Vafes runs

Two attempts on two different mornings to get to the top of the local peak - an eye-catching mountain directly above Vafes that was called....well, I'm not too sure. It was something like 'Skoufou', but that was from the mouth of a local shepherd. I made the first attempt on Sunday - driving up the tiny road to 'upper Vafes' (where Patrick Leigh Fermor hid with the partisans in WWII) and continued on foot up tracks to another of those distinctive and wonderful Cretan mountain plateaus. This was directly below the peak in question, and I thought I could see a way up, so continued until encountering a shepherd outside his hut. He was friendly, although we had no words in common - and told me the name of the mountain, which I struggled to remember or convey in print, gesturing vaguely westwards at a possible route up. I ran along the track before ploughing direct through the maquis in an attempt at the summit - giving up half an hour later with bloodied legs, dehydrated. It was never going to work, so later I asked the English-speaking shopkeeper in Vafes if there was a route. He thought not, which seemed extraordinary given how eye-catching and obvious the peak was - remote parts of the Balkans are the only European equivalent, otherwise you would have to be in the developing world to encounter a similar situation. Anyway, two days later - our last day - I tried again, sticking to the path for well over an hour of running, a good few miles, and then contouring west and upwards, getting quite close but still seeing no route through the maquis: very frustrating.

Kastro

Peaks: Skoutsio Korifi (1893m), Kastro (2218m*)
Area: Lefka Ori, Crete
The true 'mountain desert', the extraordinary landscape of the central Lefka Ori, is not easy to penetrate without a bivouac. I'd gazed into it from the summit of Melindaou, but wanted to get amongst it somehow. Looming high above our stone house in the foothill village of Vafes was Kastro, at the eastern end of the Lefka Ori, and research suggested I might be able to sample the landscape by running up it from Askifou in Sfakia (although protected by rows of subsidiary ridges). I wanted to return to the heart of Sfakia anyway, having sampled it on our Saturday trip. Even within Greece as a whole (which has many regions like this) it has something of a reputation: never occupied by foreign powers, notorious for its vendettas, it struck me as a kind of European Afghanistan. I got up early and drove over the high pass into Sfakia, heading upwards from Askifou as far as I could get by car. Inevitably, the little road I'd been following deteriorated into a shepherd's track, and a tricky reversing manoeuvre was required before I could set off up the E4 - quite easy to find but steep at this point as it makes its way through pine woods and steep hillsides to gain pastures higher up. This is Niato, another extraordinary high hidden plateau, so wonderful and characteristically Cretan. It is complex, with the initial meadows (called Tavri, perhaps) just a foretaste: jogging along a track, I then penetrated the true Niato, hidden behind lumpy hills. It is a stunning place, a remote, circular plateau - all greens and oranges in the early morning sunshine, the characteristic brilliance of the Cretan light setting it off, with the Kastro range dazzling white beyond. The route ahead was unclear. I stayed on the main track taken by the E4 until I became a little uneasy, seeing no sign whatsoever of a route up Kastro. This was not altogether surprising, as not many people come this way (although Kastro is relatively accessible by the standards of the Lefka Ori). Still, I didn't really want to push upwards through the maquis and rocks without some idea of the wider landscape, the bigger picture. After a while, I decided I had no choice, so reversed to the obvious valley coming down from the highest ridge, and picked my way up goat tracks with the intention of getting out of the maquis and on to the limestone as soon as was feasible. This worked to an extent, and I soon started scrambling up rough, but gently angled limestone on the right-hand side of the valley. It was windless and baking hot, as the sun began to climb. The northerly wind and lack of humidity that had been such a help to me a week ago was now gone, replaced by the fully cranked-up oven; and this was almost the definition of an unforgiving landscape. It feels exposed, malevolent, like a mirror/reverse-image of the vulnerable feeling you often get when the weather is really bad in the British hills or the Alps. I had 1.7 litres of water with me, and had no intention of hanging around, so ploughed upwards. The other issue was that it was not entirely clear where I was: as I rose, I looked left towards what I later realised was Skoutsio Kourifi, an obscure but shapely peak, but at the time felt that it must be Kastro. As it happened, I was actually on Kastro! It was just that I couldn't see the big picture, given the nature of the topography and the lack of map. Gradually, the penny dropped, as I emerged from the initial very steep rise and hellish scree to gain a shoulder with views out over Vafes and the north coast (and a slight breeze). I was above the re-entrant that is key to the ascent, and traversed the top of this with some scrambling (some way below the true summit of Kastro, as I later discovered) to pick up a ridge which led, via a lumpy subpeak, to the climb up Skoutsio Kourifi. Most of this only became clear later, as I struggled with the topography, map-less. The important thing was that I was now in the extraordinary landscape of the White Mountain Desert. If not unique, it is certainly unusual. It reminded me of the Sinai or Wadi Rum, but in some ways was even more barren in the sense that it is devoid of life and water. Looking into the central part of the range does feel a little like I remember the remoter parts of Wadi Rum: quite serious, and no place for a leaky bottle. This was as far as I got, however, as I had promised to be back by midday. So I scampered to the summit of Skoutsio Kourifi, with its views of the Sfakian coast, then down awkward screes - completely pathless, no sign of humans - down towards a valley above Niato which looked feasible from above. This reading of the landscape was quite satisfying and, despite a few falls and punctured fingers (on the prickly vegetation) and swollen hands (one of the plants leads to some kind of allergic reaction), I got back to the level pasture of Niatto in reasonable time. From here, I ran flat out back to the car, still with a little water left.

