YOG on the Tyne - Newcastle weekend - FEbruary 2010

It seemed that Sue had only been in the group for a short while when she promised to organise a weekend in her home city. However, sceptics had long doubted whether it was ever to happen. Then, out of the blue one Monday night, after a comment that there was no weekend away in February, Sue rose to the challenge and the announcement came. There was no turning back and places quickly filled up.

On Friday night, most people headed up to Newcastle by train. We drove up with the food and due to family visits on Sunday night but met up with most of the others at the hostel at 7.00. The friendly local warden, Brendan, made sure we were welcome. This was more than we could say for the weather and it was a good half mile walk in the snow to The Corner House where we’d chosen to eat. However, the fare was good and very reasonably-priced and we ate our fill. Tony R and I wend native a bit and ‘dooned’ a couple of bottles of the famous ‘broon’ (soon to be brewed in Tadcaster!). Paul and Carol diced with death during their attempt to get to the pub via the direct route of a road underpass but arrived unscathed just in time to get food before orders closed. Tony S nearly repeated the same mistake when he arrived later.

We later retired to the smaller and rather pleasant Punch Bowl near the hostel where we stayed for last orders.

After the snow of the previous night, it was a pleasant surprise that Saturday dawned with clear blue skies. After a hostel breakfast in the dining room which contained the lyrics to the Blaydon Races along with a poster of the famous characters in the song, we got ready and boarded the Metro. This is possibly the first time that a weekend away walk has started on a mass transit system other than a bus or regular train? A question for Jeremy, I think.

Having given Paul the chance to practice his Geordie accent within earshot of locals, we arrived unscathed at South Shields; a place I only really associate as being the end of the Great North run. Dave G and Laura met us there, having come up for the day and had already had coffee by the time we arrived. We headed for the coast and were pleased to find that the South Pier, the mile long jetty which forms the southern part of the Tyne mouth, was open so we braved some fairly dramatic-looking waves breaking over the walkway and made our way out to the lighthouse at the end. Initially, we thought we’d got the pier to ourselves but there proved to be a small group of local fishermen hidden from view behind the lighthouse. Sue engaged them in local dialect whilst my own attempts to converse with them about what they were trying to catch brought the witty response – “Fish”! The breakers appeared to be getting bigger and even the fishermen were talking about moving so we headed back along the pier and walked around the north coast of the town to the Shields ferry.

It was a beautiful, clear winters day so we all sat on the top deck of the ferry for the short crossing to North Shields; witnessing the skippers skilful manoeuvre to avoid a very large ship heading upstream.  The next part of the walk took us through the characterful Fish Quay area which has recently re-invented itself from a purely commercial area into something of a tourist attraction. We passed a particularly interesting looking building which proved to be an Aladdin’s cave selling both tourist souvenirs and fresh food. Here, the local speciality, Pease Pudding, was procured for Sunday’s sarnies.

A short walk from here brought us to Tynemouth Priory, a great spot for lunch with fine views over the mouth of the river. Time was moving on so we decided not to walk to the end of the shorter North Pier but headed past the statue of Lord Collingwood (Nelson’s boss, apparently) and the ruins of Tynemouth Priory and along the cliff to promenade to Cullercoats. From here, we dropped onto the wide sandy beach of Whitley Bay which was busy with dog-walkers and Tynesiders at leisure. Some of the hardy local children were paddling!

After a tea and cake stop at a beach front café, we continued along the beach and the promenade to St Mary’s Island. This is a bit of a miniature Holy Island, cut off by water at high tide; a fact unknown to two of my close friends at University who ended up wading ashore in December whilst bird watching on the far side. There were plenty of birds about today too and Tony S and I were rather pleased with ourselves for successfully identifying a Purple Sandpiper. Also, a seal was spotted in the water not far from the lighthouse. Sue bumped into the first of two people today that she actually knew. Martin told us that the tide was due in soon so we beat a hasty retreat landward to the nearest Metro for the return to the hostel.

