The Hohneck

Over the years of travelling I've found that some of the most interesting places you come across are the ones you find by happenstance. The deserted beach in north west Scotland with golden sands stretching as far as the eye can see, the bistro/cafe in back lane of a city or a family run hotel deep in the countryside with an unpromising facade but a menu of superbly cooked, local dishes (and really here I'm thinking France for this) and of course that surprise view, as you round a corner on a road or a mountain track (though it's less of a surprise if someone has marked it on a map as 'Surprise View')

And so it as with the Hohneck (1362m), third highest point in the Vosges, an area of north east France, to the west of the Rhine and geographically and geologically speaking the French equivalent of the Black Forest on the German side of the Rhine.  It's part of the Alsace, which over the centuries has changed hands between those two countries, the last time being after WW1, when it became French once more, and this explains the number of German place names.  It's terribly confusing, especially when the local French people speak to you in German.

I was on a road trip last week with my daughter in our campervan.  We'd arrived in Calais, driven up through the Belgian Ardennes and then onto Luxembourg city, a quick visit into Germany, past the steel industry of Saarbrucken, which possibly makes Sheffield, even at it's peak of steel production look a bit tame, and then crossed back into France with the intention of looking round the old part of Strasbourg.  We arrived in the Vosges from Strasbourg not exactly by chance but certainly by circumstance, preferring not to cross back into Germany and the Black Forest (it feels so tense on that side of the Rhine) and constrained to be back at Calais in 5 days time, thus putting a limit on how far south we could go.

We stopped on a campsite on the edge of Munster, a small town of robust cheese and a spectacularly pretty main street of colourful half timbered buildings and so clean and tidy, it could be in Switzerland. Gone it seems are the days of France being a country full of litter and toilet paper. Even my daughter commented on how there were no discarded sweet wrappers and drinks bottles on our walk.

The road out of Munster goes up to the Col de la Schlucht (a name having an impossible number of adjacent consonants, so that it could almost be Welsh, only it's German - or is it French? I give up.).  Anyway, it's a bit like the Snake Pass only easier to drive and having a small ski centre at the summit of the col at 1139m.

It was a rather grey and blustery but we were up for a walk and the Hohneck was only about 3kms away and 100 vertical metres.  As the detail on my road map was a bit thin even for such a short walk, we called in one of the shops on the col and picked up an IGN 1:25k.  This only served to confuse me more. "That way", I pronounced, trying to sound confident, pointing south and we set of towards the base of the chair lift where, given the lack of obvious path, I decided to risk some dodgy French on the man selling tickets for the luge d'ete. "Monsieur.  Le sentier pour le Honeck, c'est par ici?" Amazingly it worked and he told us to go up the piste to the top ski station and follow the "ballons rouges" which were large orange lollipops on poles. It was a bit of a steep pull up by the side of the lift but levelled out at the top into a pleasant stroll through woods of birch and oak and some other kinds of arbres, and we strolled along a track lined with myrtilles (bilberries ) and wild raspberries which necessitated frequent harvesting stops.

After 1 to 1.5 km, the woods give way to open countryside, along a ridge of alpine meadows and grazing bell toting cows, with steep cliffs of volcanicky looking rock falling away to the Munster valley on one side and more gentle slopes on the other. This is part of the GR5, the Routes des Cretes. On the far side of the coombe about a km away, we could see a rounded summit with a building on it, which we hoped might be a mountain cafe, as it indeed was. You can in fact drive to within a few metres of the summit, so there were quite a lot of non-walkers inside as well as a couple of backpackers, who looked like they were on a more serious mission.

Tartes aux Myrtilles guarded by the madame!











On the walls were pictures of the region, a few cow bells and other items of 'tat' to tempt the tourist. I ordered drinks and a tarte aux myrtilles for the two of us and we watched out of the window as the thin, whispery clouds raced up the valley at our eye level and a few spots of rain started to fall. The tarte was heavenly - my daughter said it was the best thing she had ever eaten - and had the tray of remaining tartes not been so well guarded by the madame, we might have been tempted to run off with it. The coffee on the other hand was an extreme disappointment. It used to be that any self-respecting establishment in France would serve real coffee made with freshly ground arabica beans as a proper, full on espresso created with all the hissing and wooshing gadgetry of a Gaggia. That no longer seems to be the case and whereas in England now everywhere serves coffee, usually made with cheap, bitter tasting beans, a culture of 'instant' seems to have overtaken France.  Quelles horreurs, c'est un catastophe! I do hope I'm wrong on this and I've just been unlucky in the places I've bought cofffee on this trip but I suppose working an espresso machine is a dying art.