Samaria Gorge

Not one, but two family trips down this most famous of gorges. After my three days in the White Mountains solo, I was really looking forward to showing K and E around after a rest day in Chania. I deliberately saved Samaria for a family outing having looked down on it from all the surrounding peaks, and the Kallergi refuge, but E didn't fancy the standard coach trip with 5am start. So we drove up in our own time on Thursday morning, having a picnic breakfast at Lakkoi and entering the gorge around 10am at Xyloscala. Views were just as perfect and spectacular as they had been when I was here a few days ago, and I warned them both that we were essentially doing a 'hillwalk in reverse', so a certain amount of judgement about when to turn back was in order. The zigzags from Xyloscala descend for 600 metres and must be very hard on the knees for the tourists who come this way. After this, the side gorge comes down from the Gigilos Pass, and the path levels out a bit until the ancient chapel is reached at Ayia Nikolaos, a delightful resting spot. After seeing virtually nobody on all my forays up 14 Cretan summits, it was a novelty to be faced by hundreds of tourists of all shapes and sizes today. After rest and snacks at the chapel, we continued onwards, much gentler now as the walls begin to narrow a bit. The river is crossed multiple times during this section, with views up the walls of Gigilos and Volakias. All the rest stops had water, a crucial factor that makes it feasible for ordinary walkers. Eventually, the gorge opens out again above the abandoned village of Samaria. This is the point at which it really narrows, but unfortunately I also deemed it the best time to turn back as I felt we would be pushing it otherwise. On the long haul back to Xyloscala, we saw two cri cri (agrimi) the endemic Cretan wild goat (I had also seen two or three on my mountain trips) - this was presumably because the gorge was now completely empty, which made for a memorable trip back up, away from the hordes, definitely the way to do it. One kri kri, spotted by E, was a male with horns. E and K coped well with the long climb up, and agreed to go back again, from the bottom this time. So after moving from Maleme to the foothill village of Vafes we drove, two days later, to Hora Sfakion on the south coast and booked ourselves onto the morning ferry to Ayia Roumeli. A wonderful, unforgettable journey ensued, hugging the wild coast en route to the beautiful village of Loutro, the fantasy Greek coastal village with whitewashed houses and tavernas framed below a burnt orange hillside. Docking at Ayia Roumeli, a superb view of Volakias towering above the gorge, looking pretty impressive. A long, hot walk through the village to the exposed, shadeless track that takes some time to reach the lower entrance to Samaria. From here, the walls begin to close in and quite quickly the famous Sidereportes (Iron Gates) are reached, a very narrow section which necessitates a raised traverse above the river. The gorge is not that high at this point, however, and is actually quite a bit more spectacular higher up. After the Gates, we reached the very large rest stop of Christos and took a long break. Too long, in retrospect, as the next section - undoubtedly the most spectacular - is also the longest. We were travelling uphill, opposite to the hordes of tourists, but the views are better this way as the walls soar upwards and the gorge remains tight throughout, the path twisting and turning and often crossing the river. As it opens out before the village, we had to call it a day - not willing to risk missing the return ferry at 5.30pm. Another excellent day - we recuperated with frappe and freshly squeezed juice in Ayia Roumeli before another wonderful boat trip in evening sunshine. Cuttlefish and Sfakian pies in Hora Sfakion in a seaside restaurant as the sun set.

Zoniana Gorge

If Samaria is the best known gorge in Crete, Zoniana may well be the least. My time was limited this morning, as I was leaving the mountains to begin our family holiday, so my discovery that a gorge left the village just a few hundred metres from my hotel was serendipitous. That said, it was extremely obscure, and I very much doubt more than a handful of people ever venture up the gorge, which lent it a rather eerie feel. As soon as the village is left, the valley gives way to the usual messy shepherd dwellings - these then give way to the gorge proper, which twists around until it passes two more remote shepherd houses. I annoyed one of these by jogging round the corner and scaring his flock. Above this, the gorge becomes much tighter and continues to twist and turn - but the walls are never very high. A few dry limestone bowls needed negotiating and the bouldery base of the gorge was awkward throughout. After satisfying my curiosity round some twists and turns I ran back the way I came and checked out - didn't find anything for breakfast until I got to Perama near the coast!

Psiloritis range

Peaks: Psiloritis/Mount Ida (2454), Stolistra (2325), Agathias (2424), Vouloumenou (2267)
Area: Mount Ida, Crete
The highest peak in Crete, and a rare recent example of 'good form' with me feeling as fresh as a daisy throughout. After yesterday's outing, I drove across to the Rethymno hinterland - tortuous roads through very distinctive villages. The most distinctive of all is the one I stayed in - Zoniana - which became internationally infamous a decade ago as 'drug-dealing shepherds' (according to the Telegraph) opened fire on police with kalashnikovs. The village is notoriously hostile to authority and is said to resemble 'Godfather-era' Sicily in its clannishness. It was certainly distinctive, with many men still dressing in black shirts and an insular air (bursts of gunfire marked what I was told was a 'pre-wedding' celebration last night). This morning, I drove to the neighbouring village of Livadia and took the winding and unsignposted road up to the Lakkos Mygerou, a typical remote Cretan chapel combined with mountain refuge. I was dreading this drive, expecting it to be impossible in a hire car. In fact, it was a delight - well-surfaced, not scary, empty, and winding up through glorious, remote scenery. It felt biblical and reminded me strongly of parts of the Middle East or North Africa: the low sun lit the conical hills to perfection, and Lakkos Mygerou itself had a magical atmosphere. Another high Cretan plain, enclosed by mountains, with the moon above the summit of Psiloritis. As with most of these high pastures on Crete, the lack of running water (and wind) meant it was absolutely silent apart from the sheep bells and occasional calls from shepherds. Psiloritis itself has several names - the modern Greek takes precedent, but 'Mount Ida' (spelt many different ways) is common, and the actual peak is often referred to as Timios Stavros, after the tiny chapel on its summit. I set off up a well-trodden path, surprisingly so, and was delighted to discover that I was on something of a flyer. I felt better than I have for months, and covered the ground very quickly. The path weaves up to join a broad spur above a rough cwm, and finally emerges at a wide col below Vouloumenou. Here, several paths join including the E4 and the path from the Nida plateau further east. The rest of the route is superb - perfectly angled for running, up a broad ridge with a nice high mountain atmosphere as it climbs to 8000ft. The dominant peak is a perfect dome of bare rock - very exposed to the elements and massively higher than anything surrounding it, meaning that you can see all of Crete from the summit, from Dikti in the east to the Lefka Ori in the west, and 'sea to sea' across the width of the island. These kind of 'helicopter' views are rarely the best, but the sheer scale of this combined with the stunning clarity of light made it pretty special: particularly the views of the White Mountains and the tiny villages towards the south coast. I'd met a Dutch-Cretan former Swansea City footballer on the way up and caused a stir with my rapid (66 minute) ascent to the summit - he phoned his dad, a Livadia native, to let him know! We were joined by his girlfriend and two Swedes, quite a crowd for a Cretan mountain. To the west, my eye was caught by Stolistra (I didn't know its name at the time), a little summit at the end of an additional spur with clouds boiling up from the valley below. I felt so good that I decided to run to the top of every summit I could see, everything on the broad Psiloritis ridge. As it happened, it was a long descent on scree to a col but hardly any re-ascent required to gain the small top (which was indeed right at the end of the range in a great position above the spur). It was ferociously windy at this point, enough to knock me over twice. Oddly, despite the ease of ascent, I later clearly saw Stolistra from several points on the island, including the beach at Georgopolis - a very long way away. The re-ascent back to the chapel slowed me a bit, but not too much, and I then had it to myself. After another snack, I pelted along the crest of the ridge, over a minor summit, past a snowpatch, to the pathless climb up Agathias. Again, I didn't know what it was called at the time, having no decent map. This gave brilliant views back to the main peak and across to Dikti. I cut the corner, steeply down to the E4 junction, which I left immediately for the superb broad ridge out to Vouloumenou: this was great, perfectly runnable again across a kind of blocky limestone pavement. The summit was poised above Lykkos Mygerou and the brown dusty valleys adjoining it: again, it reminded me of the Sinai more than anything else. Further below, I could make out Livadia and my 'home village' of Zoniana, seemingly directly below. I spent a little time relaxing, but still felt really good with bags of running left in my legs, so just ran back to the valley and car flat out. I then had the challenge of sourcing food in the villages, which I managed by also visiting the show cave of Sfentoni, which was unexpectedly superb (and the snack bar served local cheese pies with magnificent views back up to Psiloritis). Later I even managed to get the only taverna in Zoniana to rustle up some souvlaki and dakos, no mean feat!