We’d booked an evening meal at the nearby Santana’s Italian Restaurant which was packed to the rafters; usually a good sign that food is up to scratch. Despite an extensive menu, Andy plumped for Lasagne again. Why choose anything else? Sue’s friends turned up a mere two hours late and she met yet another person she knew from way back. The meal proved to be rather long and leisurely and when we left at 10.30, enthusiasm for a trip ‘doon the toon’ to see the sights was distinctly lukewarm. Was it tiredness or was it fear? Anyway, the decision was made to retreat once more to the Punch Bowl where Paul could indulge in watching his beloved Stoke City beat a team on the verge of bankruptcy on Match of the Day. Surprisingly, we were in bed earlier than last night with even Carol’s late night card game failing to materialise.

Sunday dawned a bit duller with a chill in the air as I led a walk taking in as many green areas as Newcastle could muster along with the famous quayside. First we headed along to the famous Armstrong Bridge whose history I eventually managed to find in my notes. The craft fair was fortunately fairly sparsely populated by stands; our sole purchase being a fridge magnet! We descended into the delightful Jesmond Dene, which despite being surrounded on all sides by the city, feels like it could be a glade in the middle of the Yorkshire dales or Scotland. A friendly local told us more of the history of the ruined Armstrong ballroom and how Mr Armstrong had to have it extended so that the ladies didn’t get wet getting out of their landaus. He had a few bob; this Armstrong lad and wasn’t averse to splashing out.

We walked the full length of the lovely Dene; unfortunately failing to find a Kingfisher for Sandra (it’s only a matter of time), then a bit of urban walking took us onto the Town Moor; a huge expanse of common land between Newcastle and Gosforth. You could get Walmgate Stray into it about 20 times. We crossed the moor and the urban motorway; a place I associate with the start of the Great North Run. The next part of the walk was very nostalgic for me; passing my university halls of residence. The local chippy was still there but I was amazed to find the local pub closed. How a pub within 50 yards of a university halls of residence containing 1200 students can’t be a going concern beats me. Next it was across Leazes Moor; a smaller area of common land and into Leazes Park where we had lunch by the frozen lake. Lunch was the much-awaited Ham and Pease pudding served in a Geordie stottie cake. Sandra wasn’t convinced of its merits but Andy wasted none of what was left after everybody had made theirs. Not sure how close people would be sitting next to him on the train back!

From here, it was down to the river past St James’s Park via Chinatown with its impressive Chinese arch, along Gray Street with its impressive Georgian buildings and the castle itself from which the city got its name. Unfortunately the weather took a turn for the worst and it started to snow. We crossed the Swing Bridge, the oldest of the city’s bridges into Gateshead. We passed the interestingly-shaped Sage music centre; Tyneside’s version of the Sydney Opera House and known locally as ‘The Slug’ and took shelter from the snow in the Baltic Art Gallery; their Tate Modern. The view from the top floor along the river was impressive but the most popular reaction to the 3 displays on show seemed to be “Why is this art?”

Unenlightened by our artistic experience, we crossed the Gateshead Millennium Bridge (presumably Newcastle wouldn’t chip in for a share); apparently the world's first and only tilting bridge. A bit like York’s but it opens like a blinking eyelid. The remnants of the Sunday quayside market was looking a bit sad by this time in the snow and morale dipped a bit as we struggled to find a café for a brew; turning our noses up at sitting outside the market’s tea vans in the snow. We southerners aren’t that hard. Fortunately, I managed to find a nice bistro right underneath the Tyne Bridge which served the purpose. In fact, Andy pronounced the Chocolate Brownie as the best he’d ever tasted.

Replenished by tea and cake and the weather brightening up, we made our way back along the quayside to the mouth of the Ouse Burn and followed this upstream. Whilst not the most attractive part of the city and well off the tourist trail, we came across a quirky artist quarter and clearly attempts are being made to revive the area. The river disappears briefly out of sight underneath the rather grandly named City Stadium which is a playing field with banked sides. After a bit more urban walking we entered the lowest of the string of parks which brought us eventually back to Jesmond Dene and the hostel.

Our return was well-timed as, shortly afterwards, the snow returned with a vengeance. The end of YOGs second urban weekend was deemed a success by all; with plenty of laughs as usual and a different type of walk. Although parts of the city have changed considerably in the last 30 years, I saw a lot that was new to me and I was left with a tinge of regret that I hadn’t spent more of the 3 years I’d lived there exploring unlicensed parts of the city.

