#means going steeply uphill for two hours

[fjordfolk]

beginners guide to hiking in western norway:

step 1: go up step 2: go down

[ultraclimbhighhimalayaworld-blog]

A Guide to Poon Hill Trek

A trek to the Himalayas has always been the most sought out adventures for the tourism industry. Since the world became free for passport holders, tourism has taken a massive toll. Consequently, the Himalayas have become the most popular destination for tourists and travelers alike. Here we have enumerated a list of things as a guide to Poon Hill Trek. they are listed as follows:

Ghorepani/ Poon Hill: A History

Prologue for Poon Hill Trek

Experiencing Poon Hill Trek

Hotels and settlements during Poon Hill Trek

Where to go on Poon Hill Trek

Season to go for Poon Hill Trek

Ghorepani/ Poon Hill: A History

Ghorepani is one of the largest villages in the Annapurna mountains of Nepal. It belongs to the Myagdi District in the Dhaulagiri Zone of Northern Nepal. Ghorepani in literal terms means ‘water for horses’. The location was initially used by traders to rest for the night before continuing their journey the next day. They used to feed their horses while at the village. Hence the name. Poon Hill is a viewpoint at Ghorepani famous for the view of the sunrise from 3210 meters. The route toward the village is well maintained as it is taken by traders and trekkers as well.

Prologue for Poon Hill Trek

Poon Hill trek is considered to be one of the shortest and easiest treks in the Annapurna circuit. The trek begins at Nayapul near Pokhara, where your ascent of the steeply sloping hill begins. In this trek, you will come across fantastic views of the mountains in the Annapurna range. Along with the spectacular views you walk through green pastures and lush green jungles. The trail takes you among birds of different colors and Rhododendron trees in the forests. You also make your way past the Modi River and you have to cross it using a suspension bridge. One of the highlights of the trip is the staircase with 3300 stone steps leading towards the village of Ulleri. You also come across sightings of Annapurna south, Hiuchhuli and Dhaulagiri while on this route. However, the main highlight of the trek is the sunrise from the top of Poon Hill. Poon Hill is located about an hour from the main Ghorepani village. It also is the spot for a magnificent view of Mustang and Pokhara valleys. 

Experiencing Poon Hill Trek

The trip to Poon Hill starts with a drive from Pokhara to Nayapul. However, our packages include itineraries starting from Kathmandu as well. However, one has to come to Pokhara for the trip. There will be a short briefing from our staff on your arrival and everything will be explained about the trek. Do make sure you have everything you need before you make the trip. We can organize the trek on a private basis for groups of friends, clubs, charities and any other social groups. Depending on your previous trekking experience, you may or may not opt to have a Climb High leader. But still, you can take the assistance of one of our guides and/or porters. If any such assistance is required, you can let us know and we will prepare your package accordingly. We also have an option to change our schedules depending on the pace and time taken by the trekking group.

Hotels and settlements during Poon Hill Trek

The only two places where you will be allocated to a hotel is at Kathmandu and Pokhara. Rest of the trip takes place away from civilization. Therefore the accommodation will be provided at lodges and cozy tea houses  As you make your way from Nayapul to Ulleri through Birethanti, you will come across many smaller villages. The trekking is on the trail leading to Annapurna Base Camp which is a popular route. So there are a lot of settlements where you can rest for the night. At Ulleri, your halt will be at a lodge in collaboration with Climb Hill. From Ulleri we travel uphill towards Ghorepani. At Ghorepani, the accommodation provided will be at local settlements called tea houses. Tea houses are basically a smaller and simpler version of a lodge and they are really cozy. The hosts in all the lodges and tea houses are friendly and cordial. They will ensure your stay in their rooms are comfortable and memorable. Lodging at Tadapani and Tolka will both be at tea houses under Climb High’s supervision.

Where to go on Poon Hill Trek

As mentioned earlier, your trip can either begin from Kathmandu or Pokhara. When starting from Kathmandu, we will have a day for rest and briefing at your hotel. The next day we’ll take a 6-hour drive to Pokhara. From Pokhara, we have a day for rest and briefing before starting the trek. Accommodation will be held at a 3-star hotel at both Kathmandu and Pokhara. In the morning, from your hotel in Pokhara, we will take a 90 minutes morning drive to Nayapul. After assembling at Nayapul, our ascent towards Ulleri begins. It is a 6-hour trek through green sub-tropical forest and beautiful valleys.

As we make our way towards Tikhedhunga, we cross the river Modi Khola using a suspension bridge. At Tikhedhunga we rest for a while and make sure your rest well. Because as we leave Tikhedhunga, we need to climb a staircase made of stone steps. The collection of steps total of 3300 steps. But the walk is rewarded with magnificent views of the valleys around till we reach Ulleri (2050m). Here we halt for the night at a lodge. 

The following morning, we ramp up towards Ghorepani village. You can admire the panoramic view of the nearby mountains Annapurna South and Nilgiri along the trail. We travel through lush green forests where birds are abundant. Another thing found in abundance are the beautiful Rhododendron trees. The trail takes us past 2 sparkling clear streams, a small ridge and another stream. The trekking duration from Ulleri to Ghorepani takes approximately 4 hours. Elevation at Ghorepani is 2750 meters.

Poon Hill is famous for the view of the sunset and the surroundings. In order to witness the spectacular sight, we must wake up before dawn and head uphill. We start at 4 am and spend an hour walk to reach the top of Poon Hill (3210m). Poon Hill enables us to see a magnificent sunrise, towering above the views of Mustang and Pokhara valleys nearby. After experiencing an unforgettable sight, we head back to Ghorepani. Breakfast with a view is on the table, so enjoy it. Post breakfast with a view, we trek downhill towards Tadapani. It is a 5 hours trek along a similar terrain as before.

 As we make our way towards Tadapani we pass the Deurali Pass. We can get a panoramic view of Dhaulagiri and Annapurna from this pass. The trail takes a steep decline as we make our way through a moss-covered forest. The forest has a rich birdlife in its midst and gives us a great sunset view. On reaching the village of Tadapani, we spend our night at a nearby lodge. In the morning, after breakfast, we begin the end of our trip. This time we venture towards Tolka. 

Tolka is a 7-hour trek from Tadapani and it is all downhill from here. The route descends steeply through a rhododendron forest first towards Bhaise Kharka. The forest is not only inhabited by various birds, but you can encounter meeting monkeys as well. A while after you leave the forest, the trail turns steep with rocks and we cross a stream. The crossing leads us out on a ridge towards the village of Ghandruk.  

Ghandruk is the second largest Gurung village in Nepal. You can get acquainted with the diverse Gurung culture at the Gurung Museum at Ghandruk. We have a hearty lunch at Ghandruk before making our way past terraced rice fields and subtropical forests. The scenery is splendid in almost every turn you take. We walk mostly on the banks of the river Modi Khola. Going past a flat-steep descent we reach Langdruk where we halt for the night.

The next day, we have a short journey on our hands. We take a 3-hour trek to Dhampus crossing green valleys, past steep sloping hills. After some time we reach Dhampus where you are very close to civilization at this point. We have our lunch and then take a private vehicle to reach Phedi. The drive takes an hour. From Phedi, after a brief rest, we take another vehicle towards Pokhara. It is a 2-hour drive to your hotel at Pokhara.

For trekkers coming from Pokhara, this is where your journey ends. For those who began from Kathmandu, you will be taken to the airport for your flight. Thus ends your journey where you will get back to civilization again. But hopefully, you have captured enough memories to carry with you for a long long time.

Season to go for Poon Hill Trek

The trek to Poon Hill, though short is through steep terrains and high altitude. Therefore the climate in this part of the world is chilly and even cold, especially during the night. Winters can be a rough time to come in this area. The weather reaches a freezing point and most of the lodges can be shut down. The snow may make the scenery beautiful but trekking on the trail can be a really slippery affair. Monsoon is another season which can be a nightmare for the trekkers. The route is muddy, slippery and unexpected, while the views are also clouded. Walking a steep terrain carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat can be a horrid experience for you. 

So we have decided. After years of trekking in the region, we have classified the best season to visit Poon Hill.  Spring, the time between March to May, caresses the Himalayan region with warm weather and a cool breeze. The sky is blue and the views are nothing short of spectacular. This is the peak season for a trek when most of the trekkers decide and take the venture. Autumn, which runs from September to November is another good season for the Poon Hill trek. Just after the monsoons, the sky will be cleared and brings a cooling breeze as you make the climb. This makes way for a more spectacular view of the mountains and the surroundings.

[bernardhiking]

Lake Oberhorn Loop

Date of hike: July 11, 2021

Country: Switzerland

Region: Bernese Oberland

Trailhead: Stechelberg

Hike Destination: Lake Oberhorn

Distance: 13 miles (20 km) loop trail

Elevation gain: 4,200 ft. (ca. 1250 m.)

Difficulty: Moderate to challenging

It was a glorious day with all the meteorological and other conditions aligning perfectly to make for an unforgettable trip to Lake Oberhorn, one of my favorite hikes in the entire world; and yet it was also a day that could have turned out to be a disaster. But more about that later.

Together with my sister, Anki, we started to hike from the trail head in Stechelberg at 9:45 am. We proceeded under an expanse of cobalt blue sky, against a backdrop of cloud flecked mountains wearing a thin coat of newly fallen snow. Long rolls of white clouds clung about to the blanks of the Jungfrau and the Mittagshorn, and toward the end of the valley, a somber cloud cap sat atop the cliffs. The Schmadri falls were gushing full-fed, fanning out over the cliff to the east, and the emerald green weadows were dotted with a myriad differently colored wildflowers. 

It was an outright joy to step into such a wondrous, beautiful landscape. An hour into the hike, we had ascended halfway up to the Tschingelhorn Lodge, the rustic place where Bernard’s family used to spend their summer holidays some 50 years ago. At this point, the steep switch-backs left the forest and zig-zagged up an open meadow looking out over the valley. Stopping beside a rustic alp hut, we admired the view of the eastern slopes of Jungrau, taking a few photos, posing in front of the gorgeous panorama.

We arrived at the Tschingelhorn Hotel shortly before noon. I showed Liang some of the local features like the stone maze where we used to play around for days as children, and I recalled how simple and rustic the place used to be, but how charming, a charm that had not entirely faded, long after the mules that used to carry supplies up here had been replaced by a modern cargo cable car.

We sat down to consume a drink--Rivella, the quintessential Swiss soft drink—and Bernard could not resist the temptation to order a slice of the extraordinarily thick apricot pie that was placed on a table outside, under a protective cover. It was such an amazingly tasty, fluffy, and juicy production from out of the mountain oven that Bernard was tempted to order a second slice, but then the wisdom prevailed that one should stop eating just when something tastes most deliciously.

 We briefly chatted with the current owners of the lodge, who had just purchased the property less than a year ago and were running it for their first season. The place was completely sold out for the weekend, and as testimony to this, numerous bedsheets were fluttering on drying racks in the fresh mountain breeze. No electrical tumbler was needed here.

After this pleasant break, we continued to hike on the roughly horizontal portion of the trail between the two mountain lodges--Tschingelkorn and Oberhorn-- which used to be run by brothers, but now only the second lodge “Obersteinberg” was still owned by the same family that had the business 50 years ago; the second place looked more weatherbeaten and unimproved, having escaped the kind of gentle renovative modernization that the Tschingelhorn had undergone after it changed hands.

Beyond the Oberhorn lodge, the path skirts a steep slope, and here we encountered our first minor obstacles: There was a big cow walking on the narrow hiking path straight toward us. Liang and I opted to make room, trying to skirt the enormous, horned animal by making a detour above it. I have read too many news articles about cows trampling hikers, even killing some. But Anki would not take the easy way out and walked right up to the animal and talked to it in soothing tones, eventually even patting its broad snout, until the matriarch reluctantly made room. 

Then, we approached the narrow passage where several years ago Lyra had burst into tears at the prospect of traversing a washed-out section of the trail. This stretch of the path had been liable to erosion ever since I can remember, and we entered the passage cautiously. Right then, a woman approached from the opposite side and since we had already started on the critical portion, we assumed that she’d step aside and let us pass. Instead, she powered on and basically walked right into us, shouldering Liang aside while muttering something under her breath, then she bulldozed into Anki who was literally forced to retreat backward to make way for the bullheaded woman. This inconsiderate behavior slightly clipped my mood, but only momentarily. My thinking turned to pitying this person, whose rude demeanor must make it  hard for her to go through life, creating animosity left and right.

  The bridge at the end of the steep passage was so deeply buried by a large snowfield that it was completely invisible—the snow had formed its own bridge over the bridge. 

From here, the scenery becomes wilder and wilder by the minute, with the flowers doing all in their power to keep up with the heightened scenic appeal. The alpenrosen, gentian, buttercups, Arnica and many other types of wild flowers were competing to trump one another with their colorful displays. 

We reached the foot of the last steep climb before the lake at around 1:30 pm, and since it was already quite late for lunch, instead of pushing on, we looked for a spot with a view of the valley and there refreshed ourselves. The weather kept up its amazing display of pure blue sky, cloud banks clinging to the slopes, thus creating dramatic and ever-changing vistas. On the way up to the lake, Anki and I busily gathered wild flowers which we formed into little bouquets. We were going to retrieve the keepsake from Loni, which Bernard had deposited at the lake some six years ago, making a little memorial.