Psilafi ridge

Peaks: Strifomadhi (1921), Psilafi (1984)
Area: Lekfa Ori. Crete
I was looking for a way of extending my time in the White Mountains before leaving for the central range of Psiloritis, and decided that the rounded peaks to the west of Gigilos were ideal as a short 'active rest day'. After another relaxing night at the lovely Neos Omalos, this time with a balcony that faced the low range of mountains north of the hamlet, I set off for Xyloscala after another breakfast of local products. Unfortunately the first part of the route necessitated retracing my steps up the zigzags taken by the Gigilos climb, but as it starts to descend to the pinnacles I struck directly up the goat tracks to gain a broken fence which follows the ridge to the summit of Strifomadhi. I tried to contour further right, pointlessly as it was completely pathless, and meant I missed out on the best views. Eventually I gained the ridge proper and then the summit. Views were predictably excellent, particularly down the Tripiti gorge, which Strifomadhi is poised directly above, with the deep blue Libyan sea below. The higher peak of Psilafi looked attractive, and was clearly higher, to the west. The broad ridge across to it was obviously quite kind in terms of terrain, so I ran across, above a doline with large snow patch, to gain a very broad col. From here, it was just a few minutes of running at a nice angle to the summit of Psilafi at 1984m. This had great views down to Omalos, as it is probably the closest peak to the hotels. I contoured back to the Strifomadhi ridge past lots of nosey goats, and sat for a good while on the ridge in spectacular atmospheric conditions. Late morning, and wisps of mist were forming and reforming directly above my head. At times I would be enveloped, then seconds later it would clear: it changed continually. Sometimes a large block of cloud formed over Strifomadhi, then a huge patch of blue would appear, with mountains and sea through the gap: it was tremendous, and I sat for a while just enjoying the show. On the way down, I stuck to the ridge, which was nice, and actually saw another person towards the bottom of it. I then drove down to Fournes for lunch of dakos and frappe in a taverna above the orange groves, before embarking on the long drive to Zoniana for part two of my mountain trip.

Melindaou ridge traverse

Peaks: Psari (1817), Psari North (1849), Mavri (1883), Melindaou (2133), Koukoule (1631)
Area: Lefka Ori, Crete
The bulky mass of Melindaou is the most obvious objective from Kallergi, and throws down an excellent ridge to the south. I had wondered whether I might get all the way to Pachnes and back from the hut, and still feel this was achievable, but a few issues put me off: first, it would have to be out-and-back, and that would mean a 40k outing with a tedious return. Second, at least three litres of water would have been required, making running difficult, and there were only bottles for sale at the hut, nothing drinkable. As a result, I decided not to stay a second night at the refuge, brilliant though it was, as it would have been a bit weird as the only guest again! A great breakfast, with local thyme honey and chocolate cake as the early morning sun streamed through the window, then it was off at slow jogging/fast walking pace down the E4 path which traverses the whole of Crete and takes a track round the various spurs and small hills towards the sheepfolds of Poria, a kind of crossroads at a notable col. Dozens of griffon vultures wheeled overhead, some at very close range. From here, there were two options - I took the weaving path up to join the top of the ridge at the first main peak of Psari. This was really good in the early morning chill, with the sun still blocked by the ridge and a few armed shepherds collecting mountain greens! From Psari, a mouth-watering prospect as views open out and a superb ridge reveals itself in front. This is a little rocky, and quite unusual for Crete given the dome-like summits characteristic of the White Mountains. The wind was quite strong and quite cool, still blowing from the north, with cloud constantly forming and dissipating over Melindaou. A short climb gained an unnamed peak north of Psari, but clearly higher than it, and then a steeper, longer climb up the ridge to Mavri: a great viewpoint. Two shepherds were moving their flocks just below me, clouds of dust blown up and away by the wind, while spectacular plumes of mist formed over Melindaou. I'd been slightly concerned about navigation but needn't have been, because after descending from Mavri I picked up the E4 again (which avoids the ridge but passes close to Melindaou). To the left, I could see Chania and the north coast, to the right a bird's eye view down the Samaria gorge to the Libyan Sea and Gavdos - Europe's most southerly point. A cold northerly whipped across the ridge and I had to put on jacket and hat near the summit after breaking off from the E4. The view was superb: across into the heart of the 'white desert' that marks the extraordinary central part of the White Mountains, a genuinely unique landscape that echoes parts of the Middle East but has an utterly barren physical character and distinctiveness that sets it apart. I moved down the ridge a little, seeking better views of the 'madares' (as the conical peaks are known), then went back to the summit to drink in the view over Samaria and Eligias gorges to the sea. Yesterday's peaks were particularly impressive from this angle, and Pachnes did look reachable albeit regrettably unfeasible in the circumstances. I descended to Poria down the E4 completing a satisfying loop: this went through a shallow valley with a couple of green meadows providing a break from the dessicated limestone. At the hut, I was reluctant to leave the mountains so extended the day by traversing the spur of Koukoule to its highpoint, another tremendous vantage point: Melindaou looks very bulky from this angle, and Volakias is also impressive. Superb cloudscapes. I had the last of my pitta and taramasalata, then descended back to Xyloscala.

