Billy No Mates goes walkabout!
Friday 26th June –
Saturday 27th June 2015
If I may be permitted, to
paraphrase the words as immortalised by Peter, Paul and Mary……. Yes you do
remember them!
"Where have all the FAC
members gone? Gone to an easier life every one. When will they ever return when
will they ever return?"
Don’t ask
me. It’s Mushroom Troop here!
I have shunned the lure of boats,
booze and briny off the coast of Biarritz. Who needs luxury sailing?
Neither do I need a week in The
Dales/North Yorkshire Moors/or sumwhere t’up North where everything is
“champion”. Why would I wish to live in a fabulous cottage on the edge of a gorgeous
national park, with a pub just down the road for steak and ale every night.
A weeks surfing off Cornwall's golden beaches at Padstow
holds no attraction for me either. Bullies will kick sand in my face and the
water is far too cold.
There wasn't even a seul
mot from Langon!
Although, in truth, I would have considered all four if
invited but no, poor old Mike was left to his own devices.
What can I do that will occupy me for the weekend and stop
me feeling sorry for myself and indulging in a round of self-pity.
I know I'll go tabbing. That’s what we do at the weekend.
I plan on a couple of days out
with an overnight bivvy. I throw some extra rations and a gas stove into my
bergan along with a sleeping bag, bivvy bag, poncho and a few other bits and
pieces I deem necessary for a couple of days out. The weather all week has been
great here in Plymouth. Long sunny days, lasting well into the evenings. I
actually sat and watched Jackie’s Goldfish one evening when I fed them instead
of just throwing in the food and walking away. I geared up for an 08:00hrs
start Friday from The Mews at Ivybridge.
Here we are.
Well me actually, hence the title. Opposite “The Mews” ready for the off. It's
a pretty miserable day. Not cold but breezy with low cloud and mist. To say a
crowd of well wishes were there would not be true. In fact I was the only
person in the car park! One of you smart arses is going to say “Who took the
photo?” Get with the programme. Ever heard of a selfie?
I shouldered my bergan and set off. No
testosterone clouds to contend with today, no jockeying for positions up the
hill. It was just me.
Passing Ivybridge college, it was deserted at this time of the morning and
I doubted even the caretakers were
about. Quite soon I arrived at Cole Lane and took a snap of the DNP sign.
Exiting
Moor gate I could not see The Beacon. Indeed I could barely see fifty feet.
This will lift shortly I told myself. I followed the well-worn track up the
hill and crossed the puffing Billy track. On, up. I arrived at The Beacon at 08:26hrs
that’s 41minutes. Well outside Peter Nixon’s personal best of 27 minutes for
climbing “The Beacon.” I console my-self
with the fact I’m carrying 31 lbs on my back!
It’s still virtually zero visibility and
a keen wind is blowing. I move off towards Ugborough Beacon. I had not bothered
originally to work out a bearing, telling myself I knew which way to go. Well I
thought I did and to a greater extent I was right. I reached the top but took
ages to find the true Beacon Rocks amongst the others scattered in the mist. I
could not see from one outcrop to the next. It is now raining pretty hard. I
remember walking up here only a few months ago with Tim, Peter and Jackie and
even then there was some discussion as to its correct name and what point was
referred to on the map.
I knew now it would be compass bearings
if I was to get anywhere today. Whilst wandering around I had convinced myself
of the route that needed to be taken to drop down into the valley and contour
around to my next RV. The compass told me I was wrong by 180 degrees. I thought
about it, rechecked my printed and laminated route card, not that I ever
thought I would really need it or even that it would rain given the preceding weeks
fantastic weather. I decided the compass was wrong! Whoa stop there Mike.
Remember “The Compass is never wrong.” I kicked myself for
1. Not checking the compass before I set out.
2. Leaving out my second smaller compass
which I generally carry.
I checked
the bearing again, aligned my compass and set off down-hill. After a while the
mist cleared in the lower valley and I could make out Glasscombe corner at GR 663610. Try as hard as I may I could
not remember Neil’s limerick about the lady whose leg fell off which he told
when last The FAC passed this way.
On with my next bearing due North
towards Petra’s settlement. GR 662634. I was looking hard for the sheep fold
but as the mist had descended again I assume it was slightly further to my
East. Perhaps I’ll find it another time.
The next couple of Klicks passed in a
misty swirl until once again dropping down towards Petre’s Pits Bottom the mist
cleared. Could I find the settlement? No. I believe that the ferns had grown up
and over the old stone settlement. That’s one to bear in mind in future.
Topographical features seldom change right, so use those. An iron age
settlement doesn’t change but the flora around it can cover it!
