TGO Challenge 2017 Gear List

Cooking stuff: Evernew 0.9l pot and 0.4l mug,  MSR Micro Rocket stove and Primus windshield, Platypus water containers and Pod dry bag for rubbish

Well as any fool knows, the key to a successful completion of the Challenge is not experience in backpacking or hill walking.  It is not a cunningly crafted route or the ability to navigate in the foggiest of fogs.  It is not strength of mind and being made of the right stuff.  It is not determined training, regularly lugging a heavy pack up high hills in the wind and rain from New Year to the end of April. Of course not.  It is about the possession of an accurate set of kitchen scales and the ability to create an Excel spreadsheet and to weigh your gear to the last gram.  It is a well known fact that all other Challengers want to know about you is what are you taking with you. 

Z Packs Duplex, lovely and spacious, very cuben fibre light, but single skinned not as toasty as the Scarp 1

Tarp Tent Scarp 1: My almost perfect shelter - except for the weight

So here is my starter for ten, with my current thoughts about what I shall be carrying in May.  The eagle eyed reader will spot that there are probable and possible columns.  The possible column generally relates to potential last minute changes which will depend on whether we have a particularly clement or inclement weather forecast.  Forecasts are, of course, notoriously unreliable in mountain areas and my probable column should see me okay in most conditions.  If there is still much lying snow or, better still, in the highly unlikely event that Scotland is sitting under a blocking anticyclone in the first week in May, then the items in the possible column may come into play.

TGOC 2017 Gear List
PROBABLE	Pack	Worn/Non-Pack	POSSIBLE ALTERNATIVES
	(gr)	(gr)
Pack
GG Mariposa	1015		ULA Catalyst (1530gr incl pack cover) or Z Packs Arc Blast (590gr)
Z Packs CF Packliner	54
Shelter and Sleeping
Tarp Tent Scarp 1	1455		Z Packs Duplex (685gr)
Tent pegs	250
Sleeping Bag Z Packs 20 degree	660
Rab Silk Liner	116
Sleep Socks - As Tucas Down Socks	90
Rohan Silver Core Zipped Base	255
Rab Meco Long Johns	148
Silk Liner Gloves - Lowe   Alpine	30
Klymit Pillow	85
Thermarest XTherm (large)	580
Tent J Cloth	12
Cook set	410
MSR Micro Rocket + stand and windshield			Ti Tri Inferno + Starlyte Burner (saves 120gr)
Evernew 0.9 litre pot
Evernew 0.4 litre mug
Sea to Summit long spoon (alloy)
Lighter
Classic Swiss Army Knife
Water purifying tabs
J Cloth
Hydration in cf stuff sack:	181
Platypus 2 litre
Platypus 1 litre
Sawyer small water filter + medium pouch
First Aid Kit	290
First Aid Kit Dry Bag
Elasticated knee bandage
Tick remover
Safety Pins
Scissors
Sudacreme
Plasters and compeed
Wound Dressings
Micropore tape
Paracetamol
Ibuprofen
Imodium
Hayfever tablets
Gehwol Foot Cream			Smidge
Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel			Sun screen
Wash Kit in dry bag	420
Mini toothbrush and paste
Comb
Dr Bronner's
Deodorant (tiny)
Towel - Lightload Mini *3
Contact lenses
T Roll
Hand Sanitiser
Lighter
Ear plugs
Tissues
Trowel (MSR Blizzard stake included with tent pegs)
P Bottle
Navigation/Tech
Silva compass	40
Ortilieb map case + Map		80
Ortilieb A4 Case + Map printouts + 2 maps	270
Galaxy S7 Smartphone / GPS		157
Phone case		60
Phone charger	45
Camera charger lead	30
Power pack	125
Watch - Suunto Core		64
Camera - Lumix DMC TZ60 + case and spare battery		400
Batteries *3 (watch and headtorch)
Spot Gen 3 Messenger	60
Repair kit in cf bag	63
Dyneema cord
Duck Tape
Thermarest puncture kit
Shock cord
Tenacious tape / cf tape
Accessories
Whistle	15
Headtorch - Petzl E Lite	30
Midge head net	50
Notebook and pen		52
Reading glasses in case	107
Pacer Poles - Alloy		650	Black Diamond Trail Pro (if Duplex taken)
Multimat foam sit mat	42		Thermarest Inflatable Sit Mat (90gr)
Wallet	100
Rail tickets	10
Clothes
Trail Shoes Inov8 Roclite 295, +  Blue Superfeet insoles		740	Ecco Xpedition III Torre GTX Mid Boots. Micro spikes.
Dirty Girl Gaiters		68
X Socks Exped (2 pairs)	62	62	Bridgedale Merino Fusion Trekker (if boots worn)
Bridgedale Coolmax Liners (3 pairs)	40	20
Compression Socks	90
Under Armour Boxers	90
Helly Hansen Boxers		88
Trousers - Montane Terra		357
Rohan Ether trousers	216		Montane Prisms (348gr)
Rohan Merino Shirt		286
Berghaus Extrem 7000 Hoodie Mid Layer		475
Montane Prism Gillet		284
PhD Minimus Down Jacket + Hood	478
Montane Fleece Beanie		60
Buff	38
Montane Prism Gloves	60
Waterproof Overmits	41
Montane Litespeed windshirt		204
Rohan Elite Jacket	375		Paramo Velez Adventure Light Smock (685gr) + Z Packs Death Jacket (200gr)
Berghaus Paclite Overtrousers	250
Hi Tec Zuuc Shoes	450
Total Base Carried	9108
Total Worn		4107
Food, Drink and Fuel
Gas	380		Meths (500gr)
Dehydrated food (3 days) main meals and deserts	1500
Total other food (3 days):-	500
Soups (1 per day)
Tea bags (4 per day)
Drink choc (1 per day)
Condensed milk - tube			Nido full cream milk powder
Instant porridge (1.5 per day)
Cereal bars (3 per day)
Trail mix
Chocolate
Primula and wraps
Food bags
Nalgene Hip Flask (full)	400
Water (0.5l in Evian bottle)	520
Total Food, Drink, Fuel	3300
Total Pack Weight	12408