Mountain restaurant at top of Hohneck












The wind was no less blustery when we stepped outside but the cloud had come in, so we took a few quick photos of some murk from the summit and headed back out of the car park to retrace our steps. By the time we reached the top ski station, the lateness due in part to yet more myrtille forraging, the lift had stopped. I'd hoped we might blag a ride down as my daughter has never been on a ski lift.  Instead we made do with walking and trying to spot where we'd left the campervan, debating whether I had in fact put the hand brake on.

It wasn't a big walk but it was quite special.

(More pics to follow)

Three Norberts and a V Diff

I spent last weekend with some friends from university days, Nick and Anne, who live in Kendal and who are obviously in demand as a base for adventures in the Lakes.

On Saturday we walked up onto High Street from Hartsop.  It goes without saying that the weather was pants.  I don't seem to be able to go outside Derbyshire these without walking into rain.  Leaving the car park and a group of intense looking mountain bikers who were engages in assembly their double sprung machines (lets hope they didn't get them from Ikea), we strolled up the track to Hayes Water.   For some reason I had it in my head that Wainwright's ashes were scattered here and we debated why he would want to end up in such a uninspiring location.

Hayes Water

Actually, I've just checked and they are by Innominate tarn on Haystacks.  You can see my mistake, Hayes Water, Haystacks.  Anyway...

Summit of The Knot












We plodded up the bridleway and speculated if the bikers had set up their gears and would be making an appearance any time now (they did - in case you wanted to know).  And we bagged out first Norbert of the day, The Knot..

A brief word about Norberts

Norberts are my response to tickers.  Norberts are to be climbed because they are there, for the pure pleasure of the hill and not for any statistic (especially one that is meaningless now OS maps are metricated) that may have been attributed to them by some glory seeking, albeit possibly well-intentioned, individual.   The only rule for a hill to be counted as a Norbert is that it should have a summit.  Norberts shouldn't be tickable but that would rule out anything that was a Munro, Marylin, Birkett (i.e. most of the hills in Lakes), Corbett or Nuttal (and I'm sorry if I have missed any).  I haven't quite resolved this dilemma yet but I'm working on it.

There is a sub-class of Norbert, which is a hill that is 'in the way'.  It's the unwelcome hill that lies between where you are and where you want to be.  These I refer to as Fekkin Norberts although the descriptor may be modified to one of your own chosing.  Clearly one person's Norbert may be another's Fekkin Norbert and vice versa.

The Knot, sports a summit cairn and pillar built from stones pillaged from the nearby wall.  Nick, a planner for the National Park, was critical of this wanton destruction of local heritage, even though the wall no longer serves any purpose.  A brief photo stop against grey skies and we headed onto High Street.  Somewhere near the trig point we stopped for a snack and to sit in the rain and following that felt no inclination to go in search of the actual highest point, so we headed on to Thornthwaite Beacon.  High Street doesn't have much of a clearly defined summit (it's more of a ridge if one were to get picky about it), so its Norbert status is questionable but I counted it on this occasion. You can have hours of pointless fun with this malarkey.

The Beacon is a stone tower and must have some history to it but I haven't researched it yet, so I'm going to make some up.  Built by a jealous farmer, he locked his beautiful daughter in there to protect her from unwanted suitors and also so she could watch over his sheep during the day as they grazed on the fellsides.  Every night he would bring food to the tower and she would let down her plaited hair, which was the texture of tousled Herdwick wool (she wasn't actually that beautiful), with which to raise the basket of vittals.  What happens after that I'll leave to your imagination. I'm bored with this now.

The Beacon

The track from the Beacon is a knee-wrecking descent to a col, either side of which are magnificent U shaped valleys, and is followed by a lung-wrenching climb up to Stony Cove Pike, the third Norbert of the day.  And hey, the clouds lifted and the skies cleared and we were bathed in sunshine and it was good.  We could see half the Lakes and down to Heysham Head and over to the Howgills and across to Ingleborough. 

From there we headed over Caudale Moor and down a much longer knee-wrecking descent to the road and a conveniently sited pub, where we felt obliged to consume a small but refreshing glass of beer before continuing round the back of Brothers Water (in the rain) back to the car.

Distance 9 miles, Upness (and down-ness)  3300 ft

Sunday - Wallowbarrow Crag

On Sunday, Anne and I drove round to the Duddon Valley and climbed a route on Wallowbarrow Crag.  It's almost 20 years since I last climbed here and at least 10 since I climbed anywhere in the Lakes.  Wall and Corner (195 ft) is a Hard Diff in my 1984 guide but is now graded V Diff in the current edition, which works for me.  It's four pitches and the first one felt decidedly thin for a VD, whilst the second came with the added frisson of being wet on the crux moves.  I'm slightly embarrassed to admit I was starting to look for an abseil point when I decided to have one last go with a hand jam in a greasy, wet crack and a smear on the damp wall. Commitment is the name of the game and this seemed to get my head in the right place, as the final two pitches were just a dream, with good gear placements and lots of variety.  Best of all the sun was out and, standing on grassy ledges whilst belaying Anne up, I remembered how much I used to love this aspect of climbing.  It's just the fear thing I could never really come to terms with.

