BOLDLY GOES

The Broomway

Wed, 09 Feb 2022 00:00:00 +0000

I first learnt of the Broomway when I read The Old Ways by Robert Macfarlane a few years ago. Since then I’ve always wanted to walk ‘the deadliest path in Britain’. The path stretches six miles from Great Wakering to Foulness Island across Maplin sands. Only accessible at low tide, the Broomway was the only way on and off the island until 1922. It has claimed more than 100 lives over the centuries. Today, Foulness island is owned by the Ministry of Defence, meaning that the Broomway can only be walked in good visibility and on days when munitions aren’t being tested. As soon as you reach Foulness you must turn around and walk back again.

Down the pub, I mentioned all this to the boldly goes trio and was pleasantly surprised when they invited me to walk it with them. Given the path’s fearsome reputation we made sure to do our homework. This meant encountering the story of a young man who, poaching for wildfowl one January afternoon with friends in 1969, never returned from the sands after a thick mist rolled in quickly from the North Sea. Sudden fog was definitely our main concern and we made sure to take a second compass just in case we would need to ‘steer’ ourselves back to safety. I even went out the evening before our trip to practice navigating quickly and accurately in the half-light.

On the morning of the walk we got up early and made the drive from Hertfordshire to Great Wakering in order to arrive with plenty of time to explore the Broomway before the tide turned. The forecast was good but it was an icy November morning and we were still anxious that the whole trip may yet come to nothing.

It turns out that just before you reach Wakering Stairs there’s a military checkpoint that also controls access to the Island. After asking nicely, we were allowed to drive through and park at the start of the Broomway itself. It was cold and slightly foggy, a typical North Sea morning. Less typical were the warning signs and the squat grey watchtower staring out over the tundra-like sands towards the mouth of the Thames. Visibility wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either, and we’d come a long way so we headed down the slipway and onto the sands.

You can’t actually see the destination of Foulness Island for the first few hundred yards. The Broomway heads straight out to sea. Remnants of one or two of the brooms that gave the path its name, driven into the mud centuries ago to mark a safe route, still survive. This, combined with a sea mist, the sound of geese and a distant foghorn, make those first few hundred yards amongst the most surreal experiences I’ve ever had walking in the UK.

It isn’t hard to see why Maplin Sands were once earmarked for a new London airport. They are completely flat and, as we walked away from the shore, the final inches of the old tide rushed out over our boots. Looking down was surprisingly disorientating but, luckily, the fog was beginning to lift. At this point we realised that the Broomway isn’t all that long, and that the sands didn’t appear to be a complete death trap after all. This was partly a disappointment, but it did mean that we decided to wander out to an old shipwreck visible beyond the official path.

Distances are quite hard to judge on a featureless mudflat, and unsurprisingly the shipwreck was further away than it looked. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long until we were tentatively testing the sand inside the hull (definitely unsafe) and marvelling at the size of the oysters encrusted to the wood. From the shipwreck we deviated completely from the official path, instead following a line directly between two large posts that mark the river mouth of Havengore Creek for the benefit of sailors.

Sometime after reaching the second post we headed for Foulness Island itself. We aimed for Asplins Head, one of only two slipways to the island that are still in use. At the time I thought this seemed unnecessary. After all, there wasn’t anything special about Wakering stairs, we’d simply walked down onto the sands, why couldn’t we simply walk back to shore wherever we wanted?

There turned out to be a very good reason for not simply ignoring the map and making for shore. It turns out that the Foulness shoreline is a salt marsh. Any attempt to make it to dry land sooner than Asplins Head would involve slogging through knee deep mud (at best!). You would not want to be making for Foulness Island in a thick fog with the tide at your back!

Walking up onto the Island at Asplins Head, which still involves plenty of mud and a surprising amount of wild samphire, you’re greeted by another set of warning signs and a broad view of the island. Being flat and rural it looks, at first glance, like much of England. But the fact that entry is explicitly forbidden, and the fact that you can’t see the village itself from the headway, gives the whole place a deserted and desolate feel. It reminded me of the 1960s British TV show “The Prisoner” and I half expected Rover to come bounding across the fields toward us.

After absolutely no forbidden photographs (and definitely no trespassing) we decided to head back. The mist was gone and the sands looked just as strange in the bright sunlight. Everything looked like a watercolour. Giant container ships bound for the Thames glided over a thin plane of shimmering glass between the sand and the sky as we made for the flat greeny-brown smudge of Essex.

I can honestly say that the Broomway is one of the strangest places I’ve walked in the UK. And despite the fact that Maplin sands did turn out to be a little less dangerous and a little more like a giant beach than I was expecting, I still want more. I want to walk out further and reach the Sea. I want to visit at high tide in James’ boat and I want to keep walking past Aplins head along the shore of Foulness Island. Above all I desperately want to come back and walk the Broomway at night. I’ve no doubt this this would definitely be quite dangerous but I know that it will make the sands seems even larger, even stranger, even more desolate than they already are.

Walking the Broomway also makes me think… what other tidal adventures are to be had in the UK? Well… I have some ideas already and I certainly plan on bringing them up next time in the pub with the Boldy Goes Trio.

Tips for walking the Broomway:

Wellington boots are recommended. The water will easily swamp hiking boots and whilst bare feet would be fine away from the shore you do need something sturdier for Wakering stairs ands for making your way onto Foulness Island.
Make sure to do your research, especially around tide times. Consult David Quentin’s Broomway website.
It’s better to be safe than sorry. Just because this post makes it seem easy doesn’t mean that it will be. You should take a fully charged mobile phone but this alone is not enough. Take an OS map. Take a compass. Know how to use them and do not walk the path in poor visibility.

Coast to Coast Part 3

Sun, 29 Oct 2017 00:00:00 +0000

“What do you do when you get bitten by a snake?” I asked Sam. We looked at each other in astounded by what had just happened. We’d both seen it so I definitely wasn’t dreaming. I’d climbed over a wire fence beside the A171 just south of Whitby having crossed a (for once dry) moor covered in purple heather and in doing so landed upon an adder. I felt a sharp sting in my ankle, as if I’d been stung by a roided up wasp or some sort of super-nettle that had been carefully cross-bred by a mad horticulturalist. I shouted out in pain and looked down to find what had caused the fast jolt of pain up my left leg. And there he was, hissing angrily. And then he was gone, never to be seen again.

Chris has sensibly walked to extra 200metres or so to find the gate rather than crossing the fence, rather sensibly, and after Sam saw what happened to those who dare to defy the clear demarcation of said fence, he opted to go the long way round. I crossed over the road, sat myself down and began inspecting the wound whilst the other made the way. Two tiny spots of blood. Not really much to write home about, and not altogether painful. But I knew adders were venomous and are potentially even lethal. Even if it was incredibly unlikely I thought I’d better give the old NHS a quick call to check what I should do. This is roughly how it went.