At 2:30 pm, huffing and puffing from the exertion, we finally arrived at the lake, a shimmering, reflective turquoise pool. 

The scenic aspect could not be improved upon, and in every direction the lake had a different aspect and backdrop. The lake is known for hardcore swimming--it is supposed to be the ultimate test to prove one’s Swiss hardiness to swim across; but while we were there, nobody was in the mood, although some hikers dipped their feet in the frigid water, foregoing the pleasure. 

We marveled at the gorgeous scenery for a few minutes then proceeded to the spot where the keepsake was hidden—a pendant in the shape of a cross that Loni had worn many years. Bernard located the little plastic bag with the pendant without the slightest trouble, and together with Anki they had a nice commemorative moment. This spot had always had a very special meaning for Loni, who loved to come here. 

Anki was trying to locate the knitted butterfly from Pat’s funeral that she had suspended in a crack in the same large rock, but her search was ultimately futile—the piece of fabric must have disintegrated or been torn away by the wind. Afterwards, we had another mini-picnic, munching some sweets and rehydrating ourselves, keeping a close eye on the ever diminishing water supply.

  At 3:10, we packed up and started on the return journey. At the “Wegweiser” (directional sign), I explained that there were two routes that we could take: either the one that leads back the way we had just come from for a stretch before dropping down steeply along the roaring stream toward the bottom of the valley; or, alternatively, we could follow the longer route (longer by 30 minutes) that skirts the other side of the valley, thus creating a real loop, while descending more evenly and gently. I had been here a few times and knew the different routes. After a short debate, I persuaded the other two to take the longer and, per my recollection, more scenic route.

  We followed the stream issuing from the lake for about a kilometer, making for a leisurely way along a lush meadow. At the end of this mild stretch of path, we arrived at another fork in the road. Again, I explained that from here one path descended steeply to the valley bottom while the other one followed a curving line at a milder grade. Liang tended toward taking the shorter route through the center of the valley, while I favored the longer, less popular route. And when Anki indicated that she’d rather be curious to try the longer route, which she’d never done before, we swiftly crossed the stream on a narrow board and continued to the right.

About a half mile later, the path started to switch-back steeply upward. This gave Liang pause, and she questioned me why the path ascended again, when I’d assured everyone that it only want downward from here on. I was stomped by this turn of events...I had flat forgotten the renewed climb. Although shaken in my confidence, I reassured Liang that the uphill stretch wouldn’t be very long. But that, too, turned out to be misleading, as the path--to my intense embarassment--kept climbing and climbing. At this point, we had been hiking for six hours, going up more than 1000 meters, and here we were climbing yet another steep wall that Bernard had not warned his fellow hikers about. After about twenty minutes of huffing and puffing upward, we met two hikers coming from the opposite direction, and Bernard inquired of them whether we were approaching the top of the climb. Yes, the climbers, said, it was leveling off from here and then, the rest of the descent would be “gäbig,” i.e. easy going.

When we finally emerged on top of the ridge, an Alpine panorama of breathtaking beauty opened up before us. There were the grey tinted glacial waters of the Schmadri stream rushing down, the peaks of Breithorn, Mittagshorn, and Tschingelhorn were right in front of us, and glaciers and cloud shreds flecked the canvas of blue sky and grey rock.

It was totally amazing, but looking down into the valley, some 1,250 meters below us and still about 6 miles away, I began to have an intense anxiety that we might be in trouble. This was so much higher and further from the trail head in Stechelberg than I had anticipated that I was afraid we might be totally exhausted by the time we got there. Also, now I was aware that the portion of the trail we were facing was anything but “gäbig”—it rather promised to be extremely steep and rocky. With these troubling thoughts going through my mind and Liang being in a rather somber mood by now, we started our descent under a figurative if not literal cloud. I made sure to take Liang’s hand whenever the narrow trail allowed for it because now we started down a severley steep, rocky slope that took the wind out of us. For long stretches, the trail resembled a stream rather than a walking path, as water from last night’s rainfall was rushing down into the valley, and this made for very unpleasant hiking.

After about 40 minutes of struggling down this narrow, rocky, twisting path, we decided to take a breather and rest a little. Liang had just exhaustedly plunked herself down on a flat rock, when she shot up with a shout: nettles! She’d put her legs in a bed of stinging nettles, and now in addition to being thirsty, tired, achy, and unhappy, she had her legs full of nettle spikes. Fortunately, I had a first-aid kit in my backpack and could offer some insect repellent wipes that did take some of the sting out. At this point, I felt truly sorry for the trouble caused by my shaky memory and unwise guiding. Anki, too, was exhausted: not only did she carry a hefty backpack, but she did not have hiking poles, like we did. 

A few minutes later, we continued down the path, and then came the moment that could have turned this beautiful day into a nightmare: Approaching a sketchy stretch flanked by a deep gully, Bernard half turned around to give Liang a hand, but she thought she could manage by herself. As soon as Bernard turned to face forward again, he heard a sharp cry behind him and from the corner of his eye apprehended a tilting movement. He whirled around with lightning speed, just in time to lunch himself at Liang who was falling. She had stepped on a tuft of vegetation at the edge of the trail thinking that it was a clump of turf, but it was only some leaves with nothing to support it. I tackled Liang to the ground, the only method to stop a fall on steep ground, and together we slithered a little further toward the cliff but soon came to a rest clinging to each other. Anki, meanwhile had been tying her shoelaces when she heard a scream and then saw both of us disappear from her field of vision. She hurriedly hobbled along, her shoelaces still untied, to find me with my arms wrapped around Liang, on the ground. The first words out of Anki’s mouth were “Wow, I think Bernard just saved your life.” And I may well have. What is certain is that Liang would have had a worse fall without my intervention, and if she’d started to roll or tumble… Better not to follow that thought to its conclusion. 

In any case, we proceeded very cautiously from here on down, descending the twisting, narrow path slowly and methodically. It took us another two hours to get to the Inn at Trachsellauenen, and here we sank unto the benches completely exhausted. But no degree of exhaustion exists that a cold beer cannot help with, and soon we were sipping a Feldschlössli while our spirits slowly revived. We still had some 2-3 miles to go before we’d reach our car, but a one-lane gravel road had been laid up to this Berghotel, and it was decided that I would leave my backpack behind and hike down to the car, then drive back up to pick up Liang and Anki.

Before heading down the path, I inquired among the hotel staff whether they knew of anybody driving down to Stechelberg, but the answer was “nobody’s driving down tonight.” A few minutes later, on the hiking path downhill, I heard the hum of an engine, and luckily the trail here intersected with the gravel road here. Seconds later, I extended my thumb, hitching a ride. The folks in the car were happy to pick me up. They were Germans who repeatedly came to this valley to hike. I meet at least one of these lifelong fans of the Lauterbrunnen Valley every time I’m here. Turns out, this German couple had done exactly the same route that we had followed, except in reverse order, going up the steep, twisty path that had almost become the site of a tragic accident, and then descending on the other side, where we had gone up. We should have crossed their path since they arrived at the Oberhorn lake an hour after us, at 4 pm, but since they made a side-trip to the Schmadri hut, we had just missed each other. Also, the man did actually swim across the lake, although he said it was quite terrible, so cold as to be almost unbearable. 

The lift down to Stechelberg shortened the time of my trip considerably, and to the amazement of Liang and Anki who were still sipping their drinks, I pulled into the parking lot a short time afterward. It had been an absolutely spectacular day, but one with a big cloud that could have caused a massive downpour of grief. We gave thanks to all the good guardian angels who had stood by Liang and me at the critical moment. We cannot be thankful enough to escape harm when going to the limit, especially in the mountains. Safety cannot be taken for granted, and a more mindful procedure would have eliminated the chance of serious harm. Now, both Liang and I have had one near-death experience while hiking: I in Siguniang and Liang in the Lauterbrunnental. We cannot risk racking up more of these chances.

[a-40k-dad]

I’ve actually gotten the Primaris fluff going and tied it to my Eldar fluff as well (thanks long rides in the father-in-law’s back seat). But before I start shooting bullet point facts at you, let me drown you under pictures and information on yesterday’s trek that I did on my lonesome :

This time around in Norway, was more of a family oriented trip so I did less walking around than last year, but still got to go trekking alone for one day.

I took the car 2 hours north to get to a not-famous mountain range (I don’t like to have people around while I do nature stuff).

The trail starts in boggy land and goes into the forest. During winter, most of this trail is a cross country skying area. I embark on a tour that was marked on a map with red lines, which is actually used for sky trails.

I started listening to music while walking but five minutes in I took the earphones out. I did not put them back until four and half hours later, when I was in the last leg of coming down the mountain.

For the rest, it’s under the cut!

The bog becomes forest and I start climbing, at times following little brooks.

I reach my first summit area, trees are but bushes now. The trail becomes these rocks. Grey clouds pass over me and even though I stand in the sun, I receive freezing drops of water from those.

A bit further, at a post with a map, I’m offered to take a turn left and come down on a trail that would be just a couple kilometres to reach the parking. In front of me, the trail goes down and up again, steeply. The map shows a long distance before being able to take another path connecting back to the car. Despite the cold and the drops I press on. “That’s why I’m here”.

I walk down and then face the going up part.

Once up there I look back at the up-and-down I just did. Yup, I was up there on the other side.

The steep ascension slowly comes back to a gentle uphill trail, following the brook. I get to make better acquaintance with the locals.

At one point I reach another post and realise that the red lines are winter ski trails. If I want to be able to make a loop, I’ll have to go off-trail for at least two and a half kilometres. This means unpredictable wetland areas... and rocks. And rocks in wetlands has “snake” written all over it. The fact that I had seen a smal snake earlier in the forest didn’t make me feel too good about it but okay, I press on.

The trailess trail brings me through hills and lakes and boggy plains.

And OF COURSE during this part, I HAD to set my foot 50 cm of a viper resting in the sun on a stone between bushes and water holes. I had a small adrenaline rush but I was actually creating shade for it so it just calmly left and went back in its lair between/under a few big rocks. I was halfway through the unmarked zone and I suddenly thought about the fact that I’m all alone there and that since I’m out of the EU my phone isn’t gonna work and I didn’t know the emergency number.

I reached the trail on the other side and kept climbing. I had now reached the upper plateaus of the first real summits of the mountain range.

The last part before climbing down, offered me a small lake right on the edge of the plateau’s cliff, with little towns and a big lake as a panorama.

I didn’t take many pictures after that. I stopped at a hytte (cabin) that was quite high in the mountain to have something to eat and a sugary drink. My legs were hurting slightly. I felt that blisters were coming in.

It took me an hour to come down from there. That route was much more steeper than the one I had chosen and I was glad I saw it from the climbing down perspective.

There, I think it’s rather complete.

[tripodsandturbulence]

