Backpacking Moggism

It is gratifying when a person who appears to be a caricature of someone straight out of the 1860s (ie Jacob Rees-Mogg) publicises something that someone straight out of the 1760s (ie Fellbound) has been moaning about for years – the use of ridiculous or imprecise language and the abuse of grammar.  I do not, incidentally, claim to be an expert on grammar.  As a child of the 1960s I was not taught grammar in any formal sense apart from in Latin and Greek lessons.  Thus, I make no claims to grammatical expertise, what with English speakers not being Romans or Ancient Greeks.

But Mogg has a point, in that some stuff we hear or read is, bluntly, absurd.  Having undertaken an extensive and rigorous analysis that took me in excess of twenty minutes I believe that many backpacking writers, bloggers and vloggers (what a horrid word) are guilty and I now set out just some of the words and phrases which, and I’ll put this as delicately as I can, boil my piss:

1. Rocking (or worse “rockin”) as in “what trail shoes are you rocking these days?”, or “I’m rocking the Gossamer Gear Mariposa pack on this year’s TGO Challenge”.  Can’t these people just wear or own things? I am, incidentally, rocking the GG Mariposa on most of my hikes.

2. Dialled.  I have no idea what this word means if used about anything other than a telephone made before about 1980.  People seem to say or write things such as “I have dialled my gear down”.  Look.  Just stop it.  Please.

3. My go to.  As in “my go to shelter/pack/boots/trekking poles/whatever”.  I just have a “usual” or “favourite”.  But then I’m an old fart.

4. Any discussion about the definitions of what constitutes “lightweight”, “ultralight”, “super-ultralight”, what should be included in “base weight” or anything vaguely connected with these concepts.  It’s subjective you wallies!  Would you have a discussion about, say, the height someone should be before they can be described as “tall” or “short”?  No you wouldn’t.  Not unless you were a complete moron.  Or a student of philosophy. Or both.

5. “Comfortability”.  I recently heard an American say that his new backpacking pillow had greatly increased his comfortability. Honestly.  And no, George W Bush has not started backpacking.

That’s backpacking.  Now I’ve started I may as well have a rant about this stuff in the wider world.

1. Forward planning.  What’s that all about?  Can planning be about anything other than what will happen in the future?  Is the word “forward” necessary? Or perhaps people who use this term believe they are dealing with people who think that they might be planning for events that are now in the past?

2. Existential.  No-one, but no-one, except the Danish philosopher Kierkegaard, knows what that word means.  It is now used daily by politicians, journalists and commentators eg “an existential threat”.  It’s just “a threat” you idiots.  Adding superfluous words to make you sound clever does not make you clever.  Nor does it impress people who are clever.

3. “Reaching out”.  As in “we are reaching out to our customers”.  Well I will tell you what I reach out for.  The sick bucket whenever I hear or read this fatuous phrase.

4. “Can I get a….?”.  As used in Starbucks, Costa and all the large commercial coffee houses.  “Can I get a flat white?”  The correct response from the server should be “I’m sorry, no.  Health and Safety rules would not allow you behind the counter, but I’ll happily make one for you and put it in the eco-friendly mug made out of yak skin that you have thoughtfully brought with you.  Long live the polar bears.”

5. “This does not represent who I am or the values I hold”.  Another sick bucket inducing phrase.  It is used by people (politicians, business men and women, footballers, Hollywood stars and their ilk) caught with their trousers down, making racist abuse, recorded making injudicious comments to friends, using the office computers for porn, or making a Nazi salute.  In my case I need to explain that my dog Moss is somewhat deaf these days and he responds to hand signals.  My signal for stop and wait does, indeed, look rather like a Nazi salute. Well that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Actually matey, what you did does indeed represent who you are.  Be honest about it.  We’re all human.  We all err.  We have all said and done things that we should not have done.  The important thing is to be honest about our actions, not just to ourselves but also to any others affected, to know what is right and wrong and to try to improve our behaviours in the future.