‘Hi, I’ve been bitten by a snake.’

‘Sorry, did you say snake?’

‘Yes, a snake.’

‘…..’

‘Let me just put you on hold….’

I got the feeling that this doesn’t happen particularly often in the UK. Another voice came over the phone.

‘Are you sure it was a Snake?’

‘Yes, pretty sure’

The call went on like this for a while, and trying to establish where I was exactly to the operator took some time. I was told that I’d have to go to hospital as they may need to give me a dose of anti-venom.

An ambulance arrived shortly after and I was promptly laid down and hooked up to heart rate monitors and the thingy that measures your blood pressure (which I’ve just learned are called sphygmomanometers), and other bits of machinery that ‘go beep’.

It took a while for the ambulance to get going as they needed to phone around the local hospitals and infirmaries to see if anyone had any anti-venom knocking about. I was imagining a dusty vial in the back of some cupboard somewhere being found by the person on the phone to the paramedics:

‘Yeah we’ve got some here, it does say best before 1986 on it though?’

Middlesbrough was out but Scarborough General had some in stock. I told the boys to go on without me and not waste a day sitting around in a hospital, the ambulance doors slammed and off we went.

The previous two days of walking had taken us from Danby Wiske and into the North York Moors. We set off slowly in the morning and had lunch in a village called Ingleby Arncliffe, we saw a few of our fellow coast to coasters from the night before in the pub as well as the local WI darts team, who were amazingly bad at darts but looked like they were having a great time putting holes in the wall. And floor. And ceiling. From there the path began to ascend to the higher plateaus of the moors, we took a shortcut through the woods and soon emerged at the top in a landscape of purple heather and boulders, and well constructed paths paved with large flagstones. To the north we were treated to incredible panoramic views that stretched out over mile after mile of farmland and villages all the way to the industrial skyline of Middlesborough looking a little bit like a good-weather version of Blade Runner (sans plumes of flames shooting into the sky).

We wild-camped that night at a picnic area that was at one of the viewpoints on the edge of the moors. There was a mountain rescue team there on a training exercise and plenty of cars but we’d been on the road long enough by this point to realise that 99% of people really don’t care if they see you camping where you’re not supposed to. We clearly weren’t going to be any trouble.

As we set off the next morning we passed two guys, both in the 6 - 7 foot height range who looked like they were waiting for someone. They sized us up as we walked passed. We were taking it slow that morning and eventually the pair, now accompanied by a third person, marched past us, no doubt feeling a little smug. We were heading for the popular midday resting spot at the Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge. If you follow the coast to coast that Wainright suggests there’s a sneaky shortcut to get the pub that shaves off about a mile of unnecessary walking. Our lanky friends who overtook us earlier looked very surprised when they arrived at the pub to find us sat with pints of beer already half emptied.

We carried on walking. More Moors. We stopped eventually in Glaisdale for yet more pub food. Once again we met our tall competitors who walked in shortly after us.

‘Finished for the day already lads?’ one of them asked. He continued.

‘We’ve still got another few miles in us yet. Reckon we’ll keep going tonight to Egmont Bridge.’

It was time to lay some truths on these suckers.

‘So where are you staying tonight?’ I asked.

‘Oh, a B&B, sounds comfortable, we’ll be camping tonight.’

I asked him about where we’d seen them earlier in the day:

‘Did you camp near where we saw you this morning?’

‘No, we were in a B&B last night’

‘Huh, must have been a long walk to get to where we saw you then?’ knowing full well that the nearest B&B’s where not in anyway near to where we’d spotted them.

‘Oh no, we got a lift from the B&B to where we saw you.’

‘Not from the packhorse I hope!’ Knowing full well that they had been getting their gear lugged about form them by the packhorse minivans having seem them loading up gear with them at Lion Inn. They looked around sheepishly.

‘Well actually, we’re not done yet. We’re camping in Grosmont tonight, just a few miles more beyond Egmont Bridge.’

At this the proverbial mic was firmly dropped. I’m not a big fan of these petty competitions that amount to little more than measurements of manhood but I took great satisfaction in demonstrating that although they had us pegged when it came to speed, we’d carried all of our gear and had camped almost every night of our trip and had certainly not hitched a ride with anyone at any point.

The next day we set out on what was supposed to be the final day of our Coast to Coast. We caught the occasional exciting glimpses of the sea and of the Whitby Abbey. But for me it wasn’t to be, the fellowship was split up and as Sam and Chris trudged the last steps to Robin Hood’s Bay and finished the walk I went to Scarborough. My symptoms fortunately didn’t get bad enough to warrant giving me the anti-venom and I was released after 12 hours in the acute observation ward. I arrived at the YHA at Whitby at dusk, the sun setting over the North Sea and draping the hard black edges of the gothic arches of the Abbey in ribbons of orange and gold light. The next morning I returned to the spot where the ambulance had picked me up and marched out the last 5 miles with a slightly sore and swollen leg.

I was eager to see the end and found myself in Robin Hood’s Bay much sooner than I had expected. I walked into the North Sea at the end of the slipway, letting the water into the tops of my shoes, and in that uneventful moment it was done. I think I’d expected some sort of feeling in that instance, like awe, or of pride, or of joy, but really it felt anti-climatic and little bit nothingy. I sat myself by the Bay Hotel and took stock of what I’d achieved, hoping for some sort of euphoria to kick in and waiting for the others to arrive. But I suppose this journey was never about the destination, the end was no more important than any other point, it was less that I had arrived somewhere but more that I had finished something. Perhaps I felt a little disappointed in the end to reach the end, I had just started to become accustomed to life on the trail just at the moment that it was over. The other arrived, and immediately I felt a lot better seeing them again. We posed for a few celebratory photos, got the obligatory excellent fish and chips, and set off home thinking of what the next adventure will be.

Coast to Coast Part 2

Mon, 16 Oct 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I looked at the screen of my phone and saw a map of the UK. A blue dot showed (like a once amazing James Bond gadget (but now real and quite banal) where we were. It had crept tangibly across the country. The halfway point was drawing nearer as we reached Kirkby Stephen. The experience of what it had taken to get to this point defined how I felt about what was to come. The end felt further away than ever.

We stayed in an old chapel in Kirkby Stephen that was now a youth hostel and had followed the recommendation of some cyclists to go to the Mango Tree Indian where we ate heartily, stinking and as usual probably making the place look bad. Sat behind us a large table was laid for ten or so people. They arrived in dribs. Australians walking the Coast to Coast, guided by an Englishman who had sideburns that came to a carefully groomed point, as well as a goatee, and a gold earring. Even from the other side of a busy Indian restaurant and over the soft twanging sound of Sitar music it was clear to see his charisma as he held court amongst his followers. We ate to our content, not knowing that we would soon meet again.