January 29, 2017 We came to Nepal for trekking, and it's one of the easiest and best places in the world to do multiday treks into the hills and mountains. We wanted to do independent treks, carrying our own gear and without hiring a guide. For our first trek we chose Annapurna Panorama, a relatively easy teahouse trek. Teahouse treks mean you walk from small village to small village, where there are usually a handful of teahouses where you can get food, water, showers, and lodging. That way you don't need to carry your own food and camping gear. Nepal has tons of teahouses all over the trail networks, and it's incredibly easy to trek this way, as you are never more than an hour and a half from the next teahouse. On our first day we caught the local bus from Pohkara to the small village of Birethanti, the trail head for our trek. It was a colourful experience, with Bollywood music videos pumping from the TV at the front, and locals cramming on and off the bus every hundred meters or so until we got out of the city. It took about 2 hours to go the 20 kilometres, which is about on par with our bus experiences here so far. We were eager to get started, and we quickly located the stone steps down to the river, which we crossed via a suspension bridge to a dusty dirt road on the other side. It turned out we were walking on this road for most of the day, and the occasional jeep, or caravan of jeeps, would drive by, kicking up clouds of dust that blew into our eyes and lungs. This wasn't really the trekking I had envisioned. About an hour before we ended our day the road stopped and we were finally on a proper trail. Around 3:00 we found a teahouse for the night, overlooking two rivers, with several beautiful waterfalls cascading down them. In the evening we saw an endless stream of monkeys running out of the trees and bounding across the river, and a pair of large otters which darted across the river, returning the other way 20 minutes later. It got cold out quickly after the sun went down, and we went to bed very early, chilled and exhausted from our trek. The next day was the hardest day of trekking we had planned, all uphill with a 1300 meter elevation gain. The beginning was a brutal hour and half climb, 500 meters elevation gain, up 3300 stone stairs. After that the trail was less steep and began to pass through beautiful forests of moss covered rhododendron trees and crystal clear streams. We ended the day high up in the hills, at a teahouse with a stunning view of the Himalayas to the North. On day 3 we were meant to trek 6 hours to the east, but first we rose at 5:00 am to climb the 2000 steps up to Poon Hill, at 3210 m elevation, the highest point of our trek. At the top we watched the sun rise, slowly lighting the peaks of the mountains in front of us. When we got back down to our teahouse for breakfast we were already exhausted. We overheard some people saying that the sunset at Poon Hill was even better than the sunrise, and with very little discussion needed we decided to stay for another night, to rest for the day and climb the hill again for sunset. Day 4 we had an early ascent back up to 3200 meters, where we were rewarded with more stunning views, before beginning a long, steep descent, lasting almost 3 hours. The descent took us through a gorgeous canyon, where a river flowed alongside us, and frozen waterfalls occasionally decorated the way. The trail was knee jarring, and also treacherous at times, covered in ice with a thin layer of dirt on top. Jeremy had a hard fall on his knee, but was thankfully ok. There was one last 20 minute uphill slog at the end of the day, which we barely managed, but we were rewarded with more views at the top. Day 5 and 6 were both supposed to be short, 2 to 3 hour treks. So instead we decided to take a side trip off the route we were on, adding a night at another village to the north of us. The morning started with an amazing sunrise over the Himalayas right from our bedroom window; we didn't even have to get out of bed. After breakfast we began our trek, down through a rhododendron forest of trees coated in thick moss; the air sweetly perfumed by abundant bushes of small white flowers. It was one of the prettiest forests we've ever been in. After about 45 minutes we emerged from the forest and began a steep descent through cultivated fields to the valley floor far below. We crossed the river at the bottom on a suspension bridge and immediately had to start a steep climb back up the other side of the valley. After climbing for an hour we stopped for an early lunch break, and as we sat in the sun, a giant Himalayan vulture flew over us and circled the hills. It must have had a 2 meter wingspan and it was amazing to see a bird that big flying so closely overhead. The trail was much flatter in the afternoon and we arrived in our next village for the night early, in time to enjoy a pot of Nepali tea in the afternoon sun while looking out over yet more stunning mountain views. The second day of our side trip took us back to our originally intended route. The trail first climbed deep into a valley across a river, and then back up the other side along endless switchbacks, where mule trains regularly overtook us. It was tough, and the least enjoyable day we had so far, with nothing of much interest to see. It was down through cultivated fields and up through a rather plain forest, with no real mountain views along the way. We finally crested a ridge at lunch time and had mountain views again, and then it was only a short walk to Ghandruk, where we spent the night. Day 7 was miserable. We were supposed to trek to Tolka, 3 hours away, but we wanted to get at least a couple hours further. When we woke up it was cloudy out, and by the time we had breakfast we couldn't see the mountains at all. It began to drizzle as we were leaving. We had another very steep downhill climb to the valley floor, and by that time I was so over steep downhill climbs. My knees were aching so much it was hard to sleep at night. To make it even worse the rain was making the stone steps slippery, and it was really slow going on the way down. Eventually we made it and as we started up the other side it seemed the rain had quit and the sky was getting lighter. We took off our raincoats and the rain covers on our backpacks, which were only semi effectual anyways. We should have known better though, and less than 10 minutes later it started raining again and we had to put it all back on. Three and a half hours after we started in the morning, we finally reached Tolka, and we sat for lunch at the first teahouse we came to. Lunch took over an hour and as that hour wore on the rain got harder and harder and the temperature got colder and colder. We really wanted to get further but we were not really equipped to handle rain like this, as we didn't have proper rain gear for us or our backpacks. We decided to stay the night in Tolka, even if it meant a longer day the next day. It was a good choice, and the rain got even worse, until we couldn't even see across the valley anymore and low clouds drifted down the hillside into town. It continued to get worse all afternoon and into the evening, when the rain was coming down in torrents. We were really starting to worry we would be stuck here the next day too. Thankfully when we woke up the next morning the sky was clear and the sun was shining. We had a long day ahead and we got started right after breakfast. The trekking was really nice for our last day. First we walked gently down, and then steeply way up, through a valley filled with ferns and moss covered ground, with deer and birds flitting about. When we arrived at the peak of the valley, our high elevation point for the day, we looked down onto an ocean of white clouds below, with mountain tops poking out above. Then we started our long descent for the day, down through rhododendron forest, with stunning mountain views to our left. After a stop for lunch, which was not very good, and passing through the checkpoints for trekking permits, we began the very steep final descent that made up the last hour of our day. We passed through pretty terraced fields with hawks circling overhead and views of the wide river far below. When we finally arrived at the bottom, a bus drove up literally as I was taking my last step down, and called out "Pokhara?". We raced over and hopped aboard. We got back to Pohkara by 4:00, in time for almost hot solar showers and to rest for a couple hours before dinner.

[cyclinginaskirt-uk]

It started with just a small innocuous advert on the message board of my mountain bike club…..”planning a trip, anyone interested in bike touring get in touch”.

Why not I thought, what harm could there be in just replying……

A lot as it turns out, which is why, a few weeks later, I’m sat around my kitchen table with 3 strapping strangers drinking beer and discussing luggage. Bike luggage.

It seemed only polite at this juncture to get to know my fellow suffer-fest companions as in just a week’s time we are off to Wales to take on the Trans-Cambrian trail, cycling and camping together for three days covering over 100 miles of some of the best remote mountain trails in the UK. It’s nice to put faces to names too with communication thus far being limited to What’s app banter.

M, my long-suffering partner appears with pizza and our intrepid band is complete. For the first time ever on a trip I have done none of the planning or organising which is both wonderful and scary, especially for those of us with control issues. This is Keith’s baby, submitter of advert and veteran cycle tourist he completed the trail last year and apparently enjoyed the pain so much he’s willing to give it another bash.

Two of his friends Gary aka Action Man and Paul, make us the remainder of the party. Gary is hyper qualified in the bike stakes as he’s just returned from cycling across New Zealand – on a bike carrying a disabled ex-service man, one of his many feats of endurance as we will learn.

Fast forward a few days and the next time we meet it’s in the middle of a field on the Welsh borders at Knighton, close to Offa’s Dyke. The river running through the field is the cartographic dividing line between England and Wales or so I’m reliably informed by the sat-nav. Handy information but it doesn’t make up for her failure to direct us to the campsite. After much inching through precipitous single track lanes in the car it’s good old fashioned human-eyesight which finally spots the handwritten felt-tip sign welcoming us to Panpwnton farm hikers camp.

The campsite is small but with a warm welcome and spotlessly clean toilet, which gives it high marks with me even if a bit of a queue forms for the single cubicle at peak times.

Tent pitched, Gary and Keith soon arrive but with the sad news that Paul has had to pull out last minute. One man down already, but undaunted we head to the pub for a pre-event athletes’ dinner of pizza washed down with copious amounts of beer and wine.

The next day dawns misty but dry. In my true organised-bordering-on-obsessive style I’ve have arranged all our kit for the fastest most efficient start possible, with provision for a decent cooked breakfast to send us on our way. M returns from the car with cups of tea, time to start the day and the adventure……

M: Where are the car keys….?

Me: “Very funny”.

M: “No, seriously where are the car keys…..?” And then the rain starts.

Three hours later the breakdown man is shaking his head having tried and failed to open the car using what looks like a credit card, blood pressure cuff and a coat hanger.

All our gear is still firmly imprisoned inside the car, perfectly packed bags, clothes, keys for the bikes also locked to the car.

I’m all for throwing a brick through the window (it’s M’s car) spurred by the heady effect of Hanger (hunger induced anger) and frustration. Fortunately Keith has spare food but the kit is still safely locked away and we’re going nowhere. After hours of scouring the camping field combing knee length grass in the drizzle, our best but unfounded guess is that the keys have been locked in the vehicle. In defeat I sit in the tent listening to the rain. With nothing better to do I decide to check M’s sleeping bag one more time just in case…… I FOUND THEM. Relief washes away frustration as the Breakdown man just rolls his eyes at us and leaves. We finally set off and even the drizzle is clearing up.

The trail: Day One

Knighton to Elan Valley

35 miles, 4150 feet of climbing

It’s great to finally be moving as we cycle up the hill away from the campsite. The car keys are firmly stored in my pocket for when we return in 3 days.

The trail begins after only a mile or so of tarmac. The whole route is advertised as over 70% off road, with any tarmac that there is consisting of small country lanes making it fantastic MTB country.

After turning off onto what looks like someone’s driveway, pedalling up a last bit of steep tarmac, we head through our first (of oh so many) gates leading uphill on a rugged trail. Full of enthusiasm we pedal hard wanting to ride every hill even though Keith has warned us it’s impossible. Panting and blowing at the top there’s a shout below from Keith, we’ve taken a wrong turn (and ridden the hill for no reason). Slightly cowed we turn around, me rolling squarely through some wet dog mess as we do, the pungent turd slathering my tyre and throwing up fumes as we descend.

Back on the track Keith points to a vertical bank of grass behind us. This is where we start pushing.

Any hopes I had of riding the whole way instantly drain away. The hill is monstrous. I’m pushing the bike vertically, using the brakes to stop us tumbling back in to oblivion whilst the sheep look on amused. It takes well over half an hour to reach the top, during which time it starts raining again. I also begin to regret packing quite so many flapjacks and all of my camping equipment as the bike weighs a ton.

As well as being mostly off road the route is also billed as a very respectable 95% ride-able which sounds wonderful until you realise that means that you will need to push/carry your bike for at least 5% of the time and at 108 miles long that’s still 5.4 miles of pushing. It feels like more, much more!

The route continues on soft grass, winding slowly uphill. The grass makes for hard going although it’s thankfully relatively dry. If really wet under wheel it would be exhausting. With blackening sky the day rolls on, the views are of dark sweeping hills and sheep. Many sheep. The aroma of dog shit is joined by the earthy tang of sheep poo which sprays up under wheel and coats pretty much everything. My mood is brightened somewhat when M starts shouting and cursing having gone to grab his water bottle and picked up a handful of steaming dung. Snigger.

The grassland is interspersed by a few gravel walking trails although most of the time we are heading across what look like sheep tracks. Keith’s doing a prime job of navigating even when we look at him askance as he send us away from a lovely gravel road down an invisible path in the grass.

The day passes in much the same way, grass trail across hills and gravel tracks, dipping through farm yards and climbing back out. It’s hard going but the views are spectacular and go someway to reminding you why you are putting yourself through this. At the end of a long day it’s a weary and subdued bunch however that hit the town of Rhayader to raid the Co-op shop before heading the final few miles to our campsite at Elan Oaks.

The site is off of pretty trailway and well set up….. for caravans. Camping seems to have been a bit of an afterthought as we push our bikes to a soggy field past a couple of sad porta-loos and outdoor sinks. True to form, just as we arrives the weather sticks 2 fingers up and starts raining hard as we pitch our tents.

The evening is saved however by the promise of hot food as we regroup in the Elan Valley Hotel across the road. I hang all my wet clothes out to dry in it’s near deserted dining room as the owner smiles tolerantly as he offers a menu and a place to charge my phone. I could have cried.

Over the years I’ve cycled a lot with camping gear, including off road through the mountains of Chile and Argentina, but today was tough. The boggy grass and precipitous hills were something else. To top it all off tonight was actually the last night of camping as we had booked rooms in a pub for the second (final) night of the trip.

It was then that I had a rare moment of genius….in true damsel in distress fashion I appealed to the owners of the pub to ask if we could perhaps leave our (sodden) camping gear with them tomorrow and collect it on the following day on our way home. I have never been so grateful as when they said yes!

An excellent meal with more copious amount of beer and wine left us all feeling good. Even the rain had let up for the walk back to the tent.

The trail: Day Two

Elan Valley to Llangurig

41 miles, 5220 feet of climbing

It can really psych you out when something is billed as ‘the toughest day’ and this was exactly how day two had been described. Now, day one had been tough so this was scary prospect. It would certainly the longest day in terms of miles and the most climbing and it dawned with a sense of trepidation….and the sound of rain lashing against the tent. Waiting and failing to find a break in the weather we de-camped and squelched over to the hotel for breakfast bearing armfuls of soggy camping gear. An hour later and it was with a huge sense of relief and a considerably lighter bike that we headed out, fortified by a large cooked breakfast and minus camping kit. Even the rain had stopped.

The Elan Valley is known as the Welsh Lake District, it covers 70 square miles of lakes and countryside and hosts 6 reservoirs built, not to provide water to locals, but to be shipped to the industrialised city of Birmingham hundreds of miles away to help cope with it’s exploding population.

Leaving the hotel, the trail quickly took us past the first reservoir before dropping down the side of a steep hill. Having missed the on road route we managed to improvise with a sheep track which plunged steeply down the side of a tall hill. Skidding down the rock strewn grass was certainly a good way to shake off the last bits of sleep.

A short pedal and then what goes down must inevitably go up again….and up….and up, a winding tarmac road until stretching out like a wall in front of us which was, Keith proudly informed us, Puke Hill. With an average gradient of nearly 15% it loomed ahead ominously.

The joy of mountain bikes however, over road bikes, is that they have a low ratio of gears of which I was incredibly glad. Coupled with the lack of camping gear my bike felt, if not lighter than air, then something approaching it.

Inch by inch I took on Puke Hill, pedalling and panting until, lungs screeching I topped out. Even if that killed me for the entire day it was worth it, with the added bonus of being able to get a photo of all 3 boys pushing up behind me.

And so the day went. The scenery and terrain differed markedly from day one, there was the inevitable same number of gates to open and close but aside from that the terrain, was varied, technical and wonderful.