Volakias to Kallergi

Peaks: Gigilos (2080), Volakias (2116), Volakias South/Prinias (2118)
Area: Lefka Ori/White Mountains, Crete
A great start to my five-day immersion into the Cretan mountains in advance of our family holiday. I was initially tempted by a backpacking traverse of the White Mountains, but eventually discounted this as impractical in the time available: instead, I hired a car, and headed uphill for Omalos after landing in Chania. I stayed in a great little hotel with a lovely mountain atmosphere, and after breakfast of local thyme honey, yogurt and freshly churned butter headed up to Xyloscala at the top of the famous Samaria gorge. I was just before the main glut of tourists, and planned to descend the gorge with K and E later, so was in a very happy frame of mind as I left it all behind and headed up the zigzags towards Gigilos. This was an obvious first peak - probably Crete's most climbed mountain - and a fine-looking objective when viewed from Omalos. It throws down an impressive slabby face of naked limestone to the north, and has a pyramidal structure unlike most of the Lefka Ori. At the top of the zigzags, the route heads round a spur and begins to descend towards the obvious valley marking the true start of the gorge. This is quite spectacular and contains a number of large crumbling limestone spires and arches. The route negotiates these and is interesting throughout as a result. One section passes through one of the arches, while another weaves between two giant pinnacles. Above, the miraculous spring of Linoseli: three troughs of clear, cold water - the only water I ever saw in the Cretan mountains. Above, some rough zigzags leads to a pronounced, and very windy col between Gigilos and Strifomadhi. Ahead, the remote gorge of Tripiti drops down to the south coast near Sougia. A shepherd was just below, issuing the weird shouts to his flock that were to become quite familiar over the next few days. To the left, the broad summit ridge of Gigilos, a few hundred feet of slabby rock - giving some scrambling if taken direct. I stuck to solid rock where possible and found some nice variations up to the 'summit' - a giant cairn. I suspect this is where most walkers finish, but it is obviously not the high point. That is some way east, and an interesting ridge led to it, through chaotic boulders and limestone troughs. Some more scrambling and lots of weaving to the real summit, with views straight down the gorge and across to Omalos. Griffon vultures wheeled overhead as I had a snack. It had only taken an hour at a brisk but sustainable pace, not running, and the day had barely begun. Across a rough gap lay Volakias, clearly the dominant peak despite Gigilos's shapeliness from below. I traversed across untravelled limestone slabs to a broad hollow between the two peaks then picked my own way up trackless terrain left of the main 'ridge'. This gave some good scrambling but also some tough terrain - thick maquis and boulders, all very wild until I finally picked up a tenuous but cairned path much higher up. This took a weaving but comfortable line through the little crags to the summit. Again, however, I was not convinced this was the real summit. A narrow ridge with two or three gendarmes was poised above Samaria with another summit beyond. I had time, and was thoroughly enjoying myself, so embarked on the traverse. It was remarkably untravelled, almost no signs of human traffic although there were sheep and goat tracks in places. It was fairly shattered and quite narrow on the crest, although never too steep - I generally avoided difficulties on the right-hand side (opposite to Samaria) and it was all quite complex in terms of route-finding. I saw one 'human' cairn half-way after a broad chimney descent used by sheep, then avoided a gendarme by taking another steepish chimney to regain the crest not too far from the second summit. This was marked by a small cairn and I spent some time deciding whether it was higher or not! It definitely is, and this was confirmed by views from the other side of the gorge later on. Whatever, it is a fine and dominant peak - and looked superb a week later when we approached Ayia Roumeli by boat as it towers above the left side of Samaria. The ridge continues for miles right down to the sea: this would be a serious undertaking, completely pathless and devoid of water. Instead, I reversed the ridge - still quite involved but a bit simpler with prior knowledge - back to the first summit. Then an easier descent following the small cairns before contouring Gigilos back to the col and Linoseli, where I had a break drinking from the spring and enjoying the incredible view across Samaria to Pachnes and Melidaou. I was still getting used to the incredible Cretan light, taking far too many pictures, but finally descended back to Xyloscala and the famous restaurant, which styles itself as having the 'best view in Europe'. Not sure about that, but it was pretty stunning around 2pm as I ordered mountain tea with thyme honey and drank it on the wooden balcony poised above the Samaria gorge. I packed a few more things at the car, had some pitta with taromasalata for a Greek (but certainly not Cretan) lunch, and then started the walk-in to Kallergi. This takes a diagonal line through dwarf forest to a track, and then an indistinct short-cut up a shallow gully to eventually gain a forepeak with superb views back to Gigilos and Volakias. Across a gap, Kallergi, the only real hut in Crete. I'd booked a place, and checked in after a chat with the warden. It occupies a superb position on a small plateau: directly below is the Samaria gorge with the Libyan Sea shimmering distantly below. Even further out, Gavros - Europe's most southerly outpost. To the west, this morning's peaks - Gigilos and Volakias, with the latter clearly dominant and the ridge I'd traversed quite impressive. To the east, tomorrow's target of Psari and the ridge to Melidaou: beyond, Pachnes, probably too distant for me to reach. Nobody was in the hut, apart from one Flandrian having a drink while she waited for her friend to return from Melidaou. I spent a wonderful few hours dozing in the sunshine, until it dropped and the bitterly cold northerly sent me inside (but not before I used the famous wooden toilet, which is suspended above the top of the gorge with freefall waste products). A spectacular sunset as I dined alone in the hut on bean soup and pasta - with a dorm room to myself that night. Not the first time I have been the only guest in a mountain hut, but it always makes for a particularly memorable experience.