The next day we bolted up to Nine Standards Rigg, jet propelled by last night’s curry. From there it was simply a matter of crossing the moor and walking gently along the Swale valley to the C2C halfway point at Keld at the aptly named Halfway House Pub. From Nine Standards there is no path across the moor, instead the map merely offers some suggestions, one for winter, summer and spring and autumn. We soon caught up to the group of Australians from the restaurant following their guide in a single file line. We casually followed behind in their footsteps intending to zip past them when the opportunity arose under the vain assumption that we would be much faster than the group of ageing ozzies. How wrong we were. We all followed with hiking poles in each hand, heads turned, cowering from the whipping wind whilst our charismatic guide walked slowly and stoically, hands in pockets and upright, as he meandered across the boggy moor, up and down, and over great ripped up tussocks of black peat like some abandoned battlefield. You could see him occasionally stopping to read the terrain and assessing the best path across the desolate mire. His guidance saved us from spending what morale we had in us on making it across this deceptively challenging landscape and left us we enough left to make the rest of our planned hike that day. It was interesting to experience how much mental and emotional energy we saved by following someone who knew the moor well. When the burden of responsibility is relinquished from you and given to someone with knowledge and experience with how to face that particular challenge it affords you a sense of security that can otherwise be energy-expensive.

One foot in front of the other, the moor subsided and we descended into Swaledale. We walked along the russet, iron-stained water of the Swale for mile after mile bathed in the orange light of the evening sun with our hearts set on reaching Reeth and our feet protesting every step. I remember finding it hard to savour the last two miles of this day despite being in one of the most idyllic parts of the country. I was pining for pints and pub food.

We reached Reeth and found a pub. We stayed rather too long enjoying ourselves and missed the check in at the Youth Hostel. It was to be a wild camping night. Because I’m daft I proposed that we camp in the village bus shelter, a large stone walled and tile-roofed shack beside the village green. Plus sides being: 20 yards from the pub, no need to pitch tents, next to public conveniences (a luxury to those doing C2C on the cheap). Downsides - frowned upon behaviour. We shiftily set up in the bus shelter shortly after last orders and were back on the road by first light.

We reached Richmond and saw the last of the Dales, from there you cross the Vale of York, a broad stretch of flat land that lies beneath the Moors. The Coast to Coast guidebook advises walkers not to rush this easy section of the walk, but instead to savour its beauty with relative ease. The person who wrote this advice did not factor in the iffy nature of the British summer. The rain came around noon and when it rained it poured, as it does. I mean really poured, like so wet. Like, so rainy. I still don’t fully understand what a hydrostatic head is in reference to waterproof clothing, but I can only assume that on that day the hydrostatic heads of my garments were decisively breached. So this section was indeed rushed, there was to be no savouring here.

Geographically this was the lowest point of our journey and emotionally it was too. If the steep inclines of the lakes where a test of our legs, this was a test of our mental fortitude. But it’s just a bit of rain right? What’s the problem? It’s just like normal but wetter. As long as I don’t get hyperthermia, which I know won’t, there’s no problem. Just a bit wet, that’s all. These were my mantras that ran around my head keeping the rain from bothering me too much. Eventually the light at the end of the tunnel came in the form of a pub. There were faces in the windows looking out as we trudged our final steps, dripping wet. The pub was full of Coast to Coasters drying out from their walks like us. There was a line of boots in front of a fireplace drying out that belonged to two Yorkshire women in their 60s, lively and looking like characters from a Calendar Girls spin-off, an American mother-daughter duo, a group of which the only person I can recall now was a man with a comically high pitched voice, and a young English couple, who were frustrated by their unnecessarily slow-paced itinerary; they’re due to finish later this year. I walked up to the bar and ordered pints for our weary souls from a man with a 1000-yard stare, looking like he’d seen too much in Vietnam, or that he’d sampled too much LSD when he working as a roadie for the Grateful Dead. I asked if they get a lot of coast to coasters, a daft question in hindsight but I was reaching for anything to crack through the awkward silence, he replied with with tangible disdain ‘That’s all we get’. I apologised for the inconvenience and took the beers back to Sam and Chris, easily half-dead by this point.

We were going to wild camp that night until we learned that the pub offered its garden as a camp-spot. The next day was to mark the final hurdle. The Yorkshire Moors were just a few miles away, sloping steeply up from the vale. The halfway point was quickly falling far behind us and the end was near. My hopes of reaching the end point were almost completely scuppered as I was carted off in an ambulance 5 miles before the end point. But you’ll have to wait until next time to find out what happened! Ooh what a lame tease!

Photo Story: Coast to Coast Part 1

Sun, 17 Sep 2017 00:00:00 +0000

1. It was the Best of Times, it was the Blurst of Times

This is Sam and me at the beginning of the coast to coast walk in St. Bees, a minor village on the west coast of Cumbria. Above us is a profile map of the route, an abstract squiggle to most, but for those who’ve walked the 192 mile route across England it is an unforgettable reminder of the ups and downs the path brings. I squiggled all over this photo from the comfort of a Youth Hostel bed at the Whitby priory having *almost finished the epic walk. It speaks of my state of mind at the end of this journey: there were a number of challenging parts to this trip that nearly scuppered us completely, on the other hand, there were apparently only three vaguely remembered ‘stupidly good views’ and no other positive moments of note? Surely there was more to it than that? Surely we didn’t just suffer for 192 miles walking for nothing? Surely?

2. The Route

The route that Alfred Wainwright put together takes you across the entirety of the Lake District, the Pennines, the Vale of York, and lastly, the North York Moors. Although well trodden and very well known, Alf’s Coast to Coast route is not a national path and is therefore not signposted particularly consistently. Navigational skills are in fact required. Cicerone do make a booklet with excerpts of the pertinent segments of the 10 or-so OS maps that cover the journey.

3. Humble Beginnings

In the beginning there were four. Harvey and Tom had joined Sam and me for the first couple of days of the walk, walking from St. Bees to Grasmere (Grazmere?/Grarsemere?). We had caught the train at the crack of dawn up to Leeds, where we denied a pint at 8.54am and were told to return in six minutes. Wetherspoons: I actually think I’m surprised. We then took the beautiful journey from Leeds to Carlisle and then the rickety one from Carlisle to St. Bees. We arrived in St.Bees by 3pm and were eager to crack on. We dipped our toes in the very edge of the wild and foreboding Irish Sea (even paddling would have been genuinely life threatening) and set off.