Now go on.  You know you want to. If you are as curmudgeonly as me please leave a comment giving further examples of idiocy.  And do not write “starting a sentence with the word ‘and’, you clot”.  This was very acceptable in 1780.

Decline and Fall: The TGO Challenge 2019

(With unashamed plagiarism of the great Evelyn Waugh's first novel)

Four men of revolting appearance were approaching from the glen. They were low of brow, crafty of eye and crooked of limb. They advanced with the loping tread of wolves, peering about them furtively as they came, as though in constant terror of ambush; they slavered at their mouths, which hung loosely over their receding chins, while each shouldered on his ape like back a burden of curious and unaccountable shape. On seeing the ultralight American backpacking vloggers they halted and hedged back, those behind squinting and mouthing over their companions' shoulders.

“They’re surely going to die, those fellows”, the band of four muttered, “for no-one can survive in the Scottish bogs without a decent set of nine inch gold Eastons. Or at least seven inch Groundhogs”.

“Nor without a good, sturdy gabardine mackintosh”, whispered Philbrick, doffing his recently purchased Black Watch tartan ‘I love Scotland’ cap to the hikers from the world’s only remaining superpower.

(Adapted from Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh)

Paul Pennyfeather reflected. It was supposed to have been wall-to-wall sunshine for at least the first week.  He called up the stairs of the Lochaillort Hotel to his delightful group of walking companions. “It’s peeing down chaps. Overtrousers time”.

Paul Pennyfeather at Locahaillort: A mild mannered, naive chap, and generally modesty personified, despite his somewhat narcissistic tendencies. And damned handsome to boot.

They sat in the bar and waited 20 minutes in the hope that the rain would ease. A semi-darkened hotel bar at 9.00 am is a cold and unwelcoming place. It was hopeless trying to get the team together for a group photograph. Eventually, Dr Fagan decided that they would leave.

“Typical of Grimes, he’s never ready when I say”, said the Doctor. Philbrick grunted in assent.

“Steady on Doctor”, said Pennyfeather, “he’ll be along soon. He’s waiting for Prendy”.

“Prendy’s hopeless at early starts. He knew what time we were supposed to be leaving. So did Grimes. Come on, they’ll just have to catch up. In any case, Prendy might be a decent sort, but he’s not in our team. He’s not Grimes’ responsibility”.

Sir Solomon Philbrick, a man with a mysterious past and Doctor Fagan.
According to Evelyn Waugh, who thankfully can not be sued as he is dead, Philbrick may have been the former owner of a London pub and safe cracker; or a wealthy ship owner and slayer of a Portuguese Count; or a Cambridge educated novelist. None are likely to be true. Waugh describes Doctor Fagan as the Headmaster of a third rate private boarding school in Wales, allegedly with three PHDs and an expert in many things. Only the latter is true.

Ravaged by time and a misspent youth, Captain Grimes suffers from appallingly high levels of fitness, despite Waugh's belief that he had a wooden leg. Note that Pennyfeather would fall over without leaning on those trekking poles having just managed to keep pace with him for almost a whole killer metre.

The three set off along the side of the road, soon caught up by Grimes and Prendergast. Pennyfeather was in front at this point dodging on to the rough verge every few seconds in the face of frequent, fast moving traffic; Dr Fagan and Philbrick never varied their distance from the kerb, but stared into the whites of the eyes of the drivers of the passing vehicles. The pure menace inherent in their look forced most cars to give them a wider berth. Grimes simply shouted obscenities at any unabashed motorists. Prendergast just smiled at all and sundry.

Prendergast: A rare photo this, in that he is not smiling. But he is still oozing pleasantness from every pore.

Police Constable Isla McTavish’s Volvo sped round a bend, almost wiping out the five Challengers, and skidded to a halt. She wound the window down. “Walk on the verge”, she commanded. “No”, replied Dr Fagan. PC McTavish sped off. Her match had just met her.