After Puke Hill came a section of boulder-strewn undulating tracks full of rocks the size of sheep and traversed by the same. Technical climbing and descending whilst also ploughing through deep water-filled holes never knowing if you’d be just wetting the tyres or the entire bike. The track ended in the magnificent Claerwen dam (and a tarmac road which gave an easier option for arrival) before a steep push to head up and around the reservoir. The lee of it’s banks provided a sunny lunch stop, the rain having decided to take a well-earned day off.

Although rough under-wheel the reservoir tracks allowed us to pick up some speed and flow which continued when we hit the tarmac the other end. Being a roadie at heart I love a bit of tarmac and this was the best kind, smooth and near traffic free, long swoopy undulations, bordered by wild grasslands and lakes. The miles disappeared under-wheel in a way so different from the previous day, spirits soared along with the hawks we kept spotting. By the end of the road section we’d covered half of today’s miles relatively easily. We’d also acquired a new companion….a be-horned sheep’s skull, nicknamed Larry after the 1960’s children’s TV character, Larry the Lamb.

An off road climb next, through pine forest this time, the heady smell of warm sap accompanying us before some of the most beautiful, fast, flowing single track descents thorough the trees which left a permanent grin and many insects plastered across our faces.

Another winding valley road, this one with starker but no less stunning fauna, through abandoned mining stations and derelict houses until the sat nav kindly led us into someone else’s garden….no, not some random house after all but another trail leading up the steep side of the valley. Once a metalled road it had obviously long since fallen in to disuse but a funny strip of tarmac remained down the middle and it was on this we spent the next hour pushing and pedalling up in turn. The summit was a cold and windswept place with spectacular views and the partial descent back down into the sunshine a welcome relief if somewhat hair-raising, brake discs squealing in protest.

Two trails now presented at the bottom and sat-nav seemed unwilling to commit herself as to which one…. the left fork to a bridge which looked like it crossed into a boggy field and the right fork the beginnings of a gravel track into the woods. Both trails headed the way we needed to go, roughly in parallel, separated from each other by 2 small rivers.

Long story short, we chose the right. It should have been the left. It took us less than 10 minutes to discover our error but somehow the idea of retracing our steps seemed a stupid one, after all, they were only small rivers.

Step in Action Man…. as we stood debating the wisdom of trying to cross we were distracted by some loud crashing, splashing noises. Gary was in the river hauling around stones to make a walkway, he then proceeded to carry all our bikes one by one before helping us across. Same process for river number 2. Thirty minutes later we were standing, mostly dry on the other side of both bits of water and right next to the first path that we didn’t take. Somehow the sense of adventure completely outweighed the stupidity of a 10 minute back track.

Anticipation was with us now, it had been a long day but we were nearing the end and, weirdly, nowhere near as bad as anticipated. The last few miles were a steady climb through more sun-bathed fragrant pine forest before an undulating descent into the town of Llangurig. Happily sailing past the campsite on the outskirts of town, a short pedal later and we were pulling, tired, but elated into the car park of the Bluebell Inn our home for the night.

A welcome pint or several, a great meal and no camping. Winner.

The trail: Day Three

Llangurig to Machynllnth

31 miles, 3510 feet of climbing

Despite some serious crossing of fingers day 3 dawned drizzly, but as it was the last of our adventure, spirits were high and we were looking forward to finishing in style. Buoyed by our exertions of the last 2 days and still enjoying the relative freedom of the pared-down kit we fairly flew out of the pub car park, retracing our steps from yesterday for the first few miles to pick up the trail again.

Gates and more gates as we dripped along the edges of farmland before climbing again through fields of sheep and the inevitable poo.

I love sheep and the way they evaluate life and its potential dangers. Little clusters of them would watch us intensely for long minutes as we climbed steadily towards them getting to within feet before finally, one in the bunch would lose his nerve and dash off in panic. Of course the others followed suit but would get tangled up in themselves in their mad-hurry to get away in a noisy thrashing of woolly limbs, a little white tidal wave of bodies surging before us everywhere we went, 0 to 60 mph panic in seconds.

Back to the trail. The rain and mist intensified and for the first time long trousers came out (at least for me) as the temperature dropped. Gaining altitude over the whole morning we squelched across bleak, treeless fields before coming to a loose, slate-covered downhill of narrow single track which Keith was now recalling from the previous journey. It was very gingerly that we scooted and slid our way down the precipitous, shifting slate path, a grass bank towering to our right, a steep drop to the left. It was with some relief that we skidded to a stop at the bottom in one piece only to faced with an equally vertiginous push up the other side.

And the sketchy trails didn’t end there, another cold and windswept area of grassland led to another cliff-like valley edge and more hair-raising single track descents. It required all my concentration and bike handling skills (what little I possess) to navigate the steep downhill slopes of tumbling, loose shale. The panniers’ weight on the rear of the bike added an extra flavour of spice as did the constantly shifting floor beneath your wheels. The only solution was to keep rolling and, in amongst the fear, adrenaline and total concentration there was a huge buzz at the speed and thrill of careening down the hillside, barely in control but flying.

Our brakes were literally smoking at the bottom on the hillside as the pace steadied and we once again hit the tarmac. There was no respite from the hills or the rain however, steep steep climbs on legs that already felt they had cycled far to many miles and we were all feeling the burn and having to dig deeper and deeper on each climb.

After a significant amount of upwards mobility we reached a literal and metaphorical fork in the road. Previously when Keith, our erstwhile planner had gotten to this point during his trip he’d been in severe danger of missing his train home so had had to bail out of the last section and opt for a sprint down the road to the station some 6 miles away. We of course had that option now, to be kind to tired, wet and weary bodies and do the same or……

Bugger, everyone voted to continue the trail. Of course we did, it was only 8 miles after all, just over that ridge over there……!

For the next hour we toiled up a never ending series of steep inclines, first an energy-sucking grassy track followed by a narrow ridge line so steep we were pushing near vertically, struggling for footholds. I was incredibly glad I’d offloaded my stuff but that was the only happy thought that sprang to mind as we cursed and squelched and pushed our way up the ridge, lashed by rain and sliding and stumbling over the rocky ground. Finally reaching the top M announced that, after all that, we’d only covered a measly half a mile, I could have cried.

The only way was down however, via a fast and hair-raising descent along muddy, slippery single track, punctuated by large rocks and larger potholes. I’m going far too fast but so cold and tired now I just want to finish until…. we’re lost. We can vaguely see the direction we want to take through the mist but every path we take the sat-nav says we’re off course unless…. we push up again…..another steep, soggy hillside, another muddy slippery descent and we’re still off course although vaguely in the right direction.

Breaking out google maps we take stock and take shelter from the driving rain. Despite the GPS insisting we’re off course it does at least look like the forest trail we’re now on will get us to a road which will get us to our final destination. A look and a silent agreement passes between us and as one we charge off, bolting down fire-trails and eventually, joyfully finding the road. As it turns out we’re only a mile or so from the original exit point and a soaking speedy dash brings us shivering into Machynllnth, our planned final destination.

Officially the trail ends at Dovey Junction but we’d have to retrace our steps to this point anyway and none of us feels like we’ve missed out. It’s lashing down now and too wet to take a finishing photo as M’s camera has gotten waterlogged and wisely, there are no people about to ask so we squelch to the nearest pub where we are viewed with suspicion as we drip mud, sheep poo and water on their clean floor.

A change of clothes and a coffee is all we manage before thankfully the amazing bike taxi arrives to whisk us back to Kinghton, which feels like hundreds of days ago, not just 3.

Reflecting on the way back to the taxi, trying to ignore the smell of wet, sweaty cycle-wear, I look back on what has been an amazing trip. The scenery and the terrain have both been varies to look at and ride through, demanding and exhilarating. It feels like an achievement and, even more, a real adventure, which at a total distance of 107 miles with nearly 13,000 feet of climbing I can safely say it was.

Would I recommend it, certainly, would I do it again…..hmm ask me later!

In short, what there’s much of:

Gates

Sheep poo

Windmills, forests of them.

Water….. if you’re lucky enough to escape the rain there are still plenty of fords and deep puddles to soak you.

Pushing up hills/hike a bike

Technical single track, climbs and descents, plus a huge variety of scenery, trails and terrain.

Miles, smiles and a sense of adventure.

What there’s not much of:

Spare Oxygen – all used up on climbing!

Shops or humans, once you’re on the trail there’s no nipping to the supermarket for a mars bar. The same when seeking help for injuries or mechanicals problems.

Phone signal, as above. I wouldn’t fancy riding this one alone.

Traffic

Signage, take a good sat-nav/GPS device

For more information on the trail see here

Final thanks go to Keith, Action Man, M and Larry, the best bunch to get muddy and go adventuring with! 

Waterproof socks!

Mountain Bike Touring: The Trans-Cambrian Trail It started with just a small innocuous advert on the message board of my mountain bike club....."planning a trip, anyone interested in bike touring get in touch".

[licencedtoretire]

It seems like a lifetime ago that we last managed to get away in the motorhome when in reality it’s only been a couple of months. We decided that we would leave the camp grounds to the holidaymakers during the height of summer and then I was called in early January for what I thought would be a small surgical procedure to obtain a biopsy only to banned from driving for 4 weeks to give the wounds time to heal. You can read the story of this in my previous post.

During this enforced time off Sarah kept herself busy with some interior decorating while my only meaningful contribution was cleaning the brushes at the end of each coat. Really struggling with pain from where they had cut, poked and prodded and then getting an infection in one of the wounds. I found it difficult to maintain my usual positive attitude. I would never have thought that this loss of mobility would have such a profound effect on my mental wellbeing.

Finally four weeks had rolled past meaning I could “safely” get behind the wheel, time to head off and enjoy the motorhome. I have always been a confident driver, when we had the car rental business it would be nothing to drive from Auckland to Napier and back in a day to assist with a breakdown. This time however it was different with Sarah suggesting the first stop close to Auckland my body also told me this was the most sensible decision.

We decided to make the first stop at Wenderholm one of the many parks that are part of the Auckland Regional park network. We had visited here last year but not stayed in fact this would be our first night in the motorhome in one of the Auckland regional parks. There are two areas set aside for camping with the main carpark suitable for CSC vehicles @$16 for the night, it is however limited to a one night stay. The second area is the official campground it’s set back inside the park (more about this later)

A lot of the camping areas at the regional parks are limited to motorhomes under 7 or 8 metres in length, thankfully there are no restrictions at Wenderholm although the number of places you could fit with a motorhome larger than 8 metres is very limited and on the weekend it could be almost impossible to find somewhere until the carpark starts to empty out at the end of the day. For us though a Monday brought an almost empty car park and our choice of spaces.

Wenderholm was the first regional park to be opened back in the 1960’s as part of some terrific forward thinking on behalf of the then Council. It’s a beautiful beach that offers safe swimming where you can walk into the water without it getting to deep for a decent way. It was impossible to resist the first swim of 2019 with the water just a perfect temp.

The NZMCA App has lots of comments on how hard it is to make a booking at these sites with comments about hours on the phone. I didn’t find it that hard logging into the council website meant setting up a new account which didn’t take that long and from there it was a fairly straightforward process to create a booking for the night in the CSC area and then pay online.

With the park gates closing at 9pm the carpark slowly emptied out as the time drew nearer and when we got up the following morning we were one of only three vans that had spent the night in the carpark. I must say that it was so quiet and peaceful making the first night back in the motorhome a very welcoming experience.

I have lost so much fitness during the past few weeks, probably not helped by a partially collapsed lung during the procedure so knowing that I needed to do something about getting fit again when Sarah suggested a walk I found myself in agreement. There are a number of walks around the park with maps available at the kiosk showing the various routes.

Sarah wanted to walk to the lookout which as you can see from the above photo is located high in the hills overlooking the beach. This of course meant that we had to climb the hill to get to the lookout.

There never seems to be hill walk anywhere in the country without endless flights of stairs to be climbed and whilst this is probably easier than trying to walk up a steep muddy track I can really feel it in my knees with each step. Having said that it probably would haven’t been nearly so hard if I hadn’t been so unfit. Much huffing and puffing with numerous stops for a breather. Sarah suggested taking a photo of me but I declined not wanting the hot sweaty mess on display in the blog. Anyway we made it to the top.

At the top of the hill we had two choices follow the path along the ridge and then head back to the camp or continue to follow the perimeter track downwards to Kororu Bay located on the estuary opposite Wairewa. The track heads downhill steeply making us very glad that we walked up the way we did although rather nervous about the return journey.

The bay wasn’t really the sort of place to go for a swim (in fact it’s prohibited) but it was good to sit down and rest for a few minutes. Following the perimeter track onwards we came across this Kereru just sitting there maybe 2 metres from the track. A bit further on the track separated either heading back uphill towards the Couldrey house track or continuing around the outside of the park.

Sarah looked at the map and decided that the Couldrey track looked shorter overall so despite my protestations that this appeared to be more uphill this was to be the chosen route. As the hill went on what seemed to be a never ending path upwards it was here that I found my lack of fitness really beginning to tell lagging further and further behind Sarah. When I did manage to drag my weary body over the crest of the hill the views made the slog up the hill worthwhile and of course it’s all downhill from here.

Returning to the motorhome we had timed it perfectly for a swim with high tide almost upon us. As I mentioned earlier this is a very safe beach for swimming but on this day there was a decent swell rolling into the beach which had we had boggie boards would have created a great deal of fun.