From St.Bees the path takes you along high red sandstone cliffs, leading towards the lighthouse which marks the most western tip of Cumbria. The elements had treated us to beautiful blue skies with one hand but whipped us with a hard wind with the other. I followed the others, filled with anticipation.

These first foot steps of an adventure fill me with thoughts of excitement as well as doubt. I wondered, privately, whether fate would break our stride; whether my ankle would hold out, or whether I’d be able keep up with the others. At the same time I was glad to finally be there on the path, having looked forward to it for so long. I have learned to appreciate that these steps are, in one respect, among the hardest of all: it’s easy to dream of adventures, and equally easy to put them off, ‘until next summer’, ‘until I have the savings’, ‘until I have the time’, ‘until x,y, and z’. A plethora of practicalities stand between us and the realisation of our ambitions. Indeed, finding yourself making first step on your adventure symbolises that half the battle is already won. The worries of everyday life can’t stop you now, from the beginning of the journey to its end, your only challenge is keep moving towards your goal, one foot in front of the other. Here we were, we’d finally made it, we’d planned, prepared, planned some more and at last set off on a grand adventure.

4. Three Pieces of Advice

Do bring Sudocrem, or some such like, for alleviating chafing after a long day’s hike.
Do bring a small bottle of hot sauce to pep up bland trail meals.
Do not allow hot sauce to get on hands prior to applying sudocrem.

Enough said? Enough said.

The Trials and Tribulations of Day Two

We had wild camped just on the edge of the Lake District on our first night. Where once the hills had loomed in the distance, the morning light of our second day had revealed the hills right before us. We were to head past England’s most remote youth hostel at Black Sail (which we visited back in May). We even caught up with the Warden there: James, who is a man of legendary levels of safeness. We will meet again, James! From there, we climbed up and out of the Ennerdale valley, to Honister pass, bypassing the standard stop at Rosthwaite and heading instead up Greenup Gill, past the memorial for Gordon Hallworth, towards Grasmere, where we’d say goodbye to Tom and Harvey and say hello to Chris, who was to join us for the remainder of the walk.

This was to be one of those hikes that would get the better of us. In the final hours of our walk a dour rain had begun to fall our and energy levels had depleted in the content neglect of knowing there was not much further to go. We did have plenty of food with us, mostly in the form of the solid rocket boosters that are PB+J wraps (which will get you up a mountain if you can stomach them). We dodged then waded, pathless, through the bog at the top of Greenup Edge, whereby we caught our first glimpse of Chris, or at least what we thought might be Chris. A tiny speck in the valley beneath us, moving slowly along the path. I wolf-whistled, and the figure paused, scanned around the mountain side and continued moving. Had he heard us? We trudged down the path, (myself, certainly) growing increasingly grouchy in our eighteenth mile of the day. Eventually, and luckily, we found Chris, who had already scouted out a spot to camp, ‘it’s just up this small hill’, I nearly collapsed in protest at the thought.

I fell into my tent once I’d shonkily put it up, chowed down on some highly fragrant Chorizo and then promptly passed out.

When I awoke, glad that our most arduous day was behind us, outside my tent I could hear footsteps. I unzipped the door to see Sam pacing. I asked him for the time, to which he answered ‘it’s about half-past bleeeuurrrghh’, Sam had spewed a great stream of steaming brown chunder mid sentence. I slowly zipped up my tent door.

6. In Sickness and in Health

We reached Grasmere early that morning and gathered around a cafe table in the rain. Harvey and Tom were about to depart on a bus and Sam was still very unwell. Sam considered calling it a day and heading for home too. I, however, wouldn’t have it. we’d planned to do this trip for months and I knew it would have eaten away at Sam if he had returned home so early in the trip. We instead booked ourselves into the youth hostel where we could wait for Sam’s sickness to pass. I must admit I was worried about him, and hoped that I’d done the right thing in urging him not to go home.

Tom and Harvey had said their goodbyes and Chris, Sam and I headed to the hostel. We soon found ourselves plonked in a pleasingly over-warm lounge, blearily lazing about, no doubt making the place look bad. Sam caught up with some much needed sleep whilst Chris and I explored the mish mash of books on the bookshelf. I learned a lot about the history of the Silk Road that day. Then, as the evening drew in, a feeling of impending doom came over me. ‘Uh-oh’, I thought to myself. ‘Nausea!’, I exclaimed. Chris concurred that this was indeed a word of Greek origin (as we were mid talk about words derived from Latin and Greek, of which he is an expert), ‘No,’ I replied, ‘I’m feeling nauseous!’. Chris kindly reassured me and attempted to distract me but it was no-dice. This was happening.

I had suffered the same fate as Sam, some mystery bug had got the better of both of us. We were to spend another night in Grasmere, this time waiting for me to recover.

7. On the Road Again

After having been stuck in Grasmere purgatory for 2 days, 3 for Chris, it was a welcome feeling to be on the trail again. As I look back in my memory, this day’s walking for me was my favourite of all. We hiked up-and-over towards Patterdale, and then made the reasonably steady ascent to Kidsty Pike, the highest point of our trip standing at 780m, not huge but still not to be sniffed at.

The Lake’s were at their best this day, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen them before. One thing you notice here is that you can spend hours looking upon the same hillsides, and then as you reach a summit, your vista is in seconds completely transformed, each time as if you’ve found a new world. As you reach the top of Kidsty, and catch sight of the land that lies beyond it, your horizons are suddenly incredibly distant as the rugged, edged hills of Cumbria relent into the porous limestone plateaus that stretch all the way to Nine Standards Rigg beyond Kirkby Stephen some 30 miles away. It was bloody lovely, it was. But we couldn’t hang about, night was drawing in and we needed find a good spot to camp, so we sloshed our way down the hill towards Haweswater and set about looking a spot to pitch-up.

8. Five Star Wild Camping

What’s this? A walled grove of trees with a stone firepit? I had ran up ahead to have a quick look to see if there was a decent place to pitch up for the night. Within 30 seconds I’d gestured back with a thumbs up to the others. Sometimes a wild camp spot can end up being a bit of a ‘this will have to do’ situation; with uneven ground, not very out of sight, trespassing etc. But this wasn’t the case here. This was five star wild camping, every criteria for a great spot was met and more. Ok maybe there were a lot of midges now I think of it, but I’m willing to look past this.

9. Honesty and Generosity

The occasional trove of goodies such as this appear throughout the journey. They are great and I like them very much. Thanks Thomas Richardson! This particular box of goodies can be found on the eastern side of Naddle Bridge a few miles from Shap.

