 I arrive in Svalbard bleary eyed and with a mouth 'full of cotton wool'. Delayed for several hours at Oslo airport, where I'd connected from London, means it's 4 am when we land and I stand with all the other would-be-adventurers at the luggage carousel in the compact airport at Longyearbyen. I'm dazed though not enough to realise that it's quite a bit colder than southern England. It's bright light outside of course, the midst of a long three month polar day. Two more weeks of the midnight sun before the tilting of the earth accelerates the descent into winter darkness that sees Svalbard tipped into frozen black, the sun gone for a corresponding three months. First thing I do when I spot my luggage is pull my fleece out of the bag. Its chilly, quite a difference from the humid London afternoon that saw my move slowly from the office and onto the Picadilliy line and Heathrow bound. I got some curious stares in London carrying my heavy pack with an apparent mini-scaffold strapped to it. My polar bear fence of course, something I have to master fairly quickly in the next day or so before I leave the safety of Longyearbyen and out into the wilds of Nordenskiold. The packs bursting with other gear, most of it's ten days of dried food, and 23 kg at weigh in. There's more gear to strap and squeeze onto it of course. Not least a rifle that I need to pick up later today. It's a heavy load when I trundle off into the wilderness in two days time.  The next stage of my journey though is a short one. I'm aware that 'Svalbard Camping' is no distance at all from the airport. Even then I'm a little surprised when a driver outside the terminal building points down a slope to a large hut and an array of tents along the shoreline, just below the airport perimeter. Such a description doesn't do the setting of the place justice though. It's one of the best located campsites I've ever been at. Ahead is the broad expanse of Isfjorden, one of Svalbard's fast fjords that frame the cold blue of high Arctic seas with a breadth of mountains. Many of them adorned with bright glaciers, this is a land which is mainly covered in ice. Glaciers are everywhere, tumbling down into the sea. The coastline opposite is tinged with blue and it's an arresting sight.  Off the airport tarmac and then down a steep gravel like slope. Perfectly natural, the first of many loose descents on this trip. Svalbard's terrain is rough, unstable and challenging. This is an introduction. Sea birds scream around my end, swooping low. To my shock one pecks me hard on the head and I cry out in anger and pain! The campsite shares the lagoon with nesting Arctic Terns. Probably the hardiest travelers there are, they flit between the earths Poles, chasing summer. It's stupidly late, or indeed early if you choose, in the day and all I want to do is crawl into my sleeping bag and go to sleep. Once I find a good pitch (the camp site website makes clear you just pitch up and pay later in the day) I get the tent out. A second shock follows! I've bought one of the Scarp crossing poles instead of the main tent pole, I almost weep. I contemplate a night at the mercy of the terns and a hunt around Longyearbyen for a tent. One of my more resourceful moments though as I reckon just taking one section off should mean I can use the crossing pole as the main pole. It works after a bit of knife craft and the tents up and I crawl in to sleep fitfully for a few hours.  I awake later to the camp site buzzing a little with people packing up and heading out on tours. Most are picked up by guides to embark on organised trips in the wilds. Very few head out on their own, but one or two groups are cleaning firearms and checking kit. That's my focus for today. Get into town and sort out my rental rifle. Its about an hours walk into Longyearbyen along a good tarmac road. Leaving the airport behind the island's coal mining heritage is immediately apparent. There's old wooden apparatus everywhere and mine openings high in the hills. It's the first time that I realise that man's mark on this wilderness is oddly characterful. Old industry and dwellings would stand at odds in many places but not here. It screams the history of place, wooden buildings many decades old are well preserved in the dry Arctic air and each one tells the tale of someone's struggle to earn a livelihood in this hostile landscape.  Longyearbyen's a pleasant place. Modern and Scandinavian there's bright wooden building everywhere. It's got a frontier feel though. Pipework is on the outside of the buildings and sewage conduits run parallel to the streets. I quickly work the place out. Two main streets really and a glacier at the end of one of them. A few decent shops and restaurants around, everything you could need for a trip. Tourist agents running everything from dogsledding (even in the summer, I later spot dogs on an asphalt road taking a cart of tourists for a ride) to polar bear watching tours. Scientific institutions jostle for space amidst buildings of the Norwegian state. It's an international place too. Scientists and researchers from the university and institutes. But curiously too a small Asian community and a good Thai food shop and restaurant. Any individual from a signatory nation of the Svalbard Treaty, which saw Svalbard flux from a territory with the status of Terra Nullis to one where Norway exercised sovereignty on the condition of certain equal rights to citizens of the signatory nations, may reside in Svalbard albeit they must be self sufficient. I'm keen to sort out my rifle so I head straight into 'Sportscenteret'. There I'm taken to the gun cabinet and discuss the merits of renting a Mauser against a more expensive, but lighter, Reuger. The Reuger makes more sense and after the young man inspects my shotgun licence we agree that I'll be back to pick up the gun and some ammo once I've walked around town.  