Eastern White Barrow GR 665652 was my next RV. This is known to the
locals as “The Submarine” and it doesn’t take a lot of thinking about why. Or
does it?
Eastern White Barrow is a Bronze
Age cairn. It is certainly a commanding structure - a streamlined heap of
granite with a circular tower of stones. It is a burial structure. Approaching
it I was certain there were a couple of figures wandering around on it.
However by the time I arrived,
the mist was down again and it was raining heavy. Taking what shelter I could
in the lee of the rocks to set my next bearing, I could see no one. They had
probably moved off before I arrived. Nothing more sinister than that.
Eastern White Barrow GR 665652
Headed towards Wall / re-entrant at GR 668658.
For some reason I was slightly left of my aim point on this bearing. I know
why, one invariably drifts. I was a bit complacent here as I was headed for a
linear feature with a notable kink. Well we all have those don’t we? I was out
by about 400meters. A lot. Again the mist had lifted as I dropped down,
literally. Here was a steep sideways climb down through the tufty grass to the
upper reaches of The Avon.
Avon Reservoir away to my East. GR 6567
A good strong
jump and I would be across. Reaching the other side I could plainly see up on
the hill my next RV. Hickaton Hill GR 672665. I decided to fill my water bottle
from the stream and have a good gulp from my mug as well.
The upper reaches of The Avon River.
The ford is here at GR 664662 that’s
just to the left of the old footbridge columns just visible in the photo. It is
here that the Two Moors Way crosses the river at this ford. The path, which is
wide and un-mistakable runs from the ford away uphill towards one o’clock
passing beside Hickaton Hill settlement.
The mist had lifted for a while and it
was great to walk along a path. I struck out until I came to the old boundary
ditch. Here I moved uphill NW towards Pupers Rock GR 673674. Before I arrived
the mist and rain came on again. Setting my next bearing, I was off, it was too
cold to hang about. Another couple of klicks saw me wandering around in the mist
in the midst of the disused Tin Workings at GR 673697. I was looking for the
footpath that would take me to Combeshead Tor but as with all mine workings,
footpaths lead in all directions. The mist cleared momentarily and I caught a brief
glimpse of Venford Reservoir. I knew I was on a forward slope so set the
bearing for Combeshead Tor and strode out. After a few hundred metres I picked
up a track of sorts and as it was headed on my bearing I followed that.
As the mist started to lift up ahead I
could see a group of four walkers. The first people I had seen all day. Although
given the conditions, the whole of the Red Army could have passed me and I
would not have seen them!
I stopped for the briefest of chats. It
seems they were out practicing their Navigation skills. They should have been
with me today I thought. That was practice. “Where have you come from?” they
asked. “A little village called Ivybridge, South of here, ever heard of it?”
“No.” They reply. “Ah well time to move on” say I “take care.”
I ask you, who cannot possible have
heard of Ivybridge, Gateway to The Moor.
From the Tin Workings the path runs
nicely downhill for a couple of klicks passing Horns Cross to the car park at
Combeshead Tor GR 670718, my next RV. The mist was behind me now and the sky
was starting to brighten. There was a solitary car in the car park and no ice
cream van. As I approached a passenger car door opened but no one emerged. I
noticed the driver’s door window was suddenly wound down. Strange. The car
seemed too small to be waiting to pick up the four walkers I had passed earlier.
Best not get involved with this one I thought. One hears so many stories about
car parks on Dartmoor these days!
Week Ford on The West Dart GR 662724
A short distance away a farm track led
off towards Week Ford near Huccaby Farm. Crossing a few moorland cattle fields
on the permissive path brought me to the West Dart River and a lovely set of
stepping stones, all granite. I snapped away and thought that this is probably
the best view I had seen all day. All was clean, clear and peaceful. Aware that
this was the last opportunity to top up with water for the night and breakfast
tomorrow I refilled my litre bottle, took a few gulps and topped it off again.
I thought about dropping in a few puritabs as the fields all around were heavy
with cattle droppings and I reasoned that some of that might well be polluting
the river. It was though a fast flowing river and not a trickle of a stream so
I passed. I’ll be boiling the water later for scran and a brew anyway.
We don’t mess about in Devon. These are real stepping stones.
I made my
way up the tarmac road to the junction with the B3357, turned left and walked
the four hundred metres along the road taking my life in my hands. Once through
the gate at RV B3357/Track junction GR 660735 I stopped and took off my
waterproof jacket and trousers and sent a sitrep to my support crew! The sun
was fully out and it was now hot. Not that much further to go. About another
4K. Here I became careless. I knew where I was and knew exactly where I was
going but found myself at Laughter Tor GR 6575.