We decided that we were enjoying our stay so much that we would spend another night here. Sadly there is a limit of one night at the carpark for CSC vehicles and this would mean moving down to the Schischka Campground which is about 1.5 kms from the beach and closer to the road. It is however a beautiful spot set amongst some nice plantings of native bush with almost nobody here allowing us to grab a spot sheltered from the wind but still with views if the estuary. At $15 per adult per night it’s not cheap to stay here although you can buy a yearly pass for $138 which if it wasn’t for the 8 metre limit at a lot of the camps (ours is 8.7 long) we probably would.

That evening we grabbed the bikes out of the back and set off down to the beach for a quick look see. It wasn’t till we were most of the way there that I realised my rear tyre was seriously down on pressure and we had returned the bike pump to one of our sons. That night Sarah remembered the emergency tyre repair kit for the motorhome which is both an electric pump and has the gunk to fill a puncture that came with the motorhome as it has no spare, not needing that we inflated the tyre to just like a new one. What a clever wife I have.

Not wanting to leave any of the walks unwalked we set off on Vin’s walk that runs around the back of the park behind the campsite and close to the road. It’s an interesting walk through both bush and farmland. You have the option of the 30 minute walk or a slightly longer walk that follows quite a narrow pathway through bush back to the park entrance, a walk well worth taking.

All this walking meant another trip to the beach so back out with the bikes for a quick ride there, then into the sea for a nice splash down. Then a very pleasant ride back to the motorhome. As we rode to and from the beach past the mangroves there was a lot of disturbance in the water from what we assumed were mullet although I could be corrected on this. Mostly rather small but some of them would make quite decent bait fish if we had a net.

It’s funny how often we have driven huge distances to get somewhere and then right on our doorstep so to speak is a place that we have both enjoyed so much that we have decided to stay a third night. It’s here that I understand the frustrations of people using the council booking system. You cannot extend your stay online you have to call the council and the people you speak to on the other end of the phone at the council cannot extend your stay either this needs to be done by someone from park services. So what should be a very simple matter of a couple of minutes on the website has turned into an hour waiting for a call back to approve our stay. It’s not as though the camp is full there is space everywhere!

One other commentary on the campsite is that despite having flushing toilets there are no showers which at $15 per person (more than a DOC camp) which I find surprising and think that I would rather see long drop toilets and cold water showers than the flush toilets. I am sure people staying here that are walking the the Te Aroaha Trail would love to be able to have a shower. To view the places we have visited click here to see them on Google maps. You can click the links to read the blog about that area. [cardoza_facebook_like_box] To view the Ratings we have done for places we have stayed click here 

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Camping in Wenderholm It seems like a lifetime ago that we last managed to get away in the motorhome when in reality it's only been a couple of months.

[golfnomad]

There’s Golf in Them Thar Hills, Part 1

As you can see, my golf schedule lately has been pretty minimal. Plus, I’m typically not posting new articles about courses that I’ve already played around Southern California. So, from now on you can expect blocks of reviews coming from any road trips I happen to take. It is what it is, so I appreciate those who continue to follow the blog.

This past weekend, I had a business meeting up in Modesto. It should come as no surprise that I tried to squeeze in a little golf with the trip. Unfortunately, I have played every public course up through Modesto and Stockton. That means I have to get a little more creative.

Therefore, I decided to head east of Modesto toward the Sierras—up into “Gold Country” as it’s known. It’s a region I hadn’t really explored. There aren’t a ton of courses and they are much more spread out than any map would lead you to believe. Getting around this area is tough on back highways and windy mountain roads, and then there are the small old mining towns in between to bottleneck any traffic. It makes it hard to cram in a lot of golf in one day (especially during the short autumn days). Fortunately, it’s kind of the off-season already there, so courses were less crowded than they might be in spring and summer.

My original plan was to design the trip around Saddle Creek and Greenhorn Creek Resort, which are the most notable courses this area has to offer. However, Saddle Creek was closed Thursday through Saturday for a big member/guest tournament. Greenhorn Creek just aerated their greens earlier in the week, as well. They had some good prices that would help make up for that. With Saddle Creek off the table, I decided to save Greenhorn for another trip when I could do both. Geographically, they are a good pair.

Instead, I drove up Thursday morning and made the most of the first day...

Forest Meadows Golf Course (Murphys 9) • Murphys, CA • 10/19/17

Forest Meadows is a gated community in the hills with what is currently a 9-hole golf course. It used to be an 18-hole executive course that was designed by Robert Trent Jones, Jr. (Senior may have had a hand, as well). I can only imagine how sweet it was in its heyday with that kind of design pedigree and this beautiful mountain setting.

Several years ago, they ended up renovating the course and cutting out seven of the holes. The other half of the course was adjusted to eliminate one par-3 and two combine two others together to make another short par-4. The result was a par-33 9-hole course that feels like it’s probably a shell of its former self. You can easily see what those holes used to be when you are there. Sadly, one of the best green complexes on the course sitting right on the edge of a lake is one that is no longer used. Many reviews I’ve read online don’t seem favorable of the new version of this course.

Anyway, with the renovation, they changed the name to Murphys 9. Some online sources and even the yardage guides available at the course still use this name, but clearly they decided to go back to the original Forest Meadows name at some point. It is the name of the community where it sits, so it makes sense. Most everything there says Forest Meadows now, including the scorecard, so that’s what I’ll go with.

I arrived around 10:00 and the place was a total ghost town. I called in advance just to make sure the place would be open, and they were despite outward appearances. There was an old dude in the little pro shop. It was $25 with a cart. I probably should have walked for $11 given how much time I had to kill, but I had just driven 7 hours straight and hadn’t eaten anything, so I opted to ride.

I did encounter a twosome out on the course and they let me through when I caught them. Otherwise, it was a quick round on an empty course. 

As mentioned, this little course has a great setting. Tall trees line the fairways and it it is rather hilly. There are some narrow shots and tricky doglegs on the par-4s (there is one par-5, too). It’s a fun and tricky short course. The par-3s range from 148 yards up to 190 straight uphill on the 5th hole. The par-4s range from 279 up to 333, and the par-5 is average at 509 yards from the blue/front nine tees. So, it’s no pushover when you add in all the natural hazards.

I wish I had played the original layout, though. As it is now, it sure doesn’t feel like an RTJ course. It’s definitely quite rough around the edges and everything about it feels run down. Conditions were okay. The greens were soft and mostly in good shape. The fairways, tee boxes and rough were all pretty spotty. Part of this is due to the late point in the season, but you can tell it’s probably never in that great of shape any time these days.

It’s a fun stop for a quick, relatively inexpensive nine if you are visiting locally and want to knock the ball around. Otherwise, not worth the trouble to get there.

Some pictures from Forest Meadows Golf Course (10/19/17):

With Saddle Creek and Greenhorn off the table, I decided to give this next course a call. It ended up working out well...

Sequoia Woods Country Club • Arnold, CA • 10/19/17

This was an ideal course to pair with Forest Meadows because it’s only about 15 minutes further up the highway toward Ebbetts Pass. However, the trick is that Sequoia Woods is actually a private club. I reached out and pitched my story, and they were nice enough to set me up with a 1:04 tee time for $60 with cart. 

A friend of mine actually came out and joined me for the round, so I had to wait for him to arrive. They had men’s club in the morning, but the afternoon was open for member play. We eventually caught up to some member groups, so we just hung back and took our time. We still finished in about 3 hours, 20 minutes, so it worked out well.

The two nines at Sequoia Woods are actually quite different. The front nine sits out in a more open valley area. There are some water hazards in play and a few holes that run along the edge where trees hang over into play. Otherwise, this side of the course is pretty straightforward.

Then, the back nine is a totally different story. It is tight and hilly with trees closing in on every side. The trees here are mostly mighty sequoias, so they are tall and imposing. 

Speaking of different nines, the scorecard tells you all you need to know. The front nine is a par-38 with just one par-3 and three par-5s. From the blues, it tops out at 3,468 yards on this side, so it’s still not that long. The back nine, on the other hand is only par-32. It has four par-3s to go along with five par-4s. It tops out at just 2,132 yards.

This is one of the craziest splits I’ve ever seen, though you can argue the back nine is actually the much tougher nine. There is so much more trouble to get into and the hills make several of the holes play a lot longer than listed on the card. The total yardage for the course from the back blue tees is just 5,600 yards, though, so it’s definitely not a long course overall.

I personally found the back nine much more entertaining. The 14th-16th holes make up what they affectionately call the “Sequoia Triangle,” even though they don’t really flow in a triangular shape. These are three very tricky uphill holes in a row.

The 14th is only 262 yards, but it provides one of the more uncomfortable tee shots you’ll find anywhere. To the left, there’s a hillside that is lined with white OB stakes at the very bottom (just a few yards from the fairway). On the right, there is the cart path and then a drop-off to a wooded creek area. Just a few feet from the cart path you’ll see another row of white stakes. The hole itself doglegs left as it goes uphill. Even if you are just laying up with an iron like most people will, it feels so tight off the tee because of the OB on both sides and left turn it makes about 2/3 of the way up the fairway.

The 15th is a 179-yard par-3 that plays closer to 200 because it is uphill. Again, it is narrow and intimidating with no room for error left or right.

Lastly, the 16th goes steeply uphill with another left dogleg. Some well-positioned trees make this a trickier hole than it first appears. 

After that, you finish with the super tiny and should-be-super-easy par-3 17th just 81 yards slightly downhill with virtually no trouble to get into. It’s almost a par-2 because par feels kind of like a failure. Then, you have the dogleg left, straight downhill finishing 18th hole which is a fun way to complete the round. 

For this time in the season, Sequoia Woods was in pretty good shape. It was pretty green throughout and mostly good in the areas that mattered. The fairways did have some weak/thin/muddy spots and brown sections. The further you strayed from the fairways, the more spotty things got in the rough. The bunkers were fantastic. The greens had recently been aerated and sanded, so they weren’t great to play on. However, it was easy to tell they are normally in very nice shape. Just need a few weeks to heal up.

If you have an opportunity to play Sequoia Woods, it’s worth checking out if in the area. I am very glad they let us come out to play and we had a lot of fun on this course. It is the only private club in the area, so it felt good to check it off the list. The staff and members were super friendly and it’s a charming mountain course with a beautiful setting. 

Some pictures from Sequoia Woods Country Club (10/19/17):

[readbookywooks]

