English Understatement

The English have a tendency to understate things.  If an
Englishman tells you that he's had a bit of a cold, he has
probably had double pneumonia and just gotten out of the
hospital.  So when my walking club decided to take a bit
of a hike, I should have asked more questions.
I didn't.....I will in the future.
Our typical walks are between 8 and 15 miles with strenuous
ups and downs, some rock hopping, and an occassional scree
slope thrown in to add spice.  They are physically demanding,
but not exhausting.  The views are always worth the climb.
Yesterday, we took a bit of a hike.  It was 23 miles long
over a remote set of ridgelines
(think no roads go through the area).  The length was the
easy part.  The views were better than I can describe and
better than my pictures will portray.  We had the Irish sea
on one side and a large lake on the other side of the ridge.
The hike was a map and compass hike with bushwacking through
immense stands of flowering heather, through ankle deep bogs,
and up and down scree sloped at 60 to 70 degrees.  To sweeten
the hike, throw in several hundred tons of sheep poop
(yes, I used the word poop).  In order to walk around all of
that poop would have lengthened the hike several miles,
so we walked through a lot of it.  Luckily, the bogs removed
the poop and replaced it with mud.  Then the 3 mile road walk
at the end of the hike removed the majority of the mud, at
least from the boots. We left the Lion Hotel in downtown
Barmouth, Wales around 0540 yesterday morning and were on
the trail around 0615.  From the road where we parked,
it was a 4 mile climb up to the high plateau that we would
stay on for almost all of the hike.  Once we arrived on top
of the plateau, out came the compass and map and for the next
four hours we slogged through bogs and heather while climbing
up and down ridges.  We did not go around the ridges because
they were perpendicular to our path, as were all the ridges we
crossed yesterday.  We then reached the set of ridgelines that
sent one of our four intrepid hikers back to Barmouth early.
We hit the first and smallest of the larger ridges aroung 1100
and we were on the other side at 1215.  At this point, Dave
(not this Dave, the smarter one) decided that he would not
continue because he was concerned that he would slow us down
climbing the next three ridges
(the "Big Ridges" as he called them).  I should have listened
more closely to him because he had hiked them before.
Anyway, he said goodbye and started walking towards
the closest road to meet some friends hiking in the
area who would carry him back to the hotel.
As he walked away, he called back to us that
he would meet us at the hotel around 2100.
I thought he was kidding......he wasn't.
The next three ridge lines ranged from 500 to 1100 feet in
height above the plateau.  When we were not on scree slopes,
we were following sheep trails through stands of heather and
gorse.  You became a quadraped when ascending or descending
the slopes.  While going up was tough, going down was tougher.
My hands were raw from grabbing rocks and bushes to pull
myself up the slope or to keep me from falling down the slope.
By the time we reached the top of the last and highest ridge,
my legs refused to move any further.  It was here that I
learned that we had "broken the back of the hike" and could
look forward to easier conditions for the remaining 10 miles.
It was 1745..... The remaining miles were easier.
The ridges were long, grassy slopes decorated with grazing
sheep and divided by 300 year old rock walls.  We put
ourselves on cruise control, covered the remaining 10
miles, and descended the last ridge at 2115.  From there,
it was a 45 minute walk into town along a beautiful country
lane (1 car wide).  We arrived back at the hotel at 2200 sharp.
The weather on top of the ridges included high winds, sideways
rain, fog in which you could not see more than 50 feet, and
temperatures cold enough to allow you to see your breath.
There were no views from the tops of the ridges.  However,
as you made your way across the tops of them,
you would stumble upon alpine lakes hidden among the rocks.
The opposite was true for the troughs (think glacial action)
between the ridges.  The wind was cut off, there was no rain,
and while the clouds were still above you, one could see for
miles out over the sea where the sunlight shone though broken
clouds and reflected off of the water.
As we turned off of the main road and entered the hotel's
courtyard, one of my English companions turned to me and
said, "Well, wasn't that an interesting walk."
For an Englishman, I thought he was a bit over the top.

Next week is back to Liverpool to see the tall sailing ships
(not the racing yachts) that will arrive from around the world
and to paddle my kayak in the Irish Sea.

I hope this finds all well on your end.

DWR