There was an unusually speedy departure from London this time, which was mainly due to the threat of a parking ticket from the police protecting the Albert Hall. After being literally chased from Prince Consort road, we encountered little in the way of traffic and made it to the barn in Swaledale by 11:30, via our usual fish and chip shop of course. Water was boiled for tea, before we realised that we didn't have any, but the time was whiled away drinking hot chocolate and having a deeply philosophical conversation about cereal naming conventions.
Saturday morning saw an early start, accompanied by a spectacular sunrise. You have not lived until you've eaten your cornflakes while watching the sky change to ever deeper shades of orange until finally the sun appears over the horizon, bringing at least a little bit of warmth to the frozen ground. We walked from Gunnerside in upper Swaledale, crossing the moors to Keld. The weather was superb, with bright sunshine, not a cloud in the sky, and the ground underfoot remainign solidly frozen well into the afternoon. Lunch was eaten in a suntrap by a waterfall, giving us the first lunchstop of the year where it was not necessary to put on any extra layers, and nobody was shivering by the end. We continued on almost to the top of Witsun Dale before returning to the minibus round the back of Kisdon and through Thwaite. The ground was beginning to thaw by this point, providing much amusement as I several times plunged into the bog after commenting that "That bit's OK, it's still frozen!". There really is nothing like walking around with near frozen mud in your boots while on a 15 mile trek. The pub in Muker proved too much of a pull to the majority of the group, however, and so despite it being only half past four much of us gave up on the walk, leaving Tim, Jana, Christina and Pete to walk the remaining three miles to collect the bus. Or it would have been three miles if the river crossing point hadn't turned out to be a deep ford... The daylight disappeared with a sunset every bit as spectacular as the sunrise that morning.
After a traditional Spagetti Bolognese for dinner, the majority of our group headed for the big city of Reeth for a pub crawl. Four of us decided that we wanted to just hang out and sip our tea before bed. I get a lot of snide remarks about the fact that I bring my work with me into the wilderness, but I have to say, it was a tremendous pleasure to sit down and read xeroxed paleo articles while bundled up in my sleeping bag.
Sunday morning started with the unusual occurance of Linda being first out of bed. Appartantly the secret is to give her lots of beer the night before... No sunrise this time, but still not a cloud to be seen. We headed off to Ribblesdale to climb Pen-y-Ghent, one of the "Yorkshire three peaks". On the way there, we noted with some consternation the large cloud banks that were filling the valleys and rolling over the tops of the hills. Then we drove into it, and visibility dropped to about fifty yards. The remainder of the drive was punctuated by many disparaging comments eminating from the back of the minibus, and indeed the start of the walk was through a freezing fog. But as we neared the top we broke though the clouds, emerging into bright sunshine to look down on a solid cover of cloud which allowed only the highest peaks to poke through. The walk along the ridge from Pen-y-Ghent to Plover Hill saw many slightly sinking incidents involving me and semi-frozen bog and several impressive slides down large ice covered slopes. We desended from Plover hill, and returned to the minibus round the end of the ridge.
The return to London was also more rapid than expected, mainly due to the Wheatsheaf Pub not being up to their usual slow standards and serving us in record time. All in all, another very good weekend.
We finally managed to set off at about 6.30 after a lot of confusion involving three separate minibusses (one that was blocking us in, one that didn't work and one that we managed to scrounge at the last minute after a sports trip cancellation). So we ended up in this old bus, only to be told part way out of London that the car service license ran out at midnight on Sunday, so if we wern't back by then we would be driving illegally. The wonders of Student Union organisation never cease.
The usual fish and chip shop was visited in Warwick (pronounce warrick, NOT War-Wick! as I am so often corrected) and then it was on to our luxury accommodation, squeezing through a gate only inches wider than the bus itself, and only then if you aimed for it at a specific angle. It was great, the barn actually had a gas fire and warm water!