THE RETURN OF THE LION

To keep along the edge of the gorge was not so easy as it had looked. Before they had gone many yards they were confronted with young fir woods growing on the very edge, and after they had tried to go through these, stooping and pushing for about ten minutes, they realized that, in there, it would take them an hour to do half a mile. So they came back and out again and decided to go round the fir wood. This took them much farther to their right than they wanted to go, far out of sight of the cliffs and out of sound of the river, till they began to be afraid they had lost it altogether. Nobody knew the time, but it was getting to the hottest part of the day. When they were able at last to go back to the edge of the gorge (nearly a mile below the point from which they had started) they found the cliffs on their side of it a good deal lower and more broken. Soon they found a way down into the gorge and continued the journey at the river's edge. But first they had a rest and a long drink. No one was talking any more about breakfast, or even dinner, with Caspian. They may have been wise to stick to the Rush instead of going along the top. It kept them sure of their direction: and ever since the fir wood they had all been afraid of being forced too far out of their course and losing themselves in the wood. It was an old and pathless forest, and you could not keep anything like a straight course in it. Patches of hopeless brambles, fallen trees, boggy places and dense undergrowth would be always getting in your way. But the gorge of the Rush was not at all a nice place for travelling either. I mean, it was not a nice place for people in a hurry. For an afternoon's ramble ending in a picnic tea it would have been delightful. It had everything you could want on an occasion of that sort - rumbling waterfalls, silver cascades, deep, amber-coloured pools, mossy rocks, and deep moss on the banks in which you could sink over your ankles, every kind of fern, jewel-like dragon flies, sometimes a hawk overhead and once (Peter and Trumpkin. both thought) an eagle. But of course what the children and the Dwarf wanted to see as soon as possible was the Great River below them, and Beruna, and the way to Aslan's How. As they went on, the Rush began to fall more and more steeply. Their journey became more and more of a climb and less and less of a walk - in places even a dangerous climb over slippery rock with a nasty drop into dark chasms, and the river roaring angrily at the bottom. You may be sure they watched the cliffs on their left eagerly for any sign of a break or any place where they could climb them; but those cliffs remained cruel. It was maddening, because everyone knew that if once they were out of the gorge on that side, they would have only a smooth slope and a fairly short walk to Caspian's headquarters. The boys and the Dwarf were now in favour of lighting a fire and cooking their bear-meat. Susan didn't want this; she only wanted, as she said, "to get on and finish it and get out of these beastly woods". Lucy was far too tired and miserable to have any opinion about anything. But as there was no dry wood to be had, it mattered very little what anyone thought. The boys began to wonder if raw meat was really as nasty as they had always been told. Trumpkin assured them it was. Of course, if the children had attempted a journey like this a few days ago in England, they would have been knocked up. I think I have explained before how Narnia was altering them. Even Lucy was by now, so to speak, only one-third of a little girl going to boarding school for the first time, and two-thirds of Queen Lucy of Narnia. "At last!" said Susan. "Oh, hurray!" said Peter. The river gorge had just made a bend and the whole view spread out beneath them. They could see open country stretching before them to the horizon and, between it and them, the broad silver ribbon of the Great River. They could see the specially broad and shallow place which had once been the Fords of Beruna but was now spanned by a long, many-arched bridge. There was a little town at the far end of it. "By Jove," said Edmund. "We fought the Battle of Beruna just where that town is!" This cheered the boys more than anything. You can't help feeling stronger when you look at a place where you won a glorious victory not to mention a kingdom, hundreds of years ago. Peter and Edmund were soon so busy talking about the battle that they forgot their sore feet and the heavy drag of their mail shirts on their shoulders. The Dwarf was interested too. They were all getting on at a quicker pace now. The going became easier. Though there were still sheer cliffs on their left, the ground was becoming lower on their right. Soon it was no longer a gorge at all, only a valley. There were no more waterfalls and presently they were in fairly thick woods again. Then - all at once - whizz, and a sound rather like the stroke of a woodpecker. The children were still wondering where (ages ago) they had heard a sound just like that and why they disliked it so, when Trumpkin shouted, "Down', at the same moment forcing Lucy (who happened to be next to him) flat down into the bracken. Peter, who had been looking up to see if he could spot a squirrel, had seen what it was - a long cruel arrow had sunk into a tree trunk just above his head. As he pulled Susan down and dropped himself, another came rasping over his shoulder and struck the ground at his side. "Quick! Quick! Get back! Crawl!" panted Trumpkin. They turned and wriggled along uphill, under the bracken amid clouds of horribly buzzing flies. Arrows whizzed round them. One struck Susan's helmet with a sharp ping and glanced off. They crawled quicker. Sweat poured off them. Then they ran, stooping nearly double. The boys held their swords in their hands for fear they would trip them up. It was heart-breaking work - all uphill again, back over the ground they had already travelled. When they felt that they really couldn't run any more, even to save their lives, they all dropped down in the damp moss beside a waterfall and behind a big boulder, panting. They were surprised to see how high they had already got. They listened intently and heard no sound of pursuit. "So that's all right," said Trumpkin, drawing a deep breath. "They're not searching the wood. Only sentries, I expect. But it means that Miraz has an outpost down there. Bottles and battledores! though, it was a near thing." "I ought to have my head smacked for bringing us this way at all," said Peter. "On the contrary, your Majesty," said the Dwarf. "For one thing it wasn't you, it was your royal brother, King Edmund, who first suggested going by Glasswater." "I'm afraid the D.L.F.'s right," said Edmund, who had quite honestly forgotten this ever since things began going wrong. "And for another," continued Trumpkin, "if we'd gone my way, we'd have walked straight into that new outpost, most likely; or at least had just the same trouble avoiding it. I think this Glasswater route has turned out for the best." "A blessing in disguise," said Susan. "Some disguise!" said Edmund. "I suppose we'll have to go right up the gorge again now," said Lucy. "Lu, you're a hero," said Peter. "That's the nearest you've got today to saying I told you so. Let's get on." "And as soon as we're well up into the forest," said Trumpkin, "whatever anyone says, I'm going to light a fire and cook supper. But we must get well away from here." There is no need to describe how they toiled back up the gorge. It was pretty hard work, but oddly enough everyone felt more cheerful. They were getting their second wind; and the word supper had had a wonderful effect. They reached the fir wood which had caused them so much trouble while it was still daylight, and bivouacked in a hollow just above it. It was tedious gathering the firewood; but it was grand when the fire blazed up and they began producing the damp and smeary parcels of bear-meat which would have been so very unattractive to anyone who had spent the day indoors. The Dwarf had splendid ideas about cookery. Each apple (they still had a few of these) was wrapped up in bear's meat - as if it was to be apple dumpling with meat instead of pastry, only much thicker - and spiked on a sharp stick and then roasted. And the juice of the apple worked all through the meat, like apple sauce with roast pork. Bear that has lived too much on other animals is not very nice, but bear that has had plenty of honey and fruit is excellent, and this turned out to be that sort of bear. It was a truly glorious meal. And, of course, no washing up - only lying back and watching the smoke from Trumpkin's pipe and stretching one's tired legs and chatting. Everyone felt quite hopeful now about finding King Caspian tomorrow and defeating Miraz in a few days. It may not have been sensible of them to feel like this, but they did. They dropped off to sleep one by one, but all pretty quickly. Lucy woke out of the deepest sleep you can imagine, with the feeling that the voice she liked best in the world had been calling her name. She thought at first it was her father's voice, but that did not seem quite right. Then she thought it was Peter's voice, but that did not seem to fit either. She did not want to get up; not because she was still tired - on the contrary she was wonderfully rested and all the aches had gone from her bones - but because she felt so extremely happy and comfortable. She was looking straight up at the Narnian moon, which is larger than ours, and at the starry sky, for the place where they had bivouacked was comparatively open. "Lucy," came the call again, neither her father's voice nor Peter's. She sat up, trembling with excitement but not with fear. The moon was so bright that the whole forest landscape around her was almost as clear as day, though it looked wilder. Behind her was the fir wood; away to her right the jagged cliff-tops on the far side of the gorge; straight ahead, open grass to where a glade of trees began about a bow-shot away. Lucy looked very hard at the trees of that glade. "Why, I do believe they're moving," she said to herself. "They're walking about." She got up, her heart beating wildly, and walked towards them. There was certainly a noise in the glade, a noise such as trees make in a high wind, though there was no wind tonight. Yet it was not exactly an ordinary treenoise either. Lucy felt there was a tune in it, but she could not catch the tune any more than she had been able to catch the words when the trees had so nearly talked to her the night before. But there was, at least, a lilt; she felt her own feet wanting to dance as she got nearer. And now there was no doubt that the trees were really moving moving in and out through one another as if in a complicated country dance. ("And I suppose," thought Lucy, "when trees dance, it must be a very, very country dance indeed.') She was almost among them now. The first tree she looked at seemed at first glance to be not a tree at all but a huge man with a shaggy beard and great bushes of hair. She was not frightened: she had seen such things before. But when she looked again he was only a tree, though he was still moving. You couldn't see whether he had feet or roots, of course, because when trees move they don't walk on the surface of the earth; they wade in it as we do in water. The same thing happened with every tree she looked at. At one moment they seemed to be the friendly, lovely giant and giantess forms which the tree-people put on when some good magic has called them into full life: next moment they all looked like trees again. But when they looked like trees, it was like strangely human trees, and when they looked like people, it was like strangely branchy and leafy people - and all the time that queer lilting, rustling, cool, merry noise. "They are almost awake, not quite," said Lucy. She knew she herself was wide awake, wider than anyone usually is. She went fearlessly in among them, dancing herself as she leaped this way and that to avoid being run into by these huge partners. But she was only half interested in them. She wanted to get beyond them to something else; it was from beyond them that the dear voice had called. She soon got through them (half wondering whether she had been using her arms to push branches aside, or to take hands in a Great Chain with big dancers who stooped to reach her) for they were really a ring of trees round a central open place. She stepped out from among their shifting confusion of lovely lights and shadows. A circle of grass, smooth as a lawn, met her eyes, with dark trees dancing all round it. And then - oh joy! For he was there: the huge Lion, shining white in the moonlight, with his huge black shadow underneath him. But for the movement of his tail he might have been a stone lion, but Lucy never thought of that. She never stopped to think whether he was a friendly lion or not. She rushed to him. She felt her heart would burst if she lost a moment. And the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and putting her arms as far round his neck as she could and burying her face in the beautiful rich silkiness of his mane. "Aslan, Aslan. Dear Aslan," sobbed Lucy. "At last." The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws. He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue. His warm breath came all round her. She gazed up into the large wise face. "Welcome, child," he said. "Aslan," said Lucy, "you're bigger." "That is because you are older, little one," answered he. "Not because you are?" "I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger." For a time she was so happy that she did not want to speak. But Aslan spoke. "Lucy," he said, "we must not lie here for long. You have work in hand, and much time has been lost today." "Yes, wasn't it a shame?" said Lucy. "I saw you all right. They wouldn't believe me. They're all so - " From somewhere deep inside Aslan's body there came the faintest suggestion of a growl. "I'm sorry," said Lucy, who understood some of his moods. "I didn't mean to start slanging the others. But it wasn't my fault anyway, was it?" The Lion looked straight into her eyes. "Oh, Aslan," said Lucy. "You don't mean it was? How could I - I couldn't have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I? Don't look at me like that . . . oh well, I suppose I could. Yes, and it wouldn't have been alone, I know, not if I was with you. But what would have been the good?" Aslan said nothing. "You mean," said Lucy rather faintly, "that it would have turned out all right - somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?" "To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan. "No. Nobody is ever told that." "Oh dear," said Lucy. "But anyone can find out what will happen," said Aslan. "If you go back to the others now, and wake them up; and tell them you have seen me again; and that you must all get up at once and follow me - what will happen? There is only one way of finding out." "Do you mean that is what you want me to do?" gasped Lucy. "Yes, little one," said Aslan. "Will the others see you too?" asked Lucy. "Certainly not at first," said Aslan. "Later on, it depends." "But they won't believe me!" said Lucy. "It doesn't matter," said Aslan. "Oh dear, oh dear," said Lucy. "And I was so pleased at finding you again. And I thought you'd let me stay. And I thought you'd come roaring in and frighten all the enemies away - like last time. And now everything is going to be horrid." "It is hard for you, little one," said Aslan. "But things never happen the same way twice. It has been hard for us all in Narnia before now." Lucy buried her head in his mane to hide from his face. But there must have been magic in his mane. She could feel lion-strength going into her. Quite suddenly she sat up. "I'm sorry, Aslan," she said. "I'm ready now." "Now you are a lioness," said Aslan. "And now all Narnia will be renewed. But come. We have no time to lose." He got up and walked with stately, noiseless paces back to the belt of dancing trees through which she had just come: and Lucy went with him, laying a rather tremulous hand on his mane. The trees parted to let them through and for one second assumed their human forms completely. Lucy had a glimpse of tall and lovely wood-gods and wood-goddesses all bowing to the Lion; next moment they were trees again, but still bowing, with such graceful sweeps of branch and trunk that their bowing was itself a kind of dance. "Now, child," said Aslan, when they had left the trees behind them, "I will wait here. Go and wake the others and tell them to follow. If they will not, then you at least must follow me alone." It is a terrible thing to have to wake four people, all older than yourself and all very tired, for the purpose of telling them something they probably won't believe and making them do something they certainly won't like. "I mustn't think about it, I must just do it," thought Lucy. She went to Peter first and shook him. "Peter," she whispered in his ear, "wake up. Quick. Aslan is here. He says we've got to follow him at once." "Certainly, Lu. Whatever you like," said Peter unexpectedly. This was encouraging, but as Peter instantly rolled round and went to sleep again it wasn't much use. Then she tried Susan. Susan did really wake up, but only to say in her most annoying grown-up voice, "You've been dreaming, Lucy. Go to sleep again." She tackled Edmund next. It was very difficult to wake him, but when at last she had done it he was really awake and sat up. "Eh?" he said in a grumpy voice. "What are you talking about?" She said it all over again. This was one of the worst parts of her job, for each time she said it, it sounded less convincing. "Aslan!" said Edmund, jumping up. "Hurray! Where?" Lucy turned back to where she could see the Lion waiting, his patient eyes fixed upon her. "There," she said, pointing. "Where?" asked Edmund again. "There. There. Don't you see? Just this side of the trees." Edmund stared hard for a while and then said, "No. There's nothing there. You've got dazzled and muddled with the moonlight. One does, you know. I thought I saw something for a moment myself. It's only an optical what-do-you-call-it." "I can see him all the time," said Lucy. "He's looking straight at us." "Then why can't I see him?" "He said you mightn't be able to." "Why?" "I don't know. That's what he said." "Oh, bother it all," said Edmund. "I do wish you wouldn't keep on seeing things. But I suppose we'll have to wake the others."

[oniksatya-blog]

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Location

People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach. To get to the beach Bias Tugel located about 57 km from Bali’s Ngurah Rai airport, with one and a half hour drive if using a motor vehicle. To get this beach, you should go to padang bai port and Tugel Bias beach among travelers better known as Padang Bai beach. Who love the white sand beach that has a hidden location, a rare visitor. Bias Tugel beach in Bali can meet your criteria. The word bias means sand, while the truncated mean Tugel. So Tugel Bias beach means sand beaches truncated. This is because the area of the beach is not so wide on the right and left flanked by a sizable rock. The beach is relatively small beach with white sand and can be categorized as one of our beautiful beaches in Bali. Access to the beach is approximately 500 meters from the port of Padang Bai. You have to walk through a fairly steep and rocky. Fair sweat along the way. But not disappoint, the beautiful hidden welcomes you. Stretch of white sandy beaches with crystal clear blue sea water in sight. High cliff on the right and left of the beach makes this place isolated from the adjacent beach. It is suitable for family holidays for those who bring children. Parents will easily keep an eye on their children when playing sand, because visitors around the relatively deserted beaches. Most who come are those who like surfing and snorkeling. Waves on the beach the waves are high and long. Natural life under the water was still very natural, with the dazzling coral reefs. Various kinds of ornamental fish come say hello snorkeling lovers.

