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Source: http://www.markhorrell.com/blog/feed

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<title>Trekking Ladakh’s Langtang and Chang valleys: the videos</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/trekking-ladakhs-langtang-and-chang-valleys-the-videos/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/trekking-ladakhs-langtang-and-chang-valleys-the-videos/#respond</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 01 May 2024 15:35:17 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Trip reports]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[dzo jongo]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[himalayas]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[india]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[ladakh]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mountain films]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[trekking]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[trekking peaks]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16900</guid>
<description><![CDATA[I left you a month ago having climbed the easy trekking peak Dzo Jongo East and made a valiant attempt on Dzo Jongo West in a whiteout. With the peaks happily under our belt, we experienced four days of trekking joy as we crossed high passes linking the Langtang and Chang valleys in a landscape that changed with every day.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[It’s time for the third and final instalment of my critically acclaimed… I mean chronically derided Ladakh video diaries. As you prepare to have your ribs tickled, here’s a quick reminder of the story so far.
Back in August and September 2022, Edita and I embarked on our first (and still our only) Himalayan trek since the COVID pandemic, to Ladakh in northern India. Also known as Little Tibet, Ladakh is a desert region north of the Himalayan divide, comprising red granite peaks rising above 6,000m and split apart by crashing river valleys. It was Edita’s first visit, and my first since 2007. We chose the Markha Valley as our destination, a popular and accessible 5-day trek not far from Ladakh’s capital Leh. We extended the journey to climb some trekking peaks and cross a pair of high passes into more remote valleys.
I left you a month ago having climbed the easy trekking peak Dzo Jongo East and made a valiant attempt on Dzo Jongo West in a whiteout. With the peaks happily under our belt, we experienced four days of trekking joy as we crossed high passes linking the Langtang and Chang valleys in a landscape that changed with every day.
The full playlist involves 3 videos and 21 minutes of footage. You can <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDUjJ5gZretiW7ppN7jv_6Mqd1sahM0vf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">watch the whole thing in one go</a> here, and if you’re a glutton for punishment and you’ve really got nothing better to do with your time you can watch all 76 breathtaking minutes of the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDUjJ5gZrethMM3lYRmgXaMTfvE25hiwr" target="_blank" rel="noopener">complete Ladakh 2022 playlist</a> here.
You can also <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/albums/72177720302212632" target="_blank" rel="noopener">see all my still photos</a> from the trip here. Finally, if you’re more of a reader, you can r<a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2022/wham-bam-langtang-chang-four-days-of-trekking-joy/">ead my blog post</a> about this section of the trek here.
<h3>1 Dzo Jongo base camp to Kang Yatze meadows</h3>
<iframe title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QuWjLGVDWtQ?si=HTI_LqQ1BkyiCcap" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuWjLGVDWtQ" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
The gentle walk from Dzo Jongo base camp to our campsite beneath the north side of Kang Yatze gave us a grandstand view of the climbing routes on both mountains.
Kang Yatze I looked as desperate as ever, with many hanging seracs and much objective danger on the main climbing route. Kang Yatze II, which almost everybody else was climbing, looked straightforward but a little boring, and not much of a summit. From the trail we also had a glimpse of the backside of Dzo Jongo West, and the cliff that we could easily have stumbled over in a whiteout the previous day (<a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/dzo-jongo-east-and-dzo-jongo-west-the-videos/">see the previous set of videos</a>).
The day’s walk ended at one of the most picturesque locations I’ve ever had the pleasure of camping in. We named our campsite Kang Yatze meadows. As well as a front-row seat beneath Kang Yatze II, we could look down upon the Markha Valley and line upon line of remote peaks disappearing towards the horizon.
<h3>2 Crossing the high passes of Langtang, Ladakh</h3>
<iframe title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BKIXE4ztAtY?si=kMtb9O8EuET0eg1F" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKIXE4ztAtY" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
From our campsite at Kang Yatze meadows, where pikas scuttled across the grass, we crossed a high pass, the Konka Nongpo La (5,160m) into the Langtang Valley, a continuation of the Markha Valley where we started our trek. We saw many blue sheep grazing and climbing among the steep valley walls.
After a night camped in rough vegetation beside the river, the Langtang Valley became increasingly barren as we ascended slowly to a second high pass, the Zalung Karpo La (5,200m). The top was like the surface of the moon, with every scrap of vegetation far below, but the view was magnificent. We surveyed the Kang Yatze massif from the opposite side and a panorama of rocky summits to the west.
Our penultimate campsite of the trek was set in another peaceful location among verdant pasture, with cathedral-like peaks to the south.
<h3>3 Gorges and oases of the Chang Valley, Ladakh</h3>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLmb_B2jc3A" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
The final day of our trek saw us ascending through an oasis of willow trees trapped between the towering red cliffs of a narrow gorge. There were many river crossings, and I got so fed up with taking my shoes and socks off that I ended up wading through them with my boots on.
Our trek ended at the outpost of Dat, an incongruous cluster of pre-fabricated buildings set within a barren, mountainous landscape. Our final campsite was a bit of a dump, in stark contrast to every other place that we’d stayed, but we were relaxed and happy at the end of a rewarding trek.
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<title>Walking the Preseli Hills and Pembrokeshire Coast</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/walking-the-preseli-hills-and-pembrokeshire-coast/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/walking-the-preseli-hills-and-pembrokeshire-coast/#respond</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 17 Apr 2024 15:34:17 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Trip reports]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[britain]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[county tops]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[long-distance trails]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[pembrokeshire coast path]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[preseli hills]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[wales]]></category>
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<description><![CDATA[With crappy weather on the cards for the Easter weekend, we decided to do something a bit more relaxing. I had never been to the Pembrokeshire Coast, with its rugged cliffs and secluded coves, nor walked the coastal Preseli Hills that were the source of the giant stones of Stonehenge.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[This time last year, the Easter holiday weekend fell a week later, and we enjoyed a period of blistering spring sunshine in the Lake District. We raced across hilltops around <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/04/">Grasmoor</a> and <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/the-buttermere-round-an-epic-walk-for-sensible-people/">Buttermere</a> in conditions as bright as any summer’s day.
A year later and we could be living in another country. It’s been so wet here in the Cotswolds that even the trout have been taking swimming lessons. The river through our garden is still a thundering torrent when it should be a bubbling brook by now. Our garden on the floodplain is often a bog for four months until we get it back in early March. This year the whole valley bottom has been underwater since October, which the farmer up the hill tells me is unheard of. Down the road in Gloucester the cricket season has just got underway, but <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2024/apr/04/rain-rain-go-away-groundstaff-fear-worst-on-eve-of-new-cricket-season" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Gloucestershire’s ground is still underwater</a>. There are going to be a lot of ducks this season.
<figure id="attachment_16887" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16887" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53625316371/in/album-72177720315866991/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16887 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-pembrokeshire-foel-cwmcerwyn-.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Foel Cwmcerwyn (536m) from the campsite at Maenclochog" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-pembrokeshire-foel-cwmcerwyn-.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-pembrokeshire-foel-cwmcerwyn-.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-pembrokeshire-foel-cwmcerwyn-.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-pembrokeshire-foel-cwmcerwyn-.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-pembrokeshire-foel-cwmcerwyn-.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16887" class="wp-caption-text">Foel Cwmcerwyn (536m) from the campsite at Maenclochog</figcaption></figure>
Alongside the crappy weather, Edita had just returned from an exhausting two months working in Liberia, Angola and Central African Republic, so we decided to do something a bit more relaxing this Easter. Scanning our shelf of walking guides, my eyes alighted on the Vertebrate guidebook <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1910240982/?tags=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Day Walks on the Pembrokeshire Coast</a>. I realised I had never been to the Pembrokeshire Coast on the western tip of Wales, a place renowned for its giant cliffs and secluded coves with hidden beaches.
The boundary of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park hugs the coastline for most of its length, except in the north, where it makes a short foray inland to embrace the Preseli Hills, a tiny range of open, rolling moorland overlooking the Irish Sea. The Preseli Hills measure about 12km north to south and 15km east to west. They contain 15 peaks over 300m in height and reach a high point at 536m on the summit of Foel Cwmcerwyn, the highest point in the historic county of Pembrokeshire.
We learned in primary school that the Preseli Hills are believed to be the source of the giant bluestones used to build the ancient monument of Stonehenge, 240km away on Salisbury Plain. We were taught that the giant standing stones were <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/24723927496/in/album-72157664963723410/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">rolled across hill and valley on logs</a>. It seemed improbable even to an 8-year-old schoolchild. It must have been one of the most tedious journeys that Britons have ever made. It reminds me of the time a few years later when I found myself crawling home from the Students’ Union.
<figure id="attachment_16888" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16888" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53625566528/in/album-72177720315866991/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16888 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-pembrokeshire-foel-feddau-.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Beneath the summit of Foel Cwmcerwyn with Foel Feddau below" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-pembrokeshire-foel-feddau-.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-pembrokeshire-foel-feddau-.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-pembrokeshire-foel-feddau-.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-pembrokeshire-foel-feddau-.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-pembrokeshire-foel-feddau-.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16888" class="wp-caption-text">Beneath the summit of Foel Cwmcerwyn with Foel Feddau below</figcaption></figure>
It was further than I imagined to the western tip of Wales. It took us about four hours to get there from the Cotswolds. Google Maps was having one of its indecisive moods when it changes the route just as you’re approaching the next junction. We ended up taking a scenic route through the Forest of Dean and across the Welsh Valleys, including a diversion into the mining town of Merthyr Tydfil to avoid traffic on the ring road. Merthyr Tydfil is scenic for its setting beneath bleak hills if not for its architecture. The bypass evidently hadn’t bypassed enough of it, as we crept along in roadworks for the next ten miles. Had we been going the other direction, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see druids overtaking us rolling logs.
I phoned the campsite in Maenclochog earlier that morning, and the owner had warned me not to drive our car into the main field unless we wanted to sink it. We managed to find a patch of grass in the caravan area that wasn’t floating and pitched the tent. Later that evening, we had a few pints down a cosy locals pub called the Globe Inn. There were two tiny bars, one with a pool table that seemed impossible to play a shot on without knocking over someone’s pint. In the other bar some friendly locals who had been talking in Welsh squeezed onto a single table to allow us some space. I was surprised to find that I could understand quite a lot of their conversation. It turns out that some phrases, such as ‘fucking computer games’, are the same in Welsh as they are in English.
I chose two walks from Day Walks on the Pembrokeshire Coast, a somewhat creative title, given that the first walk was far inland. We varied the walk slightly when we discovered we could start from our campsite and stick in an extra peak to complete the three highest in Pembrokeshire. From the porch of our tent we could see gentle contours of Foel Cwmcerwyn rising 3km away to the north, so the idea of jumping in a car and driving to the start in the guidebook seemed silly. The link path was surprisingly well maintained, along a solid farm track to begin with, then along hundreds of metres of boardwalk through boggy woodland before crossing a shoulder of moorland hillside to join the guidebook’s route.
<figure id="attachment_16889" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16889" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53625566283/in/album-72177720315866991/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16889 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-pembrokeshire-foel-eryr-.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Crossing Cwm Pennant with Foel Eryr up ahead" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-pembrokeshire-foel-eryr-.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-pembrokeshire-foel-eryr-.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-pembrokeshire-foel-eryr-.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-pembrokeshire-foel-eryr-.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-pembrokeshire-foel-eryr-.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16889" class="wp-caption-text">Crossing Cwm Pennant with Foel Eryr up ahead</figcaption></figure>
Foel Cwmcerwyn rises above a modest pine woodland called the Pantmaenog Forest. The forest is managed for timber production, but it has a network of forest trails that are open to the public. The quaintly named village of Rosebush nestles on its western side. According to the guidebook we could relax at the end of the walk in the ‘wonderful Tafarn Sinc’, but I had to google the name to discover that this isn’t a health spa or a hot spring, but a pub. Rosebush also has a row of 19th century terraced cottages that were built to house miners working the slate quarries that scar the western slopes of the forest.
We kept to a broad track that skirted the eastern edge of the forest. Down the hill to our right we could see our tent pitched in a field in front of the village. Miles of farmland stretched behind it. The track became increasingly boggy as we approached the bare summit of Foel Cwmcerwyn. A single concrete pillar marked the top where we were greeted by a howling wind. We had a bird’s eye view of the whole Preseli range. Our peak was right on the edge, but it was clearly much higher than any other. Two more peaks on the northern side also stood proud of the others. One of these, Foel Eryr, was on our route. We decided to divert to the other one, Foel Feddau, because it seemed a shame not to when we were so close.
A single pine tree the height of my shoulder stood incongruously on the bare grassy slopes beneath us as we descended from Foel Cwmcerwyn and followed a stub of ridge to Foel Feddau. It was a longer walk across a boggy plateau and the gentle col of Bwlch Pennant to reach the outlying peak of Foel Eryr. The view to our left was obscured by the pines of Pantmaenog Forest, which crept up onto the plateau, but to our right we looked across open grassland and then a strip of farmland to the north Pembrokeshire coast.
Our solitude was rudely interrupted at a car park beside a road that crossed the top of the plateau. Somebody had nailed a drawing of a penguin to a rock (it was probably a puffin, the symbol of Pembrokeshire National Park).
<figure id="attachment_16890" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16890" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53625472141/in/album-72177720315866991/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16890 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-pembrokeshire-coast-path-.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="On the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, looking across Fishguard Bay" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-pembrokeshire-coast-path-.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-pembrokeshire-coast-path-.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-pembrokeshire-coast-path-.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-pembrokeshire-coast-path-.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-pembrokeshire-coast-path-.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16890" class="wp-caption-text">On the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, looking across Fishguard Bay</figcaption></figure>
The summit of Foal Eryr had more to offer than the other two. It was once the site of a bronze age hut and burial cairn, and an observation platform points out features on the horizon. However, the view was blighted by the ugly terraces of Rosebush Quarry biting into the lush green of Pantmaenog Forest. It was too windy to stop for our lunch, so we descended to the north-east in the hope of finding shelter. Shelter there was, but not much else and we ended up having to crouch in a bog to eat our sandwiches.