Despite all this unaccustomed warmth our fearless leader still managed to crawl out of bed very early on Saturday and wake us all up. We were out by 8:20, something of a record, for the drive to the southern end of Bala Lake. We climbed up the major ridge in the area, reaching the summit of Aran Fawddwy with several snowball fights and some sunbathing on the way. The large numbers of fleece worn at the start were rapidly removed, with even yours truly feeling the heat (and I am always getting cold!). Down from the summit and a bit more sunbathing later, we decided to have lunch beside a frozen lake, and then a large number of our group played football on the ice. There were a couple of spectacular falls proving that if you take a run up to kick a lump of ice while on ice, you are likely to finish up on your back. I might add that I very happily watched the stupidity unfold on the ice and merrily ate my lunch. The ex-leader of the fellwanderer's from a few years ago (a hyper active guy named Sam) rearranged the icicles around the lake to point skywards, punched a bunch of holes in the frozen lake (for God knows what reason), and then initiated a race around the lake. I was certain someone was going to end up breaking something.
To go with such luxurious accommodation, we also had to have luxurious food, and the bangers and mash followed by this odd desert called trifle (custard and fruit). And then it was off to the pub, after being advised by the warden which of Bala's pubs were Welsh, and therefore to be avoided. Returning to the barn the group had a singsong which for once was not led by me - having been really ill the week before I was dead tired and needed to hit the sack.
On Sunday morning we got up, packed, and loaded into the mini-bus with a few random folks getting into the ex-fell leader Sam's car. I almost did, but at the last moment decided to get into the bus. It had snowed a lot that night and a little while after driving along to our hike for the second day we came across Sam's car. He had gone too quickly around a sharp turn and slid right off the road. His car had broken through a barbed wire fence, a thicket, some wood poles, and had flipped upside down! Needless to say the thing was totalled. I go out right away to see if anyone needed medical attention, but they were all fine... just a bit shook up. Our fearless leader stayed with the Sam who I will now refer to as the feckless leader and helped him get his car dealt with. From my perspective there is no excuse for driving that quickly on a snow covered road, especially when you have passengers. If you want to kill yourself off, fine, that's natural selection. But don't make that choice for others.
We got in a bit of a walk and lots more snowball fights and sleding.
Unfortunately the frozen waterfall we wanted to get to was never reached due to too much snow in
the way. We finished the trip in our usual pub on
the M40 (the wobbly wheel - great food!). We even got back to London in time for the last tube, which was not
all that bad.
Wow! What an experience! Before I go any further I have to holler WE ACTUALLY GOT A MEDAL! Yes, it was a bronze, but hey, considering the fact that we are not doing water polo full time this was very exciting. Anyhow, we left at 2pm on friday by bus from London. There were 32 of us, half from London's King's College and half from Imperial. More than half of the total group was made up of women... which would have been great had we been fleeing London to initiate a new colony on some remote desert island. However, we were not leaving for Gilligan's isle, we were leaving to go and kick the snot out of a bunch of other countries at water polo. So who cares? Girls are just as capable of playing polo as guys... right? Well, not really, in general they are smaller and in polo this is distinct disadvantage (trust me, being of medium size myself I know). There were multiple teams with only 2-3 girls and a few that had only one.
But I digress, we caught the chunnel train over to the continent (the bus literally drove onto the train and it took us under the channel - really neat!). When we finally made it to Compiegne it was about 10pm. We passed through the city center and it was stunning. Tons of highly stylized gothic buildings and a remarkable church, I don't think the stuff I was seeing was actually gothic in age but actually a reworking of the gothic ideas - probably Rococo/Baroque. Anyhow, we finally made it to the gym which we would call home for the next two days. The french team was very hospitable. Lots of pizza was ready and waiting for us when we got in. All was great until I had my first bite of the food. The pizza was very odd I suddenly realized it was smothered with tuna and potatoes. Now I am pretty good about going with the flow... most of the time at any rate. Unfortunately my stomach started to clench almost immediately and I gagged. Not wanting to be rude I finished off the slice and drank lots of water.
When we started to settle down a few of the guys from different teams started throwing around a tennis ball. To my astonishment one of the guys on my team told them that I was an american and could properly instruct them on how to play a "proper" game of baseball. Yeah right! There was no way we were going to get a game of baseball together but we did get a game of pickle up and running. It was really funny watching a bunch of germans, belgians, french, swiss, and english playing pickle. Sleep eventually happened around 3 or 4 in the morning.