In the Psychiatrist’s Chair

My Therapist

One Tuesday several months ago

Picture the scene.  An NHS hospital in North East Wales. The neon strip light glares and highlights the brick walls of the consulting room, painted in a mushroom gloss. Despite this, I'm still feeling rather pleased and smug because car parking is free at Welsh hospitals. The consultant is feeling even more pleased as he tells me he is retiring at the end of the week and that "like you I will soon be enjoying life on a gold plated public sector pension."

Consultant Psychiatrist [hereafter “The Shrink”]: “Well that's about it then.  I’ll send a letter to your GP with my conclusions.  In the meantime, keep taking the tablets for at least another six months.  But as I said, what might be most effective is a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.  CBT. You’ll have heard of it.”

Me:  “Is that where I have to stick a pin in my arm every time I worry about something?”

Shrink: “No, it’s not at all like that.”

Me: “Or flick myself with an elastic band?”

Shrink: “No, not that either.  It doesn't involve pain.  It’s just talking.  It will help you see the world differently.  Keep things in perspective.”

Me: “Okay. That sounds fine.  I’ll try it.  What’s the waiting list like?”

Shrink: “Oh, we should be able to get you an initial appointment on the NHS in two years or so.  Or if you want to go privately you can get to see someone this afternoon.

I booked to go privately.

One month later

Picture the scene.  A small consulting room in a posh private hospital.  The therapist was a very short, very dumpy woman with a very strong, southern Irish accent.  She had clearly gained her qualifications at the Father Jack School of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy on Craggy Island.

She: “……so, we’ve discussed your obsessions with writing lists, and of ensuring all the mug handles in the cupboard point the same way, and your inability just to park the car without getting out, getting back in, restarting the engine to straighten it so it is dead in the middle of the space and lots of other feckin weird habits that you have.  Now tell me that last one again.  You were in the back of the boat and this swan kept trying to attack you?

Me: “That’s right.  Well actually I reckon he was going for little Cholmondley, the cox.

She: “So he wasn’t actually after you . You were rowing. What were you holding?”

Me: “The oar of course.”

She: “And this oar, how big was it?”

Me: “About 10 foot long I guess.”

She: “So you have a bloody great 10 foot long piece of wood in your hands.  The swan is going for Cholmondley.  Not you. Did it not occur to you just to whack the feckin thing with the oar?”

Me: “No”.

She: “Well don’t you think you were being a bit feckin thick then? I’d have smashed the fecker so hard it would have decided that in future it might be better off chasing the ducks than going after four bloody great oarsman with their little cox.  [She roared with laughter for some reason when she said that].  Now what else are you scared of?”

Me: “Well there are horses.  And cows."

She: “Horses and cows?”  What the feck are you scared of those for?”