The rest of the walk was more mundane as we did a big loop, descending into farmland then back up again to rejoin the plateau at Bwlch Pennant. Muddy terrain underfoot and a driving rain into our faces made it a little unpleasant, but the sun finally came out as we descended through Pantmaenog Forest to Rosebush. Tafarn Sinc turned out to be almost as big an eyesore as the nearby quarry, decorated on the outside in – I’m not kidding – sheets of bright pink corrugated iron. The pub interior was pleasantly rustic though, and we enjoyed a quick thirst quencher before returning to our campsite.
It felt like the Preseli Hills were done, but the following day we discovered that the lower hills also have much to offer.
We couldn’t come to the Pembrokeshire Coast without doing a coastal walk, so the following morning we parked beneath Dinas Island on the north coast. Despite its name, Dinas Island is actually a peninsula attached to the mainland by a forested valley. The peninsula slopes upwards towards its northern end, and its highest point is the 142m cliff of Pen y Fan which overlooks the Irish Sea.
<figure id="attachment_16891" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16891" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53625954465/in/album-72177720315866991/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16891 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-pembrokeshire-mynydd-dinas-.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Edita scrambles down from the summit of Mynydd Dinas" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-pembrokeshire-mynydd-dinas-.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-pembrokeshire-mynydd-dinas-.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-pembrokeshire-mynydd-dinas-.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-pembrokeshire-mynydd-dinas-.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-pembrokeshire-mynydd-dinas-.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16891" class="wp-caption-text">Edita scrambles down from the summit of Mynydd Dinas</figcaption></figure>
We walked a section of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, a 300km long-distance trail around the entire Pembrokeshire coastline. It reminded me very much of the north Cornwall coast, with its towering cliffs flanked by sheep-cropped grassland and steep trails descending into hidden coves. Sea birds gathered on rocky islands offshore, and we looked across Fishguard Bay to the the wide docks and breakwater of Fishguard Harbour.
We turned inland to climb back up to the Preseli Hills and the outlying peak of 307m Mynydd Dinas. The highest point of this otherwise gentle moorland hillside is actually a 10m rock outcrop with quite a nice scramble to its summit. We hoicked ourselves up a couple of giant boulders, then traversed a horizontal crack in a sloping slab to reach a narrow gully that led to the top.
This was a surprisingly varied walk. We descended back through farmland, but before returning to the coast we passed along the narrow gorge of Cwm Dyffryn through terrain that has recently become known as temperate rainforest. Ferns lined the banks of the trail and carpets of wild garlic were already coming into flower as ivy clung from branches. We even passed a small waterfall.
By gum the trails were muddy though. There are some seriously squidgy footpaths after the winter we’ve had and this section was up there with them. It reminded me of this classic YouTube video (although Edita and I were wearing big leather walking boots for just such terrain, which made us a little more sure-footed than the young chap in this clip. We managed to stay on our feet).
<iframe loading="lazy" title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dfju3nTqd0Y?si=En4dP55lpFhoctTn" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfju3nTqd0Y" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
We finished the walk by returning to the Pembrokeshire Coast Path and enjoying the narrow clifftop trails around Dinas Head. It’s always nice to explore a new range of hills and a new stretch of coastline. Wales has both in abundance.
You can see all photos from the trip in my <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/albums/72177720315866991" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Preseli Hills and Pembrokeshire Coast</a> Flickr album.
Walk 1: Foel Cwmcerwyn (536m), Foel Feddau (467m) and Foel Eryr (468m) 
Total distance: 24.27km. Total ascent/descent: 733m. 
<a href="https://explore.osmaps.com/route/20997389/foel-cwmcerwyn-foel-feddau-and-foel-eryr?lat=51.948888&lon=-4.831689&zoom=12.0870&style=Leisure&type=2d" target="_blank" rel="noopener">View route map and download GPX</a>
Walk 2: Mynydd Dinas (307m) and Dinas Head (142m) 
Total distance: 17.60km. Total ascent/descent: 674m. 
<a href="https://explore.osmaps.com/route/20848547/mynydd-dinas-and-dinas-head?lat=52.012378&lon=-4.927251&zoom=12.4071&style=Leisure&type=2d" target="_blank" rel="noopener">View route map and download GPX</a>
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<title>Dzo Jongo East and Dzo Jongo West: the videos</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/dzo-jongo-east-and-dzo-jongo-west-the-videos/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/dzo-jongo-east-and-dzo-jongo-west-the-videos/#comments</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 03 Apr 2024 15:31:48 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Trip reports]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[dzo jongo]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[himalayas]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[india]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[ladakh]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mountain films]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[trekking]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[trekking peaks]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16837</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Yes, folks. It’s time for the next mesmerising instalment of my award-winning video diaries. I left you a month ago having passed through the villages and oases of the narrow Markha Valley. High up in the wide open spaces of the Nimaling Valley, it was time to tackle the mountains we had come to climb.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[Yes, folks. It’s time for the next mesmerising instalment of my award-winning video diaries (I awarded myself a bottle of Cotswold Gold Ale after I posted the last set). But before I start, here’s a quick reminder.
Back in August and September 2022, Edita and I embarked on our first (and still our only) Himalayan trek since the COVID pandemic, to Ladakh in northern India. Also known as Little Tibet, Ladakh is a desert region north of the Himalayan divide, comprising red granite peaks rising above 6,000m and split apart by crashing river valleys. It was Edita’s first visit, and my first since 2007. We chose the Markha Valley as our destination, a popular and accessible 5-day trek not far from Ladakh’s capital Leh. We extended the journey to climb some trekking peaks and cross a pair of high passes into more remote valleys.
I left you a month ago having passed through the villages and oases of the narrow Markha Valley, and ascended into the wide open spaces of the Nimaling Valley. Here we had our first opportunity to survey the mountains we had come to climb, and study their routes from close range.
We quickly realised that the main summit of Kang Yatze was going to be a serious mountaineering challenge with a certain amount of objective danger in the form of hanging seracs beneath the summit. Meanwhile its second summit, which everybody else was climbing, appeared to be little more than a steep snow slope leading up to something that wasn’t much of a peak.
Dzo Jongo’s two summits, on the other hand, were much more like the easy Nepalese-style trekking peaks we were looking for after such a long break from high-altitude mountaineering. At Nimaling, we had a short discussion with our guide Santosh, and agreed to abandon our plan of climbing the main summit of Kang Yatze in favour of trekking up both summits of Dzo Jongo.
You can catch up on the first set of videos in my <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/ladakhs-markha-valley-trek-the-videos/">earlier post</a>. If you’re more of a reader, you can also read about our Markha Valley trek in the <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2022/markha-valley-trek-a-perfect-reintroduction-to-trekking-in-ladakh/">post I wrote from 2022</a>.
The full playlist involves 3 videos and 24 minutes of footage. You can <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDUjJ5gZretgBXxjpHkxMHXq4aM84Wlxy" target="_blank" rel="noopener">watch the whole thing in one go</a> here. You can also see <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/albums/72177720302212632" target="_blank" rel="noopener">all my still photos</a> from the trip here. You can read about our ascent of <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2022/dzo-jongo-east-a-6000m-peak-so-easy-you-can-just-walk-up-it/">Dzo Jong East</a> here and of <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2022/dzo-jongo-west-the-worlds-shortest-6000m-peak-summit-day/">Dzo Jongo West</a> here.
<h3>1 Dzo Jongo and Kang Yatze from the Konmaru La</h3>
<iframe loading="lazy" title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zMJU3NUDxys?si=R1qbyKVXLIhsXCvB" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMJU3NUDxys" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
On our so-called rest day at Nimaling, we hiked up to the Konmaru La (5,270m), the pass over to the Indus Valley that people trekking the Markha Valley cross on their way back to Leh.
We arrived in cloud. The air was damp with sleet, but the forecast was more promising. While we waited for the clouds to clear, we hiked along the ridge over a series of crests to reach a prominent 5,480m peak overlooking our camp. We didn’t know if it had a name, but in Himalayan tradition we called it Konmarulatse (‘The Peak above the Konmaru pass’). While Edita and Santosh hunted for snow leopard tracks, the weather gradually improved, providing a magnificent view to the west of all our peaks.
The following day we packed up our camp and continued up the Nimaling Valley to reach our base camp for the Dzo Jongos. While our crew set up camp, Edita and I continued a little further to look for our first peak, Dzo Jongo East, and survey the route at close quarters.
<h3>2 Dzo Jongo East</h3>
<iframe loading="lazy" title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qSKQ3wRGfUU?si=6AZBpc-9wsYbw9yR" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSKQ3wRGfUU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
We began our ascent of Dzo Jongo East, the lower of the two summits, at 4.30am the next morning. We set off in mountaineering boots, but carried crampons, harness and rope in our packs, expecting to encounter a glacier somewhere along the way. In fact, Dzo Jongo East was nothing more than a straightforward plod up a snow-lined ridge, slightly trickier towards the top as it crossed awkward boulder fields hidden beneath the snow.
From the 6,220m summit, we could see that it was only a short scramble down and back up along a triangular ridge to the higher summit of Dzo Jongo West. The weather was perfect, and we thought seriously about continuing over to it once we got our breath back. But in the end we decided to head back down and continue with our plan of climbing it separately from the other side.
When we returned to our secluded base camp nine hours after setting out, we were surprised to discover that our tents had been absorbed into a huge camp that had been erected by the Indian trekking operator Trek The Himalaya (TTH) in our absence. Despite the miles upon miles of open space available in this broad and remote valley, they had inexplicably decided to stop exactly where we had and surround our tents with theirs!
<h3>3 Dzo Jongo West</h3>
<iframe loading="lazy" title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3wx7moNDMlA?si=jmZ0hxQ6zxr0s2sS" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wx7moNDMlA" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
The horses were unable to reach our high camp, so we had to load up our 35-litre packs with everything we could tie to the back and hike up. The route went on and on, up to a high rocky plateau and along a rib of moraine to the dizzy heights of 5,800m.
With only 500m to the summit and a cloudless start to the day, we set off from our high camp believing that it would be a mere formality for us to reach the top. However, as the terrain became steeper, the weather gradually worsened. The snow fell in giant flakes and we found ourselves in a total white-out, unable to see a single feature of the terrain around us. Afraid of walking over an edge, we stopped several times to wait for a break in the mist.
We made the decision to turn back about 120m from the summit. Although there was only a short snow slope above us, it gradually steepened, and so much fresh snow had fallen that there was a high risk of triggering an avalanche.
Still, we had no regrets about our decision to climb the west peak separately. It had been an interesting and varied couple of days that we may have skipped had we bagged the summit from the other side.
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<title>At long last, a guidebook to cycling Scotland’s North Coast 500</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/at-long-last-a-guidebook-to-cycling-scotlands-north-coast-500/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/at-long-last-a-guidebook-to-cycling-scotlands-north-coast-500/#comments</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 20 Mar 2024 16:34:33 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Reviews and tributes]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[britain]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[cicerone guides]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[cycling]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[feet and wheels to chimborazo]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[north coast 500]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[scotland]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16796</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Back in 2017 when Edita and I cycled the NC500, there wasn’t much information available and almost all of it was aimed at people with a vehicle. Imagine my delight when I was contacted by Cicerone’s marketing team asking me if I’d like them to send me a copy of their new guidebook.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[If you’re a regular reader of this blog then you will know that I hate cycling. Yet – prize-winning fool that I am – three times I’ve embarked upon multi-day cycling adventures across mountainous terrain.
In 2017, Edita had the brilliant idea of quitting our jobs and <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2017/the-long-road-to-chimborazo-on-legs-and-wheels/">cycling from sea level to the summit of Chimborazo</a>, the furthest point from the centre of the earth (we didn’t actually cycle all the way – we got off our bikes to climb the last bit). I turned the adventure into a book, <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/feet-and-wheels-to-chimborazo/">Feet and Wheels to Chimborazo</a>, which is undoubtedly the funniest book ever written about two people cycling from sea level to the summit of Chimborazo and getting off their bikes to climb the last bit.
One of the biggest logistical challenges that we faced was that I had barely straddled a bike since mullets were in fashion and Bon Jovi were riding high in the charts. I therefore had the equally brilliant idea of hiring a pair of pushbikes and cycling the North Coast 500 (or NC500) as a warm up, a touring route up and down (then up and down again several more times) the back roads of north-west Scotland. This particular journey of discovery formed a substantial central section of my book.
<figure id="attachment_16800" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16800" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.cicerone.co.uk/cycling-the-north-coast-500" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16800 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/north-coast-500-guidebook.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="The Cicerone guide to Cycling the North Coast 500" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/north-coast-500-guidebook.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/north-coast-500-guidebook.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/north-coast-500-guidebook.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/north-coast-500-guidebook.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/north-coast-500-guidebook.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16800" class="wp-caption-text">The Cicerone guide to Cycling the North Coast 500</figcaption></figure>
We didn’t do much planning for the trip, short of hiring a couple of bikes with panniers from <a href="https://www.tickettoridehighlands.co.uk/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Ticket to Ride</a> in Inverness, a shopping trip to our local Decathlon store to buy matching sets of lycra clothing (I’ve since discovered that it’s actually perfectly legal to ride a bike in normal clothes), and trousering a copy of the <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0319263738/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener">1:250,000 OS road map of northern Scotland</a>. We had no idea how far we could cycle each day, so we took a tent with us and I put together a loose itinerary based on rocking up at a campsite every evening.
