It's amazing how time flies and a month disappears. The last four weeks has seen me in Snowdonia, The Lakes, The Dales and Arran, and it all seems to have gone so quickly. I really have to decide where this blog goes, as it seems there's always something gets in the way of updating it and without updates it dies. Writing ten years out hasn't helped, with having to check every picture and word for references of, or pictures of, a big chunk of life isn't quick or easy.

 

This got me to thinking about "special" places, and what makes them special. Ask a thousand football fans where they'd choose to have their ashes scattered on death and you could probably count on your fingers the number who mentioned the place they religiously flock to every alternate week of the season. Ask a thousand hillwalkers the same question and I think you'd be flooded with grid references and specific hilltop locations. There's definitely something that sets walkers and outdoor people apart, and something that gives a place a feeling so strong.

 

For me there's Millers Dale to Wtedale in the Peak District, which will always be special. I can't count the number of times I've walked this stretch of riverbank and abandoned railway - usually with canine companionship. It's a place that I now go very rarely, just 27th July every year, to reflect on life and remember someone close and really missed that I'll never hear from again. It's a special place because of special memories, not related to what is undoubtedly a stunning Peakland landscape. I wouldn't choose at as a place to scatter ashes though, as it's a place for remembering not one for to remain your lasting view.

 

My choice would probably be Esk Hause now. It's not spectacular or at least not in comparison with places I could choose, but again a memory ;- of wild camping near the shelter in pouring rain and filtering puddle water to cook then waking up to a glorious dawn over Langdale and heading over to Scafell Pike. Days don't get better than that, and the view and feeling will always stay with me. 

 

I still haven't worked out what it is that makes other places, like Blencathra, Great Moss, Ill Crag and Great Gable, places that draw you back when you have uncompleted objectives. Skiddaw doesn't have that same draw, and there's no emotional connection with Blencathra to cloud the issue - Skiddaw just doesn't have that same pull as its smaller neighbour. Ill CRag, too, has a loftier neighbour to attract you that doesn't have the same feel. Ill Crag is one those often overloked gems of the Lakes that most people trudge past on their way to Scafell Pike. Off to one side you get not just a superb view down Upper Eskdale but a real feeling of isolation - especially in the traditional mist.

 

Arran was pectacular. Ardrossan was bathed in sunshine as the ferry steamed out  after a long drive up from Cheshire. Looking in the opposite direction, howver, Arran loomed into view like a scene from a black and white "Lost World" style film. Cloud clung to the upper flanks of Goatfell, but just the sight of the ridge that remained visible was enough incentive to get up to Glen Rosa.

 

Glen Rosa lies just a couple of miles out from Brodick, and has the nearest "official" campsite. It's one of those places that really make me wonder how the laws in Scotland work. The site couldn't be situated better, on a direct route up to The Saddle, but the idea of paying £3.50 a night for the privilige of a bin was a bit galling. Water was from Glenrosa Water flowing through the middle of the section of open moorland, and there were no toilets, washing up areas or anything resembling showers. Great.......wild camping then! Well yes it had all the feel of a wild camp except the way your pockets felt lighter. I do wonder how much further up the track I needed to walk before I could have got the same facilities (minus bin) gratis?

 

Sannox was no drier than Brodick, but at least it has a brewery :-) , and Arran Blone's the only blonde I'll be taking back to a tent. It's actually a really nice and distinctive beer, almost continental in style but a goodtraditional taste. The odd thing is you can buy the same beer cheaper in the co-op in Brodick than direct from the brewery - but you can ghet a few free tastes. If that's not enough distraction then right next door is an outdoor shop - the old independent local type, not one of these internet giants, with a warm welcome and just the right gas to top up supplies.

 

Goatfell, and it's neighbours, are recognised as "a challenge", and once you set foot on the mountain proper, where broad slope turns to rock and gravel, you know why. It seems as if the whole horseshoe is falling apart. Like the Eiger is shedding ice and rock as we suffer global warming, so the Goatfell range are shedding granite. It's almost like walking, and scrasmbling on lose sandstone. Typically for Scotland the cloud hadn't lifted , and the descent from North Goatfell was exciting. From The Saddle down to the overpriced plot of land occupied by my Force Ten saw the emergence of the Arran Midge. This local hybrid seems to be an evolution of the west coast midges, with a voracious appetite supplemented by an abilty to keep eating in the rain. Having pitched end-on into the rain I was faced with choice of opening the upwing doors and getting wet, or the downwind doors to find this black cloud of hovering teeth sheltering from the rain and awaiting my flesh.

 

Goatfell may be the highest Arran peak, and the one you can't miss on the hour long ferry to the Island, but Cir Mor is the impressive one. It looks like it's been cut from volcanic glass, with sharp ridges in every direction, but again underfoot the rock crumbles to the touch just where you want the security of a solid hold. The return to Sannox took in the opposite, north east, ridge that encloses Glen Sannox. A final few scrambles and it was down into the valley and back for another of the well deserved blondes.

 

Now to wait for the speeding tickets do drop through the letterbox - I'm sure at least one (and hopefully not 3) got me on the way there or back.