Sea to Sea traverse (Porthmadog-Conwy 44m)

Peaks: Moelwyn Bach, Craigysgafn, Moelwyn Mawr, Moel yr Hydd, Foel Ddu, Allt Fawr, Moel Druman, Pt 672, Mynydd Llynau yr Cwn, Ysgafell Wen, Moel Meirch, Cerrig Cochion, Carnedd y Cribau, Clogwyn Bwlch y Maen, Moel Siabod, Pen Llithrig y Wrach, Pen yr Helgi Du, Carnedd Llywellyn, Foel Grach, Carnedd Gwenllian, Foel Fras, Drum, Carnedd y Ddelw, Foel Lwyd, Tal y Fan (44 miles/3850m/12.55hrs)
Area: Moelwynion/Carneddau, Eryri
I had originally intended to make a Paddy Buckley attempt this weekend - but to say I had not had the ideal week of preparation is an understatement, after a very stressful 72 hour delay in Italy. My head was, most definitely, 'not in the right place', as the modern cliche would put it. However, all was not lost, as I had a fine alternative up my sleeve. For some time now, I have been struck by the obvious (to me, at least) 'Sea to Sea' run from Porthmadog to Conwy taking in every peak lying naturally en route. I persuaded Peter to join me, he liked the concept, so it was that we dipped our feet into Cardigan Bay at 6.50am this morning, ready to traverse 25 peaks on our way to Conwy harbour and the north coast, into which we intended to dip our feet 'some time' later. From Porthmadog, we jogged alongside the estuary, then took the path next to the railway below the Tremadog crags to Prenteg. This eventually gains the road that kinks east to Garreg, before branching off for Croesor. All this is fairly lengthy and a little dull, but - crucially - I got the route-finding right, then found the right path east towards Moelwyn Bach (via Gareg Fawr and Pen yr Allt in a continuous line to the 'path' up the boggy valley leading to Bwlch Stwlan). This heads through woods to conifers, then finally gains the open hill above Pen yr Allt. The weather was humid, misty, drizzly - contrary to the forecast. Not great for morale. We cut right well before Bwlch Stwlan through little crags to gain steep slopes that eventually come out on the Moelwyn race route (done in May, so fresh in the memory). On the summit, the mist began to peel away giving great views back down to Porthmadog, already very distant - and we had barely begun our day (one peak down, 24 to go). I was determined not to retrace a single step, as the concept was for an elegant, logical, linear route. Essentially, the route then heads relentlessly north, over Craigysgafn and Moelwyn Mawr before the more industrial peaks of Moel yr Hydd and Foel Ddu, down to a water source in the quarry buildings above Cwm Orthin. We deliberately missed out Cnicht, as it is not on the obvious line and would require a contrived detour - therefore not in the spirit of the route. On this section, the presence of slate, Blaenau and industry is never far away. A bank of mist rolled in for the next section, which takes in Allt Fawr (on a limb slightly) before running along the edge of Llyn Conglog to Moel Druman. I reccied all this section in April, and have done it a couple of times before. It is quiet for good reason: it doesn't involve much climbing but it is very long and has lots of awkward terrain: thick heather, bog, boulders, indistinct paths. I would say it is easier in this direction, as Ysgafell Wen and Moel Meirch are easier to locate. It is then a very long haul to the top of Siabod, where the sun finally came out. I had estimated around 7 hours from Port to Capel, and this is exactly how long it took - and we met Jim (unexpectedly) and Hayley (pre-arranged) in Capel for a very welcome feed and half hour break. I should have taken on more water, however, as I knew the next leg has nothing - having done it a few times before. A jog along the road, feeling refreshed, then a quick ascent - now as a trio with Hayley fresh from her BG success - of Pen Llithrig y Wrach in ever-improving conditions. Great views over Cowlyd then across to the Carneddau, although this was arguably the toughest climb of the day. Over Helgi Du, hoping for water on the flanks of Llewellyn but not finding any in the dry conditions. Misty on Llewellyn, the day's highpoint, but I know this entire section like the back of my hand, and we soon emerged on the Carneddau motorway over Foel Grach to Foel Fras. I felt quite good for this section, despite dehydration, and we continued to set a decent pace over Drum and Carnedd y Ddelw to Bwlch y Ddaefaen, very much 'home ground' for me. The end was now in sight (literally, depending on terrain) and the evening sun glorious for the very steep climb up Foel Lwyd: by now we were all badly dehydrated and it was becoming a bit of an issue. We ploughed on, over Tal y Fan (a crucial part of the 25 peak haul - as the concept was a logical line taking in all the peaks that naturally occur on route, with this one having a particular significance for me) to finally get to the stream above Llangelynin. We spent some time drinking and eating, and then it is down to the track above the old church, and the familiar three miles of tarmac road through Henryd and into Conwy. We ran past the Albion and down to the waterfront, descending the jetty in front of the Liverpool Arms to stand in the sea, in beautiful evening sunshine, just under 13 hours after dipping our feet in Cardigan Bay this morning. It all worked perfectly: the route is as satisfying, elegant and meaningful as I had hoped it would be.

Monte Misma

Peak: Monte Misma (1161m)
Area: Bergamasque Prealps, Italy
After a disastrous Saturday night, there wasn't much I could do to salvage the situation today, with it being a Sunday. I should have been home reminiscing about a successful Alpine trip, but I was stuck in a Bergamo B&B waiting for an emergency passport. So I made the best of a bad situation, taking the tram from Bergamo station out to the end of the line at Albino, on the very edge of the northern suburbs. Bergamo has such a mountainous situation, so close to lovely peaks, that you can get to trailheads for a couple of euros. In Albino, I had an espresso in a characterful bar, then crossed the river to gain one of the marked paths up a narrow road to the woods of Monte Misma. Route finding was not always obvious, but I kept a vigorous semi-jogging pace up, and found it very therapeutic (albeit hot) after all the stress (which I knew would get worse again tomorrow as I tried to get the documents and book a flight). The multitude of paths made navigation tricky, as did the thickly wooded terrain, but I weaved up the front of the mountain - the NW ridge above Croce San Antonio eventually became better defined as the treeline was breached. Above, a breezy broad summit complete with numerous sunbathing day-trippers. Excellent views across the urban sprawl of Bergamo in one direction, and the rural valleys and high Orobie Alps in the other. I then completed a satisfying loop of the mountain, traversing south-east to the wooded col below Costa Misma, then an excellent contouring path, cool in the woods, down to Fonteno - a path junction and farmhouse. I then joined the outward path, nice views down to the Valle di Luio, all the way back to Albino.