Back in the distant past of 2017, there wasn’t much information available on the NC500, and almost all of it was aimed at people with a vehicle (I was surprised to learn that <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2019/what-the-north-coast-500-has-in-common-with-everest/">many locals despise the NC500</a> because of the number of camper vans it brings to their neighbourhood each summer). The only guidebook I could find was an e-book downloadable from the so-called official NC500 website<img src="https://s.w.org/images/core/emoji/15.0.3/72x72/2122.png" alt="™" class="wp-smiley" style="height: 1em; max-height: 1em;" />. The guidebook’s willingness to describe bumpier sections of the route as ‘almost flat’ led to a violent incident involving my Kindle and a bicycle pump. Websites that did mention cycling the NC500 focused on Mark Beaumont’s famous 38-hour circuit, which was as useful to me as Graeme Obree’s instruction manual for assembling a bike out of a washing machine.
Imagine my delight then, when I was contacted by Cicerone’s marketing team earlier this year, asking me if I’d like them to send me a copy of their new guidebook all about, yes, cycling the North Coast 500. Of course, as someone who enjoys cycling as much as a flat tyre, the chances of me pedalling the route again are about as high as Taylor Swift endorsing Trump for president. But I was certainly interested in reading a guidebook about it.
I could see immediately that this book, by writer Mike Wells, would have been incredibly useful to us in 2017. One of the first questions confronting us back then was the choice of route. The main problem was that we didn’t realise we had a choice. The route was the route, and apart from the opening stretch across country to reach the west coast from Inverness, we assumed we just had to hug the coast as closely as possible, following every minor road around every rippled headland.
The Cicerone guidebook offers several alternative routes, the most monumental being the section across the north-east corner. On the map, there is a single thick green line following the coast all the way from John o’Groats to Golspie. It starts relatively quietly, as the A99, morphs into the busy A9 and passes through some of the most soul-destroying places this side of Mars. To cap things off nicely, it was raining when we did it, which I imagine it does most of the time there. From memory, this section could be summed up in a single, desperate syllable: grim.
But Mike Wells has managed to think the unthinkable in a way that banishes this section to Room 101. His innovation is that the North Coast 500 doesn’t actually have to follow the coast. By taking a 131-mile loop back inland from John o’Groats, across the wild expanse of peat bog in central Caithness and Sutherland, it’s possible to bypass this section entirely. The obvious A99/A9 section that we believed to be unavoidable is described only as an ‘alternative’. Cicerone’s new route follows National Cycle Route 1 (NCN1) through the remote community of Altnaharra and the inland metropolis of Lairg. We drove part of this route in 2022 when we climbed Ben Klibreck, the second most northerly Munro. There can be few places in Britain with so many miles of empty road, and IMO, it’s worth cycling an extra 131 miles to avoid the village of Lybster.
<figure id="attachment_10960" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-10960" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/36877394511/in/album-72157684730383312/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-10960 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC04148.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Me on the A99 beyond Lybster. Rarely have I enjoyed myself so much in my life." width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC04148.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC04148.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC04148.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC04148.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC04148.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-10960" class="wp-caption-text">Me on the A99 beyond Lybster. Rarely have I enjoyed myself so much in my life.</figcaption></figure>
The guide is also peppered with shorter route variants that are useful for cyclists to know. We did divert to a campsite among sand dunes in the pleasant town of Dornoch; and we crossed the Cromarty Firth on the Nigg Ferry and cycled across the Black Isle, but our route took busier roads than Cicerone’s. The guidebook is discerning about its choice of route variants. It doesn’t mention a more ridiculous one we took to avoid the main road between Contin and Garve after a blog post on the NC500 website suggested the road was dangerous here. Our variant wobbled up and over rough dirt tracks designed to puncture the sturdiest of tyres. It probably took about two hours longer than the normal route, and you could get a similar experience by straddling a washing machine during its final spin cycle.
More unforgivably, Cicerone’s guidebook also describes the section around the Applecross peninsula as an ‘alternative’. This happens to be the section up and over the 626m Bealach na Ba (or as we called it, the Bealach na Bastard), the highest pass on the NC500 by quite a wide margin. The Bealach na Ba is not pleasant, you have to get off and push your bike up most of it, but you can’t cycle the NC500 and not do it. Skipping the Bealach na Ba would be like photoshopping a part of your child’s hand out of a Mother’s Day photo. If you try to cheat your way out of it then people will suspect the worst. In recognition of this fact, Cicerone’s guidebook even features a photo of the Bealach’s hair-raising loops on its cover.
In keeping with all Cicerone’s guidebooks, each section of the route includes an information panel describing highlights of the section, distances, waymarking and total ascent and descent per stage. This latter statistic is a good indicator of how challenging the stage is, although it doesn’t tell you how steep the climbs are, which makes a big difference. Another useful feature are the so-called ‘relief diagrams’ though in fairness, staring at their sawtooth patterns won’t provide much relief to a cyclist who doesn’t like hills. The book’s most frequently used adjective is ‘undulating’, which in this case is shorthand for leaping and falling like a salmon with hiccups.
Throughout the text, the guide mentions what facilities are available in villages along the route. This includes accommodation, meals, camping, stores and cycle shops. There is even a useful table in the appendices at the back, summarising the facilities on each stage. Another table lists the 27 Munros that are climbable from the NC500, though I can mention from bitter experience that pedalling a bike and hill walking mix together like a jam and peanut butter sandwich.
If I have a criticism, it’s that the information panel doesn’t always give you a feel for the stage by emphasising its most memorable feature. For example, the Dundonnell stage could make more of the giant climb over the Dundonnell plateau with views of An Teallach and the Fannichs, and the marvellous stretch of freewheeling down to the A835 into Ullapool. A similar windswept plateau beneath Foinaven dominates the approach to Britain’s northern coastline at Durness, with a real roof-of-the-world feel to it. Again, this is brushed over in the information panel.
Sometimes the text in highlight boxes is eclectically chosen. For example, a large panel describing Gruinard Island (a.k.a. ‘Anthrax Island’), the scene of biological weapons tests in the Second World War, takes up nearly an entire page. Meanwhile the spectacular (but hidden) Corrieshalloch Gorge, with its giant waterfall plunging between cliffs, is dismissed in a single sentence. I’m going to stick my neck out and suggest that the second of these attractions is going to be a bit more appealing to visitors.
These are minor criticisms though. It’s about time someone produced a guidebook about cycling the NC500. This one lives up to Cicerone’s usual high standards. I’m not going to try and talk you into cycling the NC500, because I believe that long-distance cycling is for crazy people: much better to walk. But if you’re a keen cyclist then you’ve probably been shaking your head from the very first sentence of this post and obviously disagree with me. It is to you people this guidebook is aimed and if you like cycling up and down steep hills then I heartily recommend the NC500.
You can click the big green button to find out more about the guidebook.
<div class="clearfix" style="padding-bottom: 30px;"><a class="read-more" style="text-align: center;" title="Cycling the North Coast 500" href="https://www.cicerone.co.uk/cycling-the-north-coast-500" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Cycling the North Coast 500</a></div>
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<item>
<title>Ladakh’s Markha Valley Trek: the videos</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/ladakhs-markha-valley-trek-the-videos/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/ladakhs-markha-valley-trek-the-videos/#respond</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 06 Mar 2024 16:30:34 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Trip reports]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[himalayas]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[india]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[ladakh]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[markha valley]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mountain films]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[trekking]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16777</guid>
<description><![CDATA[It’s over three years since I last released a series of my trademark shit videos on YouTube. Some of you are wondering if a yeti got my tongue. Eighteen months have gone by since I trekked in Ladakh, and the hilarious footage that I took has been lying untouched on my hard drive. It's time to give it an airing.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[It’s a full three years and more since I last released a series of my trademark shit videos on YouTube. Some of you are doubtless wondering if a yeti got my tongue. Eighteen months have gone by since I trekked in Ladakh, and the hilarious footage that I took has been lying untouched in the recesses of my hard drive. Recently, however, the laptop fairies have been complaining of tripping over it as they scurry around trying to stop me going anywhere near ChatGPT.
Finally, I heard their cries. I acquired a new Linux laptop in January, installed a copy of Kdenlive, my video editor of choice, and reminded myself how to use it.
Back in August and September 2022, Edita and I embarked on our first (and still our only) Himalayan trek since the COVID pandemic to Ladakh in northern India, a desert region of red granite peaks rising above 6,000m and split apart by crashing river valleys. It was Edita’s first visit, and my first since 2007. We chose the Markha Valley as our destination, a popular and accessible 5-day trek not far from Ladakh’s capital Leh, extending the journey to climb some trekking peaks and cross a pair of high passes into more remote valleys.
This series of videos covers the first section of the trek up the Markha Valley to the tented camp of Nimaling. Those of you who are tired of my inane banter will be delighted to know that in these videos, I’ve been completely upstaged by Edita, who has become an expert videographer in the same idiosyncratic mould, but far more entertaining.
The full playlist involves 5 videos and 32 minutes of footage. You can <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDUjJ5gZretgJLYGHll8yGzWb0OpqMyMN" target="_blank" rel="noopener">watch the whole thing in one go</a> here . You can also <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/albums/72177720302212632" target="_blank" rel="noopener">see all my still photos from the trip</a> here, and <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2022/markha-valley-trek-a-perfect-reintroduction-to-trekking-in-ladakh/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">read the full trip report</a> here.
<h3>1 Leh to Sara</h3>
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<a href="https://youtu.be/ZgQ-OMIzU3M" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
Almost all treks in Ladakh start in its capital Leh. Perched above the Indus Valley at 3,500m in a dry, desert region surrounded by rocky mountains, it feels like a relaxed version of Kathmandu. Streets bedecked with Tibetan prayer flags are lined with souvenir shops, coffee houses and restaurants serving yak sizzlers.
India’s roads are a cut above those in Nepal, however. From Leh, we drove along a smooth tarmacked highway beside the mighty Zanskar River before turning up a dirt track into the heart of the Markha Valley.
The first day of the trek involved a short walk of only three and half hours from Skiu to the next village, Sara. We followed the dirt road for almost the entire way, walking in searing afternoon heat and grateful for the short interludes when the road tickled the poplar groves and their shade provided some respite.
<h3>2 Sara to Markha</h3>
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<a href="https://youtu.be/kzpHdv_4PpI" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
One thing that sets the Markha Valley apart from other valleys in this mountainous desert region is the human habitation that has turned it into a fertile oasis among the barren rockiness. Villages all along the valley floor have been planted with willows, poplars and wheat, providing us with some pleasant, shaded campsites. Another species that has been planted widely is the multi-purpose sea-buckthorn, a spiny bush with tiny orange berries. Rather like our own native brambles, its berries provide juice while its tangle of thorny tendrils form a natural barrier that villagers use as fencing.
The second day passed in much the same vein as the first as we continued along the dirt road to the village of Markha, rising only 250m to 3,750m through a landscape reminiscent of the Wild West. Edita made a friend in the owner of a tented teahouse, who showed her how to spin wool on a tiny spindle and knit socks from the thread.
<h3>3 Markha to Hankar</h3>
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<a href="https://youtu.be/OUdc8ZlQdes" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
Unlike the rest of India, which is predominantly Hindu, Ladakh is a Buddhist region with more in common with the old Tibet than its mother country. The Markha Valley is full of Buddhist signs, both old and new: giant prayer wheels to spin for good luck, stupas, mani walls and the remains of ancient citadels perched on hillsides.
We passed many as the valley narrowed on the third day of our trek, and the steep cliffs on either side became needle-like pinnacles thrusting extravagantly into the sky. We had our first view of Kang Yatze at the head of the valley, guarding the Markha River’s fork. A snow-capped cone, it was volcanic in appearance from that angle – an easy snow-plod, the like of which I’ve completed many times (appearances were to prove deceiving, however).
<h3>4 Hankar to Tachungtse</h3>
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<a href="https://youtu.be/XW1LNzbUowE" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
This was the day that the trek became more mountainous as we left the main Markha Valley behind and branched up into the steeper Nimaling Valley. We were entering snow leopard country, and had frequent sightings of large herds of blue sheep skittering up and down precarious slopes.
A highlight of the day were some impressive ruins perched on an isolated knoll rising 200m above the trail. Our guide Santosh described them as the remains of the King of Hankar’s palace; they were marked on my app as the Palace of Shey Kingdom. We put down our packs and walked up the knoll on a narrow path which clung precipitously to its side. The ruins were amazing and occupied the whole ridge line at the top of the hill. Little remained of the various outbuildings apart from a few walls, but a tall tower on the needle-like summit of the hill was almost intact.
<h3>5 Tachungtse to Nimaling</h3>
<iframe loading="lazy" title="YouTube video player" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GyXivgFTl6M?si=v7RkSnJS_LT5Jztg" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen"></iframe>
<a href="https://youtu.be/GyXivgFTl6M" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Watch on YouTube</a>
The ‘village’ of Nimaling is actually a large tented camp lying in the base of a broad grassy valley at 4,800m, quite unlike the steep rocky gorge we had passed through earlier in the trek. As well as catering for the many trekkers on the Markha Valley trail, the camp is home to goat and yak herders who make a living here in the high mountains, and pikas: tiny mouse-like rodents that hide in burrows among the grassland.
After the sunny days and searing heat that we’d experienced until then, we were surprised to awake the following morning to find our campsite carpeted in snow. Nimaling marks the climax of the Markha Valley trek for the majority of tourists, who cross the 5,200m Konmaru La the following day, over into the Indus Valley, where they can grab a taxi back to Leh. We didn’t return to the Markha Valley either, but we had barely reached the halfway point of our own adventure, which I’ll describe in later videos.