I awoke to the loudest most annoying music I have heard in my life. It took a few moment for me to identify that it was French polka type junk - woe to anyone who ever has to wake up to it. We had baguettes for breakfast and then went running over to the pool to look at the competition schedule - I wasn't up until after 11am so I took the time to go running around the town looking at the sites. I took lots of pictures (which will be up on the site soon) and even managed to go and order coffee at a cafe (yes, while I am not any french master I have learned enough to get by). The waitress was impressed and asked if I had a parent who was french because I sounded like I was of french descent. Very nice lady, a shame that she was smoking like a furnace while in her eighth month of pregnancy. Too many people smoke over here, it is really sad. While I was wandering the street after coffee I found a park where rides were being built for Christmas. I passed a small carousel and heard some very familiar music. I couldn't figure it out at first, but then I saw that pictures of the Disney's "Aladdin" characters were airbrushed all over the carousel. The music was the Robin Williams song "Prince Ali" but dubbed into french. It was bizarre, particularly since the voice didn't even remotely sound like Robin Williams.
Anyhow, the afternoon filled with polo games. We kicked the crap out of the french, the swiss, and a few others. Belgium and Luxembourg squashed us though. Lux in particular, the guys on that team were really hairy and freakin huge! We're talking 250+ pounds. It didn't matter that we were faster, after my first encounter with one of their giant team members I had spent so much time being pressed underwater I could barely breathe. I played goal in one game for some stupid reason. I did ok, blocked a few shots, let five by. We lost that game 5-4. Again, lots of cool pictures were taken and will be posted soon.
On saturday evening we were served a feast, it would have been a fantastic meal had the meat actually been cooked. I was warned by a couple of folks in our group to avoid french beef due to the mad cow disease outbreak, not a real problem since I'm a not a big fan of raw meat (my dad would have loved it though). The meal went on forever. We're talkin about hours... it was ludicrous. Everyone got smashed on wine and tequila. Even I got a bit tipsy from drinking mulled wine, although not much since the alcohol is almost entirely boiled off. After drinking themselves into oblivion, our fearless leaders took us all out to a club. It was pretty dull until they started playing something other than techno. I must admit, it was really weird hearing "Johnny be Good" and "Great Balls of Fire" in France, but they were certainly fun to dance to. Not too many sober girls to dance with though, most were rather unattractive blobs by the time good music was playing.
Sunday morning we played our semi-final matches. We did well, but lost again to Belgium and Lux. I got into a rather fierce fight with a Belgain guy who kicked me in the jewels. I of course deserved it since I had dunked, elbowed, and choked him a couple of times. Anyhow, to make a long story short, I hauled off and slugged the guy in the head right in front of the ref. Heh, if there was a recipe for ejection that was it - they threw me out at light speed. It was amusing to watch the last minute of the game though, the guy I hit seemed to have trouble swimming in a straight line. I suppose if I caused brain damage it was a worthwhile ejection. Although there is a little guilt which goes along with this... not much though. When the tournament was over we loaded back on the bus and bolted back to London. I slept most of the way.
This trip started with the plan of "leaving London as soon after five as possible", but actually getting on the road at seven after our fearless leader totally underestimated the time it would take to collect the minibus. While minibus one left for Wales, and most of the remaining group decided to settle in to a good pint, the luckless shopping contingent of which I was a memver got to see far to much of the front of Sainsbury's (the local market).
By some miracle, minibus two managed to get to the fish and chip shop in Warwick before minibus one had left, but only just. We finally made it to the Snowdonia Hut at about 1 in the morning, and discovered that the big advantage of being last is that someone has already got the fire going and the kettle on, which is pure luxury, but probably only to be expected when Sam the pyromaniac is on the trip! But I digress...