Predore climbing

Crag: Predore, Lago d'Iseo, Italy
Routes: Formiche (f3c:sec), Bes (f4:sec), Paola (f5:led), Per Elisa (f5:sec), Il Conte Dimezzato (f4:sec), Teb Master (f4:led), Rossana (f5c:sec)
We were always likely to be battling the heat today. Cragging was the only real option, with our flight home this evening, and another long mountaineering day under our belts yesterday. So after a leisurely breakfast in the now familiar surroundings of the Hotel Rossa in Castione, we drove down in ever-increasing temperatures to the shores of Lago d'Iseo, one of the lesser known Italian Lakes but still very beautiful. Predore is practically roadside, although a few minutes walk along the main lakeside drag is required first - motorbikes screaming past. Above the road, all is peaceful: a nice crag with a distinct 'lakes' atmosphere, cypress trees and liquid light, surprisingly busy today given the time of year. It was always obvious that it would be too hot, and so it proved: south facing and disappointingly polished, this was very hard work from the outset. A few parties were occupying the central routes on the cleanest section of crag, so Steve led the easy crack of Formiche: nice climbing on huge holds. I led Paola, supposedly f5, up a slabby wall on the left of the crag. This had one or two very hard moves on tiny holds, like hard slate climbing, but very polished and very sweaty. All the routes seemed undergraded, partly because of the weather, partly the polish, partly because they just were! We did a few more routes with rope above, in the same mould (Per Elisa also had a hard crux), and then led the two strongest lines up the centre when the other climbers left. Teb Master (named after the Bergamo public transport company, I later discovered) was possibly the line of the crag. It climbed like a polished British VS but had real character: good bridging and face holds up a strong, obvious central crackline. Steep finish, nice and varied throughout, a mini-classic despite the polish. Rossana was absurdly difficult for the grade: ultra polished limestone, like burnished marble, too hot to touch by now, as it was early afternoon. After this, I declared a formal end to the trip, and we went for a swim in Lago d'Iseo before driving to Bergamo - where the trip ended very badly with a car break-in and stolen passport.

Presolana traverse

Peaks: Monte Visolo (2369m), Presolana Occidentale (2521m)
Routes: Via Normale (PD+/II+)
Area: Presolana, Orobie Alps
The 'Queen of the Orobie', as the Presolana is known to the Bergamaschi, has considerable local significance. Not surprising, as it is a dominant feature of the landscape, a kind of 'mini-Dolomite' range that is notable even from the higher peaks further north. From the window of our room in the Coca hut, we'd watched the northern walls change colour constantly in the prevailing weather, and from the south (and particularly Castione, where we were staying) it dominates the landscape. In short, it was essential that we made the effort from our Castione hotel. For various reasons, we were late setting off from the Passo de la Presolana just above our lodging, but we ploughed through the woods to the Baita Casinelli hut in well under an hour, before branching off the vague side path through delightful Alpine meadows towards Monte Visolo, a subpeak on the right of the range. The views from here to the Presolana, which presents a wall of limestone spires from this angle, are superb - classically Alpine with a pastoral foreground of meadows and copses, and a savage backdrop. The path weaved around, and contoured well to the right before embarking on the long climb up the obvious broad SE ridge. Superb views higher up down Valle Richetti to various limestone spires and across to the Adamello and beyond. Mist poured down from the top of the main ridge as we reached the summit of Visolo, but it seemed benign, so after a snack we scrambled down to the obvious col below Presolana Orientale and embarked on a wonderful traverse below the main ridge. In places, this crossed couloirs, snow patches and steep scree and was wonderful throughout with a couple of chained sections. It led to the open landscape above the Clusone bivouac hut. From here, a steep haul up scree leads to the Grotta del Pagani, a deep cave in the cliffs. This is where the Via Normale begins. In many ways, for many reasons, we were in reccie mode throughout, but it all went like a dream, they day unfolding naturally again, rather than us pushing it. Mist spilled down the ridge, and it was early afternoon by now, but the scrambling was superb. An initial slabby wall of limestone leads to a large open couloir, then a traverse left across a steep gully to a chain that allows for a steep pull to gain a wall taken on big holds up to an easier ridge. This is long, and goes up to a very high, steep limestone wall. We traversed left underneath this until reaching a weakness, a shallower broad couloir leading to the summit ridge. The initial stages of this are the most technical on the route, II+, but none of these sections lasts very long, and it never feels particularly exposed. It curves round to find the easiest line, taking one delicate slab to gain a broad, shallow and easy gully, mainly walking, to the summit ridge. At this point, the fohn effect kicked in with the mist we'd experienced on the south face peeling away to stunning blue skies on the north. To our right, the main summit of Presolana Occidentale just a few hundred metres away. Ahead, a vertical drop to the northern valleys and over to Val Seriana and our peaks of a few days ago: Pizzo Coca obvious. We then enjoyed a magical half hour, walking along the narrow ridge to the summit, drinking in the views. We then traversed across to the minor summit west of the gap and along the Cresta di Valzurio for a little bit. The cloudscape changed constantly, wisps of cloud then blocks of mist then bright sunshine. It was mesmerising. Eventually we tore ourselves away and descended the steep gully back to the technical section. It all went easily and enjoyably and we explored the Pagani cave at the bottom of the route before taking a few minutes to rest in the Clusone bivouac - extraordinarily comfortable, warm, well-appointed, state of the art. We ambled down the Valle dell Ombra, all new terrain again, the trade route down the valley, and popped into the Cassinelli refuge lower down. After a glorious beer and water outside, looking up to the Presolana as the limestone walls constantly changed colour in the light, we jogged down the normal route to the top of the pass: new terrain again.