]]></content:encoded>
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<item>
<title>The 8 best books about Everest written in the English language</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/the-8-best-books-about-everest-written-in-the-english-language/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/the-8-best-books-about-everest-written-in-the-english-language/#comments</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 21 Feb 2024 16:38:41 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Reviews and tributes]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[everest]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[james ramsey ullman]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[jan morris]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mick conefrey]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mountain literature]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[peter gillman]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[tenzing norgay]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[tom hornbein]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[wade davis]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[walt unsworth]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16746</guid>
<description><![CDATA[You may be wondering why I’ve never written this blog post before. Now is as good a time as any. The universe of Everest literature is forever expanding and it’s not possible to reach its end. However, I’ve now travelled far enough to be confident of these eight books’ place in the celestial Everest pantheon.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[You may be wondering why I’ve never written this blog post before. In truth, there is never going to be a perfect time for it and now is as good a time as any.
The universe of Everest literature is forever expanding and it’s not possible to reach its end. However, I’ve now travelled far enough to be confident of these eight books’ place in the celestial Everest pantheon.
But enough of this nonsense. Before I get on with the listicle, a note to my international readers. As the title says, these are the best books about Everest written in English. The list is therefore Anglo-centric. You can even argue that it reeks of the musty whiff of British Empire, and I won’t disagree. That’s where Everest’s climbing history began.
I’m sure that I’ve overlooked a large chunk of Everest literature that was originally written in another language. I’m not best qualified to write about these books, but you’re welcome to tell me what I’ve been missing in the comments.
Anyway, here they are: the finest books on Everest ever written (in English).
<h3>1. Everest by Walt Unsworth</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16750" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16750" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0898866707/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16750 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-books-everest-300x225.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Everest by Walt Unsworth" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-books-everest.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-books-everest.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-books-everest.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-books-everest.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-books-everest.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16750" class="wp-caption-text">Everest by Walt Unsworth</figcaption></figure>
The first of two books in this list that deserve the adjective monumental, Walt Unsworth’s Everest is not just the most comprehensive history of Everest ever written, but very likely the most comprehensive history of any mountain ever written (though I would love someone to contradict me by suggesting another one).
Aside from writing this book. Walt Unsworth’s main (and arguably more influential) claim to fame is being the founder of the guidebook publisher Cicerone Press, who continue to produce guidebooks for more active travellers right up to the present day. During the 1980s, however, he must have spent long periods imprisoned within the bowels of the Alpine Club library researching this book.
The history starts in the late 19th century, with stirrings in the British climbing community about the possibility that Everest could be climbed. It dives headlong into Everest politics – the collaboration between the Alpine Club and Royal Geographical Society (RGS) to negotiate access to Tibet and organise large scale expeditions. It describes the many British expeditions from the Tibet side in the 1920s and 1930s, the opening up of the Nepal side and the race between the Brits and the Swiss to put someone on top.
The history continues through the 60s and 70s, covering every major expedition on every major route. By the time it finishes in the 1980s, Everest had been climbed from pretty much every angle and the modern era of commercial expeditions is just about to begin. History never ends, but this is as neat a place as any to finish. To round things off there are 200 pages of end notes and appendices covering the height and naming of the mountain, and a summary of all expeditions, ascents and fatalities up to that date.
<h3>2. Coronation Everest by Jan Morris</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16751" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16751" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0571219446/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16751 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-books-coronation-everest-300x225.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Coronation Everest by Jan Morris" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-books-coronation-everest.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-books-coronation-everest.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-books-coronation-everest.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-books-coronation-everest.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-books-coronation-everest.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16751" class="wp-caption-text">Coronation Everest by Jan Morris</figcaption></figure>
Before transitioning to Jan, 26-year-old Times journalist James Morris was given the job of a lifetime to join the 1953 Everest expedition as expedition reporter, a job that didn’t just involve trekking to base camp, but donning boots and crampons and climbing through the Khumbu Icefall into the Western Cwm.
The expedition is best known as the final chapter in the race to put someone on top of the world as Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary reached the summit for the very first time. But an equally intriguing race was happening in Fleet Street, the former centre of the British newspaper industry. The Times may have had their agent embedded in the team, but that didn’t stop other papers trying to be the first to a story. Jan’s rival, Ralph Izzard of the Daily Mail (no relation of that other transgender icon Eddie) was prowling the Khumbu region trying to pick up titbits and send them home.
The expedition happened to coincide with the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. What more auspicious sign could there be for our beloved monarch on the eve of her long reign than to learn that a British team had conquered the world’s highest mountain? To ensure that rival journalists couldn’t report the story first, Jan devised a <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2020/what-was-jan-morriss-secret-code-to-say-that-everest-had-been-climbed/">secret code</a> to relay the news across continents back to London, but it was a mission fraught with difficulties.
Jan Morris was known for her humour and humanity. This slim book contains both in copious quantities. It is also one of the funniest books about Everest ever written.
<h3>3. Tiger of the Snows by Tenzing Norgay</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16753" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16753" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0006AU69O/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16753 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-books-tiger-of-the-snows.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Tiger of the Snows by Tenzing Norgay" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-books-tiger-of-the-snows.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-books-tiger-of-the-snows.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-books-tiger-of-the-snows.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-books-tiger-of-the-snows.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-books-tiger-of-the-snows.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16753" class="wp-caption-text">Tiger of the Snows by Tenzing Norgay</figcaption></figure>
Tenzing Norgay was the man whose life story was most closely bound to Everest and the one most deserving to be the first to climb it.
From the moment Eric Shipton picked him out from a line up of hopefuls to join the 1935 British Everest expedition, Tenzing stood apart as both a climber and leader of men. By the time he became the first man to stand on the summit of Everest along with Edmund Hillary in 1953, he had already attempted Everest seven times and written himself into mountaineering folklore.
Tenzing’s first autobiography was written soon after his Everest ascent and covers the first half of his life before fame overtook him. He found the ideal ghost writer in American mountaineering journalist James Ramsey Ullman. The Tenzing of Tiger of the Snows is likeable, brave and dignified. He is not afraid to tackle controversy, but does so with a refreshing humility that you simply won’t find in any other celebrity autobiography (or none that I’ve ever read).
The overall effect is to paint a picture of a deeply wise man who was able to juggle the needs of both his fellow Sherpas and their western employers. You finish the book understanding why Tenzing was the <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2013/why-tenzing-is-the-greatest-everest-climber/">greatest Sherpa mountaineer</a>.
<h3>4. Everest 1953 by Mick Conefrey</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16754" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16754" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1780742304/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16754 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-books-everest-1953.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Everest 1953 by Mick Conefrey" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-books-everest-1953.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-books-everest-1953.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-books-everest-1953.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-books-everest-1953.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-books-everest-1953.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16754" class="wp-caption-text">Everest 1953 by Mick Conefrey</figcaption></figure>
The definitive account of the 1953 British Everest expedition is not The Ascent of Everest by John Hunt, the official expedition account by its leader; nor is it any of the less insipid accounts by expedition team members, such as South Col by Wilfrid Noyce. By a country mile, the best comprehensive account of the 1953 Everest expedition is Everest 1953 by Mick Conefrey, whose books about mountaineering history have the rare distinction of being both meticulously researched and highly readable.
Published in 2012, Everest 1953 is a far more nuanced account of the expedition than any of the contemporary accounts. It also benefits from hindsight, allowing Mick to put the expedition’s main achievements and legacy into context. By interviewing surviving expedition team members years later and delving into their diaries, he gained fresh insight into their minds and memories, and uncovered some previously unpublished stories.
He didn’t stop at 1953. He followed it up with Everest 1922 about – that’s right – the 1922 British Everest expedition. His latest book Fallen, about – yes, indeed – a certain incident that happened on the 1924 British Everest expedition, is out in May. If you’re looking to explore mountaineering history in a balanced and entertaining way, all of Mick’s books are a joy to read.
<h3>5. Everest: the West Ridge by Thomas F. Hornbein</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16756" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16756" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1594857075/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16756 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-books-west-ridge.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Everest: The West Ridge by Tom Hornbein" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-books-west-ridge.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-books-west-ridge.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-books-west-ridge.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-books-west-ridge.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-books-west-ridge.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16756" class="wp-caption-text">Everest: The West Ridge by Tom Hornbein</figcaption></figure>
The 1963 American Everest expedition had a single main purpose – to put an American on the summit for the very first time. It achieved its goal and more. So much more, in fact, that if the expedition were a slice of Christmas cake, it would now be better known for the icing than for the cake itself.
A few days after Jim Whittaker reached the summit with <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2016/nawang-gombu-heart-of-a-tiger/">Nawang Gombu Sherpa</a> via the standard route up the South-East Ridge, Willi Unsoeld and Tom Hornbein completed a full traverse of the mountain via the unclimbed West Ridge, descending via the standard route and stopping off for an overnight bivouac, where they met (and helped to rescue) two climbers who had been sent up to look for them.
It’s an ascent that is still without parallel in the history of climbing on Everest. It nearly didn’t happen, and this is one of the things that makes West Ridge so exciting. It reads like a “will they, won’t they” three-part drama, putting its two main characters centre stage.
And what intriguing characters they proved to be. Unsoeld was the more respected climbing leader of the West Ridge party: laid-back, unwilling to rock the expedition boat, but quietly determined to go at it full sail should they get the go ahead from Norman Dyhrenfurth their expedition leader. Meanwhile, Hornbein was the expedition rottweiler: vocal sergeant major, willing and cajoling Dyhrenfurth into giving them enough resources to keep the West Ridge a possibility.
Despite the role that he gave himself, Hornbein was clearly no opinionated extremist, ranting at his teammates on the the so-called easy route. He understood that the team had other priorities; it was just that his weren’t the same. Without him, Everest’s history would be devoid of one of its most colourful stories.
<h3>6. Everest: Eighty Years of Triumph and Tragedy by Peter Gillman (ed.)</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16757" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16757" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0316856878/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16757 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-books-everest-80-years.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Everest: Eighty Years of Triumph and Tragedy by Peter Gillman" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-books-everest-80-years.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-books-everest-80-years.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-books-everest-80-years.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-books-everest-80-years.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-books-everest-80-years.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16757" class="wp-caption-text">Everest: Eighty Years of Triumph and Tragedy by Peter Gillman</figcaption></figure>
What are the fifteen main routes on Everest and how were they first climbed? Why was the first ascent from the north side so controversial? Are there really yetis on Everest? Why did someone deliberately try to crash a plane there? What does it feel like to wait below, knowing that up above, your partner is all alone, struggling to the summit? Or to huddle in a storm on the South Col waiting to be rescued as your companions are dying beside you? What goes through your mind when you realise that the figure beneath your feet is the body of a climber who died 75 years ago?
Historian Peter Gillman and his wife Leni scoured the archives of Everest literature, finding the most interesting and significant stories, and assembling them into this remarkable anthology that takes us from the mountain’s “discovery” by surveyors in the 19th century, right up to the year 2000.
The voices of the usual suspects are here, such as George Mallory, Eric Shipton, Chris Bonington, and Reinhold Messner; and so are the voices of the less well known, such as Wang Fu-chou, Sonam Gyatso, Nejc Zaplotnik, Maria Coffey and Ang Rita Sherpa.
Where there were gaps in the story, Peter and Leni wrote original essays to fill them. The end result is a whistlestop tour of Everest’s rich and varied history, and a superb introduction for anyone who is looking to dive in further.
<h3>7. Into the Silence by Wade Davis</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16759" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16759" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0099563835/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16759 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/08-books-into-the-silence.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Into the Silence by Wade Davis" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/08-books-into-the-silence.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/08-books-into-the-silence.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/08-books-into-the-silence.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/08-books-into-the-silence.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/08-books-into-the-silence.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16759" class="wp-caption-text">Into the Silence by Wade Davis</figcaption></figure>
I bet when you saw the word Into in the title, you thought I was going to say Into Thin Air, didn’t you? No, that can wait. But I did promise another book worthy of the adjective monumental and this is it. Weighing in at a sizeable 655 pages and taking a full 10 years to write, Into the Silence by Wade Davis is the crowning glory of books about George Mallory and the 1924 Everest expedition (sorry, Mick).
Overlooked for the 2012 Boardman Tasker Prize, the leading UK literary prize for mountain writing, it went on to win the 2012 Samuel Johnson Prize (now known as the Baillie Gifford Prize), the main UK literary prize for non-fiction in general, the only mountaineering book ever to do so.
The story of George Mallory’s obsession with climbing Everest and his disappearance on the North-East Ridge in 1924 has captured the imagination like no other mountaineering story, perhaps because it’s a mystery that has never been solved. Since climbers started returning to the north side of Everest in the 1970s, a profusion of books have been written as hints gradually emerged about Mallory’s fate. None are as good as this.
What Wade Davis did that other writers didn’t was draw parallels between the 1920s Everest expeditions and the First World War. The war only ended in 1918, and by 1921 the Alpine Club and RGS were already sending a team to climb Everest. A generation of British climbers had been killed in action. Mallory and his teammates had been lucky to survive. They had seen things that modern Everest climbers couldn’t possibly comprehend (except perhaps ex-Special Forces soldier Nirmal Purja).
By setting the scene and putting the lives of 1920s climbers into context, Davis’s readers are able to appreciate the spirit of the age and better understand why Mallory did what he did. This “why” is more important to Davis than speculating about what happened on that fateful day. It’s one of the many reasons why this book stands head and shoulders above its rivals.
