If Ever a Wizable Wiz There Was, the Wizard of Oz is One Because...

The last few weeks have been spent working, training for the Amsterdam Marathon next weekend, and stressing frantically over plans for my daughters 3rd birthday party.  Last year, we elected to have a Gruffalo party, and as she hasn't really forgotten it (nor the parents of the other children), we decided to have a Wizard of Oz party this time round.

Once we knew we were going to host the party in the local church hall on Shooters Hill road, the problem arose as to what to do, who to invite, and how to decorate the room.  All hands were on deck for the next couple of weeks as this was sorted out.  To say we've had a scarecrow sat at the dinner table, and bags of tins cluttering the front room, not to mention pictures of lions and witches on the walls, it is safe to assume this wasn't a small scale operation.

She was born on that very spot

A food list had to be drawn up, what games to play, who and how the cake was going to be made.  All this was worth while in the end though, as we met the expectations of wife, parents, and more importantly the little 'Dorothy' for the day in Olive.  Everyone involved put in an effort including all the children that dressed up for the occasion...

Someone got a new bicycle

They played stuff the scarecrow

There was a house for them to colour in

Pin the heart to the Tin Man

The yellow brick road looking broken and in place in South London

Time for food

The birthday cake

Lollipop cakes

Scarecrow and Tin Man enjoying a lollipop cake

Dorothy; Scarecrow and Tin Man

A lovely card from one of the kids

Lion; a good witch Glenda and Tin Man

Tiring work for all involved

Even Tin Man had a late night home

The Great Langdale Half Marathon

The time had come around when one of my drunken evening moments of madness caught me up, and I was having to travel to the Langdale Valley in the Lake District to partake in the Great Langdale Half Marathon.  I had images of a beautiful setting, with undulating hills, as well as a perfect weekend to myself when I booked it.  In reflection, I would say undulating hills was stretching the truth somewhat, but all the other boxes were ticked.  So on a Thursday evening after having a meal with an old friend, I made my way to Victoria Coach station, and took the overnight bus to Preston, where I was to catch a connecting train to Windermere Friday morning.  All else from here was purely whimsical, I just had to get to a campsite in Great Langdale at my own pace, rest up, and be ready for the big day Saturday morning.

Windermere

Sitting at Ambleside Pier

My home from home

The trip up was long and arduous, but I managed to get a lot of broken sleep along the way, and didn't feel too bad when I finally arrived in Windermere.  From here, as it was still early, and there was no-where open for breakfast, I decided to walk to Ambleside and get my fill at the pier on Windermere's (the lake) edge.  I stocked up on provisions, and then managed to find a bus that would take me the whole journey down to the campsite, where I hired a wooden pod for two nights.  It was simplistic, but all I needed to bring was my sleeping and cooking gear, therefore no tent.  It was also rather quaint, spacious, and after I learnt it wasn't ready when I arrived... newly fitted with electricity, therefore coming with a light and a heater, not to mention the all important plug to keep my phone charged throughout.

On learning that I had a wait ahead of me before moving into my little home, the campsite owners were kind enough to look after my large backpack, while I filled a smaller one with what I needed to spent a few hours in the sunshine, up upon the Langdale Pikes... and this was to be a rest day.

Langdale Pikes viewed from Side Pike <click to enlarge>

The Langdale Pikes are a collection of several peaks that form a very picturesque view from the valley.  The complexity in the shape of their tops all grouped so closely together gives the impression of a mountain gone wrong.  I headed up the Old Dungeon Ghyll path towards Loft Crag, then followed the ridge to Pike of Stickle; across to Harrison Stickle, before opting to stay on the edge, and avoid the boggy ground, heading to Pavey Ark, and coming back to ground via Stickle Tarn.

A picture paints a thousand words:

View from Pike of Stickle <click to enlarge>

Harrison Stickle from Loft Crag

Stickle Tarn coming down from Pavey Ark

Harrison Stickle from Stickle Tarn

Pavey Ark from Stickle Tarn

Stickle Ghyll

Lingmoor Fell from Stickle Ghyll

Another view up to the Langdale Pikes

Good morning world

Anyway, I fear I may find myself digressing too much on what I did other than what I ran.  To be fair, it's rude not too, as you can see, all was stunning, and I didn't have much care for anything in the world while I was out there.  I read up on the weather forecast for the next day, as you do, and it read that it was going to be far nicer the next day.  So with that comforting thought in mind, I supped a few ales, and ate a nice pie at the local pub, and headed off to a nice pre-heated cabin with the anticipation of what the morning may bring.