One place that's caught my eye is the excellent Svalbard museum. It shares space with a small tourist information center. Trying to call this remote Russian town I've had no luck trying to phone Barentsburg to book a hotel room, it's just rung and rung! The helpful Norwegian lady tries on my behalf and we again get no response. and then just shrugs. 'Russians', she says, 'it's different there'. Next I make an exciting discovery, in the supermarket 'Svalbardbutiken' it's possible to buy duty free alcohol as a visitor. A back room is full of Norwegian beer and Scotch whisky at reasonable prices, heaven! I have the slightly dubious thrill of walking back from town with a shopping bag full of whisky, beer and ammo. The rifles slung over my shoulder with the bolt out and in my cargo pocket as I've been advised to do. Other than that the sight of a man with a gun slung around him is normal. Svalbard, it's different!  I get back to camp and rig the tarp around my tent. The wind's blowing hard and cold from the west but with the tarp as an annex I've a lot of space. The day's spent peacefully sorting through gear. I stash the gun in the campsite gun cabinet and chat with the friendly German owners. The whisky comes out a little later and I'm beginning to enjoy myself. Sunday dawns and I've a serious purpose to the morning. Around the back of the main hut I practise setting up the bear fence. I've had a go at home but it feels different now. A sense of urgency and caution in getting it right. I mark out adequate space and have four posts equidistant from each other. Then its measuring out a similar length of the tripwire and attaching the firing pins. Earlier, I sat in the lee of the hut and made some blank shotgun shells. Easy enough using some 12 gauge shells I bought yesterday and a bit of duct tape. Cut the shell at the top noting carefully where the wadding is inside. Tip out the steel shot, trip down and tape up with 'gorilla tape'.  I'm being observed from the balcony of the hut. A German guy comes over and we talk fences. He's on his fifth trip here and expresses his preference for an electrical alarm system. I state I've heard they fail and he observes me critically. Still like everyone on camp he seems pleasant. Indeed, back at the tent I end up chatting to a Hungarian in his early thirties. We agree to go into town together and look around the museum in the afternoon. I enjoy our conversation as we walk in. He's her for a week only and is keen to get out into the wilds but can't afford an organised trip. He lacks a gun and a fence and is bright enough to realise it's not a good idea to venture outside of Longyearbyen without both. We discuss bear fatalities, there regular enough and usually come down to inadequate or lack of equipment. Svalbard Museum is worth the visit. Much on the geology, fauna and social history of this fascinating place. Plenty of information there though the majority of the explanatory signs are in Norwegian. Speaking Swedish that's not a problem for me. My appetite is well and truly whetted. I'm keen, and somewhat nervous too, about heading out tomorrow morning.  Back to the tent and another quite night. I pack up and leave some kit in a haul bag under the main hut. I go to bed, excited. Next day dawns and it's pack up. Then the full weight of the pack that I've got to carry on my back becomes apparent. Fence, food and gear and it's nudging 30 kgs I reckon. I sling the rifle on my shoulder and it seems to carry alright. Over the next few days though I find the rifle increasingly difficult to hold in a comfortable position around my shoulders.  My Hungarian friend heads into town with me and we chat some more. It's interesting to hear what this young man thinks about living in a very different Europe to the one his parents grew up in, freedoms to enjoy that they never had. We part though as we reach the center of town and wish each other luck. I've had a nagging feeling over the last 24 hours that I might not have enough shotgun cartridges as blanks for the fence. Walking along the road out of town I walk past the ultimate 'boys toys' store of IGP. Snow machines are beached outside, inside there's all the hardware one needs for a Svalbard bush tour. I wait behind a dutch man whose returning some rental gear. He's getting a telling off form the gruff owner as the flare gun he's used is covered in fresh rust. A sailing trip around Svalbard and the consequence of exposure to salt water. My turn comes and I buy a box of 20 cartridges, much cheaper than Sportcenteret I note. I'm good for .308 rounds so don't need more of those with 30 on my person. Five sit in the magazine and chamber (though no bolt at this stage). The other 25 are in various places, two lots of five in the side pockets of my pack as a contingency.  