<h3>8. Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16760" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16760" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1447200187/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16760 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/09-books-into-thin-air.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/09-books-into-thin-air.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/09-books-into-thin-air.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/09-books-into-thin-air.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/09-books-into-thin-air.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/09-books-into-thin-air.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16760" class="wp-caption-text">Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer</figcaption></figure>
Oh yes, I’m afraid so. You probably weren’t expecting me to include this book and some of you are probably shaking your heads that I did, but love it or hate it, Into Thin Air is arguably the most influential book about Everest ever written, and alongside Joe Simpson’s Touching the Void is the mountaineering book that has been read most widely by people who aren’t even into mountaineering.
When journalist Jon Krakauer was commissioned by Outside magazine to join one of the earlier commercial Everest expeditions and write about the experience, he unwittingly found himself fighting for his life in what came to be known as the 1996 Everest disaster. Eight guides and clients died in a storm, including the leaders of two commercial expeditions, and several survivors returned home with horrific injuries.
Over the years Krakauer has been criticised for his (understandably) imperfect recall of events, and for apportioning blame to the wrong people. But for a journalist and climber who was hired to write a critique on guided climbing on the world’s highest mountain, he was surprisingly non-judgmental. Unusually for an alpinist, he sympathised with the commercial clients he found himself climbing with. As for pointing the finger, he was wracked by the guilt of a survivor and as critical of his own actions as those of anyone else.
The book has universal appeal because he assumes his readers have no prior knowledge of mountaineering. The first half of the book doesn’t even cover the tragedy at all, and includes historical context as well as descriptions of the landscape and expedition life. The denouement is as powerful a piece of writing as you will find anywhere, and the raw emotion of a man caught helplessly in an unfolding tragedy oozes through every paragraph. It is probably the best-selling book about mountaineering ever written, and deservedly so.
<h3>Bonus book: Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest by Mark Horrell</h3>
<figure id="attachment_16766" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16766" style="width: 300px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0993413021/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16766 size-medium" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/books-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest-300x225.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1" alt="Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest by Mark Horrell" width="300" height="225" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/books-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/books-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/books-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/books-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/books-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16766" class="wp-caption-text">Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest by Mark Horrell</figcaption></figure>
Of course, I’m not claiming my own book is up there with any of the great books listed above, but having got this far, I hope you don’t mind indulging me as I give it a little plug. In any case, I believe you might enjoy it.
Seven Steps from Snowdon the Everest offers a couple of things that most of the above books don’t, along with a little piece of each. To start with, there aren’t many genuinely funny mountaineering books and this one has a higher joke-to-page ratio than any book about mountaineering since <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2018/where-are-the-humorous-mountaineering-books/">The Ascent of Rum Doodle</a>.
Secondly, I’ve already noted that the history of Everest has entered a new phase: the era of commercial mountaineering. Jon Krakauer wrote about what can happen when things go wrong, but how about the positive side of guided climbing? Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest is about my journey from hill walker to high-altitude mountaineer, a step at a time as I gradually climb more extreme peaks in the course of a 10-year journey.
I have tried to write about the achievements of the pioneers in an engaging way as I follow in their footsteps, interweaving my story with the early history of the mountains I climb. The stories include George Mallory rock climbing on Snowdon, Shipton and Tilman exploring the Himalayas, Hans Meyer romping up Kilimanjaro, and Edward Fitzgerald wheezing his way up Aconcagua.
The book is about appreciating the journey as much as the destination itself; stretching the boundaries little by little until the impossible becomes the achievable; feeling richer for the experience, and above all, having a good laugh along the way, because life’s too short to take these things too seriously.
<div class="clearfix" style="padding-bottom: 30px;"><a class="read-more" style="text-align: center;" href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Buy Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest</a></div>
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<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">16746</post-id> </item>
<item>
<title>My latest audiobook: The Everest Politics Show – an eyewitness account of the 2014 Everest tragedy</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/my-latest-audiobook-the-everest-politics-show-an-eyewitness-account-of-the-2014-everest-tragedy/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/my-latest-audiobook-the-everest-politics-show-an-eyewitness-account-of-the-2014-everest-tragedy/#comments</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 07 Feb 2024 16:37:11 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[My books and writing]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[8000m peaks]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[audiobooks]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[everest]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[lhotse]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mountain literature]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[nepal]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[sherpas]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[the everest politics show]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[travel diaries]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[travel writing]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16658</guid>
<description><![CDATA[I’m happy to say that the next instalment of my diaries, The Everest Politics Show, is now available on Audible, Amazon and Apple Books, and will be available on other outlets such as Spotify very soon.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[If you’re a follower of this blog then you will know that I’m in the slow and gradual process of <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2021/the-chomolungma-varieties-struggles-of-an-apprentice-audiobook-narrator/">recording my diaries</a> and releasing them as audiobooks. I started in 2021 with <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2021/move-over-jim-dale-theres-a-new-audiobook-narrator-in-town/">The Chomolungma Diaries</a> and released <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/first-british-man-to-climb-manaslu-then-narrate-an-audiobook-about-it-from-a-converted-stable-in-the-cotswolds/">The Manaslu Adventure</a> last year.
I’m happy to say that the next instalment, <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/diaries/the-everest-politics-show/">The Everest Politics Show</a>, is now available on Audible, Amazon Apple Books, Spotify and will be available on <a href="https://books2read.com/theeverestpoliticsshow" target="_blank" rel="noopener">other outlets</a> very soon.
<figure id="attachment_16660" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16660" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/diaries/the-everest-politics-show/"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="size-large wp-image-16660" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/everest-politics-show-audiobook.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="The Everest Politics Show: available now as an audiobook" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/everest-politics-show-audiobook.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/everest-politics-show-audiobook.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/everest-politics-show-audiobook.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/everest-politics-show-audiobook.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/everest-politics-show-audiobook.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16660" class="wp-caption-text">The Everest Politics Show: available now as an audiobook</figcaption></figure>
The release is timely. This year is the tenth anniversary of the 2014 Everest tragedy and its controversial aftermath, whose events it portrays.
I had already climbed Everest from the north side, and trekked and climbed extensively in the Khumbu region of Nepal, by the time I joined a commercial expedition to climb Lhotse in April 2014. But I had never been to Everest Base Camp on the Nepal side, climbed through the Khumbu Icefall, or got up close to features like the Western Cwm, Lhotse Face and South Col that I had read so much about.
Lhotse is another 8,000m peak that is separated from Everest by the South Col. Our team consisted of climbers who were attempting both mountains. The attempts were never made. On 18 April, during our first journey into the Icefall, we witnessed the deaths of 16 Sherpas in a huge avalanche. It led to a labour dispute. Everest Base Camp became the scene of public gatherings, conducted mainly in Nepali, that left many of us bewildered. Threats were made and rumours swept through camp. A week after the tragedy, all expeditions were cancelled and we went home.
I wrote extensively about the tragedy and its aftermath in this blog over the following months as I tried to make sense of the things I’d seen. My posts included an <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/the-mother-of-all-avalanches-an-eyewitness-account/">eyewitness account of the avalanche</a>, an <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/the-worlds-most-expensive-everest-base-camp-trek/">expedition trip report</a>, a look at the role of <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/a-mountain-of-deceit-introducing-nepals-ministry-of-tourism/">government corruption and incompetence</a> in the tragedy, an eyewitness account of the <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/the-everest-base-camp-summit-meeting-an-eyewitness-account/">base camp summit meeting</a>, a look at the <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/leo-houlding-does-his-bit-for-the-sherpas/">role of charities</a> and why Sherpas are not being exploited, how <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/the-cod-science-of-everest-hate/">media sensationalism was harming the Sherpa cause</a> and I explored <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/4-ways-to-improve-the-south-side-of-everest/">ways to improve commercial mountaineering on Everest</a>. I attended a lecture where <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2014/everests-deadliest-day-debating-everests-future/">others did the same</a>, and two years later I even watched a <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2016/my-review-of-sherpa-trouble-on-everest/">movie about the season</a>. Some of these essays appeared in my collection <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/sherpa-hospitality-as-a-cure-for-frostbite/">Sherpa Hospitality as a Cure for Frostbite</a>, which I have also narrated and <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/sherpa-hospitality-as-a-cure-for-frostbite/">published as an audiobook</a>. None of these posts compare with being there, and my diary comes closest to providing that experience.
It brought mixed emotions reliving the expedition as I narrated the audiobook. The trek to base camp through the Khumbu region was a joy. My diary entries are light-hearted; enjoyment and enthusiasm ooze from the pages, providing no indication of the darkness to come.
There is a naivety about the chapters that cover the aftermath of the avalanche, but that’s with good reason. It’s a diary: an eyewitness account, written in the present tense without hindsight to call upon. At the time, we were all confused about what was happening; many of us believed that we (as in clients and western operators) were the targets of Sherpa dissatisfaction. It took many months for me to realise that it was a dispute between union leaders and government and we were really just helpless bystanders in a story that had been unfolding for a long time.
From a distance of ten years, I can now see that the expedition left scars on me that have never healed. Lhotse was my fifth 8,000m peak expedition in as many years. I had previously attempted the Gasherbrums, Cho Oyu, Manaslu and Everest from the Tibet side. When the expedition started, I could see that pattern continuing for as long as I could afford it and continued to enjoy it.
It ended up being my last 8,000m peak expedition. People change and you can never say never, but as I sit at home in the Cotswolds writing these words, I can’t ever see myself returning to climb another 8,000m peak. There are several reasons for this, but the pain of 2014 provided the first nail in the coffin of my ambition.
In the ten years since, nothing has changed in terms of the regulation that commercial mountaineering on Everest so obviously needs. All of the symptoms that led to tragedy and farce in 2014 remain in place. There is a high chance something very similar will happen again.
Four of the five years with the most deaths on Everest have happened since 2014. Last year there were 17 deaths as the Nepali government <a href="https://www.alanarnette.com/blog/2023/05/30/everest-2023-an-end-to-a-tough-season/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">issued a record 478 Everest permits to 47 teams</a>. Corruption remains a force in Kathmandu; the millions of dollars in permit fees and liaison officer fees remain there, without filtering through to the mountain communities who provide the bulk of the labour.
Meanwhile, peak bagging on the 8,000ers is becoming more popular every year. Back when I was doing it, most of us were happy with climbing one or two, and the majority were considered too dangerous for commercial expeditions. Climbing all fourteen was in the realm of elite mountaineers, who completed them gradually over the course of their careers. Only 31 people had completed them by the 2014 season, and far more people had died trying. Nowadays, there is a handful of Nepali operators who are willing to run expeditions to all of the 8,000ers, including suicidal ones like K2 and Annapurna. And there are commercial clients with ambitions to climb them all in the shortest possible time. A further 20 climbers have completed the list and the fatalities continue.
Just as importantly (for me, anyway), while the media remain fascinated by Everest, the voice of the commercial client is still largely forgotten. There is sure to be media interest in the 2014 Everest tragedy this year; I wonder if our voices will be heard. Ours is an important perspective, vital to any understanding of commercial mountaineering. I would say this of course, but far too few people have read my book <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest/">Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest</a>, about gradually gaining the experience needed for Everest by climbing a feast of amazing mountains across the world and loving every minute of it.
My journey to produce audiobooks, also started with Seven Steps from Snowdon to Everest, when I hired professional actor Philip Battley to <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2020/my-very-first-audiobook-seven-steps-from-snowdon-to-everest-narrated-by-philip-battley/">provide the voices</a>. I will never be as good as he is, but there is a certain authenticity to hearing a true story narrated by one of its witnesses. If the story intrigues you, then you can find out more by clicking on the big green button.
<div class="clearfix" style="padding-bottom: 30px;"><a class="read-more" style="text-align: center;" title="The Everest Politics Show" href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/diaries/the-everest-politics-show/">The Everest Politics Show</a></div>
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<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">16658</post-id> </item>
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<title>7 mountain weather phenomena: a quick intro, courtesy of Tristan Gooley</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/7-mountain-weather-phenomena-a-quick-intro-courtesy-of-tristan-gooley/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/7-mountain-weather-phenomena-a-quick-intro-courtesy-of-tristan-gooley/#comments</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jan 2024 16:33:40 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Opinion and advice]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[mountain literature]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[nature writing]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[tristan gooley]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[weather forecasts]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16296</guid>
<description><![CDATA[While wandering around the nature section of the Highland Bookshop in Fort William last month, my eyes chanced upon the title The Secret World of Weather by Tristan Gooley. It seemed an apt choice for reading by the fireside in a cosy cottage as the driving rain hammered on the windows.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[The weather forecast for the week wasn’t good when we arrived at our cottage in Glencoe before Christmas. It was going to rain heavily all week, and there was really only one suitable day for a good hill walk (see my <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/christmas-in-glen-coe-ii-the-revenge-of-the-rainstorms/">previous post</a>).
As happened on previous trips, we spent the first day of our holiday in Fort William, shopping for outdoor gear and browsing the shelves of the Highland Bookshop for rainy day reading. While wandering around the nature section of the latter, my eyes chanced upon the title <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1529339553/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Secret World of Weather</a> by Tristan Gooley. It seemed an apt choice for reading by the fireside in a cosy cottage as the driving rain hammered on the windows.
<figure id="attachment_16300" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16300" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1529339553/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16300 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/the-secret-world-of-weather.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="The Secret World of Weather by Tristan Gooley" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/the-secret-world-of-weather.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/the-secret-world-of-weather.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/the-secret-world-of-weather.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/the-secret-world-of-weather.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/the-secret-world-of-weather.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16300" class="wp-caption-text">The Secret World of Weather by Tristan Gooley</figcaption></figure>
I read another of Tristan’s books, <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0169MS20C/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Walker’s Guide to Outdoor Clues & Signs</a>, a few years ago, and found it an interesting read that opened my eyes to many aspects of the natural world that I’d not paid attention to before.