With the wind howling round the bottom of the valleys on Saturday morning, it was decided that we would start our trek to Snowdon with a low level forest walk. Fortunately, the wind abated enough for us to cross a pass, escaping the confinement of Beddgelert forest to get some good views, of the lower half of the mountains anyway. It was on the way up to the pass that we conclusively proved that there are bogs in Snowdonia, whatever Rich (our token welshman) might think, and that they are just as wet, deep and muddy as anywhere else. Chris (our token german) decided to give the new sport of bog-diving a try, and although his effort was more of a belly-flop, it was still impressive. As for me, my framepack acted as a marvelous wind catcher, while I rarely sank into bogs I was almost flung off the edge of the pass several times. At one point while clawing my way up a really steep bit, I did actually get flipped over by the wind. I'll tell ya, Snowdonia may not have elevation, but it makes up for the difficulties of thin air with nasty weather and gruesome terrain.
As we approached the old slate quarry, where we expected to stop for a while, there were still several large and muddy streams to cross, and Sam decided that he was not going to be outdone on the bog-diving front. With shouts of "it's not very deep", he immediately plunged in up to his knees, and waded around a bit. He even managed to keep dry feet, showing that some people have far too much money to spend on boot and gaters.
On Sunday, the target was to summit Snowdon and make it back to the mini-bus by 4pm. It snowed, hailed, sleeted, and rained on our group all the way up the freakin mountain. The trail disappeared part way and left us to climb (no harnessess) up four steep rockfaces (boy was I glad to leave my framepack back at the base station). We met the other group (weenies all of them) at the summit around 2pm, and they then followed a race to see who could get out of the wind and cloud first on the way down. Due to a slight navigational mishap, our fearless leader managed to overtake the majority of the group without us seeing him. I might add that the prospect of having lost him on Snowdon did not cause too much consternation among members of the group (um, none actually now that I think of it, we were all too damn cold). Ah yes, and speaking of cold I would just like to mention the joys of having your snot freeze, very hard to get rid of once in place.
Back at the bus, wet clothes were exchanged for dry ones, and several photos were taken. We eventually set of home after much screwing around and finally losing the mad and ownerless dog which seemed to attach itself to the group. Despite having no warning at all, the Wobbly Wheel Tavern was up to the task of providing twenty two dinners all at once, and the number of people who ordered puddings caused much anxiety to Tim (our second in command), busy clock watching and worrying about tubes. I spent ages trying to find a suitable nickname for Peter, this very gangly and odd particle physicist who looks like a muppet. The suggestion of solving this problem by just using 'the muppet' did not go down too well! He demanded that I come up with something British, when I came up with Grommet, he grumbled even more and said "I will not be nicknamed after a dog!". "But he is a very intelligent dog!" I countered.
So after much adventure both minibusses arrived in London at much the same time, and after lots of chatting people finally went home, although much personal equipment did not. Which brings me to the great unanswered question of the trip: Who owns the boots, sock (singular), tapes (four) and thermos flask that are currently blocking my hallway?
When we finally made it on to the Ferry the storm had come on full force. Really nasty! The ferry tipped violently from side to side. It was really cool, at least for those of us who don't turn green during such situations. Most of my compatriots spent the three hour ride puking their beer filled guts out. I ran back and forth all over the ferry and even went out on deck. This was probably a bad idea since the waves were very large and the wind was insanely strong. Beatrice and Rich came along and the three of us as we turned a corner were buffeted up against a gate by a blast of wind so strong that I was literally pulled off my feet! Again, certainly not safe, but a great experience. Rich got a picture of me slammed up against the safety grid on the boat, I must have looked as flattened as roadkill. When we got off the ferry and found out way to central Dublin we promptly got lost and spent a solid hour finding our way to the hostel. Rich and I got a room with a guy who sounded like he had a woopie cushion jammed down his throat and two people who sounded like they were infected with ebola. Just the kind of room we all dream of sleeping in.
Went to the Guinness Brewery on Saturday, it was closed. This disappointed everyone else, I didn't really care (what is the big deal about a brewery anyway??). They were so upset that they decided to go and drink (again), might I add that the drinking started at 10am on this day. Anyhow, I went wandering with Beatrice, Rich and one of the medics, loosely following a tourism guide. Saw a lot of really neat old churches, some fantastic castles, and a couple of open markets. There were two highlights of the day though. The first was the Trinity College library. They have the most amazing library around, I will post pictures as soon as they are developed. The second was the Haagan Daaz chocolate cookie crumble sundae I had in the evening while with a few of the non-binge drinking members of our group. It cost me the equivalent of 5 american dollars, but it was well worth every cent.