10. From Swaledale’s to Texel’s

One of the greatest joys of walking long distance is seeing the landscape around you gradually changing. Having hiked out of the Lake District along the shores of Haweswater reservoir we found ourselves in a completely different environment. Most noticeably, the land was much flatter, and much drier and dotted with lots of natural springs bubbling out of limestone cracks. There were other differences too, for example, we began to notice that Sheep had changed from the haggard and ugly Swaledale’s you find psyching you out halfway up any given fell, chewing gormlessly as you pant your way slowly up the hillside, and given way to much more daft looking Texel Sheep with their squashed faces that look quite cheerful in their ignorance of what’s in store for them.

We’d passed by Shap which was teeming with people taking part in one of these self-flagellating uber-marathons that have added cargo nets, walls, and spike pits (probably). We spent a good while watching them, a good way to pass time as we rested up. For it was to be one of those days where the pit-stops were all made in record time, each lasting longer than the last. Tiredness was again playing its part, and towards the end of the day and we wound up camping where our legs finally gave in. Luckily this happened to be on the high side of a broad valley overlooking the northern end of the Yorkshire Dales which were draped in the orange light of the setting sun and followed by the silver light of a full moon.

Stay tuned for the next part of our Coast to Coast adventure…..

Q&A with Ray Mears

Fri, 08 Sep 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Ray Mears needs no introduction. We are all familiar with his superb TV programmes and books from over the years covering survival, bushcraft, history, and even foraging. This Autumn Ray will be touring the UK with his show ‘Born To Go Wild’, which your can find out more about here. Here at Boldy Goes we were particularly excited when we heard about Ray’s tour and thought we’d catch up with him before he hits the road later this year.

Ray has been a pivotal figure in laying down the foundations for us ultimately making this website dedicated to bringing stories of adventures in the wilder corners of Britain, and further afield. We met the opportunity of talking with Ray with all the zeal of your quintessential ‘Trekkie’, or a ‘Trackie’ perhaps?……..

Ray Mears Born To Go Wild will be at theatres around the UK from 8 October You can check the tour dates and book here now!

Here’s a few questions we put to Ray when we spoke to him.

Boldy Goes: I remember your TV series ‘Wild Food’ fondly, I did notice however, that your co-presenter Professor Gordon Hill, never seemed to enjoy the food eaten on the show as much as you did. What, if ever, has been enough to induce from you a Hill-esque grimace upon eating?

Ray Mears: Gordon was wonderful to work with, I have many fond memories of experimental wild food meals that we tried some successful and a few others not so successful. There have been a few things that have made me grimace, the sight of a toredo worm being the most memorable, a long slimy insipid white worm like mollusc that bores into ships timbers and dead mangrove trees. Strangely enough it tasted deliciously like crab sandwich spread with a hint of chilli.

What are you excited about right now? And what’s next?

I am excited about being home planning future projects, enjoying being home with my wife and being out in the glorious British countryside. Right now I am preparing for the Born to go Wild tour.

Your new UK tour, Born to go Wild runs from 8th October through to the end of November and travels all around the country. Would you be able to talk a little bit about what we can expect from the show?

Yes, in the first half I am going to talk about and demonstrate skills particularly fire skills exploring why it has been important to humanity and what it still means in really wild places. In the second half I will explore the importance of watching and learning about wild life, with examples from recent filming expeditions in Australia.

You’ve travelled the world, seen it in its most extreme and hostile forms and have been to our planet’s pockets of paradise. Where is your favourite place to visit time and again? Where is a place you don’t want to return to?

It is really hard to single out one particular place there are so many and so very varied. Certainly Canada, Australia and Africa have called me back many times but equally there are the remote islands of the pacific or the country trails of the U.S.A.

While outside you often allude to the “inner silence” you find while becoming part of the forest. You have gleaned many technical skills from bushcraft masters all over the globe, but who are your biggest influences on the spiritual side of being outdoors?

That is a really difficult question, I have encountered many varied spiritual perspectives on life. Personally, I would say I have found the strongest connection with many of the spiritual beliefs demonstrated by the First Nations in Canada and the United States, although what I have learned from my visits with Australian Aboriginal communities has been fascinating and mind expanding.

When you make a programme who are you trying to please?

When I make a film with aboriginal people, they are my target audience. I want them to be happy with the way they are represented on screen. I was once stopped by an Inuit man in Yellowknife Canada. He recognised me from the TV and said, ‘I like your programmes they tell things how they really are.’ It was the best praise I have ever received, he then went on to share a skill of fire making in the tundra with me that was of immense benefit just a few days later.

Did you know that you were/are my childhood hero? Without your TV shows and books my life and experiences would have been much less rich. Not really a question, I just wanted to say thanks!

Thank you

Can the Boldly Goes boys and I come camping with you sometime?

Yes please do, let’s plan something.

Ray Mears Born To Go Wild will be at theatres around the UK from 8 October, you can check the tour dates and book here now!

Managing Diabetes in the mountains

Fri, 18 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I’m a walker and have been since I can remember. From tottering up the bottom section of the Watkin path on Snowdon at age two, to organising a three-day trek in Snowdonia at age fifteen, I have always felt at home exploring the mountains. By my early thirties I had walked extensively in Snowdonia as well completing hikes in the Lake District, Peak District and Scotland. I have a kind of obsession with Snowdon and have summited forty-two times by a number of different route combinations. Hiking and scrambling have always been my escape. When life gets tough, I run away to the mountains and am always renewed.

Then, last year, I got really ill. I was rapidly losing weight and became so weak that the most basic everyday activity became extremely difficult. I would drop things and regularly lost my balance when walking. My eyesight also began to deteriorate. There were other symptoms too, which I shall not go into detail here. I was in denial. For months, my situation worsened, but who wants to admit the fact that there may be something seriously wrong? I explained it away in my head. It must be work. I was a new teacher and extreme tiredness is par for the course in this profession. I eventually saw a doctor who, after testing my blood glucose level, told me I had to go to hospital immediately. That night I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes and kept in overnight on an insulin drip. On release, my condition did not improve as expected and, to cut a long story short, I was diagnosed with Pernicious Anaemia, Hypothyroidism and Polycythaemia over the next few months. The latter three conditions are all easily treated with injections and prescription drugs, but Diabetes is a life-changer!

Diabetes management is a complex thing and can be overwhelming to start with. I wondered if I would ever be able to hike again. In Type 1 Diabetes the body is not able to produce its own insulin. Insulin is a hormone that basically transports glucose from your blood into your cells for energy. As the body is no longer able to regulate blood glucose levels, this must be done ‘manually’. This is the tricky bit. If blood glucose rises too high it results in hyperglycaemia, which if occurs too frequently over an extended period of time, leads to all sorts of scary complications such as blindness, kidney failure, heart failure, nervous system failure, basically ‘everything failure’. Low blood glucose, hypoglycaemia, if untreated, leads to diabetic coma and death. The difficulty in keeping blood glucose levels within an acceptable range is that there are so many factors that influence it. Generally speaking, carbohydrates raise blood glucose and insulin lowers it. Exercise is a big factor too and it was this that was the biggest concern for me. Exercise dramatically lowers blood glucose levels and can easily lead to hypoglycaemia.