They reached the ridge heading for Glas-charn, at what the Ordnance Survey suggested was just 633 metres above seal level. In his exertions Pennyfeather thought this was clearly nonsense. It was quite evidently at least the height of a lofty Munro. The bog closed in. Then the clag came down, the temperature came down, the rain came down and finally sleet and hail came down. A line of old fence posts pointed the way to the summit, but via many a bog and several fierce ascents and descents. Grimes stomped ahead; Prendergast smiled throughout, matching Grimes step for step, being kind and supportive and generally coming dangerously close to stealing the sobriquet of ‘the veryveryniceman’ from Pennyfeather.

Heading up Glas-charn: Clag, bog and water. But not a drop to drink.

Pennyfeather, meanwhile, was tired. Extremely tired. That dog walking along the Shropshire Union canal towpath had, perhaps, not been quite adequate preparation for the event. He could not easily keep up with Grimes and Prendy, but to his surprise the Doctor and Philbrick were left far behind. And was he thirsty? Yes he was. He reflected that those who say there is no need to carry much water when walking in Scotland are perhaps just repeating an old canard. If enough people say something, believe something, it does not make it true.

“I’m sure we’ll start to bond as a team as the days go on”, he said to Grimes.

“Hmmm”, was Grimes’ ominous reply.

“I wonder why they’re so slow”, mused Pennyfeather, adding “anyone would think they are hatching some dastardly plot”. Grimes looked at him, pity masking his ravaged features. “You’re a good egg, Paul, but you are rather naïve”, was his reply.

The top of Glas-charn: The forced attempt at a smile speaks volumes

The day couldn’t end soon enough for Paul. He and Grimes pitched up at a spot by a new hydro scheme that was far better than its stony appearance warranted. Philbrick and Fagan arrived 30 or 40 minutes later. Fortunately, looks cannot kill. But remember. If the Doctor ever tells you where to stop for the night then stop there for the night. Or, if you do not, wait until he’s had a large scotch and is tucked up in his sleeping bag with a cuppa soup inside him before begging forgiveness.

First night camp spot

Despite team orders from the Doctor and Philbrick, Pennyfeather couldn't bring himself to sniff his own socks but he did hang them in his tent to dry out

It got better over the coming days. Much better. The weather that is. And the terrain. Not that Pennyfeather became less tired. The forty five minute stop for bacon butties at Glenfinnan Station after just an hour’s walking the following day was welcome and deserved after the privations of the first day; the second stop, for thirty minutes for coffee and cake at Glenfinnan Visitors’ Centre did not, he felt, really seem to have been truly earned.

Dr Fagan and Philbrick believe that the keys to a happy and successful TGO Challenge are regular rest breaks and sniffing your own socks at frequent intervals. By the look on Philbrick's face this sniff suggests that he's in for a rough afternoon.

Gleann Fionnlighe was rather splendid. Prendergast left the team for higher things; Grimes pointed out that the weather hardly warranted the decision of his three companions to follow the Foul Weather Alternative. He was right, of course, but wisdom and the previous day's exertions got the better of them. Grimes harrumphed and headed upwards at the speed of sound; the others trudged the glen and over the col to the Glensulaig Bothy at the speed of snails. Pennyfeather found Grimes camped and unpacked by the time he arrived. To his credit Grimes then did what he is a master at. He shovelled shit. Piles of it. The cattle variety. He cleared it from the best camping spots reserved for the Doctor and Philbrick who arrived somewhat later. And it was finally good.

The Glensulaig Bothy: A splendid spot to camp and hardly a cow pat in sight

To be continued......probably. I have a holiday to attend and a house to move.

