Where are you from?

Another Thursday-Pete-walk.

In the late Fifties and early Sixties a loose gang of us assembled at weekends in Langdale and later at Keswick to climb and carouse. At other times  Bradford based members frequented pubs and clubs where live jazz reigned - Elvis and the Beetles were rubbish. Pete was a notable member, and in 1960 he and I had a holiday in the Jotunheim in Norway wandering over glaciers and making a good ascent of Galdhopiggen by a non-tourist route.

As to be expected we all eventually went our different ways. Forty years later I had moved to Arnside (2000)  after losing my wife to Motor Neuron Disease. I joined the gym at the very upmarket Holgates static caravan leisure park at Silverdale. I was supposedly training for my forthcoming GR10 walk (the Pyrenees from Atlantic to Mediterranean).

Working on a rowing machine I started talking to a little guy on the next machine:

"Do you do some running?"

"No, but I've done a lot of climbing and walking"

"Where do you come from?'

"West Yorkshire"

"Were you in the Yorkshire Mountaineering Club?"

"Yes, What's your name?"

"Conrad. Conrad Robinson"

"Bloody hell, stop rowing! Put your hand there mate. It's Pete. Pete Mansbridge!"

And so, not recognising each other we had re-met - the conversation was heard by other gym members creating a major talking point for ages afterwards.

Pete and his wife Liz had a static holiday caravan on the site, but shortly after they bought a house in Arnside and Pete and I have climbed twenty eight Munros together, walked the Lancaster canal and had our Thursday walks now running into hundreds I reckon. I also learned from Pete that another member of the original gang was living in Arnside, Pete Hindle and his wife Linda, and Pete H. joins us from time to time on our walks as he did yesterday on a pleasant road walk starting at Docker with snow covered Lakeland, Shap and Howgill fells in the various backgrounds as our route circled.

PLEASE CLICK TO ENLARGE

The two Petes and Docker viaduct - not far from the Grayrigg derailment disaster in 2007

Distant Whinfell Beacon

Zoom to the Howgills. A bright start had turned into a dull day

Me and Pete somewhere in Wales circa 1960. Pete was renowned for his beret, his long super quality Norwegian stockings and immaculately maintained Italian boots, all contrasting with my generally sloppy appearance.

Six years later

Yesterday  Gayle,  Click for Mick and Gayles blog , called in after her walk round my domain, and on her way to Scotland. Unfortunately Mick was absent due to some current employment.

It is unusual to make strong friends later in life, but Mick and Gayle are an exception for me. We talked without a single break for over three hours, but importantly we both talked and we both listened having a genuine interest in each others topics and anecdotes and that is the measure of good conversation and friendship.

My memory of our first meeting on day fifteen of my Land's End to John 'o Groats walk is still vivid but for you readers here is the relevant extract from my journal:

Wednesday 30th april 2008

Bawdrip to Cheddar

17.5 miles

Towards the end of this day I had just negotiated what became in my mind the worst stile of the whole trip. There was a gap in a hedge about six feet wide with a difficult stile descending via a nearly vertical mud bank about six feet down to a complete and unavoidable mud bath, and then ascending to another stile even more difficult than its partner, and all this, for reasons I can’t now remember had necessitated removing my rucksack.

I was just walking up the field trying to recover from this trauma when I realised I was being followed by two other walkers. They turned out to be Mick and Gayle who were also walking the End to End, and we walked together with some minor navigation problems due to our enthusiastic chattering, to arrive at the camp site at Cheddar. Mick and Gayle turned out to be a great couple who were doing the walk for the Macmillan charity. I think they will be visiting me at Arnside sometime in the future. Their planning had been meticulous with a large spreadsheet detailing all accommodation on their route, and they had also produced at home a large number of dehydrated meals using a proprietary dehydrating system. The meals looked very good.

And later on  my blog:

...we continued to meet each other from time to time until they took a different route via Offa’s Dyke from Knighton, but we have remained in touch by mobile  since…"

The offending stile.
Mick and Gayle were perhaps a hundred yards behind, but I hadn't seen them at this stage

Well, that was six years ago and we have had many pleasurable exchanges since, and long may they continue.

There are still proper people about

Regular readers will know I lost The Hat which has accompanied me since 2005 on many adventures and thousands of miles, and as such is a cherished friend - see:  Two good friends . My chapeau was left at The Black Bull in Bentham on the first night of my recent walk from Arnside to Wetherby. Next morning, bareheaded, I  met a young lady called Andrea twenty minutes into my walk and she lived in Bentham and knew the pub people and my camp site hosts and promised to try and rescue TH.

This morning a package arrived in the post and we were reunited.

Many thanks to:

Andrea of Bentham

The Black Bull, Bentham

Curlew Camping, Masongill, Bentham. 

Curlew is a small private site, well maintained with a friendly welcome, and I would certainly recommend them.

My best wishes to all you lot away on the TGO - hang onto your hats.

Two good friends

I have known Pete, who is a few years older than me, for fifty years. We climbed together in the sixties, and more recently Pete bagged over thirty Munros with me. Now we walk locally  at more leisurely pace reflecting our advancing years.

Pete on the Ben Lawers round

Pete  treats me with fatherly concern, offering advice and parental criticism. When motoring I am admonished for not taking off my coat, and mildly rebuked for slightly exceeding speed limits. When walking uphill I am advised about the merits of pacing oneself, and in my frustration and grumbling at slow recovery from knee replacement I am gently urged to be patient.

Around Easter I start wearing shorts, and don The Hat.

The Hat was bought in La Rochelle in 2005 on a sailing trip with my two brothers. Nick, the one who is now unwell, has been a great sailor, and when Previous Hat was blown into the briny he made an heroic man-overboard attempt at its rescue, only to be thwarted at the last moment  taking avoiding action against a delinquent motor launch - Previous Hat then lazily zig-zagged itself into the depths of the Bay of Biscay.

The Hat has since accompanied me on thousands of miles of walking in France, Scotland England and Wales, and I would be in mourning like Queen Victoria if I lost it.

The Hat on the last Munro summit (Sgurr Morr - Loch Quoich)

The Hat at John 'o Groats

Shorts and The Hat promote humorous disapproval from Pete, but half a century of friendship overcomes our few differences, and the  bond seems to grow stronger as we battle on beyond our three score years and ten.