First Liverpool; now Newcastle. Any offers for the next YOG urban weekend?

Bat out of Hill (Barrowburn Camping Barn – 7th to 9th August 2009)

Sue’s attempt to take the group where no YOGGIE has set foot before took us to the remote Upper Coquet valley of the Cheviots in Northumberland.

Undeterred by blatantly advertising that the venue had no showers, 12 dirt-resistant members signed up for the weekend trip.

Despite a detour which , much to the locals obvious inconvenience , had been in place for some weeks, our carload made it to the Rose and Thistle in time for a much-needed feed.

From here, it was a further 6 miles up a dead end road to Barrowburn. The peace was initially shattered by the army doing night time bombing on the Otterburn ranges nearby but otherwise you’d have been hard pushed to find a quieter spot.

The camping barn was an old school although you can’t imagine it ever having a very large number of pupils in such a remote spot. Tina and Ruth had arrived earlier and done the Tea Shop Walk. Yes, Barrowburn has a tea shop although, perhaps surprisingly, we didn’t sample it. After a welcome brew, we awaited the arrival of Paul and Carol’s car. When they did finally arrive, having sampled the delights of Rothbury, Paul proceeded to make a loud search for any hidden beds and showers. Sorry, Paul. Didn’t you read the e-mail? The camping barn was very pleasant inside but, as no beds were to be found, we used the sleeping platforms provided.

The Saturday dawned warm and sunny and all of us headed for the tops of the Cheviots. They are rolling hills and the climbs are mostly fairly gentle. We reached the Pennine Way which here follows the border between England and Scotland. We climbed the hill of Windy Gyle and stopped for lunch on Kings Seat. Already we’d walked further from the barn than planned but, spurred on by the ambitious Tina, 4 of us continued to the peak of The Cheviot itself. Despite being told by people that “it’s not worth it”, we decided it was although it’s so flat on top that the views of the coast are definitely better from Cairn Hill, a mile before the peak itself. From the peak, we re-traced our steps along the Pennine Way and descended to the barn via a different route through hills and forestry.

Having had a brew and some of Ruth’s Home made Ginger Cake (but no shower), it was down to the serious business of lighting the Barbie. With help from Paul (clearly more of a Barbie guru than me), it was quickly lit and blazed into action. I normally have to re-light it half a dozen times before it takes hold and are plagued by people keeping asking “Is it ready yet?”

Sue’s idea of having a Barbie was a major success and a constant stream of excellent food passed from Barbie to Yoggie. Mention must be made of Carol’s excellent foil-baked potatoes which were so delicious that a black market was in danger of developing and any slight pause in eating them was pounced upon by others saying “Do you want the rest of that?”. Amazingly enough, many of us still found space for Ruth’s excellent Rhubarb Crumble and Custard (Crème Fraiche for the southerners).

The latter stages of the meal and the rest of the evening were spent having a good laugh around the camp fire which Carol had lit; another great idea. This did have some effect in fighting off the Cheviot midges who were intent in showing their Scottish cousins across the border nearby that they lack nothing in their determination to annoy outdoor types.

There was more excitement to come though. On returning to the barn itself, we discovered that it had been taken over by 4 bats who, in MeatLoaf fashion, were circling rapidly round the inside of the building. Nobody had a clue how to get them out. Somebody said that bats have no natural enemies. “What about Ozzy Osborne?” suggested Paul. As there was no chance of YOGs own Prince of Darkness (Neil) being found, let alone the Heavy Metal vocalist, we decided to open the windows and hope they’d just go away. Sally was full of “What if they get into your……(fill in the missing words) during the night" but as the barn’s bat population seemed to have dropped by this time and the only visibly roosting specimen chose the boys platform, she succumbed to bed.

Sunday dawned a bit cloudier but we all decamped to nearby Alwinton for another walk in the lower Cheviots and the sun came out as we ate our lunch on top of another  remote hill. Another great weekend that will be remembered for a long time to come.