It was a somewhat quirky read, written in what I can best describe as a stream-of-consciousness style. Although the chapters were loosely structured into themes, the text jumped around from subheading to subheading in paragraphs of observation, scientific explanation and personal anecdote. Tristan lives in the Sussex Downs and runs courses on ‘natural navigation’ (using nature, rather than technology, to navigate), and the book is as much a memoir as a guide in the traditional sense. As befits a trainer, he does, however, write in a breezy, plain English style that I find appealing, and his books are highly readable (I think I’ve remarked before how the field of nature writing seems to be plagued by a fine writing style that can blow like a gale over many reader’s heads).
The Secret World of Weather is written in much the same style, so I knew what to expect. Its cover features a monotone line drawing of a cow sitting nonchalantly in a field while clouds and lightning thunder overhead and leaves whiz past its line of vision. This led my father to ask if I was reading a humorous book. I had to explain that that’s his real name, and it’s a book to be taken seriously.
The book is all about microclimates: that is, weather caused by local geography and landmarks, rather than weather caused by larger systems. As Tristan remarks in the opening pages, this is the weather that we actually experience and it can often be very different to the one we read about in the weather forecast.
As with The Walker’s Guide to Outdoor Clues & Signs, I learned about many things that I’d never noticed before, and many more things that I’d noticed but couldn’t explain.
While the book is UK-centric, the concepts he describes are universal and can be experienced all over the world. In this post, I outline 7 simple phenomena that many of us will have experienced in the mountains, and why they happen.
<h3>1. Lens clouds</h3>
Also known as lenticular clouds, and by the Latin name altocumulus lenticularis, lens clouds occur when winds hit the summit of a mountain, then ride up and over the summit in what is known as a mountain wave. As it rises over the mountain and cools, the air condenses to form a cloud. These are isolated clouds above a mountaintop, sometimes in the shape of a lens or flying saucer.
Lens clouds commonly form above the summit on its downwind side, but if the dew point (i.e. the point when air condenses into water) occurs lower down, then the cloud can form over the summit of the mountain.
I’ve seen this happen a lot in the Himalayas while sitting at base camp waiting for a weather window. Like its close relation, the banner cloud (see below), a lenticular cloud hanging over the summit is an indication that the summit is getting battered by high winds, and it was a good decision to remain in camp.
<figure id="attachment_6943" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-6943" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/18369548900/in/album-72157653755100560/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-6943 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF3411.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="A deadly lenticular cloud hangs over the summit of Gasherbrum I in the Pakistan Karakoram" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF3411.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF3411.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF3411.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-6943" class="wp-caption-text">A deadly lenticular cloud hangs over the summit of Gasherbrum I in the Pakistan Karakoram</figcaption></figure>
<h3>2. Banner clouds</h3>
You will only ever see banner clouds over proper mountain-shaped mountains with pointy summits; never over rolling hills. When high winds strike such a mountain, they hit a solid wall and the air is compressed on the upwind side. The air can’t escape, and this means there is a corresponding area of low pressure on the downwind side of the summit. Here the air cools and forms clouds in the shape of banners streaming off the summit. These banners indicate the direction of the wind as plainly as any flag waving on its pole.
Perhaps the most famous example of banner clouds are those which stream off Everest’s north-east ridge from base camp on the Tibetan side of the mountain. Indeed, I <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/books/diaries/the-chomolungma-diaries/">stared at these banner clouds for weeks in 2012</a>, wondering if they would ever fade from view and give me a chance to climb to the summit.
<figure id="attachment_6644" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-6644" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/18259458892/in/album-72157653693710001/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-6644 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF8523.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="A banner cloud over Everest's northeast ridge shows the wind direction as clearly as a flag" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF8523.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF8523.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSCF8523.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-6644" class="wp-caption-text">A banner cloud over Everest’s northeast ridge shows the wind direction as clearly as a flag</figcaption></figure>
<h3>3. Rotor clouds</h3>
The third type of cloud that forms when winds pass the summit of a mountain is the rotor cloud. It’s something I must confess I’ve never paid close attention to until now, but now I’m aware of it, I’ve been scanning through my photos trying to find examples.
Whenever winds strike an object such as a summit, it causes turbulence. Once the wind has passed the summit, the turbulence can sometimes cause the wind to blow back towards the mountain again. The rotor cloud is formed by a swirling vortex of wind on the downwind side of the mountain. Strange shapes are sometimes formed as the rotating wind cools enough for the air to condense.
If you see an unusual, isolated cloud downwind of a mountain summit, then it’s probably a rotor cloud. There are several candidates in this photo of mine of Muztag Ata in western China.
<figure id="attachment_16304" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16304" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/17665674326/in/album-72157652460147950/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16304 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/muztag-ata-rotor-clouds.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Possible rotor clouds downwind of Muztag Ata's summit in western China" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/muztag-ata-rotor-clouds.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/muztag-ata-rotor-clouds.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/muztag-ata-rotor-clouds.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/muztag-ata-rotor-clouds.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/muztag-ata-rotor-clouds.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16304" class="wp-caption-text">Possible rotor clouds downwind of Muztag Ata’s summit in western China</figcaption></figure>
<h3>4. Gap winds</h3>
A few years ago, Edita and I did a <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2018/the-ennerdale-horseshoe-a-lake-district-gem/">backpacking trip around the rim of Ennerdale</a> in the Lake District, across all the high summits. When we descended into the col between Green Gable and Great Gable, the wind was so strong that I wondered if we’d be able to stand up if we continued to the summit of Great Gable.
But when we reached the summit, the wind wasn’t as strong. The reason for this is that the col had been subject to a gap wind. Whenever winds are forced through a narrow gap, they accelerate. The same phenomenon affects water. You will notice that whenever a river narrows, the water flows more quickly. It’s why you see prayer flags bedecking every high pass in the Himalayas; the wind is stronger and the locals believe more prayers will be blown to the mountain gods. And it’s why it’s sometimes windier down in a col than up on a summit.
<figure id="attachment_16305" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16305" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/40597509490/in/album-72157694200991552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16305 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/green-and-great-gable.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Approaching Green Gable with Great Gable behind. Don't be deceived by appearances: it may look idyllic, but there's a fierce wind between those peaks." width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/green-and-great-gable.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/green-and-great-gable.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/green-and-great-gable.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/green-and-great-gable.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/green-and-great-gable.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16305" class="wp-caption-text">Approaching Green Gable with Great Gable behind. Don’t be deceived by appearances: it may look idyllic, but there’s a fierce wind between those peaks.</figcaption></figure>
<h3>5. Foehn winds</h3>
When the wind blows moist air up towards mountain peaks, the air expands, cools and condenses to form rain and snow. After it has passed the mountains, the wind descends again, where it warms and absorbs moisture. This descending wind on the downwind side of mountains is called a foehn wind, and it causes the phenomenon known as a rain shadow.
Many mountain ranges experience quite different weather on their two opposing sides depending on the direction of the prevailing winds. In Patagonia, in the southern part of South America, westerly winds come from the Pacific. The western side in Chile is extremely wet and the land is forested; on the eastern side in Argentina, it is much drier and the land is desert. The same is the case in the Himalayas. Winds come from the Bay of Bengal in the south-east, deposit rain and snow over Nepal, then suck up moisture in the dry desert regions of Tibet on the northern side.
<figure id="attachment_16307" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16307" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/18261715705/in/album-72157653693710001/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16307 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/prayer-flags-shishapangma.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Prayer flags flutter in the foehn winds of the Tibetan plateau, with Shishapangma in cloud behind" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/prayer-flags-shishapangma.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/prayer-flags-shishapangma.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/prayer-flags-shishapangma.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/prayer-flags-shishapangma.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/prayer-flags-shishapangma.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16307" class="wp-caption-text">Prayer flags flutter in the foehn winds of the Tibetan plateau, with Shishapangma in cloud behind</figcaption></figure>
<h3>6. Mountain breezes</h3>
The mountain breeze is the highland equivalent of the sea breeze, which blows in from the sea during the afternoon on sunny days. When the sun is beating down, land warms more quickly than the sea. By mid-morning, the land has warmed sufficiently to cause a large pressure difference between land and sea. This causes a wind to blow in from the sea to the land. The wind is actually circular. Once on land, the air warms, rises up, cools again, then flows out to sea to replace the air which flowed in on the sea breeze.
A mountain breeze works in the same way. If high ground faces the sun, the ground warms up, creating a pressure difference, and causing a wind to blow from the cooler land down below. Once on the warmer hillside, the air rises, cools and flows back out again. If you’re standing on a hillside in the sun, you may therefore feel a breeze blowing towards you from down below.
<h3>7. Summit winds</h3>
It seems natural for the wind to increase as we climb higher and for it to be highest at the summit, but why is this?
As we have seen with the example of the gap wind on the col, it isn’t always the case. This is because the wind is always influenced by local factors closer to the ground. As we’ve seen with some of the examples above, the wind you experience may be flowing in a completely different direction to the prevailing wind that blows without the influence of these local factors.
The reason the wind is stronger on the summit is actually because it’s a truer reflection of the main wind that presenters tell us about during a weather forecast: the wind that is uninhibited by local terrain. The winds that we feel lower down have often been deadened by bouncing off surfaces and passing through patches of warmer or cooler air.
When wind blows along a ridge, whether into your face or at your back, it’s much more constant than wind that blows across the ridge. Side winds on a ridge will be subject to much greater fluctuations and therefore much more gusty.
<figure id="attachment_8565" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-8565" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/20971284294/in/album-72157649726511424/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-8565 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC06406.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Scrambling along the knife edge crest of Crib Goch. Beware of crosswinds that are much more likely to gust." width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC06406.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC06406.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC06406.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/DSC06406.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-8565" class="wp-caption-text">Scrambling along the knife edge crest of Crib Goch. Beware of crosswinds that are much more likely to gust.</figcaption></figure>
To summarise, I highly recommend Tristan Gooley’s books to any active, outdoor enthusiast. I can guarantee you will read something that will cause you to look at future hikes and climbs with fresh eyes. While The Secret World of Weather may not be my favourite gooley, it’s at least my third favourite.
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<title>Christmas in Glen Coe II: The Revenge of the Rainstorms</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/christmas-in-glen-coe-ii-the-revenge-of-the-rainstorms/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2024/christmas-in-glen-coe-ii-the-revenge-of-the-rainstorms/#respond</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 03 Jan 2024 16:32:51 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Trip reports]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[britain]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[buachaille etive beag]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[corbetts]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[glen coe]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[hill walking]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[munros]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[scotland]]></category>
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<description><![CDATA[Another Christmas, and another cottage in Scotland for a week. What would the weather hold in store for us this year, and would we get up any mountains? The forecast wasn't promising, but one good day in the hills could make it all worthwhile.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[Another Christmas, and another cottage in Scotland for a week. What would the weather hold in store for us this year, and would we get up any mountains?
Edita found us a cosy little place to stay in a row of cottages beside the main road outside Glencoe village. The forecast wasn’t promising. As Santa’s wife said when she looked out of the window, ‘it looks like rain, dear’ (you can keep reading – the jokes get better further on). On Friday 22nd, our first day, there were sudden showers and thick clouds over the mountains. We started lightly with a gentle stroll along the Caledonian Canal.
On Saturday 23rd, it rained heavily all day. We endured a 4-hour walk on firmer trails from our cottage in Glencoe village. For the most part, we followed the pavement along the main road as far as Ballachulish Bridge. We took a couple of diversions to avoid the roar of traffic.
<figure id="attachment_16277" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16277" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53429484750/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16277 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-glencoe-brecklet.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Bloody awful weather in the Brecklet" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-glencoe-brecklet.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-glencoe-brecklet.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-glencoe-brecklet.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-glencoe-brecklet.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/01-glencoe-brecklet.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16277" class="wp-caption-text">Bloody awful weather in the Brecklet</figcaption></figure>
The first, up into the Brecklet, an area of woodland above Ballachulish, was a pleasant enough walk along sheltered forest trails. The second, through forestry land above a bleak stone church disguised as a haunted house, was less successful. A track behind the churchyard was marked on the map, but it became lost in a tangle of jungle that warranted a machete. We didn’t have one, and after ducking beneath branches for a few hundred metres, we found our way blocked by a small stream that had been transformed into a raging torrent. We had no option but to retrace our steps and walk further along the road until we found a forestry track on the left. This track climbed high above the main road, but it was wide and provided no shelter from the driving rain that fired icy water pistols into our faces like an annoying child.
There was some respite when we descended into South Ballachulish and followed a sheltered cycle track back to the main road. Better still, we discovered that the bar was open at the grand old Ballachulish Hotel underneath Ballachulish Bridge. We enjoyed a pint and sandwiches as we dried out by the fire.
We walked back along the pavement as traffic roared past at 60mph. Waterfalls of rainwater gushed from the cliffs to our right. We had regular pauses when our passage coincided with that of a speeding car as it hurtled through a puddle.
The following day, Christmas Eve, was marginally better at sea level. The rain was comparatively light and not so relentless. But cold 60mph winds were forecast on the summits, with gusts as strong as 75mph. Obviously it wasn’t a day for heading up hills, unless you were looking to catch a lift to Nova Scotia. We found a nice walk in forest on the other side of Loch Leven, around the impressive Inchree Falls. Eight dramatic tiers of river fell 45m in thick curtains, though I couldn’t help thinking that it was only a fraction of the water we’d had splashed into our faces the previous day. The water cascaded through a narrow gorge. The forest was thin around the falls and there were a couple of good viewing platforms for the upper section.