Played polo against Trinity all morning and early afternoon. They slaughtered us. It was a total shut out. I think we would have played better had my team mates actually slept the night before and not been suffering from hangovers which impeded their ability to walk and construct coherent sentences (the latter may never have been possible). I had some nice passes and did a good deal of solid blocking work. Didn't matter at all, they rocked us.
Caught the right ferry in the afternoon. The sea was much more gentle upon return to England. I finally ambled back into my Penthouse as 3am - at which point I got down to finishing a few projects for my masters. No sleep for Matt.
Saturday was spent mostly in the fog after our early start. In fact, after walking up the first hill, we never really saw a view, as it got dark almost immediately after we descended. What we did see though was plenty of bog. The bog loving Welsh in our group resisted the temptation to dive in (probably a good thing too since there was ice on top of most of the muck!), and no-one even fell in accidentally, so as the trip medic I was spared from what could have been a very busy day.
The return to the barn was followed by soup and a sausage casserole that took a long time to cook due to the gas stove dying half way through the cooking. So by the time food was up, people were willing to eat anything, which explains why nearly all of the casserole was eaten. This was followed by a feast of cakes, which were not all eaten (too many sausages before). The day ended (almost) with much interest in my sleeping arrangements. It had been really cold on Friday night (well below freezing), so this time, to ensure warmth, I decided to wrap himself in my foil emergency blanket inside my sleeping bag. As Becky so eloquently put it, every time I rolled over, the entire valley knew about it (It wasn't that loud). Actually, the day really ended with me telling a Ravenloft ghost story, to a darkened room full of sleepy people. The only thing missing was a camp fire, but even barns don't provide everything. The whole scene provided much amusement to our companions on their return from the pub, where they had gone after learning from the previous evening.
Sunday started with miserable weather, but not to be stopped, we left the camping barn in record time. As we left the weather miraculously cleared, and despite trying several times, the rain never managed to return, making our leader's early pessimism needless. The route back to the bus took us just inside the Chatsworth House gardens, proving that we can't stay away, even when the sun is shining. Back in the bus, the traffic jams started soon after reaching the motorway. We foolishly ignored a "long delays" sign, only to discover that they weren't joking, and managed to cover about 5 miles in the next hour. The pub was also up to it's slow standard, but the food was good, as was the warmth (something new to us after the barn), so no-one minded.
Saturday started early, with several impressive moans and groans, but the moors were waiting. After chasing the sheep off the road, we managed to park in the Hutton-le-Hole parking lot, and a VERY long walk followed, with superb views and too much bog. The rain poured for most of the morning but the sun did manage to show itself in the afternoon. After 22 miles of trekking through mud and making far too many wrong turns we made it to a Youth Hostel in a small town (which I did not ever get the name of). But there were fox hunters on horseback who spoke with very snooty accents and had really cool brass bugle-like things. Awesome dinner, Spagetti with meat sauce, our brilliant leader burned the spagetti to the bottom of the pot though so Linda and I spent the evening scraping the spaghetti of the bottom.
Sunday started with a hike through a fog bank, which fortunately cleared in time for us to enjoy the view from Sutton Bank. More moans and groans followed the realisation that we would have to walk up the bank at the end of the walk, but at least the rain held off, and we made it back to the bus dry, but not mud-free. As we drove off we nearly massacred more suicidal sheep who decided it would be a good idea to dive under the front wheels.
The journey back consisted of more nose to tail traffic on the M1, with an
interesting five mile detour to find a pub that turned out to be half a mile
from the motorway. Service was slow, but the food was good, and the
expression on the barmaid's face when told there were twelve of us was worth
seeing ("Are you serious?!!"). On crossing the M25, we embarked on a tour of
North London, taking in all the sights including a supermarket parking lot,
before eventually returning to college, at about the same time the evil outdoors club did.