17!

That's my position on the standby list.  John Manning just wrote to me, he was glad I had been in touch.


Judging by general Challenger opinion (Thanks Dave, Alan etc...), I stand a very, very good chance of moving onto the participant list.


The delightful and fabulous Mrs M has given me the nod and I am going to continue planning, and hopefully, by 2012 I will know for sure.  This is one occasion where I am actually hoping not to be able to knock off three-score Wainwrights! 


The shoes are back on tomorrow for another walk in the East Anglian countryside, this time with my good pal Den.

1 in 420+

That's what I was.  

I found my fate today by both letter and a leak on the challenge forum.  Ok so not exactly a leak as it was a post from John Manning himself.  

I was one of the 420+ people to find out that I am on the standby list.

I had prepared myself for disappointment, expecting not to get on but I have to say I was strangely close to tears.  It was odd, I guess despite openly and outwardly readying myself for the possibility of a 'No' I already had book my place.  In truth, I fully EXPECTED to get on and not getting on was a complete surprise.  

I have lit the tinder of a few new friendships which I hoped to fuel in the coming months, which I can and will still do.  BUT I WANTED TO GET A 'YES'.

I had promised my wife, who really wasn't cherishing 2 weeks without me (although I would have thought she would have had the opposite reaction), that I would withdraw from the standby list.  But I just couldn't resist asking John 'Outdoors' Manning where I stand on that list, so that is what I have just done.  

I don't know what I will do with the number, I suppose it depends what number it turns out to be.

I do have a plan to finish off my round of Wainwrights - I should be able to do 62 in a year if I make a few concerted forays so that is what I plan to do with 2012.

But what if I am number 1, 2, 3......10, 11, 12 on the list?

178...

...days to go until TGO Challenge 2012.  


I am still waiting for the nod from John Manning who has recently posted on the challenge forum that the letters are out this week.  Less than 6 months to go now.


Spent this evening testing backpacking stoves and keep coming back to the old favourite of a little gas stove and my trangia 1l kettle.  


I am waiting on a delivery from Minibulldesign for one last go at an alcohol stove and I think that will decide it, finally, for me.


Still waiting for the letter of ACCEPTANCE to go thud.

204...

...days to go until TGO 2012.

The suspense is becoming difficult to bear.  It's great to read some of the accounts of 2011 which are popping up on Twitter and throughout the blogosphere, and if you haven't checked out http://www.doodlecat.com/ then I suggest you do right away.  What a smashing little TGOC portal it is.  It is currently serving as a great way to fill the time spent waiting for the nod from Mr J Manning at Challenge HQ.

I was trying to get a message to Mick/Gayle of Gayleybird Lejog & K2CW fame as it seems as though they walked almost exactly the same route as I have worked out for TGOC next year and I wondered about some of the do's and don'ts on the way.  If anyone can get a message to them, I would love for one of them to get in touch so I could pick their brains a wee bit.  Perhaps they have a twitter name or something?

Alan Sloman has been helpful on the first night's intended camp for me, citing Meallan Bhuidhe as a spot with good views, and a lot of deer!  He also suggested that the area near Pait Lodge might be a good and common spot to pitch, with the usual courtesy to be afforded to the occupants.

It's stuff like that that I obsess about when planning these sorts of trips.  Yet when I listen to, or read the things that the likes of Chris Townsend write / say about long journeys on foot, and the very flexible plans they make, letting the walk make the decisions etc, I am very envious.  I guess that I should obsess less about the detail, and just make sure that I cover a minimum distance each day to ensure that I don't take too long getting to the East coast.  I've got to get into that really long distance vibe.

I still can't stop thinking about it - it's a big thing for me, the longest walk - although probably not the most demanding - that I will have attempted by a factor of 2, and I am anxious and excited in equal measure.

When do we find out if we are in again???

Be great to hear if any of you have any anxieties about the challenge, its planning, anticipation etc.

Bye for now.

Roman Around - A trip along Worsted Street

This is actually from a yomp I took with a few friends back in Spring 2011, I just discovered it in my drafts and thought you might like to see it.  Not strictly a TGO 2012 post, but probably of interest to some of you.