Wallowbarrow Crag, Duddon Valley

North to the Cape - Day 7: Glen Ling to Strathcarron

This was to be our last day and we had just 8 miles left to reach Strathcarron.  The tents were wet but at least it stopped raining while we packed them away.  We set off about 9:30 and I was glad that I had had my last breakfast of  noodles and soup for a while.  I really do need to change the menu (please, nobody suggest porridge).

We reached the Allt Loch Innis nan Seangan (I'm also relieved I don't have to type that again), which was easy to cross and started to gain height as the track turned north towards the bealach and forestry. It rained on and off but it was a pleasant and peaceful walk with varied views from the snaking River Ling, through scented pine woods and out to  more open countryside above Attadale.  There was little or no wind and it had got a bit midgy on this side, so we kept moving in a bid to outrun them, which was of course futile.

Upper Glen Ling

After a kink in the lane, to get round Attadale House and Gardens, we met the A890, which was really very unpleasant.  Apart from the feeling we had been spat back into the real world, there was no footpath or verges and quite a lot of fast moving traffic.  In addition the road climbs quite steeply as it cuts over the western end of Carn Ruaridh.  Why couldn't it have been built it alongside the railway line?  Periodically we would have to dive for cover as another vehicle sped past, and in places where there was a bit of a verge, we kicked our way through discarded bottles and cans.  It felt like a poor end to what had been a fine walk.  However, some relief was at hand in the form of two things. 

The first was an unexpected viewpoint, with a tourist information point describing the Moine Thrust on the far side of the loch.  I think it was probably  mentioned in The Joy of Sex but I'd long since given my copy to Oxfam to send out to Africa. 

Loch Carron from the view point

 The Moine Thrust

The second and even more exciting (yes, I appreciate that's hard to believe) was a tea room at the bottom of the hill (marked on the OS 1:50k as Pottery), assuming we survived the campervans driven by anxious tourists, who were not going to slow down for anything and risk losing momentum up this stretch of 1 in 5.  It took a few minutes to make ourselves presentable enough to go inside and we sat at the first empty table before anyone noticed the odour of socks and asked us to leave.  We might well have stayed there all afternoon but it was only another mile to Strathcarron, where a hotel room, hot shower and bar awaited us. 

Strathcarron Hotel
















It took a little while to find anyone at the hotel to give us our key but the goth receptionist was a very pleasant lass (well I thought so).  Christine opened the window and put our boots and socks out on the flat roof just below it.  We could probably have bottled the smell and sold it to the military as a biological WMD. 

The bar was typical of many in this part of Scotland with pictures of the local shinty team on the walls and a motley assortment of people including two oil men and some local fishermen who came to sit at the table next to ours.  They were big and loud and it was impossible not to overhear their conversation but apart from a few words which sounded close to english, I've no idea what they were saying.  The younger of the three fishermen felt it necessary to repeat  back to the two older ones, everything they said but in the form of a question.  "They're putting in new bouys".  "So they're putting in new bouys?"  "Aye, that's right lad, they're putting in new bouys". After more than 10 minutes of this 'Groundhog Day' experience I was close to interjecting to ask if he had some hearing or comprehension problem but Christine saved me from myself and ordered some more Red Cuillin.

So we'd done what we set out to do - 70 miles from Glenfinnan to Strathcarron with16,000 ft of ascent . We'd deviated from the original plan in terms of some of the places we stopped at night but it had all worked out pretty well.  We'd had two nights in bothies, two in tents, two in hotels and one in a garden shed.  I'm pleased we took the route through Knoydart and not Cameron McNeish's with his 'up the middle' start.  I walked Glen Affric and Glen Lichd last year on the challenge anyway, and they are both very fine,  but I think the North to the Cape start is much more in the spirit of what a route to Cape Wrath should deliver.  I don't know if it is the toughest long distance walk in Scotland, a description  I have read in a few places.  I'll maybe have more of an opinion when I've done the rest of it.  If we had been continuing, we would certainly have taken a day off at Strathcarron.  Knoydart is full on, intense, rugged and wild. You're hemmed in by the mountains and sea all the way.  It's a good value for money route that you have to commit to and be confident in your navigation, hillwalking and camping skills.  Until Shiel Bridge, any escape route would need a least a day to reach somewhere useful, unless you could get a ride out from KLH.

So this leaves the question of when we will come back to complete the remaining 120 miles to Cape Wrath.  It won't be this year and if we get on the Challenge next year, it may have to wait until 2012, which would be very frustrating as I am itching to experience the rest of the trail.

The End

Distance for the day: 8 miles and 1600 ft of ascent.  Totals from Glenfinnan: 70 miles and 16,000 ft.