Me: “Well when I was in the Boy Scouts I was camping in a field near Leebotwood and this horse kicked over our camp kitchen and chased us to get at our Cornflakes.  I spilt my breakfast.  And a couple of years later Rob and I were camping in a tiny two man tent in Snowdonia.  We were about 16.  It was dark and these ponies started to kick our tent whilst we were inside.  I made Rob go out and scare them away.  And cows sometimes look at me a bit funny and sort of dance and prance around me when I cross their field.”

She: “Ponies? Jeez they aren’t even very big.  You were in the Boy Scouts, you say?  Girl Guides more like.  And cows?  I was brought up on a farm.  It’s feckin stupid to be scared of cows.  Cows never hurt anybody.  Don’t you think you’re just being a bit pathetic as well as feckin stupid?”

Me: “But cows killed 18 walkers in the UK last year.”

She: “And how do you know that?”

Me: “I Googled it.”

She: “Let’s get this straight.  You’re scared of cows.  So you go on Google to find out how many walkers were killed by cows last year.  Then, no doubt, you sit and read about how those poor unfortunates were trampled to a painful death in a muddy field miles from their loved ones.  Don’t you think that was just a bit feckin stupid?”

Me: “Have I just paid £80 to have you spend an hour telling me I’m feckin stupid?”

She: “No, not at all.  You’ve been to three sessions now.  That means you've spent £240 to listen to me banging on over a three week period about you just being feckin stupid.  Now, listen to me.  I’m going to say one last thing."

Me: "Yes?"

She: "Feel the fear and do it anyway.  And remember the whole phrase, not just the first part.”

£240?  It was a good investment.  I went home and, in the full knowledge that I had been clinically diagnosed as feckin stupid, I applied for the 2017 TGO Challenge.

A few weeks later I accepted the very kind invitation of Challenge legends, Mr Alan Sloman and Lord Elpus to walk with them rather than going solo.  Case proven M'Lord?

Swansong D'Amour

Morning dog walk

 I know, I know.  There is no point having a blog if you go months on end without posting.  But I have lots of good excuses.

Firstly, I have been writing other stuff which has taken a great deal of time.  A novel.  It’s finished.  Only had 5 rejections so far, which is fewer than JK Rowling received for the first in her Harry Potter series.  If I do not submit mine to any more literary agents does that make my book better than hers?  The big question for me is whether to pay for a professional edit and cover design, and then go on to self-publish.  Depends on my level of vanity and willingness to waste money, I guess.

Secondly, for a long period I was not getting out on the hills much because of various health problems, so had little inclination to update the blog.  These medical issues are of little interest to others but are sort of relevant to this post, which is supposed to be about why, despite some misgivings, I have found myself over the last couple of months preparing to backpack across Scotland again on the annual The Great Outdoors (TGO) Challenge in May 2017.  But if the thought of reading about my health problems is boring skip the next two paragraphs.

My legs stopped working properly after my last Challenge in May 2015.  Well, to be more precise, my left leg did.  And I was tired.  So tired.  I think it came on towards the end of the walk when I believe I had a virus.  I struggled up Mount Keen in the snow, feeling like I was running a temperature, and the last few days of the Challenge, the relatively easy bits, were really hard work.  Back at home, by mid-June, I was having to lie down after a short dog walk.  Leg pain would set in after 15 minutes along the lanes, and could last for several days.  I was poked and prodded and scanned and tested for Lyme’s Disease (I’d had tick bites on the Challenge), Multiple Sclerosis and at one point the consultant neurologist said to me “you’ll be pleased to hear I don’t think you have motor neuron disease”.  Well at that point it had never occurred to me that I might have, so you can guess what I felt after he said that.  Never, ever use Google if you are feeling unwell!  The consultant did find that I had permanent nerve damage and some loss of sensation and weakness in one leg and foot, though, which I sort of already knew.

To some extent despair set in.  I was never going to get out in the hills or feel normal again.  This was linked to things going on in my head.  Mrs Fellbound had long previously diagnosed my condition.  “SKOD”.  Some Kind of Disorder.  The psychiatrist I saw confirmed this. “You have SKOD”, he said.  But Mrs Fellbound was wrong.  It wasn’t “Some Kind of Disorder”, he said, it was “Several Kinds of Disorder”.  General Anxiety Disorder, depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (“we all knew that”, said an old friend.  Well I didn’t).  "Keep taking the tablets," he said.  I did and they made me feel even crappier, so I didn’t.