TGO Challenge Food Supplies: Some shocking nerdiness

Sorting my TGOC Supplies

I did something very nerdy yesterday.  Whilst I was sorting the food I plan to take on the forthcoming TGO Challenge I checked on the calorific content of a typical day’s supplies.  I have never done this before and was quite shocked by what I found.  I knew that on longer backpacking trips such as the TGOC I would usually lose a bit of weight (perhaps no bad thing in my case), and so was consuming less than I was burning off, but was surprised at just how large my calorie deficit must be over several long days of carrying a pack. In the past I have been conscious that I do not drink enough water when backpacking and dehydration impacts adversely on my performance.  I suspected that insufficient food intake was doing so as well, but not by the amounts yesterday’s nerdy exercise demonstrated. What is more galling is that I already feel that the food I carry makes a hefty addition to the weight on my shoulders, and thus to up my calories significantly would mean a serious weight penalty.

The table below shows a very typical day’s food for me on the Challenge.

Meal	Food	Calories
Breakfast	Oats So Simple (2 sachets)	200
	Sugar and Nido in oats	100
	Nature Valley Cereal Bar	190
	Brews *2 with Nido	30
	Sub-Total	520
Lunch	Tortilla wraps *2	230
	Primula Cheese	100
	Sub-Total	330
Snacks	Trail Mix (c25gr fruit pastilles, c40gr M and Ms)	290
	Cereal Bar	190
	Milky Way (Fun Size) *2	150
	Snickers (Medium)	200
	Sub-Total	830
Dinner	Brews *2	30
	Cup a Soup	100
	Dehydrated Meal (various makes 600-800 calories)	650
	Pudding eg instant custard or Milky Way	150
	Sub-Total	930
	Grand Total	2610

Thus, that rough and ready calculation suggests a daily intake of about 2600 calories. My Fitbit tracker tells me that this past week’s exercise (mainly dog walking) has seen me consume between 3600 and 5700 calories per day.  On the  Pre-Walk Daunder backpack in the Lake District in the Lake District recently I burnt about 6500 calories per day. I will have to re-examine my list and see what I can an add without having to lug too much more up various hills.

Of course the above is an underestimate of calories consumed on the Challenge. The occasional cafe or store will be passed on a day's walk. I will spend some nights in towns or villages in B and Bs and on those days a cooked breakfast, dinner out, and a couple of pints of Guinness will up things considerably, but possibly at not the best times of day to provide energy when on the hill or along the glens.

Finally, on another, but related, topic, I have been devastated to discover that Sainsbury’s appear to have stopped selling their Pour and Store food bags.  It was the innovative gusset at the base of these bags that helped me develop my much derided culinary technique of plastic bag cooking to a standard worthy of Master Chef. I will now have to visit the Lakeland store in Windermere to find a suitable alternative product. It is that or resort to having to wash my pot after breakfast.

Argghhh. I'm down to my last four bags 

Well that’s enough nerdiness from me for now. I have some re-supply parcels to make up.

Rambling about the Lake District, with a couple of wild camps thrown in

Slater's Bridge, Little Langdale: A Delight

The Pre-Walk Daunder (PWD) took place this week.

For those not in the know this is the world’s premier backpacking event, which takes place each year a few weeks before the world’s second best backpacking event, the cross-Scotland TGO Challenge. The PWD was the brain child of two shadowy figures of the backpacking world, Lord Elpus and Alan Sloman, the latter also being known as ‘The Stringpuller’ by those whose strings have been pulled. These two worked tirelessly to ensure that this year’s event was a success. The Stringpuller telephoned me and asked me to help Lord Elpus organise everything. I telephoned Lord Elpus who gave me the dates and suggested we walk for three days from Torver in the Lake District. He then stated that as I knew the Lakes better than he, I could be trusted to come up with a route, organise any camp site bookings, sort out car parking, reserve a table for dinner at a suitable pub on our first night, produce gpx files and e-mail the participants with details. “I’ll do everything else, though”, he assured me, “and Al and I will tell you who to invite. We don’t want any of your riff-raff mates”. Well that’s rich given that Mad ‘n’ Bad and Croydon Mick were on his list.