To the Manor Born (or Don’t mention the Bra)

Whernside Manor weekend, Dent – 22 -25 May 2009

Another memorable YOG weekend began (at least for 3 of us) with a delicious slap up meal at Jeremy’s Mum’s en route. However, as usual, the fayre for the rest of the weekend was also well up to scratch. It never ceases to amaze me how we manage to conjure up such great food for the price.

Most of us had seen the website for the venue, Whernside Manor, on the internet and, although we knew that we weren’t actually staying in the manor itself, I think we were all taken aback slightly by the ‘compactness’ of the bunkhouse hidden away to the side of it. We were to drink tea in a manor before the weekend was out but more of that later.

Undeterred by the fact that we would be spending the next 3 days in rather closer proximity than expected, we unloaded the cars and headed off to Dent village a couple of miles up the road to the pub. Dent is a quaint dales village with narrow, cobbled streets and two pubs. Having selected the Sun Inn as our choice of hostelry, we found Dave (B & B) in the bar. The village has 2 camp sites so the pubs were doing good business and rapidly filled up. A good evening to start the weekend with good company, a few laughs and the odd pint of Summer Lightning or Navvy (or was it Navy?). Then it was back to the bunkhouse and our  sleeping pods. Most of us were sound asleep when Trev and ‘Paris’ arrived. Dennis was awake but generously chose not to show them to their bunks. Or did they just decide it was a bit too cosy inside and decided to put up their tent in the dark instead?

Most of us slept surprisingly well on the comfortable mattresses; give or take the dawn chorus and the cows. Some of the birds sounded as if they were living in the building itself. This indeed proved to be the case; as a deposit was made in Sue’s boot the following night.  “There’s poop in ma boot” was the cry.

Weather wise, Saturday was the worst day of the 3 but not bad really. It started off a bit drizzly and misty but, as Jeremy led us first along the south side of the valley and then across and up to Rise Hill, it cleared considerably. A walk along the ridge gave great views of the Dentdale valley and surrounding hills although the lunch stop at the peak of Aye Gill Pike was a bit chilly. However, from that point onward, the weather just got better and better. From the end of the ridge, it was a pleasant descent into the village. Here,  Jeremy moved extremely quickly to procure the last piece of delicious-looking chocolate cake from the shop (“We’ll be getting some more tomorrow”). Some went to sample one of the village tea shops whilst we returned to the bunkhouse via the river side where we were rewarded with  a view of a Kingfisher.

On arrival, we found that the ‘Silver Fox’ had arrived by bike but was unable to get the cooker to work. However, greater minds soon rectified this problem in time for us to sample his excellent Pork Stew. This was followed by Dennis’s (“That IS a small portion”) Tiramisu. Low fat; of course. I was wondering how long I’d have to extend tomorrows walk to burn it off!

Just before dinner, Jane had had an encounter with our somewhat eccentric host, ‘Lord’ Gerry (“but you can call me Gerry”); who regaled her with tales of the manor’s 6 ghosts and various other stories and tall tales; before telling her that she shouldn’t really be sitting in ‘Elaine’s Throne’. Jane pronounced him completely bonkers and, following an encounter with some misidentified underwear, was never quite the same afterwards.

The showers, at least, were hot and spacious. More than enough room for 3 although there was a lot of steam emitting from them (or was it just hot air?).

After our excellent dinner, we all decided to walk back to the village to the Sun Inn again. This time it was packed and, despite the cool evening, we were initially confined to the beer garden. There followed a light-hearted game of ‘Which famous person would you bring along to a YOG walk’ in which most of the girls chose fit actors from T.V. programmes that nobody else had heard of (“I wasn’t asking him for his conversation”) and most of the boys went for highly intelligent female presenters who, by complete coincidence, were quite good looking as well. From here, the conversation just went downhill and we soon managed to clear the rest of the beer garden and moved indoors to do the same there. Bev and Ben arrived at the pub where Ben could try and put the lost cricket match out of his mind.

Then it was back for another comfortable night in the bunkhouse. It actually proved to be a good choice as the camping area was somewhat hilly and bumpy and the occupants were exposed to the full volume of the dawn chorus and the vocal local bovines.