Then slowly, my leg began to work better than it had done in twelve months and the fatigue went.  And thus, last October, I applied for the Challenge again.  My main concern was being able to get sufficiently fit.  No, it wasn’t, although that was a worry.  It was whether I could cope with the levels of anxiety the Challenge would bring.  Mainly completely irrational anxiety, and silly in the eyes of others no doubt, but no less real to me.

TGO Challenge Training by the Shropshire Union Canal: Note the toughness of the terrain, perfect preparation for the Scottish Highlands

Now about swans, something that is also relevant.  I have this fear of some animals, mainly large ones or aggressive ones.  And especially large AND aggressive ones.  This is not entirely irrational.  Take swans, for example.  When I was at secondary school in Shrewsbury I was in the rowing club.  One year a swan that had a nest down by the English Bridge took to attacking our boat (a coxed four if you're interested) whenever we were down on that part of the river.  It would fly at us, really aggressively, wings flapping, hissing and spitting.  It was vicious and quite scary.  It became notorious, to the extent that the reporter from the Shrewsbury Chronicle was dispatched to school to see what all the fuss was about.  He interviewed my mate, Rob, The Captain of Boats, who explained what had been happening, while his photographer colleague went off in search of pictures of said swan.  “What do you call the swan?”, asked the journalist.  “We call it a fucking bastard,” replied Rob (this is true this!).  Rob had a fine turn of phrase.  Once on the way to a regatta in the school minibus he told the thirteen year old cox, Cholmondley, that "if you do that again I'm going to chop your goolies off and chuck them out of the window."  That Friday we were on the front page of the Chronicle, the swan attacks being the most sensational thing that had happened in Shrewsbury since 1403 when Henry IV and Prince Hal had defeated Harry Hotspur and other rebels just to the north of the town.  Actually, the thing that is so weird about that conflict is that the place where the battle took place was right by a village called Battlefield.  How spooky a coincidence is that?  Prince Hal got an arrow in the face on that day.  Good job he survived, as he later became Henry V and gave the Frenchies what for twelve years later at a place called Azincourt, which is good gloating material when on holiday in Brittany and dealing with an arrogant, dismissive waiter. Anyway, we were front page news, and the article stated that “The swan, who the boys have christened Sidney,…”

Fake news, reader, fake news.  That journalist had made the name up himself.  Will they ever tell it as it is?

So I have a fear of swans based on experience.  I admit that this doesn’t cause me too many problems.  But recently it has.  When at home in NE Wales I walk the dog around the fields near the house.  It’s pretty flat and marshy in this area, near the border with north Shropshire and we get lots of water fowl.  And a few weeks ago a lone swan decided to live in the field I use.  He or she would be sitting in it every morning, just after dawn.  Not being a complete scaredy cat I continued to walk in the field even after this swan kept looking at me in a menacing kind of way.  But despite its beauty I wished it would go and find a mate and would fly away and make a nest elsewhere.  Then a few mornings ago, as I walked into the field I saw a mass of white near the far hedge.  As we made our circuit and got closer there she or he was, looking very dead. The lack of a head was a bit of a give away as to its condition. Mr Foxy, I assume, had been in the night.   And over the next few days I watched, in fascinated horror, as the crows devoured what was left.  Now all that remains are a few feathers and a single wing.  And I wish she or he was still there.

Poor thing... although Mr and Mrs Foxy do need to eat

And a few days later after the crows have eaten their fill

So what’s this got to do with the TGO Challenge?  Well I did know when I started writing this rambling post.  The theme was going to be about trying to overcome fear and anxiety.  “Feel the fear and do it anyway”, something I have not always been very good at.  And how that relates to me entering the 2017 Challenge, and whether this will be the last time I ever attempt anything so daunting.  My swansong d’amour, so to speak.

So I may return to these themes of living with fear and anxiety and OCD in a subsequent post.  Self-indulgent? Possibly.  But I also suspect that the admission of depression and mental health problems may resonate with some readers.  They are things that we often hide away and, as a result, make worse.

And yes, for those of you old enough to remember, Swansong D’Amour is a pun based on the song, most famously covered by the Manhattan Transfer in their 1977 hit record. 

Youtube, Manhattan Transfer, Chanson D'Amour

Two blokes, two dogs, one hill

Edale rocks. So called because they are rocks. And they are near Edale

Geoff on Kinder

A couple of weeks back I decided that I would go over to Hayfield in the Derbyshire Peak District for a few days to potter around with Mossy dog to get rid of some of his Hyperdogish energies now that my legs appear to be better. The poor dog has suffered along with me over recent months as my lack of ability has meant he has had a lack of long walks.  Anyways, the week we chose to go had the best weather of the year so far, with lovely warm spring days. Unfortunately, a long awaited hospital appointment to prod at said legs and various other bits of my anatomy that control them was then offered in the very week we were to go away.