Baysbrown Camp Site, Langdale: The Pre-Walk Daunderers assemble 

Mick, Mad 'n' Bad and Emma, High Park Farm, Little Langdale: a simply superb cafe stop

Torver? Nah. A cunning route taking in a mixture of some of Lakeland’s finest mountain scenery together with some hidden gems that demonstrate that solitude can still be found in the heart of the National Park in the school Easter holidays. Thus, on the first day we would set off from Baysbrown camp site at Chapel Stile in Great Langdale, head round to, Little Langdale, and then climb to Red Tarn between Pike O’Blisco and Cold Pike for a wild camp. The following day would see us descend to Mickleden, head up the Stake Pass and Martcrag Moor and take in as many (or few as it turned out) of the Langdale Pikes and nearby fells as we could manage before wild camping above Codale Tarn. After which on the final day we would wind our way along the delightful Blea Rigg ridge before descending back to Chapel Stile.

Our wild camp spot at Red Tarn. Contrast the shoddy way in which Andy's Tarptent Notch (in the background) is pitched compared to the Stratospire 1, an example of Fellbound's fine camp craft

5.50 am, Red Tarn: Chilly. 

Judith -  realising that the Lakes aren't always like Piccadilly Circus

Our pitch above Codale Tarn

And that’s what we did. The weather was perfect for walking. The nights were rather chilly (water bottles part frozen, frosty tents and down jackets required). The scenery was stunning. Only the area around Pike O’Stickle was busy whilst we were walking. We had Red Tarn to ourselves for the first wild camp; we got pitched on a fine spot well above Codale Tarn for the second wild camp, only later to find about ten more tents arrive, fortunately pitching much nearer the tarn. These were some aspiring mountain leaders and their instructors. By coincidence I had last camped at Codale Tarn almost exactly 40 years earlier – on my mountain leadership course with some fellow PGCE students from Durham University.

Al 'Stringpuller' Sloman looking as if he's on a covert spying mission

The company was great.  The conversation erudite and intellectually robust, and as a result of the latter I now know much about Mad ‘n’ Bad’s bowel movements.  The traditional PWD schisms occurred each day.  As a result, a great time was had by all. Or so I am told.

Mick Croydon, the only wild camper I know who generates a black bin bag full of rubbish every single night

Fellbound demonstrating his new sartorial elegance: from the 'Grey Man' to Captain Pumpkin. And yes, a red beanie does clash with an orange jacket. I'm sorting it, alright?

Life Without Twitter

I gave up using Twitter in March. How’s it been?  Great.  Try it!  Even for a short break.  I’m convinced it’s been good for both my mental and physical health.  It has meant not being drawn into pointless or superficial arguments or discussions about politics, and stuff such as whether cats are cleverer than dogs (they aren’t), or whether Showaddywaddy was the classiest band in the history of Rock and Roll (it was).

There are downsides to not being a Twitter user. I do wonder what my Twitter friends are up to – but then I have the mobile numbers of many of them, and I have upped my usage of Whatsapp, e-mail, and pen, ink and postage stamps to contact people and, horror of horrors, have even telephoned some of them for a chat.

However, having de-activated my account  I re-activated it within the 30 day grace period before it disappeared forever. There were two reasons. Firstly, it seems to be the only way into the ‘Social Hiking’ website which I want to use during next month’s TGO Challenge cross Scotland walk; and secondly it seems to be the best way of pointing to my blog when I put up a new post. Otherwise I would be almost entirely reliant on readers of the blog sharing links to it – which isn’t that reliable. Thus, if I want to continue to blog and for people to read my posts I need Twitter.

Reactivating the account means the need for discipline to avoid the temptation to peek at Twitter. So far I have resisted the urge, and the longer I have gone without Twitter the easier this has become.

In short, I stopped actively using Twitter, I didn’t die and I feel better for it.  I’m not on Facebook or Instagram either.  I would encourage others regularly to put down their smartphones, give their eyes a rest from the screen and instead to talk to somebody, or go for a walk, or write to a friend, or read a book.  Try it. You know it makes sense!