Sunday dawned warm and sunny and boded well for my walk. I was saved from a lack of forward planning of this by Bev’s book which just happened to have  a perfectly good walk from Dent in it. Jeremy suggested a slight amendment along the north side of the valley which proved fortuitous. Whilst passing a farm, a rather well-spoken lady emerged with her hands covered in flour and asked us “Do you like cake?” From a group which has sometimes been described as a cake eating group with a side interest in walking, this was music to our ears. It wasn’t even time for elevenses and the cake was clearly in it’s formative stage but we were told that the time and place to get it was a place called Gate Manor that afternoon. A quick inspection of the map showed that the aforementioned residence was rather close to the route so we promised to call in later.

We continued through beautiful meadows packed with wild flowers and then climbed up over the moor land before dropping into the edge of Sedbergh where lunch was taken by the side of the river. Despite the beauty of the lunch spot, cake was on our minds so it was soon onwards and upwards before we descended once again into the Dentdale valley in search of the other manor. We weren’t to be disappointed and, despite some of the poorest marketing  I’ve come across (Maybe the entire event was based on ladies coming out of farm houses accosting groups of walkers), we eventually found the place.

Gate Manor was a beautiful Victorian country house set in very attractive gardens. Despite our walking boots , we were invited into the manor itself to take tea and cake; which was a somewhat surreal experience. We then had a walk round the lovely gardens where photographs were taken. Some of the girls’ suggestion of a Calendar Girls photo for Jeremy’s camera was toned down slightly for the occasion. We didn’t even get thrown out!

From here, it was a pleasant walk along the river to Dent where Dave left us to catch his train and the rest of us failed to resist the lure of the pub and , in the case of a few, the lure of the chips. To help the cake down, I presume? Sally’s Tesco shopping list had come in for a bit of stick over the last couple of days (Don’t mention the Marmalade) but a trip to the Dent village shop proved equal to the task of replenishing the cheese supply; as well as providing Ben with supper.

Back to the bunkhouse once again for another splendid feast; this time courtesy of Trev. His vegetarian pasta dish even had the carnivorous Ling clamouring for seconds. Peter’s ever-reliable Apple Pie and Crumble followed whilst Ling showed why she doesn’t need a dishwasher at home whilst finishing off the Tiramisu.

It was a tough decision what to do in the evening but, after hard thinking, we decided to walk to the pub again. The days walk had taken it’s toll on Dennis who opted to drive instead. This may have saved his legs but didn’t save him from an encounter with Lord Gerry somewhat akin to the wedding guest’s encounter with the Ancient Mariner. He arrived in the pub looking a bit shell-shocked. We sadly had to say goodbye to Trev and ‘Paris’, who had to work the following day; on a Bank holiday. It shouldn’t be allowed really. We duly promised to call her at elevenses the next day to commiserate; a plan thwarted by lack of phone reception.

Our last day, Bank Holiday Monday, dawned even hotter and the sun cream supplies were tested to the limit. Sally led an excellent walk (also from Bev’s book) east along the Dent valley, past the sadly missed former Youth Hostel. After elevenses by the river and lunch by a stream , we climbed up onto Blea Moor to join the Three Peaks path up Whernside. Not today though. That was to be saved for Ling’s Three Peaks weekend. The heat was taking its toll but we were soon descending back to Whernside Manor and the end of the walk.

Not quite the end of the weekend though. Some of us drove to Snaizeholme near Hawes in search of Red Squirrels. Despite the claim that we were “almost certain to see (them)” from the very clearly-marked Red Squirrel viewing area, we didn’t! However, the trip was to end on a high note when tea and very high standard Lemon Drizzle cake was discovered nearby. Although, Jeremy did point out that the tea and cake cost half as much as the food for the rest of the weekend!

All in all, a fantastic YOG weekend with lots of laughs, great weather, fantastic walking in beautiful Dent dale. Bring on the next one!