Pantai Bias Tugel is a lovey secluded beach on which to while away a day. Golden coloured sand is peppered with traces of volcanic black. Grains are large, but it’s still soft underfoot, although not squeaky. Volcanic cliffs fuse into a rocky shoreline wrapping the headlands at each end of the beach. A few rock pools are interesting for kids to poke about in.

The wide bay is overshadowed by a large unfinished and abandoned hotel project (worth an explore). The sand is fringed with a line of beach warungs who rent out snorkel gear (50,000 rupiah) and can sell you a cold Bintang (large 40,000) or young coconut and grill a fresh fish. Beach massages can be had for 80,000 rupiah for an hour, and the occasional seller will offer you a sarong or tourist doodad. Unfortunately, there is the inevitable rubbish, but the local authorities seem to be making an effort — there are signs (in Indonesian) informing of fines for littering, and rubbish bags are nailed to a couple of trees. Let’s hope it catches on.

Pantai Bias Tugel is good for swimming although currents can be strong, particularly in the afternoon. You can snorkel off the beach, but not as easily as at Blue Lagoon Beach. Locals informed us that morning is better for snorkelling, mostly due to the aforementioned currents, and it’s a good place for spotting turtles. Although there’s not a lot of shade, it’s good for a bit of sun worshipping — there’s one or two trees further up the beach, and if you get too hot you can take refuge in one of the sheltered warungs. So, roll out the beach mat, soak up the rays and enjoy the interesting toing-and-froing of the ferries from the port and other passing sea traffic.

The official entry point to the beach has a ticket booth and an entry fee of 2,000 rupiah per person to help keep the beach clean. Parking is 5,000 rupiah.

To reach Pantai Bias Tugel — head south from the ferry terminal along the road that passes the Post Office. Continue steeply uphill for 750 metres, turning left at the signposted intersection. Five hundred metres later the road will lead to the ticket office. From there it’s a steep walk down a narrow path to the beach. Ojeks can drop you from the port for 20,000 rupiah, otherwise it’s a hot uphill walk from the harbour and will take about 30 minutes.

Alternatively, an unofficial shortcut (which previously was the only way to access the beach) is a better option if you are walking. From the harbour, follow the Post Office road for 200 metres. Not far past Bamboo Paradise a rocky path appears on the left. A barrier bars access, and when we tried to enter, a bunch of local kids warned us that it was the wrong way, but dad came to the rescue and said it was fine to walk that way. Along the path are several forks to either side, but we just followed our nose for about 300 metres down to the beach. From the ferry terminal, the entire walk should not take more than 15 minutes.

On the way back an interesting diversion is an abandoned hotel project. It’s officially off limits, but that didn’t stop a number of tourists and locals exploring when we visited. From the ticket booth at the official entry point of Pantai Bias Tugel, walk back down the road to Pura Subak Abian Padasan, a small temple. From there a path to the left will eventually get you to the project. The walk is very pretty as there is an abundance of bird life and butterflies. The towering ghost-like construction sticks out like a sore thumb on the headland. Inside it can be a little disorientating among the maze of bare cement corridors. Once you find your way to what would have been a rather upmarket hotel room, the commanding views out to sea are worth the detour. Great for photos, particularly at sunset.

  Bias Tugel Beach

Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

Bias Tugel Beach

Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

Bias Tugel Beach

Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

Bias Tugel Beach

Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

Bias Tugel Beach Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

[suryaadimertha-blog]

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Location

People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach. To get to the beach Bias Tugel located about 57 km from Bali’s Ngurah Rai airport, with one and a half hour drive if using a motor vehicle. To get this beach, you should go to padang bai port and Tugel Bias beach among travelers better known as Padang Bai beach. Who love the white sand beach that has a hidden location, a rare visitor. Bias Tugel beach in Bali can meet your criteria. The word bias means sand, while the truncated mean Tugel. So Tugel Bias beach means sand beaches truncated. This is because the area of the beach is not so wide on the right and left flanked by a sizable rock. The beach is relatively small beach with white sand and can be categorized as one of our beautiful beaches in Bali. Access to the beach is approximately 500 meters from the port of Padang Bai. You have to walk through a fairly steep and rocky. Fair sweat along the way. But not disappoint, the beautiful hidden welcomes you. Stretch of white sandy beaches with crystal clear blue sea water in sight. High cliff on the right and left of the beach makes this place isolated from the adjacent beach. It is suitable for family holidays for those who bring children. Parents will easily keep an eye on their children when playing sand, because visitors around the relatively deserted beaches. Most who come are those who like surfing and snorkeling. Waves on the beach the waves are high and long. Natural life under the water was still very natural, with the dazzling coral reefs. Various kinds of ornamental fish come say hello snorkeling lovers.

Pantai Bias Tugel is a lovey secluded beach on which to while away a day. Golden coloured sand is peppered with traces of volcanic black. Grains are large, but it’s still soft underfoot, although not squeaky. Volcanic cliffs fuse into a rocky shoreline wrapping the headlands at each end of the beach. A few rock pools are interesting for kids to poke about in.

The wide bay is overshadowed by a large unfinished and abandoned hotel project (worth an explore). The sand is fringed with a line of beach warungs who rent out snorkel gear (50,000 rupiah) and can sell you a cold Bintang (large 40,000) or young coconut and grill a fresh fish. Beach massages can be had for 80,000 rupiah for an hour, and the occasional seller will offer you a sarong or tourist doodad. Unfortunately, there is the inevitable rubbish, but the local authorities seem to be making an effort — there are signs (in Indonesian) informing of fines for littering, and rubbish bags are nailed to a couple of trees. Let’s hope it catches on.

Pantai Bias Tugel is good for swimming although currents can be strong, particularly in the afternoon. You can snorkel off the beach, but not as easily as at Blue Lagoon Beach. Locals informed us that morning is better for snorkelling, mostly due to the aforementioned currents, and it’s a good place for spotting turtles. Although there’s not a lot of shade, it’s good for a bit of sun worshipping — there’s one or two trees further up the beach, and if you get too hot you can take refuge in one of the sheltered warungs. So, roll out the beach mat, soak up the rays and enjoy the interesting toing-and-froing of the ferries from the port and other passing sea traffic.

The official entry point to the beach has a ticket booth and an entry fee of 2,000 rupiah per person to help keep the beach clean. Parking is 5,000 rupiah.

To reach Pantai Bias Tugel — head south from the ferry terminal along the road that passes the Post Office. Continue steeply uphill for 750 metres, turning left at the signposted intersection. Five hundred metres later the road will lead to the ticket office. From there it’s a steep walk down a narrow path to the beach. Ojeks can drop you from the port for 20,000 rupiah, otherwise it’s a hot uphill walk from the harbour and will take about 30 minutes.

Alternatively, an unofficial shortcut (which previously was the only way to access the beach) is a better option if you are walking. From the harbour, follow the Post Office road for 200 metres. Not far past Bamboo Paradise a rocky path appears on the left. A barrier bars access, and when we tried to enter, a bunch of local kids warned us that it was the wrong way, but dad came to the rescue and said it was fine to walk that way. Along the path are several forks to either side, but we just followed our nose for about 300 metres down to the beach. From the ferry terminal, the entire walk should not take more than 15 minutes.

On the way back an interesting diversion is an abandoned hotel project. It’s officially off limits, but that didn’t stop a number of tourists and locals exploring when we visited. From the ticket booth at the official entry point of Pantai Bias Tugel, walk back down the road to Pura Subak Abian Padasan, a small temple. From there a path to the left will eventually get you to the project. The walk is very pretty as there is an abundance of bird life and butterflies. The towering ghost-like construction sticks out like a sore thumb on the headland. Inside it can be a little disorientating among the maze of bare cement corridors. Once you find your way to what would have been a rather upmarket hotel room, the commanding views out to sea are worth the detour. Great for photos, particularly at sunset.

  Bias Tugel Beach

Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

Bias Tugel Beach

Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

Bias Tugel Beach Location People may rarely heard Tugel Bias beach. The location is quite far from the hustle of the paradise island of Bali Kuta beach.

[ultraclimbhighhimalayaworld-blog]

A guide to Poon Hill Trek

A trek to the Himlayas has always been the most sought out adventures for the tourism industry. Since the world became free for passport holders, tourism has taken a massive toll. Consequently, the Himalayas have become the most popular destination for tourists and  travellers alike. Here we have enumerated a list of things as a guide to Poon Hill Trek. they are listed as follows:

Ghorepani/ Poon Hill: A History

Prologue for Poon Hill Trek

Experiencing Poon Hill Trek

Hotels and settlements during Poon Hill Trek

Where to go on Poon Hill Trek

Season to go for Poon Hill Trek

Ghorepani/ Poon Hill: A History

Ghorepani is one of the largest villages in the Annappurna mountains of Nepal. It belongs to the Myagdi District in the Dhaulagiri Zone of Northern Nepal. Ghorepani in literal terms means ‘water for horses’. The location was initially used by traders to rest for the night before continuing their journey the next day. They used to feed their horses while at the village. Hence the name. Poon Hill is a viewpoint at Ghorepani famous for the view of the sunrise from 3210 meters. The route toward the village is well maintained as it is taken by traders and trekkers as well.

Prologue for Poon Hill Trek

Poon Hill trek is considered to be one of the shortest and easiest treks in the Annapurna circuit. The trek begins at Nayapul near Pokhara, where your ascent of the steep sloping hill begins. In this trek, you will come across fantastic views of the mountains in the Annapurna range. Along with the spectacular views you walk through green pastures and lush green jungles. The trail takes you among birds of different colours and Rhododendron trees in the forests. You also make your way  past the Modi River and you have to cross it using a suspension bridge. One of the highlights of the trip is the staircase with 3300 stone steps leading towards the village of Ulleri. You also come across sightings of Annapurna south, Hiuchhuli and Dhaulagiri while on this route. However, the main highlight of the trek is the sunrise from the top of Poon Hill. Poon Hill is located about an hour from the main Ghorepani village. It also is the spot for a magnificent view of Mustang and Pokhara valleys. 

Experiencing Poon Hill Trek

The trip to Poon Hill starts with a drive from Pokhara to Nayapul. However our packages include itineraries starting from Kathmandu as well. However, one has to come to Pokhara for the trip. There will be a short briefing from our staff on your arrival and everything will be explained about the trek. Do make sure you have everything you need before you take the trip. We can organise the trek on a private basis for groups of friends, clubs, charities and any other social groups. Depending on your previous trekking experience, you may or may not opt to have a Climb High leader. But still you can take the assistance of one of our guides and/or porters. If any such assistance  is required, you can let us know and we will prepare your package accordingly. We also have an option to change our schedules depending on the pace and time taken by the trekking group.

Hotels and settlements during Poon Hill Trek

The only two places where you will be allocated to a hotel is at Kathmandu and Pokhara. Rest of the trip takes place away from civilization. Therefore the accommodation will be provided at lodges and cozy tea houses  As you make your way from Nayapul to Ulleri through Birethanti, you will come across many smaller villages. The trekking is on the trail leading to Annapurna Base Camp which is a popular route. So there are a lot of settlements where you can rest for the night. At Ulleri, your halt will be at a lodge in collaboration with Climb Hill. From Ulleri we travel uphill towards Ghorepani. At Ghorepani, the accommodation provided will be at local settlements called tea houses. Tea houses are basically a smaller and simpler version of a lodge and they are really cozy. The hosts in all the lodges and tea houses are friendly and cordial. They will ensure your stay at their rooms are comfortable and memorable. Lodging at Tadapani and Tolka will both be at tea houses under Climb High’s supervision.

Where to go on Poon Hill Trek

As mentioned earlier, you trip can either begin from Kathmandu or Pokhara. When starting from Kathmandu, we will have a day for rest and briefing at your hotel. The next day we’ll take a 6 hour drive to Pokhara. From Pokhara, we have a day for rest and briefing before starting the trek. Accommodation will be held at a 3 star hotel at both Kathmandu and Pokhara. In the morning, from your hotel in Pokhara, we will take a 90 minutes morning drive to Nayapul. After assembling at Nayapul, our ascent towards Ulleri begins. It is a 6 hour trek through green sub-tropical forest and beautiful valleys.

As we make our way towards Tikhedhunga, we cross the river Modi Khola using a suspension bridge. At Tikhedhunga we rest for a while and make sure your rest well. Because as we leave Tikhedhunga, we need to climb a staircase made of stone steps. The collection of steps total 3300 steps. But the walk is rewarded with magnificent views of the valleys around till we reach Ulleri (2050m). Here we halt for the night at a lodge. 

The following morning, we ramp up towards Ghorepani village. You can admire the panoramic view of the nearby mountains Annapurna South and Nilgiri along the trail. We travel through lush green forests where birds are abundant. Another thing found in abundance are the beautiful Rhododendron trees. The trail takes us past 2 sparkling clear streams, a small ridge and another stream. The trekking duration from Ulleri to Ghorepani takes approximately 4 hours. Elevation at Ghorepani is 2750 meters.

Poon Hill is famous for the view of the sunset and the surroundings. In order to witness the spectacular sight, we must wake up before dawn and head uphill. We start at 4 am and spend an hour walk to reach the top of Poon Hill (3210m). Poon Hill enables us to see a magnificent sunrise, towering above the views of Mustang and Pokhara valleys nearby. After experiencing an unforgettable sight, we head back to Ghorepani. Breakfast with a view is on the table, so enjoy it. Post breakfast with a view, we trek downhill towards Tadapani. It is a 5 hours trek along a similar terrain as before.