Diabetes however would not beat me. Steve Redgrave, diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes at age 35, said: “Diabetes has to live with me, not me live with it”. I took inspiration from this and from other professional sports people with the condition. Progress was slow. During my early recovery period, I would walk one mile in the field behind my home, slowly. I would work out how many Jelly Babies I needed to compensate for the energy expended. One Jelly Baby has five grams of carbohydrates and would allow me to walk for fifteen minutes without my blood glucose dropping too far. I wondered what people might think seeing a man out walking for exercise and replacing the calories expended immediately by eating sweets as he walked! In time, I extended my walk to two miles and switched the Jelly Babies for snacks with a lower glycaemic index (slower conversion from carbohydrates to glucose). I became more confident and the fear lessened the more I experimented.

Six months after diagnosis I decided to go big. Snowdon was waiting. But I needed to be careful. This was a big step (I’ve never been a very patient person). There was no chance I would be doing this on my own so I recruited my two brothers, both experienced hikers. I chose a route that neither of them had done before, ‘The Rollercoaster’. A 10-hour walk involving five peaks and a lot of up and down in between. As well as the usual map, waterproofs, spare fleece and water, my pack this time (and ever since) included a lot of carbohydrate snacks, glucose tablets and glucose test strips. Blood glucose levels were checked at least every hour and carbohydrates regularly eaten. On a few occasions, blood glucose dropped a bit low and glucose tablets were required but overall, the diabetes was managed and the trip was successful. I could even justify a very unhealthy feast in the summit café. Energy levels were good throughout and the future was now brighter.

Since diagnosis seventeen months ago, I have completed eighteen peaks in the UK and a winter hike on the lower slopes of the Eiger North Face. There are still challenges. My blood glucose monitor does not work in sub-zero temperatures during winter walks and diabetes changes during the early years, so treatment routines need to be adjusted. I continue to be inspired by others with the condition. In 2015 a guy named Jerry Gore, a type 1 diabetic in his fifties, made a speed ascent of the north face of the Eiger, still one of the most dangerous climbs around. Fortunately, I still have my escape. I can go to the mountains and with some additional care, can wander to my heart’s content.

Hiking the GR20

Fri, 14 Jul 2017 00:00:00 +0000

The GR20 is 180km, and when Googled is described as ‘the toughest long distance trail in Europe’. Starting in the northwest of Corsica and running over the mountainous spine of the island, and ending in the southeast. There are dozens of GR (or Grande Randonnée) footpaths all over France, Spain, and other parts of Europe.

I knew none of this when asked if I would like to accompany my friend Neil on the trail. We were on a caving expedition in the Austrian Alps. He was about to embark on a five-day underground camp, but was already thinking about his next adventure. I’d been in the mountains of the Picos De Europa in Northern Spain the month before, so felt fairly fit. Neil had spent the past month climbing at altitude in France and Switzerland, but I might be able to just about keep up. He had no one to hike with anyway and I had nothing planned when back in the UK, so thought why not? I’d not hiked two days in a row since the Duke of Edinburgh weekend in Derbyshire aged thirteen, but how hard could it be?

I booked my flights, slightly concerned that we seemed to have only allowed for twelve days hiking, when most people took 15 to 16.

A lady kindly let us shelter under her porch during a storm. She even brought us coffee out!

Side notes:

Instigating impromptu parties the night before sleeping on the floor of Gatwick Airport about to hike across an entire country is NOT recommended.
Putting your new tent up for the first time, in a thunderstorm, only to discover the poles supplied are for a tent twice its size, is a bad idea.
Wearing short shorts makes it remarkably easy to hitch a ride to the start of the trail. The locals are friendly and happy to help anyway.

View from day 1 camp.

The first day’s hiking went well- the terrain was steep but not technical and our campsite had an excellent view. I’d brought a tiny 2/3 length inflatable matt that was dismissed on site as a poor choice. I however viewed it as a good one when Neil was forced to wake up each night to re-inflate his cushy thick roll matt that turned out to have a slow puncture.

We thought to get a head start on the first uphill section of day two, and do it in the cool of the morning. We set off at an alarmingly early 6am, headtorches on. Unfortunately, what is relatively easy navigation in daylight- simply look for the red and white painted markers- becomes much harder before the sun has risen. After several false trails and backtracks, it was decided that the extra hours sleep made much more sense.

The northern half of the GR20 is predominantly steep rocky paths, boulder hopping, and scrambling. Technical but fun, and making one very grateful for walking poles. Corsica is gorgeous, and from up high you get at least one glimpse of the sea most days. This does however give the impression of not getting anywhere fast- why can we still see it?? There are many beautiful clear rivers and streams running through the mountains. We were using chlorine tablets, but the locals seemed to just drink straight from the stream. After a hot sweaty day we washed our clothes and ourselves in the river by our camp. It felt great but it’s debatable what’s better: clothes that smell of sweat or clothes that smell of sweat and river water.

We quickly picked up a routine. You cultivate a very particular way of setting up your sleeping area, the order things are done in, who does which task. Up at 6 (6:30 if we’re honest), munch down two bland packaged pain au chocolat, get out of your one set of sleeping clothes, into your one (and increasingly smelly) set of walking clothes. Brace for getting out of the cosy sleeping bag and pack up camp as fast as possible. We’d generally stop for lunch about 12, then push on to the next night’s camp site for 2-5pm, depending on how long that leg was. We made great time on the uphill sections. Unfortunately a year-old skiing injury to my knee made the downhill painful and relatively slow going, but we were still on course for our time limit.

The food situation was expectedly monotonous. Either smash, pasta, or couscous, with tuna (not good) or chorizo (much better), a carrot, and stock cubes. Followed by two chocolate biscuits each. Lunch was bread and cheese. Unfortunately the Corsicans are fond of a very strong, (and very expensive when up at mountain huts) goat’s cheese. It feels particularly sad to be forcing down something that tastes awful, that you know cost you 15 euros, but you need the calories.

Some of the steep bits of rock have chains on to help pull yourself up, others don’t.

We reached the midpoint of Vizzavona at the end of day 6. The village there is tiny, but felt strange after being out of civilization even for such a short time. We took a day off to catch the train to Corte for a break and to restock on food.

