We went walking in North Wales yesterday. The day was glorious - fantastic blue skies, the sun was shining and there a lovely chilly breeze to keep us cool – we’re not as fit as we used to be and therefore tend to get a little hot and sweaty on the way up to the 3000ft mountain trig point.
Myself, Hubby, Hubby’s best mate John and his wife Twirl (AKA Shirley) set off from the car park on the outskirts of Llanberis, laden down with 30 litre rucksacks, gallons of water to keep our unfit bodies from dehydrating, our take away sandwiches from the fabulous (or ‘fabalus’ as my Welsh friend Siân pronounces it) Pete’s Eats, our waterproof clothing and survival gear ‘just in case’. Apart from that is, Our Twirl who carries no rucksack, but has a little bun bag which we call Karriless, not Karrimor. To be fair, our Twirl is very very petite and the usual size rucksack is often longer in length than Twirl’s body – the rucksack becomes a little of a hindrance when scrambling up rocks and scree. John assures us, she has everything needed in the bun bag – medical kit ie plaster, rope ie a lace, survival bag ie one of those foil marathon type blankets, whistle and lipstick! : )
Prior to each walk, ‘the boys’ get out the map, discuss and debate the landscape and scale of the mountains and repeatedly inform us whether or not it’s a Diff (difficult), E Diff (extremely difficult), V Diff (very difficult) etc climb and then finally plot out the route of the day. They decide how many peaks we’re going to attempt and sort out all the escape routes, just in case the weather is too bad to carry on, or we’re too shattered or fall ill or injured in anyway.
Off we go, walking along, huffing and puffing, stopping for the occasional fag break, wondering why this mountain walking business is getting more and more difficult as we get older (and doing it less frequently by the way). Twirl, who doesn’t smoke and only carries a bun bag (which sometimes finds its way into John’s rucksack!!) springs along, bouncing from one rock and boulder to another and always, without exception, some massive cheery grin on her sweatless face.
I’m not bitter! : )
Myself, Hubby, Hubby’s best mate John and his wife Twirl (AKA Shirley) set off from the car park on the outskirts of Llanberis, laden down with 30 litre rucksacks, gallons of water to keep our unfit bodies from dehydrating, our take away sandwiches from the fabulous (or ‘fabalus’ as my Welsh friend Siân pronounces it) Pete’s Eats, our waterproof clothing and survival gear ‘just in case’. Apart from that is, Our Twirl who carries no rucksack, but has a little bun bag which we call Karriless, not Karrimor. To be fair, our Twirl is very very petite and the usual size rucksack is often longer in length than Twirl’s body – the rucksack becomes a little of a hindrance when scrambling up rocks and scree. John assures us, she has everything needed in the bun bag – medical kit ie plaster, rope ie a lace, survival bag ie one of those foil marathon type blankets, whistle and lipstick! : )
Prior to each walk, ‘the boys’ get out the map, discuss and debate the landscape and scale of the mountains and repeatedly inform us whether or not it’s a Diff (difficult), E Diff (extremely difficult), V Diff (very difficult) etc climb and then finally plot out the route of the day. They decide how many peaks we’re going to attempt and sort out all the escape routes, just in case the weather is too bad to carry on, or we’re too shattered or fall ill or injured in anyway.
Off we go, walking along, huffing and puffing, stopping for the occasional fag break, wondering why this mountain walking business is getting more and more difficult as we get older (and doing it less frequently by the way). Twirl, who doesn’t smoke and only carries a bun bag (which sometimes finds its way into John’s rucksack!!) springs along, bouncing from one rock and boulder to another and always, without exception, some massive cheery grin on her sweatless face.
I’m not bitter! : )
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