Squareface Buttress, so photogenic it sears itself into your consciousness the first time you see it, granite glowing in the sunlight with the vast bulk of Ben Avon looming behind. I remember the image in Classic Rock, that 1980’s bible of easy rock routes, captivating me with an intense desire to climb across that face of perfect granite. The fact the grade was low (VDiff), and the approach to a high remote choire nestled in the very centre of the Cairngorms further cemented this idea on my climbing wishlist.

Over twenty years later , rather longer than younger me would have liked I’m cycling up Glen Slugain under a blue sky devoid of any hint of cloud. Reminiscent of an earlier trip almost fifteen years ago to the day, I’d again brought my bike this way for what remains one of my best days in the Scottish hills. Ben Avon, Beinn a Bhuird, the Secret Howff had all featured, before frustratingly, farcically a puncture about as far from the road as it is possible to get, followed by the slow realisation I had no spare resulted in an epic push for freedom back to the car.

Today, spares well in hand Dom and I climb up through pine scented forest. I’m making use of my bike packing kit to carry the heavy climbing equipment and this really helps make the load feel lighter than it is. As we climb Glen Slugain the trees retreat and the track worsens, occasionally loose, steep, and necessitating a short push but generally ridable. At the top of the glen the track emerges into a huge open valley that must be part of the upper catchment of the River Quoich; accompanying our arrival is a vast feeling of space dominated by the colossal eastern corries and slopes of Beinn a Bhurid. Here the route becomes a fine single track of hard packed sand contouring gently up around the edge of the hill towards The Sneck, the low point on the ridge which still looks many kilometres distant. Drainage ditches, my nemesis in 2010, are still here, perhaps more worn but still capable of catching you out.

At about 750m and after 13km of riding we leave the bikes by a small cascade, the cold water from which is a welcome refreshment as temperatures even just after 9am already feel to be in the low twenties. With bags packed we climb more steeply up towards The Sneck, granite outcrops appear ahead marking the ridgeline and once reached the ground drops away steeply with view out across a landscape seemingly, but not truthfully devoid of human interference.

Finding the buttress involves a bit of head scratching, we should have stayed high and dropped down once we located the route from the plateau, we however try and work our way in from the bottom. This involves traversing first down then up ground which can’t decide if it wants to be steep and loose or steep and grassy, at least its settled on steep. We finally locate our route, and thankfully the rock is still in deep shadow offering us some protection from the sun, the granite will become an oven later and we want to be well up the route by then.

Not having lead outside, or even climbed much on rock since before the pandemic I’m a bit nervous as I set off up the first pitch. It’s like I half know what I’m doing but the intricacies of finding protection, thinking about rope drag, and spotting the holds has drifted into an archive somewhere in my brain that is not super quick to re-grant access again. The pitch however offers plenty of opportunity to refresh my memory with nuts, cams and a good sling placed. It’s the least delicate and photogenic pitch of the three but I arrive on the belay to a great view out across the the corrie.

Pitch two is an airy and exposed traverse across the wall before climbing up and back to belay above the pitch 1 stance. The moves are not hard but they feel committing and Dom makes clean work of it thoughtfully protecting the second, me, who could take a big swing on the traverse if things are not thought through. Pitch three, the really photogenic one that sold the route to me all those years ago is sensational, especially the layback section on huge holds which has just emerged into full sun.

After a rest we drop back down and climb the Cumming-Crofton route, which is slightly harder and more enclosed by the rock. Then, having come all this way, it would be a real shame not to visit the summit, even if for me it’s a repeat visit. The plateau on Beinn a Bhuird is vast , and the corries which cut into it so extensive that the south summit, a top which I must leave till another day look like they are on a different mountain. The summit cairn itself feels nondescript located well back from any features and just surrounded by a vast openness.

We make it back to the bikes after about ten hours on the hill, but really I’ve been waiting 15 years for this 13km of down hill back to the car.