So on we continued, knowing the southern half of the trail was meant to be easier, or at least slightly less rugged and mountainous. Though by that time I had stopped thinking ‘just got to get to the top of that hill’. It’s pointless when you know there will just be another one after it.

It doesn’t take long to really miss life’s little luxuries. You don’t realise the joy of sitting on a clean toilet until you and your walking companion both have dodgy stomachs; waiting your turn for the trowel and rationing the last of the loo roll.

The first few days were spent counting down: one day down, loads still to go; two days down, loads still to go. As the end drew nearer I became more focused on the stunning scenery and appreciated the simplicity of just walking each day. I would take my turn on the kindle each evening for half an hour, then be asleep before nine, Neil not much further behind.

The worst part of the southern half was the shortage of water points. There was a night where we went to sleep thirsty, having to ration our water, woke up thirsty, then hiked a couple of hours uphill and in the heat of the sun before we found a dribble running down the rock. Luckily we had a filter straw so took turns sucking up moisture, not bothering to stop for breath. Thirst definitely brought me to my grumpiest. I began fantasising about an ice cold Orangina for hours on end. The final day was a draught day. The last village we’d been in we had taken turns going to the shop and buying a ‘luxury’ item. Neil chose Haribo. I chose a big ripe pear each, for which Neil mocked me. But on that final day when we had no water and the sun was creating an oven out of the valley, that pear was the juiciest, best pear I’ve ever eaten.

Neil sucking water from a rock.

The end of the GR20 is fairly anticlimactic. You end up in a small, not very attractive town. But we were happy to be done nonetheless. Ten and a bit days of hiking brought us in well under guidebook time. We had met one of the managers of a mountain hut and discovered that he ran it in three days, but we were still pretty pleased. It’s definitely inspired me to look for another long distance trail to take up. We met a couple out there who were planning the PCT, maybe one day.

Sitting round the pool at our fancy main town campsite the night before our flight, another friend messaged me asking why I wasn’t coming up to Skye the next day. I needed a rest, but the adventure bug was still biting so I booked a connecting flight to Glasgow then and there.

Lessons learnt: Take more than one loo roll between two people, for two weeks. A needle and thread is very handy for stitching together broken tents. It’s a great way to lose weight, I’ve never seen so many of my ribs! And grab every opportunity that presents itself.

All photos taken by Neil Cox

A wild tea tasting session

Fri, 07 Jul 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Hiding in plain sight along every hedge row in England is an underutilised wealth of flavour. Each year from late July to September a separate crop of “weeds” ripens in the gaps between fields of corn and peas and rots on the vine, almost entirely ignored both by farmers and the general population. Most people are not even aware that the fruit exists and some who are are put off by the thought that foraging near fields might be seen as stealing, but actually as long as you are picking for personal consumption you are protected by the law in England and Wales.

"A person who picks mushrooms growing wild on any land, or who picks flowers, fruit or foliage from a plant growing wild on any land, does not (although not in possession of the land) steal what he picks, unless he does it for reward or for sale or other commercial purpose."
- The England and Wales Theft Act 1968

Last summer, James and I decided to spend some time searching for and tasting some hedgerow delicacies, we were pleasantly surprised by what we found in a very short space of time. We started with the more common forageable plants and chose tea as the medium by which to explore the flavours as it is easily prepared with the most basic camping equipment, requires no extra ingredients and no messy preparation or clean up.

We prepared each tea in the same way; by simply adding the foraged item to hot water, sometimes lightly crushing or tearing it first so that brewed faster.

We began with Blackberries, these sweet fruits are easily spotted on brambles all over the country and are tasty straight off of the plant. Brewing a handful in to two cups of hot water provides a sweet and light flavour with an aftertaste dominated by tannins which stays with you for some time and really wakes you up. Brewed with more berries, the sugars override the astringent aftertaste and make something we really recommend, especially when you are cold and need a pick-me-up in the woods.

Sweet and slightly tangy, it would be most welcome on a cold morning or once left to cool, enjoyed as a cordial on a summer's day.

Next we picked some leaves from a Hawthorn bush, tore them up and added them with a few seeded berries to boiling water. This tea did not smell particularly appetising and tasted about the same, quite earthy, bitter but with some of the apple-y notes that the leaves provide when chewed raw. I took some of the berries home and dried them above my boiler; the dried berries made for a much sweeter tea, but it wasn’t really worth the work.

Our final and surprisingly palatable tea came from the abundant wild spearmint supply in the meadow the other side of the hedgerow. We expected to taste mint straight away, but there is actually a sweet and aromatic tangy flavour more like celery first, followed by an airy spearmint aftertaste. We would definitely recommend this tea, mostly because it is so easy to prepare and tastes incredible, but also because it always seems to grow in the best sunny spots in meadows covered in butterflies and bumblebees. After all, the best foraging brings you to a new beautiful place physically as well as culinarily.

The spearmint tea left us with a refreshed feeling and a hankering for a Polo.

Once you start looking for tasty treats in the undergrowth a foraging Baader-Meinhof effect kicks in quite quickly, soon you’ll be spotting food in places you have driven past every day for years and begin wondering why no-one else has noticed this before. We picked everything we needed to make these teas and more from a single hedgerow on one side of a field in Hertfordshire.

This year I am fully prepared and have been on the lookout for flowers and other tell tale signs of a soon-to-be ripening feast in some hedges and trees while running. I have marked several spots I think are developing well on my OS map and plan to bring you some more tasting sessions and recipe ideas later in the season.

Remember not to over do it with any foraged fruit and plants, not only because you should leave some for the local wildlife and re-seeding for next year, but also because some foraged fruits contain chemicals that can be both beneficial and detrimental to your health. If you have any ongoing medical conditions check with a doctor before you try some of these teas!

24 hours in the Peak District: Summer Solstice Camp

Fri, 30 Jun 2017 00:00:00 +0000

As the night drew gently in, a string of red lights lit up, reaching one by one higher into the sky. The transmitting station at Holme Moss stands as-the-crow-flies only 3 miles away from our camp spot high up on the side of Laddow Rocks, a rocky outcrop at the northern end of the Peak District. Further away to the east, the headlights of cars passing across the top of Langsett Moor streamed around the meandering bends of the A628. An Airbus A380 passed overhead, bound for Manchester. Yet, as is so often the case for those wild camping, we had somehow found ourselves a small pocket of wilderness; a bastion within a land of creeping bricks and tarmac.