Lantana climbing

Crag: Lantana, Castione, Orobie
Routes: Caretera e Manta (f4c:led), Dune Mosse (f5b:sec), Padania (f5:led), Polvere di Stelle (f5c:sec), Fo di Stras (f5c:led), Solitudine/Dune Variant (f5:led), 5 lire Per la Pelle della Volpe (f4c:led), Marta 97 (f4c:sec)
After yesterday's brief sample, we were eager to get back to Lantana for the tried and tested 'active rest day'. Cragging between bouts of mountaineering always works well, but we had to leave early after a good hotel breakfast - the crag faced west and therefore worked perfectly as a morning venue. Time was still limited, however, as we were racing the sun - knowing that it would be too hot to climb when it lit the face at midday. We went straight for Settore B, a 30m high sweep of limestone slabs interspersed with steeper walls. I kicked off with Caretera e Manta, an obvious trade route at a lowly grade up the left-hand section of the main slab. It was easy but excellent - beautiful featured limestone with pockets throughout, the kind of relaxed climbing I have always loved. Not polished, good friction, dry rock, and not too hot in the shade of morning. Steve's lead, Dune Moss, was even better - some delicate moves between widely spaced pockets on a steep upper slab. All these routes were long and absorbing, and the quality ramped up again for my lead up the corner line of Padania. This was only f5, but I started out up Solitudine at 5c, before heading straight up into the corner. This gave superb bridging interspersed with more delightful pocketed climbing. Very varied and utterly absorbing: a really great route. After these three, all close to 30m of sustained (albeit relatively slabby) climbing, we moved further left for some shorter, steeper and harder routes. Steve led Polvere di Stelle at 5c which, as ever in Italy or France, felt like a British E2 rather than the sort of route we generally grade 5+ (because we get the system wrong at these lower grades, in my view). It was sustained up to a very powerful final move on small pockets over a steep bulge, quite polished, to a flat hold and one more hard move to the top. I did it twice via different solutions, and then led Fo di Stras to its left. This was a little more sustained, a line of pockets curving left, then back right: quite technical throughout, but really satisfying. I led another long hybrid pitch on the slab, and then became tired. More to the point, the sun was now lighting most of the face, so it was becoming tough. On the extreme right of the crag, I led an easy 4c up delightful rough limestone in the hot sun, and we finished with the vague right-hand arete. Black truffle trofie pasta was adequate reward.

Lantana climbing

Crag: Lantana, Orobie, Italy
Routes: Lucertole Impazzite (f5:led), Obelix (f5+:sec), Qui (f5:led), Push Up (f5:sec)
After a convivial evening with only four other hut residents (two Canadians, two Bergamaschi), we enjoyed a leisurely hut breakfast before heading back down to Valbondione from the Coca hut. The weather, fortunately, seemed much less stable today - but we needed a rest, so it didn't matter. We climbed a spur above the hut first for magnificent views over the Val Seriana. Then, the steep Valle del Rolledrino led down to the treeline above Rianlivere to eventually gain Valbondione. A surprisingly steep and lengthy descent, although perhaps we were just tiring after two big mountain days. We got to the village just in time for cappuccino, not wanting to transgress the 11am limit! Alongside a brioche, much better than the average hut breakfast, in a nice cafe in the centre of Valbondione. Then it was down to Clusone for lunch and a walk round before booking a charming Alpine hotel in Castione del Presolana. After this, we were ready for some cragging - but the storm that had been brewing all day finally broke as we checked in. Nothing for it but to relax in our rooms and watch the rain from our balconies: no bad thing. Much later on, at 6pm, it cleared, so we drove to Lantana for a reccie of our nearest crag. After a bit of searching, we found it and it proved very promising. We didn't have time for much, so went to the smallest Settore A for an 'aperitif'. Even on this least distinguished cliff, it was good - pocketed limestone, good features. I led a simple f5 up a pocketed slab, and later led a route up a curving crack further left. The rock was dry, although the pockets were wet. Hunger saw us scurrying back for pizza as it got dark and it started to rain again.

Pizzo Coca traverse

Peaks: Pizzo di Coca (3050m)
Routes: South Ridge/Via Normale (PD:II)
Area: Orobie Alps, Italy
A magnificent traverse of the highest peak in the Orobie Alps, the essence of what I have always enjoyed more than any other form of mountain activity. As with yesterday, the day unfolded gradually in logical fashion with us adopting a relaxed approach, sensibly and necessarily responding to conditions rather then 'summit at all costs'. A late start, by Alpine standards, after breakfast at the Curo hut, then walking around the stunning Lago Barbellino with magnificent views back to yesterday's peak: the Recastello, which looks superb from this angle. High cloud overhead, weather prospects not entirely obvious. After the annoying descent below the dam (hundreds of chamois feeding on the dam wall, an amazing sight) to the base of the Valmorta, we had a steep reascent to pick up the adventurous GR route that heads over the Bocchetta del Camoscio to the Coca refuge (the normal route is much lower down). After a bit of scrambling up short rock walls, the path contours the tight valley of the Valmorta (Death Valley) and really starts to penetrate this wild corner of the Orobie, heading relentlessly up below Pizzo Cappuccello and Pizzo del Diavolo, to eventually ease off and open out dramatically at the remote Lago di Valmorta. This was stunning: a lake and flat green meadow, very isolated, set among superb mountain scenery. The onward route was absolutely relentless, up very steep scree and moraine material to gain the lip of the hanging valley which gives access to the Bocchetta. The fact that a GR route goes up here seemed remarkable: very complex and adventurous terrain, particularly in these snowy conditions. The Bocchetta itself was obvious - a tiny col between Coca and its subsidiary - but the route was certainly not. A steepening snow slope - kahtoolas just about adequate - gained the sanctuary of rock slabs, then the complex, weaving upward route begins. First, this curves right up little walls, and eventually gains a series of little chimneys interspersed with traverses (one of which was steep and tricky, on snow, step-kicking required). The whole route was absorbing and superb, and the weather was improving continually, the high cloud burning away and deep blue skies emerging. The route keeps you guessing throughout, but eventually eases just before the Bocchetta is gained. I basked in the sunshine in this magnificent location, but then heard a distant shout. Steve, well behind, had lost the tenuous route and needed some advice. I scampered back down the top section and we sorted it out, regrouping at the col and dumping some of our kit before embarking on the 1000ft climb up to the summit of Pizzo di Coca. This was absolutely superb: with the steepest section towards the start, up a long but easy chimney with good solid scrambling, giving access to sloping ledges heading right of the ridge up scree. Then came the trickiest route-finding, up a steepish and quite long wall to gain a level and well-defined section of ridge. The hut warden had told us there was no snow on this section, and it proved the case - one patch easily circumvented on the left by a few steep moves on rock. Then came the final summit tower, gained easily via a weaving path and a few short scrambly steps. Steve joined me, and my error on the Recastello yesterday was forgiven as we spent a memorable few minutes enjoying the magnificent views from the highest peak in the Orobie. The peaks over the Austrian border were notable, but the most obvious landmarks were Monte Disgrazia and the Adamello, as well as Pizzo Redorta and Punta di Scais across the nearest valley. It was beginning to cloud over, but it remained high as we descended back to the Bocchetta and the sacks. This needed care but we despatched it quickly, meeting up with numerous chamois towards the bottom ('camoschi' translates as chamois, so the col was well named). The onward route, down to the Coca hut, was much easier than this morning's ascent, clearly far more frequently travelled, and the normal route up Pizzo di Coca. A snowfield led past more chamois to a moraine and long rocky section down to a superb grassy ridge with fabulous views across the valley containing the turquoise Lago di Coca to the steep walls of Pizzo Redorta, festooned with a dozen tight snow gullies. We were beginning to tire, and seriously dehydrate, so made the lake a target. It was another stupendous spot, hemmed in by steep walls on all sides, giving an ice cold paddle and relief for the feet. After rehydrating, we followed the crashing outflow stream down the green valley which led eventually to the magnificently located Rifugio Coca. I have stayed in many huts over many years, but this proved one of the best: immense character in an unrivalled position on the lip of the hanging valley overlooking the Val Seriana. The most notable peaks were, gratifyingly, Pizzo Recastello (done yesterday) and, much further south, the Presolana (which we later climbed on Friday). Again, Steve and I had a room to ourselves, and another magnificent meal: asparagus risotto, pasta with pancetta and mushroom, and more beef and Bergamo-style solid polenta. A violent storm blew up, the hut in the clouds, heavy hail. Then it dissipated giving mesmerising views across the valley from our bedroom window.