Milecastle 37 on Hadrian’s Wall is perched high on the Win Sill a rocky outcrop facing the north forming a natural barrier the Roman engineers utilised in the construction of the wall. Those expecting Game of Thrones levels of engineering would probably be disappointed at the way the wall now bless into the landscape, but I’ve always loved visiting this wild and remote part of England.

Ive camped in nearby mile castle 39 before but 37 is better positioned and still has the footing of the small rooms that would have sheltered the troops 1800 years ago. It’s in one of these that I pitch the tarp, my first wild camp since lockdown ended is welcome although the frustration of so many wasted months and postponed adventures frustrates.

I was treated to a lovely sunset in the west enjoying a hot mug of tea as the temperature plummeted with the loss of the suns warmth. Trending towards winter sleeping bag territory now I was glad I’d brought the extra warmth of my big down bag. Snuggled up against the cold I drifted off listening to the soft patter of the rain on my shelter, a sound I’ve strangely missed.

Having just booked another trip to New Zealand its about time I wrote a bit more about my visit in January 2018. Apologies for the photos in this one, there was no way I was lugging my SLR about in that heat!

………

The day had started with one objective in mind, I was going to bag my first Southern Hemisphere ton, and no 35 degree heat and searing headwind was going to stop me; even if, the end of the day drifted a bit too close to Type 2 fun. The ton, or 100km is a big bike ride, a solid effort, the distance which, I think turns you from punter into a proper cyclist.

An overriding thought as I drove round the South Island was that so much on New Zealand looked great to explore by bike, smooth ribbons of tarmac winding through stunning landscapes inviting the skinny tires of a road bike, or backcountry trails ripe for mountain bikes.

With only a couple of weeks in the country, and a to-do list as long as my arm I had very limited time to get out on two wheels. I whittled down all the potential adventures to one, a section of the Otago Central Rail Trail which follows the course of an old railway line for 152Km between Clyde and Middlemarch in the County of Otago on New Zealand’s South Island. Ideally it would have been nice to ride the whole trail over 2-3 days, but my return flight made the logistical juggling impractical so I decided to head out from Clyde and ride as far as I could before the threat of an imminently closing bike shop made turning round essential.

It was blisteringly hot, I’d arrived off the plane in shorts ten days previously and had been happily tanning my legs ever since. New Zealand was in the middle of a heat wave, it had been warm in the mountains around Wanaka, and Queenstown but now traveling west into the plains of Otago the sun was like a blowtorch searing the landscape, desiccating the grass’ which lined the trail to a burnt yellow brown.

I had picked up my bike in a friendly shop in Clyde, fortunately they had 29er’s in stock which I hoped would make short work of the distance. The trail its surface covered in gravel ran arrow straight for the first few miles out of town passing small farms and vineyards as it headed towards the larger town of Alexandra where it swung north east and began to contour above the Manuherikia River. Barren hills, craggy and dry stretched up to my right, there lower slopes dotted with corse vegetation.

After about 20 km the rail crossed the river and shortly after arrived at Chatto Creek where I stopped for lunch and litres of liquid refreshment at the Tavern which sits right by the railway. This was a good call as the next section of the trail lead gently but relentlessly uphill to the village of Omakau (40km) before levelling off towards the tiny hamlet of Lauder (45km, Cafe!). The farms beside this section of the trail were much bigger with huge irrigation gantries dominating the fields.

I made it as far as the Poolburn Gorge, here the railway leaps back over the river before following it up trough the cliffs of the gorge helped by a couple of short tunnels. It’s the most spectacular section of the trail but unfortunately my Garmin had just hit 55km, and  if I was going to make it back to the bike shop before closing now was the time to turn round.

I was racing the clock all the way back to Clyde, for the fist walk of the return the kilometres flew by as I had the advantage of approximately 300m of hight to loose. Then about 10km short of Alexandra I ran into a block headwind that was like cycling into a hairdryer. With almost 90km in the legs it was a battle to fight into the wind and I motivated myself with the thought of a huge tub of ice-cream at the finish. I made it back to the hire shop with ten minutes to spare, I think they were slightly surprised when they saw the distance on the bike computer!