I wasn't to be disappointed, and with a hop and a skip in my step, I was soon up, showered and fed ready for what the day had in store for me.  The deal with this event is pretty much two things; a/. it is not by any stretch of the imagination going to be easy, so don't worry about your time, and b/. you could enter the one lap half marathon, or if you are crazy enough, opt for the two lap full marathon.  I am in training for a full marathon, so didn't fancy the idea of doing the one lap twice over... and with hindsight, stick to this principal.

After the first kilometre, it was simply one direction

It was sunny, little breeze in the air, but just chilly enough to not consider things to be all too warm for the event.  As approximately 500 runners all milled together on a tight country road, with traffic queueing in frustration that they weren't able to get to their start point for the days walking, the clock struck noon, and we were unleashed onto the roads proper to complete a circuit with only one way to return... 13.1 miles forwards and round the back of Lingmoor Fell to the start/finish proper.

The first two miles were possibly the hardest I have ever attempted yet, as there was a less gentle ascent over 2km in length.  People were already slowing to a walk as the gradient took its toll.  I insisted on running, but I wasn't catching those walking in front all too quick.  It was slow, and a serious slap in the face to let you know what you had let yourself in for.  Once over the top, a well loved water break was had and the course undulated along until near halfway a marshal stood in the middle of the road and ushered us up a smaller road to the side, which simply went up again for another kilometre.  By this time, I was feeling good, I knew I had coped well so far, so there couldn't be much more they could throw at me.

The route profile, and info for 3 categorised climbs

Could there?  Another evil marshal pointed us away from the main road into Langdale at Skelwith Bridge, that felt like running up a cliff for over 2.5km's.  Coming down the other side wasn't much either, as I tried to not lose too much control.  After, it was just a case of focusing on getting to the finish, which I managed in 1:52:17.  I was very happy with that time, and later discovered I was in the top 121 of half marathon runners (alternatively position 121/367).  It was a great experience, and was run by some great people, who were friendly and helpful in their warnings along the way (e.g. "CAR!!!", "BIKE REAR!", etc).

What better way to celebrate is there than getting rehydrated in a typical fashion:

Done that.  Got the T-Shirt

A Domesticated Male Jamming in the Kitchen

Damson Jam

There comes a rare moment in a mans life when he comes to work on a Monday morning, and feels as though he has spent the entire weekend in the kitchen.  Today, that event has come with me holding my hand up, and laying down such confessions.  

What was it that inspired/ caused me to do such a thing?  I'm not entirely sure, but it may have something to do with having lots of things lying around that need eating, a tidying of the fridge and freezer, and a wife who is persistent on discussing the logistics of our daughters birthday party nearly a month before it is due to take place.

Damsons growing in the tree

It started when Olive and I went blackberry picking, which is an annual thing we all tend to do.  What I wasn't counting on was that the majority of the blackberry bushes in the area were pretty much bare.  Also, when I got Olive to hold the tub while I picked said fruit, after ten minutes I was surprised/ not surprised (delete as applicable) to see there were only five left in there and a sweet girl was looking back at me with tiny black juicy balls smothered around her mouth.  A knowledge of her being happy, and an internal memo to convey the message Julia and I may need to be more vigilant on the toilet department in the morning, We set off looking for something different.

This time I found at the top of our road where there are some allotments, a number of Damson tree's overhanging and dropping fruit onto the pavement.  This was the chance for something new.  There was no chance she could eat her way through what we could get off those trees!  So we got to work, I pulled a branch down, and she pulled off the best Damsons, until we had a full bag.

