”

A confused conversation followed as to what constituted “Real Men”, and we became increasingly baffled by the explanations until we realised that our unattuned ears had misheard “Rail Mans’ Institute”.

We switched immediately to a northern brew to assist with mastering the local patois, This worked splendidly, as soon we could not understand a word the other said, and so we retired to our tents.

Saturday dawned cold but sunny and I was surprised to find that during the night I had eaten the Pie …and survived. We were off well before opening time, heading up to Angle Tarn for lunch, enjoying the views rather more than the climb, as the sun became quite hot! Too hot for some – we found a pair of padded trousers labelled as part of a ‘chemical hazard suit’ abandoned on a rock. Alan recalled that he could have done with those when the Chernobyl cloud came over, and told me how he and his companions had been soaked to the skin in the rain here, and found that they had acute skin irritation and peeling for weeks afterwards.

As the day wore on, and our enthusiasm for climbing wore off, we set about finding a good camp spot, and after a false start we found an absolute corker by High House Tarn.

The evening was amazing. We watched the sun set and the shadows fill the valleys. The moon hovered over the tarn outside our tents. Later in the night the moon had set and in an ink black sky the stars and Milky Way sparkled like diamonds.

Sunday, my birthday, dawned to reward us with a better sight. It was colder in the valleys and so on our lofty perch we were rewarded with a splendid cloud inversion to add to the sunrise.

As the sun rose, so did the cloud, and after half a hour of watching the clouds rise over ridges and suddenly plunge into the valleys we became enveloped in mist, so we packed up and headed down by a different route, arriving back at the Old Dungeon Gill just in time to miss lunch! Fortunately they were still serving the Northern translation fluid, so I had a couple whilst Al (driver) downed a well earned coffee before we headed off for the M6 and home.

All in all, a splendid birthday, rounded off with a big hug and kiss from Miss W who presented me with a chocolate smartie cake with one candle (well, there wasn't room for the full set).

Sometimes getting older ain’t so bad.


PS In case you are the trouserless one, your strides are at NY251073