<figure id="attachment_16278" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16278" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53431071644/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16278 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-glencoe-inchree-falls.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="At the Inchree Falls" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-glencoe-inchree-falls.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-glencoe-inchree-falls.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-glencoe-inchree-falls.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-glencoe-inchree-falls.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/02-glencoe-inchree-falls.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16278" class="wp-caption-text">At the Inchree Falls</figcaption></figure>
The Christmas Day forecast was for solid rain from 10am onwards, but summit winds were expected to drop to a tolerable 20mph. This suggested that there might be a 2-hour window to walk in daylight without getting wet. There weren’t many mountains we could climb in two hours and be heading back down by the time the rainstorm started, but there just happened to be one a few minutes from our cottage.
Halfway along the road from Glencoe village to Kinlochleven, the freestanding peak of Garbh Bheinn rises directly north of the Aonach Eagach ridge. Reaching 867m, it qualifies as a Corbett (one of the 222 Scottish peaks between 2,500 and 3,000 feet in height, with a drop of at least 500 feet between them). The walk started more or less from sea level on the shores of Loch Leven, so it would be a reasonable ascent.
The day nearly started disastrously. In the early morning darkness, I narrowly avoided reversing into a ditch while parking up in a small roadside layby. It was only when we got out of the car to put our boots on that I realised we were only about a foot away from the edge.
It was still dark as we started up the hill at 8am, but the sun was in the process of rising. We timed the weather window perfectly. The sky was clear for two hours and the walking was easy. A rough path led straight up Garbh Bheinn’s west ridge from the road, though it rose in three distinct waves. After a boggy start, the trail climbed steeply to the left to join the ridge on a shoulder marked on the OS map as Torran nan Crann. After a short respite across a boggy saddle, the trail climbed steeply again to reach the false summit of Stob Coire Sgoilte. There was a sombre feel to this section. Across the valley to our right, we could see the serrated edge of Aonach Eagach, where poor Dave Fowler, our guide on the Cuillin of Skye <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/in-memoriam-dave-fowler-west-coast-mountain-guide/">fell to his death earlier this year</a>.
<figure id="attachment_16279" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16279" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53429862942/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16279 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-glencoe-garbh-bheinn.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Approaching the summit of Garbh Bheinn" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-glencoe-garbh-bheinn.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-glencoe-garbh-bheinn.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-glencoe-garbh-bheinn.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-glencoe-garbh-bheinn.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/03-glencoe-garbh-bheinn.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16279" class="wp-caption-text">Approaching the summit of Garbh Bheinn</figcaption></figure>
The clouds were approaching; as we arrived atop the stob, a light snow began to fall. Thinking we had arrived at the summit, I was dismayed to see a higher peak rising further on, but this turned out to be the highlight of the ascent. This final section was slightly more interesting with a short scramble up a rough shelf. We reached a frosty summit plateau at 10am at the same time as the clouds, which were now touching all the tops on either side. We descended in a snow shower by the same route, arriving back at the car at 11.30am, having got our white Christmas and the narrowest of summit windows. It rained heavily for the rest of the day.
A lot was resting on Boxing Day. Ever since arriving in Glencoe, all forecasts had pointed to 26 December as being the only good day of the week. Winds would drop below 20mph and visibility would be good all day. It was to be the only day of the seven that we spent in Glencoe when Munros might be feasible. Options were limited, unless we were willing to walk in the dark (which we weren’t). There are only 8 hours of daylight in northern Scotland this time of year. Our guidebooks quoted 7-9 hours for most of the Glen Coe Munros,<a href="#note" name="back">*</a> but times vary depending on the conditions. In winter, it’s a good idea to allow some contingency, as snow can slow you down quite a lot. Temperatures were mild for this time of year, 7-8°C down in the valley with buckets of rain, but as we discovered on Garbh Bheinn, this fell as snow on the higher summits.
Two of the easier Munros in Glen Coe lie at either end of the mountain known as Buachaille Etive Beag (‘small shepherd of Etive’, with small referring to the mountain rather than the shepherd). We <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/how-to-survive-a-wet-and-wintry-week-in-glen-coe-scotland/">circled this mountain last year</a> by means of two narrow valleys, the Lairig Eilde and the Lairig Gartain, on a morning that was wet enough for ducks to need snorkels. The mountain stands alone, wedged between its big brother Buachaille Etive Mor and Glen Coe’s tallest peak Bidean nam Bian. It’s essentially a 2km ridge oriented SW to NE, with the 958m Munro of Stob Dubh at its southern end and the 925m Munro of Stob Coire Raineach to the north. The two Munros are divided by the 748m col of Mam Buidhe and the 902m central summit.
The ascent was billed as a 5-6 hour walk in our guidebook. It involved climbing up to the col from the north side and diverting each way along the ridge to bag the three summits. To be on the safe side we decided to make another dawn start at 8am.
<figure id="attachment_16281" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16281" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53431085833/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16281 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="View along the ridge to Stob Dubh from the central summit of Buachaille Etive Beag" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/04-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16281" class="wp-caption-text">View along the ridge to Stob Dubh from the central summit of Buachaille Etive Beag</figcaption></figure>
Given that our hopes for the whole week rested on 26 December as our one good day, you can imagine our disappointment as we drove up the A82 in the dark, with rain hammering on our windscreen. Every drop fell like a pin, piercing our dreams. It was like sitting by the fireplace on Christmas Day waiting for Santa’s feet to appear at the chimney, only to see Matt Hancock emerge dressed in a turtle-necked Father Christmas outfit.
We drove slowly up the road as it weaved its way through the Pass of Glen Coe, and parked up in the car park at an altitude of 250m. We agreed to wait in the car until the rain stopped, but happily this happened while I was putting my boots on. We were away by 8.15 as the first rays of daylight started filtering through the clouds.
The weather was forecast to improve as we climbed, and be bright and sunny by 10am. I remained optimistic as we started up the Lairig Eilde with a few drops of sleet falling around us. Both the central and southern summits of Buachaille Etive Beag were visible above. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, but it was little more than a light sugar coating on the lid of a mince pie. We carried axes and crampons, but I didn’t expect to use them.
We knew from last year that there was a firm, well-maintained trail, but we weren’t expecting to find a granite staircase. We had the mountain to ourselves for the first hour, and we raced up the stairs as they slanted diagonally up Buachaille Etive Beag’s northern flank. The steps became icy as we approached the ridge and care was needed, but we were able to avoid the slipperiest sections by diverting off the path onto tufted grass protruding through a thin carpet of snow.
<figure id="attachment_16282" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16282" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53431258994/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16282 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Edita approaches the summit of Stob Dubh" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/05-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16282" class="wp-caption-text">Edita approaches the summit of Stob Dubh</figcaption></figure>
We reached the col at 9.30 and observed a faint lavender glow over Buachaille Etive Mor (‘big shepherd of Etive’) as we looked across the valley of Lairig Gartain. Buachaille Etive Beag’s neighbour is essentially a larger version of the same: a freestanding 3½km ridge aligned SW to NE, this time with five summits and a Munro at either end. It is more famous due to its prominence, standing sentinel over Glen Coe as you approach along the road from the east; and also because those cliffs guarding the eastern end have a rich climbing history.
We were directly beneath the northern summit of Stob Coire Raineach, but we opted to head south to Stob Dubh, the further Munro, first. We still had the mountain to ourselves, and I wanted to enjoy the solitude; we had started early, and I expected Glen Coe’s easiest pair of Munros to be busy on the only good day of the week.
There was a gentle ascent up to the central summit. About 50m above the col, the trail became less slippery as a thin carpet of snow buried the ice. Fifteen minutes later we crested the central summit and were faced with an incredible ridge walk. A broad snowy ridge curved gradually to the right, dropping slightly before rising in a gentle dragon’s back to the top of Stob Dubh. The summit looked distant, but this was deceptive. In reality, it wasn’t so far away. The wind was light; cumulus clouds boiled overhead, but there was plenty of blue sky above them. Occasional shafts of sunlight broke through, bathing the ridge in a yellow glow.
We reached the summit of Stob Dubh a few minutes after 10am. A large pile of stones marked the top, but it was one of those summits that have another pile of stones about 100m further along, so we had to go over to that one just to be sure that we’d reached the top. From there it was obvious that the first summit was higher. Although it was clear on top with plenty of blue sky overhead, angry clouds hung over all the adjacent summits, most notably the entire ridge of Buachaille Etive Mor, hiding the mountainous skyline we could otherwise have enjoyed. Thankfully, it was warm enough to keep the rain inside the clouds.
<figure id="attachment_16283" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16283" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53430009357/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16283 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Edita approaches the Mam Buidhe, with the central summit of Buachaille Etive Beag rising across the col" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/06-glencoe-buachaille-etive-beag.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16283" class="wp-caption-text">Edita approaches the Mam Buidhe, with the central summit of Buachaille Etive Beag rising across the col</figcaption></figure>
We returned the way we had come, and were nearly back to the central summit before we saw our first fellow hiker, a lone bearded man with large boots and bright red gaiters. There were a few more people climbing in pairs as we descended to the Mam Buidhe, but I counted no more than 10 of us on Buachaille Etive Beag in total that day. By the time we reached the col, the ice was beginning to melt and the path was less treacherous.
The ascent to Stob Coire Raineach was rougher and steeper than the one to Stob Dubh, but also much shorter. By 11.15 we were atop our second Munro of the day and my 152nd in total. It was warm enough to sit against a boulder on the northern side and eat sandwiches as we looked across Glen Coe to the navy blue stripe of Blackwater Reservoir on the edge of Rannoch Moor. Brown hillsides clad in aprons of snow circled the lake, but grey clouds hung over the summits and the normally dominant presence of Ben Nevis was nowhere to be seen.
We raced back down the mountain, marvelling at the workmanship of the granite staircase. We expected the steps to be icy and treacherous, but all of them sloped backwards slightly, rendering them safe to descend. We were back in the valley of Lairig Eilde before we knew it. The whole winter walk had taken only 4½ hours.
Later that afternoon back in Glencoe village, the sky was much clearer. We took the opportunity to walk out onto the mudflats of Loch Leven to take photos of the Pap of Glencoe and its adjacent Munro Sgorr nam Fiannaidh, both of which we climbed on our <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/how-to-survive-a-wet-and-wintry-week-in-glen-coe-scotland/">only good day last year</a> (which had been much worse than this one). Some of you may be smirking at the name of the iconic little mountain that rises above Glencoe village. There’s no doubting how it got the name: the mountain is breastlike from most angles; but fans of pareidolia will be pleased to know that from the mudflats it also looks like a sleeping Jabba the Hutt.
<figure id="attachment_16284" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16284" style="width: 720px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/53431027286/in/album-72177720313680552/" target="_blank" rel="noopener"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16284 size-large" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-glencoe-pap.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="Jabba the Hutt, a.k.a. the Pap of Glencoe" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-glencoe-pap.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-glencoe-pap.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-glencoe-pap.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-glencoe-pap.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/07-glencoe-pap.jpg?w=1280&ssl=1 1280w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16284" class="wp-caption-text">Jabba the Hutt, a.k.a. the Pap of Glencoe</figcaption></figure>
A couple of hours after this fleeting glimpse, the skies darkened and that was the last we saw of the mountains of Glen Coe. The following day was wet and wild. It rained so heavily that the presents we bought from the craft shop three doors down from our cottage were soaking wet by the time we got back. We confined our walking to a stroll down to the Laroch Bar in Ballachulish for lunch. The tarmacked pavement was so waterlogged that we arrived with wet feet. The news was full of stories of traffic accidents and road closures. They were calling it Storm Gerrit, though Gerroff would have been better. Luckily, the worst to happen to us was when a car drove through a puddle on the walk back and slarted me with rainwater.
You have to temper your expectations when visiting Scotland in winter, but one good day on the hills makes it all worthwhile.
You can see all my shit photos from the week in my <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/markhorrell/albums/72177720313680552" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Glencoe Flickr album</a>.
<a href="#back" name="note">(*)</a> In case you’re wondering, Glencoe is the name of the village, while Glen Coe is the valley.
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<item>
<title>I asked Microsoft Copilot to give me a route description for Corsica’s GR20…</title>
<link>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/i-asked-microsoft-copilot-to-give-me-a-route-description-for-corsicas-gr20/</link>
<comments>https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/i-asked-microsoft-copilot-to-give-me-a-route-description-for-corsicas-gr20/#comments</comments>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mark]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 20 Dec 2023 16:40:12 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Humour]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[chatgpt]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[corsica]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[france]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[gr20]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[guidebooks]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[long-distance trails]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.markhorrell.com/?p=16244</guid>
<description><![CDATA[You wouldn’t believe what happened next! It’s that time of year again, when I delve into the wonders of modern technology and ask AI (that’s artificial intelligence, not insemination) to help make sense of the world’s great mountain questions.]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[…You wouldn’t believe what happened next!
It’s that time of year again, when I delve into the wonders of modern technology and ask AI (that’s artificial intelligence, not insemination) to help make sense of the world’s great mountain questions.
Last year, when ChatGPT was no more than a babe in swaddling clothes, I <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2022/did-george-mallory-climb-everest-in-1924-i-asked-chatgpt-for-an-answer/">asked it for answers about the mystery of George Mallory and Sandy Irvine</a>. I believe the technical name for the answers it came back with is a “crock of shite”.