Making the Strawberry Jam

I hate to pick more than you can chew, and as Damsons are quite sharp in their flavour, we kind of broke this rule after the first one.  With this in mind, I decided to make some jam, and with 1.2kg of fruit, we made a lot of jam!  I didn't stop there either, with the fridge being cleared of mouldy jam jars, year old gherkins, and the freezer emptied of a tub of strawberries from a picking session at another time, I got to making some more strawberry jam as well.  It wont stop there either, once some friends have returned the jars of jam that I have given out, and I find some more jars, I also found some frozen blackberries that take us full circle to where I began this piece.  They, will also meet the fate of the big pot, a blast of heat, and a man studiously waiting for the thermometer to hit the word 'JAM', aka 104 C.

My method for making jam is:  Clean some jam jars, and put them in the oven at 150 C to sterilise; weigh the fruit, and then weigh 90-100% of the weight in sugar, and approx 1/3 of the weight in water.  Heat the fruit in the water up until it gets soft.  Add the sugar in intervals to dissolve.  Add a few tsp's of lemon juice (if your sugar isn't jam sugar that should contain pectin).  Plonk the thermometer in, and crank up the heat until it gets to 104 C.  Take off the heat, spoon away the scum, and pour straight into the jars (which will already be warm, so wont crack).

So tempting when in possession to want to slap someone with this

First effort at filleting a whole salmon

Not being satisfied with jam, the supermarket were practically giving away whole salmon as well, so I managed to hold of one approx 18" long (so fairly small), and lay my hand at working out how you fillet such a thing.  The first effort wasn't pretty, but still in one piece, the second effort came off swiftly.  I then portioned them both up into bags for five separate meals at home.

I also bought some Spelt flour to bake some bread, but that didn't quite go to plan.  It is edible, but I wasn't happy with how compact the crumb was.  I will be sure to get that to shape on the next loaf... watch this space.

An Impromptu Trip to the Paralympics

Sky over the Olympic Stadium

It is always nice as a parent to find your child inviting themselves into your bed at a more civilised hour of the day, rather than an hour before the alarm clock rudely awakes you from a stupor.  On this occasion, both Julia and I were wondering whether to take Olive onto the cable car that rides from North Greenwich across the river into Canning Town.  It is one of those forms of transport that has been designed with the Olympic games in mind, and alike anything similar, you have to give it a go to see what it is like.

With this in mind, I whimsically pulled out the laptop, and checked to see if there was an off chance of catching some Paralympic action, no matter what event that we could take her to.  After a couple of clinics, there it was, a chance to watch athletics, with the catch being the session was for 7-10pm.  I bought them anyway, and the day was set, although never quite went to plan.

The morning chores were all complete with the shopping done etc, and then we got home for a late lunch before I realised it was recommended we arrive around 2.5hours before the start time.  The planned attempts of an afternoon child nap went out of the window, and the trip to the cable car was ditched as we feared we wouldn't get through the queue in time.  We were running on a schedule to arrive with an hour to spare by the time we left, and as with fortune favouring the brave, it all went swimmingly.

We got to take a meander around the Olympic Park, grab many people passing by with backpacks that said 'beer' (that should read, I did), settled into our seats at our leisure before the evening took hold.  There were many World Records broken, a couple of Irish athletes ran for gold medals, and more importantly Olive didn't seem fazed about being in a stadium that looked full for its 80,000 capacity, enjoying everything until she fell asleep around 9.30 when we decided to call it quits and carry her home to bed...

Biting her medal she won at her nursery's mini-Olympics

Panoramic view from our seats <click to enlarge>

Cheering on the runners

Hitting the wall

Faith in the Weatherman for a day on Great Gable

There comes a time once a year, where I organise a trip for a couple of grown males to get together in order to escape the confines of matrimony and motherhood by scarpering off to one of the mountainous regions and 'bagging' a peak or more.  This year was no exception, except there was only one taker as a couple bailed out at the last minute, and the other usual suspect happens to be loved up to the hilt, and currently incommunicable living the dream in China.

