Sunday 28th July - Afternoon tea and scones...

A beautiful day, blazing sunshine and barely a breeze; just begging for us to take the boats to Coniston.

For a change we left the west of the lake alone, choosing instead to launch from Bailiffs Wood car park about halfway along the lakes east shore. A very easy launch site with the car park across the road from the lake and a total carry of perhaps 20 metres; well, it was hot!

Making certain that we had some marks to identify the landing point on our return, Sue and I headed north along the shore; plenty of other folk had the same idea as us; kids swimming, canoes, SOTs, sailing boats, from decent sized cruisers to mirror dinghies, racing - great to see so many folk out on the water. The sailors seemed pretty chilled rather than competitive; we were easily out pacing them and for those that were moving, it was paddle, rather than wind power that was giving them any advantage.

After an easy hour we were on the beach at Coniston slip where tea, scones and ice creams were taken, sitting in the sun watching the world (and its many dogs) go by. Duly refuelled, we headed back past Coniston Hall and the sailing club; the yachts were still on the Lake, seemingly going nowhere in any kind of a hurry. Before long we picked up the marks indicating the car park, best part of 6 miles paddled. After some soggy fun and games, each taking it in turn to play rescuer and victin (of a capsize, not indigestion) in water that was verging on warm, it was back over the road into the car park where we were duly fed upon by swarms of horse flies. Ah well, no such thing as perfection...

Coniston Hall - big chimneys were a 16th century status symbol!

Tuesday 16th June - More of the same?

Dave ("Sound of the seagull") from UKRGBS was working at the Big Factory and staying at the Seacote in St Bees; as close to the beach as you can get without waking up with sand between your toes. And he was hoping to find a willing partner-in-crime to make his week working away from home worthwhile...

Of course, as anyone who knows me will tell you you, I'm a complete tart when it comes to getting on the water and so it was, after a couple of emails and texts, that we met by the lifeboat station, said our hellos and got on with the business in hand. If Carlsberg did dogging, this is what it would be like!

We launched off the very bottom of the slip at just after 6pm so about half an hour before HW Whitehaven, virtually on LW neaps. The sea was far calmer than over the weekend when Sue and I had been out and we made rapid progress round around the South Head and across Fleswick Bay. Despite a few boulderers below the lighthouse the birds were quieter than at the weekend (busy day in the office maybe?) and we plodded on under the North Head and across Saltom Bay, straight-lining toward Whitehaven harbour. Having stood off to avoid the myriad of fishing lines that came flying off the harbour wall, we beached on the "Golden Sands" and stretched our legs whilst munching cereal bars and Dave recorded the Welsh invasion by photographing the statues recalling John Paul Jones's somewhat earlier invasion of April 1778.

After a chat with a couple of locals (Eee, it'll be reet lumpy on t'way back; enjoy your "row"...." we turned the boats around and once more braved the volley of lead and nylon flying in all directions from the harbour walls. Despite the warning, progress across Saltom Bay was good, with a short chop but nothing to worry us. As soon as we turned the North Head though the bad news arrived as if by Express Delivery; the wind had built to something more than a breeze - and we were paddling straight into it. Thankfully there was a slight run to the south but this also gave us a little wind-over-wave action so it wasn't just a stiff paddle but a wet one as well. Given that the water temperature was around "cool bath" (technical term) this wasn't a problem; the burning sensation in my deltoids was though! Crossing Fleswick Bay at a sprint was the killer - I guessed that around full-on 200 paddle strokes would maybe do it, but stopped counting at 300 and dropped the cadence by about a half. Dave had stayed within 30 metres of me all the way but soon closed up and restarted conversation from that point on...

It was just 9 o'clock as we hit the sand and I walked up to bring the car down for boats and kit. A relieved Sue answered the phone; I'd obviously missed the usual evening natter!

A good evening, opportunistic paddling and a solid workout over 13 miles, plus an invite to give Dave a shout to paddle North Wales anytime we head down there. Once more, whether you see it as Karma or paddling tart, it works for me...

Sunday 14th June - More sun at St Bees

After the bouncy bouncy session of the previous day, Sue decided that we ought to get back in our boats and give the sea gods another chance. Always happy to please, I chucked kit into bags and boats onto the car and slogged the 4 miles to the beach with the promise of a picnic at Fleswick Bay (well, a banana and a sip of juice if she was lucky!)

Happily the wind had eased and conditions were much more like those that we had noticed the previous evening when taking the dogs for a walk towards Saltom Bay from Whitehaven harbour. Not calm by any means, but not overly bumpy either. However the sea was a good few hundred yards further away than previously due to a low tide, so it was a drive across the sands to drop the boats off before launching into a gentle, but eminently surfable, swell.

Cruising toward the North Head and Fleswick Bay

Fortunately the wind had dropped away to next to nothing and the going was relatively easy. Sue soon got used to the pitching and was keeping a good course under the colonies of sea birds on the cliffs. We both giggled at the "incoming" straffing runs of (I think!) guillemots and at the way they take of by first flapping, then running before desperately belly flopping onto the face of a wave and bouncing into the air.