‘No problemo.’ Mossy Boy, says I. ‘We can go the week after.’ To which he replied with silence, but his tail did twitch a bit and I took this for agreement. So that is what we did. Which meant that we went to Hayfield just as the temperatures dropped by about 10 degrees centigrade in new money, and snow and hail showers blew in from the far north-east with gusto, north-east  being the new south-west.  But as we weren’t camping but were in the motorhome it didn’t matter too much.

Now being in Hayfield I took the opportunity to meet up with Geoff and Chrissie Crowther who live in this neck of the woods and who (or is it whom?) I know from Twitter. They kindly invited Moss and I round for tea and cake. I ate this as best I could with one hand, whilst using another hand to protect Moss from a very playful Pebbles who was hurling her not inconsiderable Boxer weight at my delicate flower, so putting him off his stride. Now his stride happened to be trying to demonstrate to the gorgeous puppy Islay what teenage boys do given the slightest chance with any lovely young female they happen to meet.  Well if you are numerate and have been counting how many hands I was having to use in the aforementioned activities you will be aware that despite me having the full complement of hands, I was still one short of the number necessary to protect Islay’s virtue, although I have to say that the lovely little floozy appeared less concerned about this than Geoff and Chrissie.

Despite Moss shaming me, Geoff was still kind (or foolish) enough to suggest that we went for a walk up Kinder Scout on the morrow (for my younger readers, ie anyone born after the 16^th Century, that means the day after). Chrissie had more sense and decided she would do some domestics and possibly walk up to meet us in the afternoon with Pebbles.

I distracted Islay so that Moss could steal her lunch whilst Geoff looked on oblivious to the crime

And that is what we did. Geoff knows the area like the back of his proverbial and was a fount (that is short for fountain pen) of wisdom and informative information. Moss and Islay had a marvellous time racing around after each other as only young racing around things can do. They certainly  covered rather more ground than their owners. Moss managed to control his baser instincts until the homeward leg when he had to go on a lead in disgrace after a rather stern lecture from me on gentlemanly behaviour.

Kinder Low: Geoff sulks as Islay sings  "I'm the Queen of the Castle and you're the dirty rascal"

Moss eyeing up a pile of sheep shit and wondering when I will move away so that he can eat it

The walk was absolutely splendid. It was good to be back on the grit stone. The ever changing weather, with short snow and hail showers intermingled with longer sunnier periods, meant that the views were spectacular and the opportunities for a skilled photographer to capture memorable moments were myriad. Unfortunately, I am not a skilled photographer and, worse, when I got down I realised that I did not even have the camera set on “intelligent auto” mode but portrait mode. Despite this the landscape shots on this post do not appear any worse than my normal offering so who cares? And the final plus of the day was we finished the walk  and were drinking tea just before torrential rain arrived. For some reason puppy Islay had now slowed down and Moss completely crashed out and hardly blinked when Chrissie arrived with Pebbles. Pebbles is clearly jealous of Moss’ infatuation with Islay and so had dressed in a very flattering yellow rain coat, no doubt to attract his attention. Sadly for her Moss was unmoved, worn out by his younger and fitter new friend.

Moss whispering sweet nothings, but Islay only has eyes for one man

You can't beat an interesting smell

Thanks to Chrissie, Geoff, Islay and Pebbles for a fun couple of days.

Thank you Benny et al

A Copyright Warning: Danger of death or at the very least boils in your armpits

As my beloved readers may be aware, it is well known in the best literary circles that in the next few months I will become a highly acclaimed new novelist.  It is my intention that the income from my pensmanship will make JK Rowling's look like that of a benefits claimant who has recently had their disability living allowance re-assessed by Yurfitandelffyenuftowork PLC.

I have realised that this will inevitably mean that my blog posts will become of great monetary as well as literary value. Thus, this is to warn any would be plagiarists that I have asserted my copyright of all such blog posts and photographs. Furthermore, I have instructed my solicitors, Messrs Skullcracker, Knuckleduster and Flicknife that they are to show no mercy as they tear the shirt off the back, then make destitute and homeless, any miscreant who steals my written work or photography (ie pretty pictures). They will then suffer slow starvation, so sending them to an early, bleak and maggot ridden pauper's grave outwith consecrated ground.