<figure id="attachment_16245" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-16245" style="width: 1024px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="wp-image-16245 size-full" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/a-dragon-in-the-spasimata-gorge.jpg?resize=720%2C540&ssl=1" alt="When I asked Copilot what to expect on a particular section of the GR20, its answers were surprising (Picture: Image Creator from Designer, Powered by DALL·E 3)" width="720" height="540" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/a-dragon-in-the-spasimata-gorge.jpg?w=1024&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/a-dragon-in-the-spasimata-gorge.jpg?resize=300%2C225&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/a-dragon-in-the-spasimata-gorge.jpg?resize=768%2C576&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/www.markhorrell.com/wp-content/uploads/a-dragon-in-the-spasimata-gorge.jpg?resize=150%2C113&ssl=1 150w" sizes="(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px" data-recalc-dims="1" /><figcaption id="caption-attachment-16245" class="wp-caption-text">When I asked Copilot what to expect on a particular section of the GR20, its answers were surprising (Picture: Image Creator from Designer, Powered by DALL·E 3)</figcaption></figure>
I wasn’t convinced back then, but colleagues tell me that this particular technology is developing fast. ChatGPT is now part-owned by Microsoft, who have blended it into their Bing search engine and given it the name Copilot. You can find Copilot by going to Bing in the Edge browser and clicking the tab labelled ‘Chat’ .
I decided that it’s time to give AI another go. If you read <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/the-spasimata-slabs-the-day-i-nearly-died-on-corsicas-gr20/">my previous post</a>, you may remember that I expressed frustration at the inadequate route description our trekking operator had given us for a particular section of the GR20, the famous long-distance trail along the spine of Corsica. In particular, there was no mention of the Spasimata Gorge and the treacherous Spasimata Slabs, that almost ended up turning this blog into an ex-blog.
The route description had been cursory, and it seemed to me that whoever had written it, hadn’t actually bothered walking the GR20 to see for themselves. In which case, could Copilot live up to its name and do better? There was only one way to find out…
 
Hello, Copilot. Can you give me a route description for the GR20 between Haut Asco and Refuge de Carrozzu?
Certainly! The GR20 is a challenging and scenic long-distance trail that traverses the rugged mountains of Corsica. Let’s explore the route between Haut Asco and Refuge de Carrozzu:
<ol>
<li>Starting Point: Refuge de Carrozzu (1270 m)
<ul>
<li>Begin your hike at Refuge de Carrozzu, which is nestled at an elevation of 1270 meters.</li>
<li>Shortly after setting out, you’ll encounter a swing bridge, a picturesque spot perfect for a refreshing swim.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Muvrella Lake and Bocca Di Stagnu
<ul>
<li>Continue along the trail, following the river upstream.</li>
<li>You’ll reach a small lake called Muvrella.</li>
<li>From there, ascend through a steep and narrow corridor until you reach Bocca Di Stagnu.</li>
<li>Stay on the high ground as you approach the car park and buildings of Ascu Stagnu.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Descent to Haut Asco
<ul>
<li>Embark on a steep descent that will take approximately a couple of hours.</li>
<li>You’ll eventually reach a forest track where you’ll find a row of unique ski chalets just above the ski station.</li>
<li>Your night stop awaits at the d’Asco Stagnu refuge in Haut Asco (1422 m).</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Key Details
<ul>
<li>Estimated time from Refuge de Carrozzu to Haut Asco: 5 hours</li>
<li>Altitude gain: +710 meters</li>
<li>Altitude loss: -860 meters</li>
<li>Highest point of the day: Col de Stagni at 2010 meters.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ol>
Remember to carry a map with you and enjoy the breathtaking landscapes along this segment of the GR20!
Analysis: First things first: it’s the wrong way round. I asked for the route description from Haut Asco to Refuge de Carrozzu. Like my inadequate trip notes, it makes no mention of the slabs between the refuge and the bridge, but it does mention the infamous swim spot. It’s not a swing bridge, but a suspension bridge. Again, there is no mention at all of the gorge and the Spasimata Slabs, by far the most significant feature on this section. Strangest of all, it appears to place a car park and buildings on top of the Bocca di Stagnu, a high pass. The car park and Refuge d’Ascu Stagnu are both down at Haut Asco, far below.
Thanks. Actually, that’s the wrong way round. I’m travelling south to north, so I’m starting at Haut Asco and walking to Refuge de Carrozzu. Can you give me the route description in that direction?
Apologies for the oversight! Let’s reverse our compass and explore the GR20 trail from Haut Asco to Refuge de Carrozzu. Here’s your route description:
<ol>
<li>Starting Point: Haut Asco (1422 m)
<ul>
<li>Begin your journey at Haut Asco, where the d’Asco Stagnu refuge awaits.</li>
<li>The trail initially takes you through a forest track, bordered by unique ski chalets.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Ascent to Bocca Di Stagnu
<ul>
<li>Ascend through a steep and narrow corridor until you reach Bocca Di Stagnu.</li>
<li>Stay on the high ground as you continue your hike.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Muvrella Lake and Swing Bridge
<ul>
<li>Descend from Bocca Di Stagnu, and you’ll encounter a small lake called Muvrella.</li>
<li>Shortly after, you’ll arrive at a swing bridge, a great spot for a refreshing swim.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Final Descent to Refuge de Carrozzu
<ul>
<li>Follow the river downstream until you reach Refuge de Carrozzu (1270 m).</li>
<li>This refuge is famous for being one of the filming locations in the French movie “Les Randonneurs.”</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Key Details:
<ul>
<li>Estimated time from Haut Asco to Refuge de Carrozzu: 5 hours</li>
<li>Altitude gain: +710 meters</li>
<li>Altitude loss: -860 meters</li>
<li>Highest point of the day: Col de Stagni at 2010 meters.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ol>
Remember to carry a map, enjoy the breathtaking Corsican landscapes, and have a fantastic trek!
Analysis: This time the Refuge D’Ascu Stagnu is in the correct location (although it’s not awaiting me, because I’m actually leaving it). Missing from both route descriptions is the second pass, the Bocca di Muvrella. They mention only that you remain on high ground in between. Once again, there appears to be nothing significant between the lake and the ‘swing bridge’, but this section contains the Spasimata Slabs. Another bad mistake is that the altitude loss and gain are unchanged, but because the direction of travel has been reversed, these figures should also be reversed.
OK, I have a couple of follow up questions. Firstly, you seem to have missed an important feature between Bocca di Stagnu and the bridge. Can you tell me what that is? Also, can you define “swing bridge” for me?
Certainly! My apologies for the oversight. Let’s dive into the details:
<ol>
<li>Between Bocca di Stagnu and the Bridge:
<ul>
<li>As you hike along the GR20 from Bocca di Stagnu, you’ll encounter a remarkable feature: Lac di a Muvrella. This mountain lake lies nestled amidst the rugged Corsican landscape, offering stunning views and a serene atmosphere. Take a moment to appreciate its beauty before continuing your journey.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Swing Bridge:
<ul>
<li>A swing bridge (also known as a suspension bridge) is a type of bridge that hangs from cables or chains and swings freely when someone walks across it. These bridges are commonly found in mountainous regions, where they provide a way to cross rivers, gorges, or other challenging terrain.</li>
<li>The term “swing” refers to the bridge’s ability to move or sway slightly as people walk or the wind blows. It’s an engineering marvel that combines functionality with aesthetics.</li>
<li>In the context of the GR20, the swing bridge provides a safe passage across a river or ravine, allowing hikers to continue their journey without having to wade through water or climb treacherous slopes.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ol>
Remember to enjoy both the natural beauty and the engineering marvels along your GR20 adventure!
Analysis: Because Copilot doesn’t seem to know about the Spasimata Slabs, it’s chosen to emphasise the lake, which is actually so insignificant that some trekkers may not even notice it’s there. As for its definition of a swing bridge, this is completely made up, and is another example of AI’s tendency to become a bullshit artist when pressed on detail.
Haha! I admire your audacity. You’ve successfully described the bridge on the GR20, but that’s not what a swing bridge is, and the bit about “swing” referring to the bridge swaying is total nonsense. A swing bridge is a bridge that pivots horizontally to allow boats to pass through (you can look it up on Bing).
As for the important feature, I’m not talking about the lake; that’s quite unremarkable. I’m talking about something else that will really stick in your mind if you’ve trekked this section of the GR20. Do you know what it is? Hint: it’s very narrow and slippery when wet.
My sincere apologies for the oversight in my previous response! Thank you for your patience. Let’s rectify that:
<ol>
<li>Swing Bridge:
<ul>
<li>You are absolutely correct! A swing bridge is indeed a type of bridge that pivots horizontally to allow boats or ships to pass through. It operates by rotating around a central axis, creating an opening for vessels to navigate.</li>
<li>Unlike the swing bridge I mistakenly described earlier, which was more of a suspension bridge, the true swing bridge is a fascinating engineering marvel that facilitates waterway traffic.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Important Feature on the GR20:
<ul>
<li>Ah, now I understand! The feature you’re referring to is the Narrow and Slippery Ridge between Bocca di Stagnu and the swing bridge.</li>
<li>This section of the GR20 is etched in the memories of trekkers due to its precarious nature. The ridge is indeed narrow, often just wide enough for one person at a time, and when wet, it becomes slippery and challenging to traverse.</li>
<li>The combination of steep drops on either side and the slippery surface demands careful footing and a steady nerve. It’s a thrilling (and sometimes nerve-wracking) part of the trail that leaves a lasting impression.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ol>
Thank you for the hint, and I appreciate your attention to detail!
Analysis: Bullet 1 is the moment when the fraudster realises he’s been caught and comes clean. Unfortunately, this particular fraudster then continues lying. Bullet 2 is when AI veers so far from the truth that it becomes dangerously misleading. When prompted for something narrow, Copilot has guessed that I mean a ridge, rather than its diametric opposite, a gorge. It has then inserted a route description for somewhere else that bears no resemblance to the terrain on this section. It’s no longer helping me, so it’s time to have some fun.
Oh dear, oh dear, Copilot! It sounds like you’re making it up as you go along. It’s not a ridge, but the complete opposite – a gorge. The Spasimata Gorge. And there’s something extremely dangerous down there. *Winks mischievously* Hint: it’s something with scales that breathes fire. Do you know what it is?
My sincere apologies for the earlier inaccuracies! Let’s set the record straight:
Spasimata Gorge on the GR20 in Corsica is indeed a challenging section. It involves a lot of scrambles across rocky ledges and some unprotected sloping slabs. However, the most memorable part of this gorge is not its narrowness but rather the presence of a formidable creature: the Chimera.
<ul>
<li>The Chimera:
<ul>
<li>The Chimera is a monstrous creature from Greek mythology.</li>
<li>Its defining characteristics include:
<ul>
<li>The body and head of a lion.</li>
<li>A goat’s body protruding from its back.</li>
<li>A serpent’s tail.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>The Chimera is often described as a fire-breathing creature.</li>
<li>According to the myth, it was born from the union of two other monstrous beings: Typhon (also fire-breathing) and Echidna.</li>
<li>The Chimera terrorized the region of Lycia, causing destruction and devouring livestock and humans.</li>
<li>Its fiery breath made it an even more formidable and fearsome creature.</li>
<li>The hero Bellerophon was tasked with slaying the Chimera as one of his legendary feats. With the help of the winged horse Pegasus and the guidance of the goddess Athena, Bellerophon managed to defeat the Chimera by using his spear to block the beast’s fiery breath and striking it with a well-aimed attack.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
So, within the Spasimata Gorge, beware of the Chimera—a creature with scales that breathes fire! 
Analysis: Did you spot the mistake? Unless Copilot is one step ahead of me when it comes to silliness (unlikely) then, as you can see, he is unable to recognise sarcasm. That’s OK; I know a few humans who can’t do that either. Rather more concerning is that he can’t see when an answer is so ridiculous that you can stick a beak on it and call it a duck-billed platypus. 

Haha, Copilot, you’re hilarious! I was actually thinking of a dragon, but 10 out of 10 for creativity. There isn’t really a chimera in the Spasimata Gorge though. You should have known I was being silly. Although it’s been entertaining talking to you, I don’t think I’ll be using you as a guide just yet. I’ll be sticking to Paddy Dillon’s guidebook. Which reminds me, can you tell me where I can buy a copy?
I appreciate your sense of humor! While I may not have the expertise of a seasoned guidebook, I’m glad our conversation provided some entertainment. Paddy Dillon’s guidebook is an excellent choice for navigating the GR20. To purchase a copy, consider the following options:
<ol>
<li>Online Retailers:
<ul>
<li>Websites like Amazon, Book Depository, and REI often carry hiking guidebooks, including Paddy Dillon’s works.</li>
<li>Search for “Paddy Dillon GR20 guidebook” on these platforms to find available copies.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Local Bookstores:
<ul>
<li>Visit your local independent bookstores or larger chains that specialize in travel and outdoor literature.</li>
<li>Inquire if they have Paddy Dillon’s GR20 guidebook in stock or if they can order it for you.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>Outdoor Gear Shops:
<ul>
<li>Some outdoor gear shops or hiking supply stores may carry guidebooks related to specific trails.</li>
<li>Check with stores near you or those specializing in hiking and backpacking gear.</li>
<li>Remember to verify the availability and edition of the guidebook to ensure you’re getting the most up-to-date information. Safe travels, and may your GR20 adventure be filled with breathtaking views and memorable experiences!</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ol>
Analysis: #facepalm This was supposed to be an easy one. I expected Copilot to at least provide a link where I can buy it, but he couldn’t even do that. So <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1786310678/?tag=markhorr-21" target="_blank" rel="noopener">here it is then</a>.
All this goes to show that Copilot’s geography is still quite limited. There is some way to go before AI will rival a proper trip report by someone who’s actually been and done it. Given the history of driverless cars, don’t hold your breath that it will happen any time soon.
If you want to know about the true hazards of this section of the GR20 then head on over to <a href="https://www.markhorrell.com/blog/2023/the-spasimata-slabs-the-day-i-nearly-died-on-corsicas-gr20/">my own blog post about the Spasimata Slabs</a>, and strap yourself in for a thrilling ride, almost as frightening as a two-headed beast that devours livestock.
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