Hardknott Pass, spot the car.   Not my pic

There was much time spent eyeing every mountain weather forecast of the British Isles, as it mostly referenced rain, rain, and even heavier rain.  Without having a place booked to erect our tent; a long journey to meet my friend Branden in Cleethorpes; a random meeting of one Mr. Brown, amongst others; resulting in a serious amount of beer and sambuca, coupled with about 5 hours sleep and the knowledge I may have upset Branden's wife by not seeing her or the family all weekend... I was ready to let him sit in the drivers seat, and play the role of the suffering nightmare passenger giving directions to the Lake District whilst popping Co-dydramol to ease away the pain.

The friendly welcome leading onto the Hardknott Pass

The highlight of the drive was the sight of Branden's face trying to keep control of his car over the Hardknott Pass.  This road links the Dudden and Eskdale Valley's together, and is regarded as one of the steepest roads in the country.  It twists, it turns, it scares you when a car is coming at you, it makes you wish your handbrake was tighter and pray the clutch does its job.  It is closed for winter, it is approximately 30 degrees in gradient, it is an ambition of some silly cyclists, who arrive to conquer, and look worse pushing a bike up a very steep hill.  In essence, he wasn't happy with my choice of route when he just got a brand new company car a matter of weeks ago.

I chose to head to Wast Water, and hope we find a campsite along there with a view of tackling some of the larger peaks in the Lake District that I hadn't been up before.  It was 4th time lucky on the campsite front, and it happened to be right next to a cracking pub, where I decided to put my alcoholic daemons to rest with a gammon steak and a couple of beers.  I nearly passed out though when I saw the steak.  I didn't read the part where it was 16oz!  A whole pound of pig to eat was simply too much, but it was consumed, we can't let the little squealer die in vain.  I was gutted to not have my camera with me to prove this.

Branden and Great Gable at the start

The forecast of rain persisted throughout, but our little window of opportunity was for the next day where it said 'rain will lift above 750m in the Southern and Western fells in the afternoon, raising to cloud free summits later'.  For this reason, we were in no hurry to get started, but were soon on the paths of Wasdale Head heading towards the cloud that enveloped Great Gable for what turned out to be a perfect walk given the conditions.

It was a steady walk up, in a very fine drizzle.  The cloud stayed put, but occasionally, there was always a slight glimpse of something somewhere that looked high up.  People we passed all gave their view of the top, "it's horrible up there, nothing but rain".  Still, we were steadfast, and stood by the weather man with the faith that they are never wrong (no comment required). We were also sure every now and then, even in the thick of it, we could occasionally see below into the valley, and see a lake or another fell nearby.  We knew the clouds were lifting.

Once we got to Beck Head tarn, it was a simple task of taking a bearing with whatever features became intermittently visible, and then scramble the final 200m to the top.  It was cold, it wasn't wet, the views could be voguely described as 'fifty shades of grey'.  People came, said "hi" then left as quick.  There was a man there itching to get a photo, but gave up despite our protests that the cloud had been rising with us throughout.  We ate some food, waited, waited some more, then decided to take our pictures on the top:

Muggy as I stood 899m up on Great Gable

There's some water over there

Cloud free summit, and just a few chosen fell left

Wasdale from Great Gable, the Scafell's left, Western Fells right.  Wast Water centre

The only people we met before heading down.  Crazy fools

We were on our own, and changed all plans for an easy route back down.  We like to push ourselves at times, and the sight of two guys carrying their bikes to the top with a fun packed trip back in mind made us decided to go down the hard way.  In fact, if I could see where I was, we would have gone up this way, as we both like a good hands on scramble.  We took a very steep descent heading towards Napes Needle, but coming out the wrong side of it in between the two large buttresses on a huge amount of scree which to say was loose would sound too easy.  It was steep, and only once we got to grips with stopping ourselves slipping onto our bums all the time, we were relieved.

Before the scramble began

Beginning the descent

Branden finding his way down

This was very good fun, and kept us alert

The view from the climb, a long way down

Once we were out of the worst of it, it was a case of scrambling back to the main path we came up, get to the Wasdale Head Inn, and share some stories with some other walkers.  It turned out, all those that persisted with the weather were glad they did so for the reward of the views that surrounded them.

Looking back at the route down

Great Gable

Wast Water

It was well worth the effort of a lot of hours travelling this weekend, and camping in the rain.  If only to give someone another education when it comes to playing me at Backgammon over beer... I never lose.