The skies were overcast as we sat there.  We were waiting at Addenbrooke's Bus Stop for a colleague to join us.  He never showed up.

The four of us stood up, adjusted our laces, straps and clothing before turning to the SouthEast and got going.  Out through the 'causeway of oversized homes and into the countryside.  A discreet gap in the hedgerow drew us through, away from the 'macadam and onto a grassy track flanked with myriad wild flowers and the associated invertebrates to boot.

We briefly entered Wandlebury's Northern tip before the new road embraced us again, if only for a short while.

A feathered friend stayed by us for a time, making occasional requests for just a little bit of bread that's all, no cheese. And the last bitter taste of civilisation came and went in the form of light industry, down a littered, potholed lane.  We reached the end of the lane and, there it was flanked by hedgerow - The Roman Road of Worsted Street.

I imagined myself thrown back centuries to a time when the Romans were laying the foundations of the track that would be under our feet for the rest of the day.  I pondered how many feet had marched where we were about to tread.  I could count myself among them, for I had walked this way many times before.

The 'road' which calls itself "Worsted Street" is thought to be a trackway which has been in existence and in continued use since pre-history.  It runs parallel to a 3 mile Anglo-Saxon earthwork known as Fleam Dyke which stretches from Fulbourn to Balsham (or vice versa).  We were in a place steeped in ancient heritage.

There are no challenges in the navigation of Worsted Street, for it is, by nature, utterly straight.  There are a couple of deviations, one such being the crossing of the A11 Dual Carriageway, and the other is the short section between the metalled Wort's Causeway and the brief encounter at Wandlebury.

I found myself tuning in and out of my surroundings on several occasions as I drifted into a bit of a daze, only to discover that I had gained a few score yards of distance between my pals who were being vastly more sociable than myself.  I wished I was alone for a brief moment.

To find ourselves seated by a man's final resting place having our lunch was more than a tad odd, but in reality there is no sign, or evidence, that I can unearth surrounding the actual origins of the place name of Mark's Grave.  Perhaps someone who read's this blog might offer some assistance on this.

As I sat chewing on my food, I learned that others had chosen to lunch at exactly the same spot as I.  An army of Black Ants were taking nips out of me.  I relocated.  Pals were smiling.
Despite the anchoring effect the lovely warm sunbeams were having on us, it was possible for us to get back to our feet and back on the trail.

I probably didn't mention that one of our gathering was with child, and into her second trimester - it occurred to me, not for the first time, that so many pregnant women take a languid approach to their gestation.  Avoidance of any effort, strenuous or otherwise, seems to befall many an expectant mother.  This often results in the "can you get my files out for me" or "I'm not allowed to lift that" utterings that I realise have begun to irritate me.  Pregnancy - the next reason to be provided with a blue parking badge?  To clarify, I have two young children of my own, so I am not being anti-child or anti-parent, just anti-lazy git.
Thankfully, my mum-to-be friend was of the non-lazy git type and didn't utter any of these complaints.

We were grasped briefly by a pang to bag a geocache, a pang so brief, we merely peered into the undergrowth before giving up.  The street of silver was now under our feet, having left the road of roman antiquity and a floating Buzzard keened above Howe Wood as if to draw us toward the closing of what had been a really terrific leg-stretch in the Cambs/Suffolk borders.

Have a look at www.frrfd.org.uk if you would like more information about this lovely, simple stroll in my backyard. Oh, and if you find out about Mark's Grave - let me know!

214

214 is a number with two significances for me:


1) 214 is the number of fells that Wainwright covered in his 7 pictorial guides.  A collection of fells I am doing my worst to ascend.


2) 214 is the number of days until TGO Challenge 2012


So that's it - I just thought I would share that with you.


Oh, and here is a picture of the splendid English Lake District looking, well, splendid.

153 down, 62 to go?

Ok, so once again, not quite a TGO Challenge post, but it all counts towards the physical preparations.

The huge magnetic pull of Lakeland had me rolling up the A1 on Friday 16^th September 2011 on what was to be a couple of brief forays onto the mountains culminating in the crowning of my best pal as a completer of the Wainwright summits.