Pizzo Recastello/Corno Neri

Peaks: Corno Neri (2650m), Pizzo Recastello (2886m)

Area: Orobie Alps, Italy

Unusually humid as we arrived in the upper Valseriana after flying into Bergamo - the tail-end of a notable heatwave across Europe. After a sleepless night in a mountain lodge in Fiumenero (very hot, constant church bells) and a good breakfast of local cheese and meat, we set off from Valbondione at the head of the valley, already quite late. The path is thickly wooded, offering shelter from the sun, and gently climbs the side of the valley above Grumetti. The Serio waterfalls that plunge down from the hanging valley here are among the highest in Europe and gave a superb backdrop to the route, which becomes steep as it approaches the headwall and emerges from the woods. At the lip of the valley, we emerged into the upper hanging valley (huge) containing the turquoise, stunning Lago Barbellino, and Rifugio Curo: our home for the night. We checked in, had a drink and a breather, and considered our options. It was really quite late, almost midday. Above towered Pizzo Recastello, an unavoidable objective from Curo and a superbly defined, distinctive peak. But we were too late, and the question arose: should we go for it now, or just do a reccie and save it for tomorrow? Clouds were gathering, but they seemed benign for the moment, so we took the track above the lake and then set off for the side valley of Val Cerviera, yet another hanging valley poised at yet another higher level. The path was steep initally but led to the wild Cerviera proper. Nobody around, with the dank and dripping black walls of the Recastello looming above to the left, and the greener, gentler peaks of Monte Verme and Cimone to the right. The normal route starts much higher, after a tricky river crossing (all in spate with huge volumes of meltwater), and branches off from the main GR route in the upper cwm. Huge amounts of snow were lying here, the upper cwm (below Pizzo Tre Confini) a solid white, impressive bowl. We moved left (east) towards Recastello - finally acknowledging that 'reccie' was transforming into 'ascent'. It became snowy and indistinct immediately, traversing left and contouring upwards to gain some open scree (this open valley is, I think, the Cornello Rosso). We donned kahtoolas and crampons here, and made our way to a steeper, more extensive snowfield which led up to an obvious rock headwall below what we presumed was the summit of Recastello. I had always been concerned about snow volume, after an unusually cold May, and this transpired - although it was very soft and deep in this weather. There was no trench, and the onward route was unclear (nobody around, although we did see one couple lower down). So route-finding was the order of the day: we moved up the snow and trended right towards the rocky headwall. A steep gully headed right, obviously too steep for the grade, so we left the snow to gain sloping loose shelves on the right. This looked untravelled, but with all the snow the onward route wasn't clear, so I embarked on an epic reccie up  the open gully to the right. This led to a tiny col with snow patch. Mist was descending, but I had the scent of a summit, so ploughed upwards on ever-steepening rock. It was loose, but feasible, and very satisfying, weaving around to pick the best line up what proved to be a tapering pinnacle. The mist blocked views as I rose, although I did eventually see the summit cross of Recastello on the left across a big void! Too late now, so I continued upwards to the tiny summit of what later proved to be the double pinnacled peak of Corno Neri (the Black Horns, a perfect description and a real bonus in the sense that this is a peak I strongly suspect is very rarely climbed). I descended down the complex route: steep, tenuous, weaving and slightly harrowing, to the snow patch, then the easier gully back to Steve, who wasn't very happy. However, the reccie at least unlocked the mystery of the onward route to Recastello. We minimised height loss, donned hardware, and traversed left across the steep upper snowfield to gain the headwall on the opposite side, finally back on route. I dumped my sack, and took the left-hand couloir direct. This headed up, fairly loose, to another headwall, after which a tighter gully curves left, very atmospheric, with a series of chains. This gives around 100ft of steep scrambling to an easier section which leads to a small col just below a sub-peak. Huge amounts of cloud were billowing up from the Pizzo Coca side, and I was concerned about a storm coming in, so scampered up the enjoyable ridge to the top: not as exposed as I had expected, but good mild scrambling throughout. I signed the summit book in atmospheric conditions - huge banks of cloud and mist but also intermittent views straight down to the Curo hut, seemingly directly below. I descended to the col to find Steve just arriving, very angry with me (rightly so) for going ahead. He left for the summit, while I sat at the col fretting about the weather which was beginning to look distinctly hostile. After he returned, we dropped down the gully using the chains, then donned ice tools for the descent of the main snow field. After this, the descent went easily, following our own footprints, back to the junction with the GR route up the Cerviera. After a snack and rest, a distant thunderclap sent us off down the valley under glowering skies. The storm, when it arrived, was actually fairly mild - and we were back in the Curo hut by then. Refuelled in classic Bergamasco fashion: truffle risotto, beef stew and polenta.