"Guano Towers" the high-rise tenement that is St Bees South Head

We paddled on past Fleswick Bay, as far as St Bees lighthouse which is quite invisible from below the cliffs, being over 100 metres above sea level and set back from the sandstone cliff tops. Having pointed out the Fishermen's Steps to Sue, we turned back, towards the beach at Fleswick for our lunch stop. Launching off the sea-polished pebbles was simplicity, despite the dumpy surf that was giving the pebbles even more of a polish. Sue quickly adjusted to the steeper waves that the breeze was nudging toward us and was well into her stride as we rounded the South Head, to the slipway at St Bees and the car.

Sue's Scorpio makes light work of the chop on the way back to St Bees

Saturday 13th June - Surf's up...

Bright sunshine much of the week, gentle westerlies and a convenient afternoon tide; I couldn't believe my luck when Sue suggested getting the sea boats out on Saturday!

Unfortunately there was more of a swell than we'd bargained for running up the beach at St Bees and Sue's face was something of a picture! Obviously the planned trip under the Heads was dropped and replaced with "let's just have a pootle around off the the beach" and see how we get on plan. No problem as it turned out. After the F5 experience in Ravenglass estuary, Sue was well up for this; out through the surf, into the swell, turning across it, running with a quartering sea and finally surfing back into the corner of the beach. No problem at all and, bonus, I got back on for a play in the surf before running both boats back onto the slipway.

The water is surprisingly warm at the moment - must get on it more often...

Running the Sirocco back between the groynes

Sunday 10th May - Wastwater Screes

Sunday 3rd May - Windermere and Hoad

Saturday 2nd May - All at sea on Coniston

April 25 / 26 - Anglesey Weekend

Saturday 18th April - All Crinkle-y in the sunshine

Saturday morning and the alarm goes off at 7:30 - what on earth is that all about? Making sure that we would find a parking place at Cockley Beck is the reason for such madness, well worthwhile given the clear blue skies noted through bleary eyes...

We weren't the only ones enjoying tne sunshine: this little fella was basking in the middle of the road above Troutal when we surprised him...

Nearly had him for the dogs elevenses...

We were lucky enough to find a parking place (with only one big rock in it!) exactly where we wanted to be, just over Stockley Bridge at the bottom of the Hardknott Pass. Bruce and Dougal were raring to go, so off they went, dragging us along behind them...

Esk Pike, Ore Gap and Bowfell from Lingcove Beck

Soon enough we were gaining height and the panorama opened revealing the complete Scafell ridge across the Great Moss, Esk Pike, Ore Gap, Bowfell and the west flank of Crinkle Crags above us; one of the best views in the Lakes. Behind us, the flat valley bottom of Eskdale appeared emerald green and the Irish Sea vanished into the distant haze. Tough day, but somebody had to be there!

Eskdale, Corney Fell and the Irish Sea behind us

Cam Spout Crag, Scafell, East Butress, Mickledore and Scafell Pike across Pike de Bield Moss

When it turns hot Bruce pants: Sue just shrinks...

Tuesday 14th April - Waving, not drowning...

or, to put it another way, trying, not climbing!

Making the most of unseasonal Bank Holiday weather, Dave and I had planned a days climbing on Wallowbarrow, but, due to a bird-ban, headed toward Castle Rock at Thirmere instead. Given a lack of guidebook and familiarity with the crag, plan C saw us parking at Martin's farm under Shepherds Crag in Borrowddale. Oh how eager we were...

Kitting up below Crescendo there was a bit of banter going on, not just with the team heading up Little Chamonix, but also between us; this was our first time climbing together and, for us both, the first time climbing anything of a reasonable grade for, well, quite a while! Basing my packing on the Met Office forecast for Easter, I'd taken my kayak and paddling kit to Sue's for the weekend so to say that I was ill-prepared for a day cragging would be a little understated.

Anyways, Dave made quick time leading up the back of the big flake to the ledge half-way up the first pitch. Fired some gear in, pondered, poked, prodded and prevaricated. Then he brought me up to the ledge where I did the same. Climbing down was straightforward enough but the realisation that I was struggling at such a low grade was not! Off to Brown Slabs then for a warm up on a route that we would get up...

Straight up the middle crack; Dave led the first half, me the second. Not a problem, straight to the top. Happily I'd climbed in my trainers, so the slippy slidey descent around the back of the crag wasn't too traumatic (the rock shoes that Dave had loaned me had been trying to remove my toes from my feet until now).

Lunch over and onwards and, hopefully upwards. Ardus was occupied (plus I can remember the final, commiting move into the crack from the final traverse) so it was Fishers Folly. Not a problem; I'd soloed it and had good memories of bomber protection; good to go... Dave gave me the rope. My lead. Well; there was protection aplenty. It was holds that I couldn't find. Eventually, maybe 20 feet and 6 nuts later, I was downclimbing, protected by Dave from below. Soon Dave was up at the sharp end, finishing the pitch with a committing couple of moves and setting a belay at the top of the groove. My lead - the traverse across an overhang, long steps, little holds. It wasn't going to happen and so, after a quick(ish) abseil and packing gear, we were soon having a brew at High Lodore farm and discussing how our arms ached more than our legs. Or was it the other way around?

I knew that I had soloed it - but 33 years is quite a gap!