Pulling in to the car park of the Co-Op in Keswick, a slightly built chap, going by the name of Dennis Taylor was sitting by his backpack having arrived on foot from Ulverston. His original plan to hike the Cumbria Way before meeting up with me had required a little alteration. Nature wasn't on its best behaviour; Hurricane Katia had a modicum of maelstrom left in her when she touched the UK and this resulted in a small catalogue of digital images of other people's tents bent double against the force of the winds.

Low pressure reigned supreme over the Westernmost coast of England, Scotland and Wales and it seemed that it was hell-bent on curtailing Den's first attempt on the relatively sedate Cumbrian long-distance path. The end of day two saw Den in Langdale, waiting for a day of better weather after having a rather moist and squelchy couple of outings. The day of better weather wouldn't manifest until four days later! He chose to sit it out in Langdale, rather than going over Stake Pass and on to Keswick via Langstrath.

This turned out to be a sound decision, as Den watched his peers' inferior shelters being ripped from the ground, tattered and torn, in spite of the gallant attempts of the staff at the ODG Camp-site, he wondered what might have been had he gone over the tops that day. His Vaude Ultralight 2 stood firm (well, it flexed a little) and kept the outside where it should be – outside.

I was completely without contact with him, there being no signal in Langdale, often a blessing, but on this occasion I did worry after not hearing from him for a couple of days. And then I got a text message:-

“Still stuck in Langdale. Took bus to Ambleside for food. 70mph over tops. Haven't slept for two nights. Have abandoned c.way this time. Walk or bus to Keswick for Fri.”

Sure enough, there he was, looking surprisingly fresh despite the battering. I packed his Berghaus C7 Bioflex into the boot, slammed the tailgate and pointed the car towards Borrowdale. We were bound for Den's penultimate Wainwright top – Rosthwaite Fell. He'd been up it before but an administrative anomaly (ahem), had him erroneously ticked off the peak before returning home and discovering that he'd missed the actual Wainwright summit at 612m. When he realised, he immediately resolved to go back and climb it again, making sure that he climbed to Wainwright's prescribed peak.

After parking down a tiny lane just out of Rosthwaite, we headed up the hill across open fell in the general direction of Tarn at Leaves, where we would turn right to our targetted top. This we did and after a bit of casting about in the mist we scrambled over the rocks to the highest point – Rosthwaite Fell. I then mentally ticked off my 152^nd Wainwright and shook Den's hand as he hurried off the hill, to regain some visibility. We returned to my car inside of two hours, ready for the drive round to Eskdale.

We went on past our campsite at Boot, which had assumed a rather sodden appearance from the days of rain. A vehicular struggle up the hairpins of the Hardknott Pass, with as little wheel spin as possible, delivered us to the uppermost car parking spot for our 'dash' up the final summit of Den's journey through the Pictorial Guides.

When I write “dash” I actually mean to write “languid wander” for we took a slow walk over the waterlogged, yet still discernible path past the first, lower summit and over the brow until our goal came into view.

Hard Knott was chosen as Den's last when we were on Whin Rigg on an earlier outing. Appearing pyramidal, dark and forboding, Hard Knott struck a chord that would ring in his mind for the next, however many months and however many fells until, well, now.

The winds – which had been light until this moment – began to build, strengthen, in some kind of symbolic resistance. They ensured that we pay greater attention to our final steps toward the summit cairn. By the time we were within striking distance of my 153^rd top the wind had become more than a light gale. Den was unperturbed and turned about – the gusts had caused his eyes to moisten, possibly – and gave me an hombre's embrace. I shed a tear, and reciprocated the hug before Den reeled and kissed Hard Knott's summit cairn.

His ten-year assault was completed.

Postscript:

Those of you who are more astute than myself, which amounts to probably all of you, may have noticed that there is an error in my assessment of the number of fells I had summited. For the height of Wainwright's Rosthwaite Fell (Bessyboot) is in fact 550 or possibly 551m above sea level. The highest point on the broader fell is at 612m and is not the summit to which Mr W refers. In my haste to agree with my good pal, I failed to spot that he had in fact climbed his 213^th wainwright months earlier, and had no need to return to correct the 'error'. More irritatingly for me perhaps, I had just climbed to the wrong summit, meaning that I must return to climb it another day!

Let's make that 152 for me then, shall we?