 

The setting sun cast a brilliant golden light across the trees, radiating warmth and gentle glowing colours. I was sitting on a small gravel beach on St Herberts Island watching the sun set behind Cat Bells across the open expanse of Derwent Water. My shelter was pitched on a small patch of ground just above the beach, home for the night, perched in the middle of one of Englands largest lakes.

I had been planning this camp for a while, the islands are obvious from the shore and easy to get to, making them an inviting target.  I had visited with my kayak before, noting a couple of nice pitches to hide away on, the idea of wild camping on an island somehow added an extra bit of wild feeling to the adventure.

Leaving the car in the Kettlewell park, I inflated my packraft, threw my rucksack into the bow, and pushed off over the still surface of the lake. It was late afternoon and the wind was virtually still, just a few shallow waves disturbing the surface of the lake.

It was just over 2km of paddling out to island, the lake was busy with other craft, canoes, SUP, and small sail boats all enjoying the warm afternoon sun. As I approached the St Herberts it was obvious I would not have the place to myself, a couple of tents were visible amongst the trees near my preferred camping spot, but after a bit of an explore I was able to find a secluded little patch of the island to land on.

With the packraft out the water I quickly set up camp, then to work up an appetite I waded out into the lake for a swim. The water was gloriously warm yet also cooling and refreshing; I got carried away and ended up swimming right round the island which felt like almost a km.

It was a wonderful feeling that evening after the sun fell behind the hills, tucked up in my sleeping bag enjoying a can of beer whilst listening to the sounds of the lake as twilight faded no night.

Morning dawned cool but with the sun the temperature quickly began to rise. The lake was virtually mirror still, with my packraft appearing to glide across a smooth clear blue sky. A very special adventure.

 

Rather late to the party I’ve joined the bikepacking revolution, and it really is a case of “what took you so long”. I do have an off road trailer for my bikes, but its bulky, does not get out much and certainly does not suit the term lightweight.

Spring is certainly in the air at the moment and with the clocks going forward a package dropped through the door containing lots of colourful bikepacking kit, perfect for escaping for a night out even when you need to be at work the following day. I didn’t need to go far to try it out, I’d had a location in mind for a while, close to the top of Sutton Bank where the North York Moors drop away giving stunning views out over North Yorkshire. It’s possibly my favourite view in England, looking down from the height of the moors over the much flatter terrain of the Vale of York.

For backpacking its perfect too as a bridleway runs right along the edge of the moors making it really easy to get to.

My Trailstar was the obvious choice shelter, light, stable and I hoped big enough to contain the bike as well. Optimistically I also packed my lightweight summer sleeping bag which turned out be be a mistake. Arriving at the viewpoint I tucked myself away in a small patch of trees hoping to gain a little shelter from a fresh wind and pitched up as the sun began to set.

Its a location I often visit for sunset as the cliffs and trees can be washed with a beautiful light from the sinking sun. Today was unfortunately not one of those days but it was till nice to be sitting watching the light fade with a warm cup of tea in hand.

Taking the front wheel off my bike meant in fitted easily inside the shelter whilst still leaving plenty of room to cook and sleep. The only slight drawback is the Trailstar requires a couple of walking poles which, although collapsable took a bit of thinking when packing.

Come morning everything disappeared back into the bike packing bags within 20 min and I was off back to my desk (via a shower obviously). There can’t be an easier way of having an adventure.

 

After January’s micro adventure amounts the dunes of Northumberland I decided to do the same thing in February. There were a few costal locations I wanted to shoot and sleeping on the beach meant a nice lie in because in many cases you can roll out the shelter and pretty much be at your location.

I wanted to shoot the lighthouse Twr Mawr on Llanddwyn a tidal island at the south east corner on Anglesey. The island is a couple of km from the nearest road so I ticked myself away unobtrusively on the grassy dune just above the beach which is a beautiful long stretch of sand and drifted off.

Unlike my Northumberland camp the rain and wind both held off and it was a remarkably still night which was lucky as I discovered I had brought only 1/2 the pegs for my Trailstar.

The sunrise turned out to be a bit of a disappointment but a night under canvas is always memorable.