Many sections of the Wye are still as a mill pond, a fact begetting two unfortunate errors on my part. The first and least consequential was that, after putting in at Glasbury Bridge mid afternoon yesterday, I paddled a mile … Read More »
Yesterday I went with Tracey to Darlington, to help move her son Ross into his new house. I took buses from there to Middlesbrough, then Easington, and walked on a fine evening down the coast toward Whitby. Seen by the … Read More »
Jackie is presenting for Nottingham Uni at a HE Learning Conference in Brum. I came for the ride, catching a string of local buses (Sheffield … Bakewell .. Derby … Burton-on-T … Sutton Coldfield …) to a city not known … Read More »
I used to look down on Windermere as not for the serious outdoorsman; rather, a playground for water sport fiends, party animals and wannabe Campbells. That changed years ago when, having driven up for a spot of camping in Borrowdale, … Read More »
Monday morning around seven-thirty the sun is already strong. Windermere’s more serene west bank, four metres from the shoreline on my right, is gin clear. A school of tiny perch – our handsomest freshwater fish, and thirsty for learning with … Read More »
I’ve just taken delivery of an inflatable kayak, the Sevylor Colorado – well reviewed by experts and owners alike, and just £274 on eBay. It weighs fourteen-point-five kilos but that’s without paddle, air-pump, buoyancy aid and (my prime motive) camping … Read More »
I’d never thought to be out for so long. As Day Twenty dawns I emerge early, for reason given at end of Day Nineteen’s post, from a path-obstructing tent. I don’t yet know it but this will be the last … Read More »
Looks like rain. God knows, there’s been precious little of the stuff. After the rain. My bathroom today, fifty yards upstream of its date with the ocean, comes with fitted shower. Cold only; hot tap out of order. Not for … Read More »
How I like to leave my home for the night. Nowt but flattened grass. This swanky box overlooked my night seventeen pitch. I didn’t like that but for an hour had seen nothing suitable: just a narrow path hemmed in … Read More »
Wednesday begins with two ferry rides from Falmouth across the Fal estuary. The first is to St Mawes where, forty-four years ago, I was a hotel night porter. I was saving for a summer on the Greek islands. In the … Read More »