And from the archives - Wastwater – Oct 14th – 16th 2005

The weekend began for some earlier than others. Neil and Dave Pearson left York at 6.00 on Friday morning and were already in the mountains by 9.00 for their first epic walk of the weekend. Alan’s crew arrived late morning for a more leisurely walk around the little-visited Devoke Water (I had to look it up too!). For the rest of us, it was a drive up after work which, being on the west side of the lakes, took a bit longer than usual. Most of us met at the Screes pub in Nether Wasdale for a nice pub meal with a friendly landlord, before returning to the hostel. For anybody who hasn’t visited Wastwater hostel, it’s a beautiful old historic house in a fabulous location, overlooking the beautiful lake.

As there were a mere 23 of us staying at the hostel; not to mention a couple of late bookers in outlying B & Bs, on the Saturday we split up into 3 groups. Janet led a walk round the lake; braving the scary-looking screes on the opposite side where a false step could easily have led to an autumnal swim in England’s deepest lake! Neil and Dave P found a surprising number of masochists for their second epic of the weekend, which actually included a visit to the summit of Scafell Pike for the second consecutive day. Not to mention Illgill Head, Scafell and other peaks too numerous to mention. They met their match in Fiona who has that disconcerting habit of breaking into a trot when she gets within a few hundred feet of a peak.

I led a larger group up the lesser known peaks to the north of the lake; including Haycock and Scoat Fell; before hitting the more popular Pillar. The morning was misty on the tops but from our lunch shelter huddled behind a low wall, we were able to get occasional glimpses of YOGs favourite hostel; the remote Black Sail in the Ennerdale Valley. However, it all changed when we reached the summit of Pillar. The cloud cleared completely; affording magnificent views in all directions. Only the summit of Scafell was still in cloud – sorry, chaps! Complacency obviously set in at this point as I promptly led the group the wrong way off the summit before re-tracing our steps. Paul Bushnell, using his GPS wizardry, later showed me where we were heading on the wrong path. Best you don’t see it!

Buoyed up by the clearer views, myself, Alan and Helen decided to do Kirk Fell as well with more great views before descending via the steep route to Wasdale Head. Here we caught the rest of our group supping tea in the beer garden behind the hotel. They generously left us a cup before heading off to the hostel. Just as we were leaving to follow them, who should appear but Jon and Juliet; having taken a slightly shorter alternative to the Stainton-Pearson marathon. From here it was a 5 mile flattish road walk along the lake to the hostel; unless you happened to get picked up by Cynthia who ferried a few of the weary. I’ve never seen Paul and Sarah move so fast to be first in the car! Neil and Fiona actually caught us up just before we got back to the hostel although Dave P cut it distinctly fine for dinner; arriving in the dining room on the dot of 7.00. Sorry, Dave, No sausages left! The meal was good hostel fare; after which we all retired to the beautiful lounge-cum-library for the rest of the evening; a room which wouldn’t appear out of place in a stately home.

Sunday saw the sort of weather that you just dream about when walking in the mountains. It was an absolutely beautiful, warm autumn day with colours I can’t begin to describe and a temperature more like July than October. Neil, Dave P and Fiona went off to do the few bits of the Lake District that they hadn’t already covered in the first two days whilst I led a group up the interesting peak of Yewbarrow; one I didn’t think I’d done before (Could this have had something to do with the choice?). Whilst not a high peak, it’s quite a steep ascent and , being so close to Wastwater itself, gives great views along the lake and surrounding area. After elevenses on the summit, we descended to the col on the far side. At this point, we split into 2 groups with one descending directly whilst the rest of us climbed up the other Red Pike; not to be confused with the more popular peak of the same name in the Buttermere group. It was hot work going up in the sun. To give you some idea of just how warm it was, most of the group were able to sit in shorts and t-shirts on the peak for lunch; and this in Mid-October. At Sue’s suggestion (she does occasionally talk me into making the right decision), we followed a different route down from the one I’d originally planned, via Scoat Tarn. Here, we had a lengthy stop whilst Jon and Juliet actually went for a swim in the tarn. I was tempted but felt it was a bit cool so chickened out. How many times would you consider swimming in a tarn at all; let alone in October.

It was just one of those perfect days for walking in the Lakes and an excellent weekend was rounded off with a pot of tea back at the Screes in Nether Wasdale. Another YOG weekend where the lingering memories keep you going through those long days at work.