 As we make our way towards Tadapani we pass the Deurali Pass. We can get a panoramic view of Dhaulagiri and Annapurna from this pass. The trail takes a steep decline as we make our way through a moss covered forest. The forest has a rich bird life in its midst and gives us a great sunset view. On reaching the village of Tadapani,we spend our night at a nearby lodge. In the morning, after breakfast we begin the  end of our trip. This time we venture towards Tolka. 

Tolka is a 7 hour trek from Tadapani and it is all downhill from here. The route descends steeply through a rhododendron forest first towards Bhaise Kharka. The forest is not only inhabited by various birds, but you can encounter meeting monkeys as well. A while after you leave the forest, the trail turns steep with rocks and we cross a stream. The crossing leads us out on a ridge towards village of Ghandruk.  

Ghandruk is the second largest Gurung village in Nepal. You can get acquainted with the diverse Gurung culture at the Gurung Museum at Ghandruk. We have a hearty lunch at Ghandruk before making our way past terrace rice fields and subtropical forests. The scenery is splendid in almost every turn you take. We walk mostly on the banks of the river Modi Khola. Going past a flat-steep descent we reach Langdruk where we halt for the night.

The next day, we have a short journey on our hands. We take a 3 hour trek to Dhampus crossing green valleys, past steep sloping hills. After sometime we reach Dhampus where you are very close to civilization at this point. We have our lunch and then take a private vehicle to reach Phedi. The drive takes an hour. From Phedi, after a brief rest, we take another vehicle towards Pokhara. It is a 2 hour drive to your hotel at Pokhara.

For trekkers coming from Pokhara, this is where your journey ends. For those who began from Kathmandu, you will be taken to the airport for your flight. Thus ends your journey where you will get back to civilization again. But hopefully you have captured enough memories to carry with you for a long long time.

Season to go for Poon Hill Trek

The trek to Poon Hill, though short is through steep terrains and high altitude. Therefore the climate in this part of the world is chilly and even cold, especially during the night. Winters can be a rough time to come in this area. The weather reaches freezing point and most of the lodges can be shut down. The snow may make the scenery beautiful but trekking on the trail can be a really slippery affair. Monsoon is another season which can be a nightmare for the trekkers. The route is muddy, slippery and unexpected, while the views are also clouded. Walking a steep terrain carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat can be horrid experience for you. 

So we have decided. After years of trekking in the region, we have classified the best season to visit Poon Hill.  Spring, the time between March to May, caresses the Himalayan region with warm weather and a cool breeze. The sky is blue and the views are nothing short of spectacular. This is the peak season for a trek when most of the trekkers decide and take the venture. Autumn, which runs from September to November is another good season for the Poon Hill trek. Just after the monsoons, the sky will be cleared and brings a cooling breeze as you make the climb. This makes way for a more spectacular view of the mountains and the surroundings.

[readbookywooks]

THE SPELL BEGINS TO BREAK

Now we must go back to Mr and Mrs Beaver and the three other children. As soon as Mr Beaver said, "There's no time to lose," everyone began bundling themselves into coats, except Mrs Beaver, who started picking up sacks and laying them on the table and said: "Now, Mr Beaver, just reach down that ham. And here's a packet of tea, and there's sugar, and some matches. And if someone will get two or three loaves out of the crock over there in the corner." "What are you doing, Mrs Beaver?" exclaimed Susan. "Packing a load for each of us, dearie," said Mrs Beaver very coolly. "You didn't think we'd set out on a journey with nothing to eat, did you?" "But we haven't time!" said Susan, buttoning the collar of her coat. "She may be here any minute." "That's what I say," chimed in Mr Beaver. "Get along with you all," said his wife. "Think it over, Mr Beaver. She can't be here for quarter of an hour at least." "But don't we want as big a start as we can possibly get," said Peter, "if we're to reach the Stone Table before her?" "You've got to remember that, Mrs Beaver," said Susan. "As soon as she has looked in here and finds we're gone she'll be off at top speed." "That she will," said Mrs Beaver. "But we can't get there before her whatever we do, for she'll be on a sledge and we'll be walking." "Then - have we no hope?" said Susan. "Now don't you get fussing, there's a dear," said Mrs Beaver, "but just get half a dozen clean handkerchiefs out of the drawer. 'Course we've got a hope. We can't get there before her but we can keep under cover and go by ways she won't expect and perhaps we'll get through." "That's true enough, Mrs Beaver," said her husband. "But it's time we were out of this." "And don't you start fussing either, Mr Beaver," said his wife. "There. That's better. There's five loads and the smallest for the smallest of us: that's you, my dear," she added, looking at Lucy. "Oh, do please come on," said Lucy. "Well, I'm nearly ready now," answered Mrs Beaver at last, allowing her husband to help her into; her snow-boots. "I suppose the sewing machine's took heavy to bring?" "Yes. It is," said Mr Beaver. "A great deal too heavy. And you don't think you'll be able to use it while we're on the run, I suppose?" "I can't abide the thought of that Witch fiddling with it," said Mrs Beaver, "and breaking it or stealing it, as likely as not." "Oh, please, please, please, do hurry!" said the three children. And so at last they all got outside and Mr Beaver locked the door ("It'll delay her a bit," he said) and they set off, all carrying their loads over their shoulders. The snow had stopped and the moon had come out when they began their journey. They went in single file - first Mr Beaver, then Lucy, then Peter, then Susan, and Mrs Beaver last of all. Mr Beaver led them across the dam and on to the right bank of the river and then along a very rough sort of path among the trees right down by the river-bank. The sides of the valley, shining in the moonlight, towered up far above them on either hand. "Best keep down here as much as possible," he said. "She'll have to keep to the top, for you couldn't bring a sledge down here." It would have been a pretty enough scene to look at it through a window from a comfortable armchair; and even as things were, Lucy enjoyed it at first. But as they went on walking and walking - and walking and as the sack she was carrying felt heavier and heavier, she began to wonder how she was going to keep up at all. And she stopped looking at the dazzling brightness of the frozen river with all its waterfalls of ice and at the white masses of the tree-tops and the great glaring moon and the countless stars and could only watch the little short legs of Mr Beaver going pad-pad-pad-pad through the snow in front of her as if they were never going to stop. Then the moon disappeared and the snow began to fall once more. And at last Lucy was so tired that she was almost asleep and walking at the same time when suddenly she found that Mr Beaver had turned away from the river-bank to the right and was leading them steeply uphill into the very thickest bushes. And then as she came fully awake she found that Mr Beaver was just vanishing into a little hole in the bank which had been almost hidden under the bushes until you were quite on top of it. In fact, by the time she realized what was happening, only his short flat tail was showing. Lucy immediately stooped down and crawled in after him. Then she heard noises of scrambling and puffing and panting behind her and in a moment all five of them were inside. "Wherever is this?" said Peter's voice, sounding tired and pale in the darkness. (I hope you know what I mean by a voice sounding pale.) "It's an old hiding-place for beavers in bad times," said Mr Beaver, "and a great secret. It's not much of a place but we must get a few hours' sleep." "If you hadn't all been in such a plaguey fuss when we were starting, I'd have brought some pillows," said Mrs Beaver. It wasn't nearly such a nice cave as Mr Tumnus's, Lucy thought - just a hole in the ground but dry and earthy. It was very small so that when they all lay down they were all a bundle of clothes together, and what with that and being warmed up by their long walk they were really rather snug. If only the floor of the cave had been a little smoother! Then Mrs Beaver handed round in the dark a little flask out of which everyone drank something - it made one cough and splutter a little and stung the throat, but it also made you feel deliciously warm after you'd swallowed it and everyone went straight to sleep. It seemed to Lucy only the next minute (though really it was hours and hours later) when she woke up feeling a little cold and dreadfully stiff and thinking how she would like a hot bath. Then she felt a set of long whiskers tickling her cheek and saw the cold daylight coming in through the mouth of the cave. But immediately after that she was very wide awake indeed, and so was everyone else. In fact they were all sitting up with their mouths and eyes wide open listening to a sound which was the very sound they'd all been thinking of (and sometimes imagining they heard) during their walk last night. It was a sound of jingling bells. Mr Beaver was out of the cave like a flash the moment he heard it. Perhaps you think, as Lucy thought for a moment, that this was a very silly thing to do? But it was really a very sensible one. He knew he could scramble to the top of the bank among bushes and brambles without being seen; and he wanted above all things to see which way the Witch's sledge went. The others all sat in the cave waiting and wondering. They waited nearly five minutes. Then they heard something that frightened them very much. They heard voices. "Oh," thought Lucy, "he's been seen. She's caught him!" Great was their surprise when a little later, they heard Mr Beaver's voice calling to them from just outside the cave. "It's all right," he was shouting. "Come out, Mrs Beaver. Come out, Sons and Daughters of Adam. It's all right! It isn't Her!" This was bad grammar of course, but that is how beavers talk when they are excited; I mean, in Narnia - in our world they usually don't talk at all. So Mrs Beaver and the children came bundling out of the cave, all blinking in the daylight, and with earth all over them, and looking very frowsty and unbrushed and uncombed and with the sleep in their eyes. "Come on!" cried Mr Beaver, who was almost dancing with delight. "Come and see! This is a nasty knock for the Witch! It looks as if her power is already crumbling." "What do you mean, Mr Beaver?" panted Peter as they all scrambled up the steep bank of the valley together. "Didn't I tell you," answered Mr Beaver, "that she'd made it always winter and never Christmas? Didn't I tell you? Well, just come and see!" And then they were all at the top and did see. It was a sledge, and it was reindeer with bells on their harness. But they were far bigger than the Witch's reindeer, and they were not white but brown. And on the sledge sat a person whom everyone knew the moment they set eyes on him. He was a huge man. in a bright red robe (bright as hollyberries) with a hood that had fur inside it and a great white beard, that fell like a foamy waterfall over his chest. Everyone knew him because, though you see people of his sort only in Narnia, you see pictures of them and hear them talked about even in our world - the world on this side of the wardrobe door. But when you really see them in Narnia it is rather different. Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn't find it quite like that. He was so big, and so glad, and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt very glad, but also solemn. "I've come at last," said he. "She has kept me out for a long time, but I have got in at last. Aslan is on the move. The Witch's magic is weakening." And Lucy felt running through her that deep shiver of gladness which you only get if you are being solemn and still. "And now," said Father Christmas, "for your presents. There is a new and better sewing machine for you, Mrs Beaver. I will drop it in your house as, I pass." "If you please, sir," said Mrs Beaver, making a curtsey. "It's locked up." "Locks and bolts make no difference to me," said Father Christmas. "And as for you, Mr Beaver, when you get home you will find your dam finished and mended and all the leaks stopped and a new sluicegate fitted." Mr Beaver was so pleased that he opened his mouth very wide and then found he couldn't say anything at all. "Peter, Adam's Son," said Father Christmas. "Here, sir," said Peter. "These are your presents," was the answer, "and they are tools not toys. The time to use them is perhaps near at hand. Bear them well." With these words he handed to Peter a shield and a sword. The shield was the colour of silver and across it there ramped a red lion, as bright as a ripe strawberry at the moment when you pick it. The hilt of the sword was of gold and it had a sheath and a sword belt and everything it needed, and it was just the right size and weight for Peter to use. Peter was silent and solemn as he received these gifts, for he felt they were a very serious kind of present. "Susan, Eve's Daughter," said Father Christmas. "These are for you," and he handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a little ivory horn. "You must use the bow only in great need," he said, "for I do not mean you to fight in the battle. It does not easily miss. And when you put this horn to your lips; and blow it, then, wherever you are, I think help of some kind will come to you." Last of all he said, "Lucy, Eve's Daughter," and Lucy came forward. He gave her a little bottle of what looked like glass (but people said afterwards that it was made of diamond) and a small dagger. "In this bottle," he said, "there is cordial made of the juice of one of the fireflowers that grow in the mountains of the sun. If you or any of your friends is hurt, a few drops of this restore them. And the dagger is to defend yourse at great need. For you also are not to be in battle." "Why, sir?" said Lucy. "I think - I don't know but I think I could be brave enough." "That is not the point," he said. "But battles are ugly when women fight. And now" - here he suddenly looked less grave - "here is something for the moment for you all!" and he brought out (I suppose from the big bag at his back, but nobody quite saw him do it) a large tray containing five cups and saucers, a bowl of lump sugar, a jug of cream, and a great big teapot all sizzling and piping hot. Then he cried out "Merry Christmas! Long live the true King!" and cracked his whip, and he and the reindeer and the sledge and all were out of sight before anyone realized that they had started. Peter had just drawn his sword out of its sheath and was showing it to Mr Beaver, when Mrs Beaver said: "Now then, now then! Don't stand talking there till the tea's got cold. Just like men. Come and help to carry the tray down and we'll have breakfast. What a mercy I thought of bringing the bread-knife." So down the steep bank they went and back to the cave, and Mr Beaver cut some of the bread and ham into sandwiches and Mrs Beaver poured out the tea and everyone enjoyed themselves. But long before they had finished enjoying themselves Mr Beaver said, "Time to be moving on now."