I needed to be at the next Tor over.
West of me. The one with the massive Trig point on top!
I had walked up to Laughter Tor and down
again when in reality I needed only to stay on the well-marked path, on a
gradual incline. I consoled myself with the fact it was only about 500metres
extra and besides I needed the exercise.
The Standing Stone S of Laughter Tor GR 651754
That’s the stone balanced on top of my bonce and Laughter Tor in rear.
Or is that laughter in my ear I hear?
Why is the jacket back on some of you observant guys will ask? Because minutes
before the sky had opened up again and a deluge fell. In the words of Victor
Meldrew I said to myself “I don’t believe it.”
Belliver Tor GR 6476
Belliver Tor GR 6476 Note the Trig Point
Belliver Tor GR 6476 looking back towards Holne Ridge, my route in
today.
Belliver Tor GR 6476 looking N towards Fernworthy Plantation and
Sittaford Tor. My route tomorrow.
My bivvy
position for tonight is just on the nearest end of the pale track centre of
photo.
17:30 hrs.
I had arrived at tonight’s bivvy. The sun was well out now and would be until
about 20:00 hrs when it disappeared behind the trees.
My first priority was to get the poncho
set up, throw in the bivvy and sleeping bag then get some water boiling for
scran. I had, last night, made a sausage baguette for lunch today but had not eaten
anything as I did not feel in the least bit hungry. I now munched a few
mouthfuls of sausage whilst waiting for the water to boil for my Pot Noodle.
Yes, I know all about Pot Noodles. No food value, dehydrated vegetables swept
off the factory floor, e numbers etc. I find them most convenient and for 90g weight
give approximately 436 calories. I usually throw in some frozen peas, raw
carrot etc and a spoonful of veggie soup powder. Most times I will leave this
mixture in its own plastic pot before resealing the lid. They take up some room
in your bergan but you can pour the mixture into a poly bag if space is of a
premium. It’s a quick and clean “meal”. This with some black coffee was
sufficient.
God
bless Errol Flynn. I took off my boots! Now we all know the story of Mike’s
boots and why he has not bought any new ones yet. An army might march on its
stomach but after that we need good boots. Of these I possessed not a pair. I
had covered somewhere in the region of 17 miles today perhaps a little more
allowing for mincing about in the mist and skirting bogs etc. My feet were wet
by the time I departed the N slope of The Beacon and had remained so all day.
Removing my socks, I threaded a stick up into each one and stuck it in the
ground in the sun in an attempt to dry them. I knew it was a fruitless task but
it’s something to do. I had a spare pair of thick walking socks which I could
wear tonight if my feet got cold but had no real intention of wearing them for
tomorrow. What’s the point they’d be wet within a few hundred metres. I had
also made a conscious decision not to carry a spare pair of trousers or shirt.
If I got that wet, well I would need to deal with it. I did have my “second
edition” Rab jacket for warmth in an emergency.
My sleep system consisted of my original
Karrimat, now it seems much out of favour in light of the new generation of
lightweight self-inflating air beds. A Tesco £14 Summer season use cheap
sleeping bag. I’ve had it for years and is no larger than a large loaf of
bread. Which incidentally works well when staying in Tim’s spare room during
the winter months. This one season bag I
slide into a Goretex bivvy bag and it works pretty well under my poncho.
Dependant on the night I can either strip down to my shreddies or sleep in my
kit. I prefer the shreddies option as I tend to get a better, more comfortable
night’s sleep I find.
With my toes in the sun and now dry some
feeling is returning. The small nail on my right foot for some reason has been
caught today and needs trimming/removing but it resists my attempts to pull it
off. I trim it back hard. Good old Swiss Army Knife with scissor attachment.
I sit for a while and watch the ponies
grazing in front of me. One seems to be showing far too much interest in what I
am doing and keeps coming closer. Several times I get up to shoo him away but
still he returns. I drag quite a few dead spruce trees around the entrance to
my enclave and convince myself that he will not trample on me in the middle of
the night. He has no reason to enter this part of the wood, it goes nowhere but
then again, does he know that?
The nosey neighbours.
It’s now 20:00hrs and what else is there to do but get some kip. I
stow everything away into my bergan and drag myself and it beneath the poncho.
It’s still very light and I’m not that tired but must have fallen asleep to be
woken at 21:00 by what was obviously two couples walking past chatting. I doubt
if they saw me. Surely it’s late enough to be out walking that far from a road
for a romantic stroll.
I drift off to sleep but
unusually for me I awake numerous times in the night. I was fairly comfortable
and quite warm but something would not let me drop into a deep sleep.