It was the day of the summer solstice when we drove from Hertfordshire up the M1 and into the peaks, passing Chesterfield’s crooked and twisted church spire, looking like some elaborate set for a movie. We took a diversion to stop at Alpkit’s new flagship store at Hathersage where we picked up a couple of bits of new kit, namely the Alpkit Numo and a new Sawyer water filter, which we will be reviewing in the coming weeks. The shop, by the way, is very cool, and well worth the visit if you’re into your camping and hiking. I have to say their tents look excellent in the flesh and made a much more resounding impression with me and Sam in store than they had done on the website.

We made our purchases and hit the road, heading towards Crowden where we parked the car and made the 3 mile hike up to the Laddow rocks. The first part of our hike was done under a cloudless sky, the sheep had retreated from their pastures and were lazing beneath the few copses of trees that lined the path. Thankfully, as our path began to get steeper the clouds rolled in, offering some respite from the searing heat. A large bird of prey flew past, barely using its wings as it soared over us. We ruled out the usual suspects, too slender to be a Buzzard, too large for a Sparrowhawk and certainly not a Red Kite. Perhaps a Hen Harrier, maybe even a Montagu’s? We steadily reached the top of the crags of Laddow Rocks and it was time to start scouting for our spot: a small sheltered cave on the face of the crags used mostly by climbers. We had learned of the spot from a Reddit post and quickly put it on the list of places we wanted to go. It was hard to get any specific details about how to find the spot and it was up to us to keep our eyes peeled for a likely looking path to get to the cave. Fortunately we found the route down to the cave without too much difficulty.

There is just enough room in the cave for two people to camp in and there are a number of rocks and ledges that make for good seats and cubby holes for putting your gear. All in all a very cozy spot with an amazing view of the valley below, and best of all completely free! We had worried on the journey about the possibility that some other equally enlightened wild campers may already have nabbed the cave for themselves but luckily there was no sign of any other people when we arrived (in fact, in our whole trip we only saw two other people) apart from a silver plastic bag secured under a rock in the cave. Inside was a small blue visitor’s book and a biro, I opened it up to read the entries to find that we were the first people to find the book and the only other entry was written by the person that left the notebook behind just a few days prior.

The heat wave was passing and in its wake came the storm clouds, the sky was rich with orange and yellow hued clouds, towering up like distant rugged mountain ranges. We were well sheltered by the rocks as we watched the weather draw in. This was it, the circled day on the calendar, the summer solstice, a wonderful time to be camping and enjoying the long days and short, never-quite-dark nights. This camp also marked the antithesis of the night we had spent on the Norfolk coast last December, on the winter solstice, which you can read about here, where the inky night was heavy presence that defined the experience, an experience seldom had in the age of electric light. But tonight symbolised the summer, a time when our environment is at its most forgiving and bountiful, a time which has been celebrated by the peoples of Britain for thousands of years.

I have written of having a digital detox before, where I proclaim that taking 24 hours to switch off from the hyperconnectivity of modern life is a refreshing and revitalizing experience and something I would highly recommend to anyone and everyone to try at least once. Camping on the face of a cliff in the Peak District is perhaps the epitome of this notion. And I felt that in this time of division and uncertainty in Britain, a time that has been testing my faith in this country and the people who run it, just spending some time outside at the mercy of our environment and time spent with friends is a subtle but enriching experience. So get out there and try it, forget the campsite, forget the law, just find yourself a pocket of Britain’s remaining wilderness and enjoy it in all its glory!

Going Ultralight: Refining the Essential

Fri, 23 Jun 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Having taken preliminary action in the first article we have established a decent starting point for an ultralight base weight. Depending on the quality and cost of your existing gear you should have a current base weight somewhere close to mine, perhaps even lighter. From here there is still a surprising amount of weight to be saved just by customising what we have already. In this installment I will be making small weight reductions in several places, retaining all of the functionality and spending very little indeed. Scissors are an ultralighter’s best friend!

First up, water; there are some easy reductions to be made here simply by switching to retail plastic water bottles. The hiker’s favorite brand seems to be Smart Water at the moment due to the fact that the thread of the bottle top matches perfectly with Sawyer filtration products, and the slim design makes it easier to fit them into free space in your pack.

Supermarket water bottles make for cheap ultralight alternatives to aluminium and heavier plastic camping equipment.

I couldn’t find any 1L bottles so I bought 3 600ml bottles for 60p each; sans the plastic ring and label they come in at 30g each, I’ll upgrade to two 2L bottles when I can find them. I added a 7g scoop because it makes filling the bottles in a stream much easier, really reducing the chance of cross-contamination. These bottles are cheaper than my existing water containers and save me a total of 98g.

The next easy saving can be made with my cooking system; while my Trangia 28-T is fantastic, the burner makes up two thirds of the overall weight and I hardly ever use the frying pan. I did a quick bit of research into homemade soda can stoves and after some deliberation settled on the [Yak Small] stove design from Logan Watts at Bikepacking.com. This stove features roughly the same burn time and a faster time to boil as the Trangia but weighs 90% less. I got straight into it with my scissors and after a few cuts and scrapes ended up with a 10g stove which not only replaces the 115g Trangia stove, but also functions as its own pot stand. Weight saved: 258g.

At only 360g the cute Trangia mini is already light but being able to leave nearly 3/4 of it behind is even better.

A reduction in overall carried weight means that I can afford to have a more flimsy, lighter backpack with less padding and structure. By reaching for the scissors once again and mercilessly attacking the straps which are now surplus to requirements, I can make the final easy weight saving move.

The first to go are the adjustment straps for the waist belt and the extra length on the shoulder strap adjustors which I only use when carrying enormous weight. Next I removed the extra elastic attachment points which I have never used and took the heavy aluminium frame from the main compartment. If my pack weight continues to drop, removing more adjustment straps and even the waist strap will become an option. Chopping up my pack saved me a total of 245g.

The lighter your pack contents, the fewer comfort measures your pack needs, the more enjoyable your hike; a cascade of happiness!

So, I’ve spent a grand total of £2.40 and saved 601g / 1lb 5.2oz. Now I have refined the essential components of my ultralight set up, I am going to add a small bag of toiletries and quality of life improvers which I think are well worth the weight.

Extra items:

Sawn off toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste
Sunblock
Alcohol gel and toilet paper
Tiny but useful microfibre towel
Compass

Total weight: 171g.

My beginner ultralight pack.

This completes the basic set up and turns it into something I think provides the maximum comfort for the smallest weight. The best part is that even brand new this whole system will only set you back about £120; a great intro to ultralight backpacking and a perfect way to start microadventuring or taking longer overnight trips with little to no impact on your wallet or legs! My beginner ultralight pack for a total of 3913g / 8lb 10.0oz.

Now the ultralight pack is complete you might think that everything is sorted, but there is still quite a lot to think about if you are serious about carrying the bare minimum. I will continue the journey to true ultralight camping in part 3: Worn items and food.