I move on along the road that leads out of town, the last asphalt under my feet for a few miles more. This road feeds some long abandoned mines to the east of Longyearbyen. There's some housing too dotted around, simple wooden cabins. Before me a ten day tour. It's a Monday morning and I'm not due to fly out of Longyearbyen until a week Thursday. The plan's a fairly simple one, a circular tour of Nordenskiold's national park traveliing through some of the long glacial valleys until I emerge out onto the coast before a night's stop at the Russian mining colony of Barentsburg. Thereafter a three day walk back to Longyearbyen. Looking at the distance on the map it seems very doable. It is of course, but due to the nature of the terrain and the weight on my back I end up undertaking a very tough hike indeed.  But for now it's fairly easy. I'm still in the city limits but before me the breadth of Adventdalen is opening up. I pass a large and noisy kennels full of huskies. They are darting back and forth and their energy is incredible.  I move further east, along the large man-made lake of Isdammen which holds the town's drinking water. Ahead is the polar bear sign which marks the towns boundary. I stop and pause at it, I place the bolt in the rifle. It feels a significant moment and one that's a little interrupted by a bus load of tourists who jump out and start snapping. I believe I feature in many photographs now of well heeled tourists in Svalbard. At the same moment I'm very glad I'm not, like many people, confined to wandering around Longyearbyen. I'm ready for this.  Ahead the thirty old kilometers of Adventdalen, a couple of days until I swing off and head deeper into the interior and Reindalepasset. The goings good as I sign off tarmac and head toward the grey glacial waters of Adventelva. Firm tundra under my feet and I make reasonable progress despite the weight on my back. There's still signs of man everywhere of course. The mines high in the hills and science is in evidence. One arresting site is a pair of beds as I follow Adventelva deeper into the wilderness. One of the few curious man made objects I'm to come across in the next ten days.  By four I decide to stop. I need to get setting camp right. It's an early finish and one which has only moved me about ten or so kilometers clear of town. But I've a new routine to perfect, I've the fence to master. There's a decent flat pitch, grassy but no doubt fabricated from sediment from the river bed so a little muddy. The tent goes down and then I try and work the four corner poles in at equidistant from each other. Next the trip wire and its question of carefully attaching one end to a pole and then winding it where I walk to the next pole. I carefully tie a firing pin to each one and then attach it to the mechanism (albeit with the safety one). That process takes at least an hour. There's then plenty of adjustment which takes more time until I carefully load one blank cartridge into each firing block. I'm trying to master the defensive camp (see here)  I sort the tent out next, it seems incongruous having the rifle in such a familiar setting.  I look forward to a cup of tea next. Sadly the choice of water is limited to the grey sediment of Adventelva. I filter the worst out with a bandana. The tea tastes fine but later I enjoy some 'grey' chicken noodles.  It's a curious spot. A real wilderness no doubt but high in the hills two large satellite dishes. They are the two Eiscat radio telescope in Adventdalen which study the Aurora (Northern Lights)  The evening that follows falls into my comforting backpacking routine. I rig my tarp, a real bonus which enables me to get out of the cold wind and enjoy my surroundings more. I'm concerned about eating in my tent too, in any event it's pleasant lying in the shelter of the tarp and staring further up into Adventdalen. There's tomorrow's walking to think about too. Nothing too ambitious again but around 15 kilometers perhaps whilst some of the weight comes off the pack. What feels unusual though is the rifle in easy reach or slung around my back wherever I go. That's most apparent when I declare an end to the day and get into the tent. It's there by my right hand, loaded but with the safety on. I fret a little about which end of the tent gives me the best field of range and hence line of fire if needs be. If I awake in the night to the sound of one of the fence alarms going off I know I may only have seconds to react. Some of the most intense and violent moments of my life could follow and it weighs heavy as I settle down. I try too to work out how's best to sleep. To bury myself in my sleeping bag as normal could loose me time trying to get my arms out. I decide to wear my down jacket and to have the bag around me like a quilt. I get comfortable, the first night of ten where I'm listening hard until I slip into sleep.   After a two month backpack in 2013 I thought 2014 would be a quieter year 'trip wise' and in terms of what new clothing and equipment I would use, a year of lesser accumulation. No lengthy trans-national hikes this year but a lot of satisfying time in the wilds nonetheless. A couple of outings have proved challenging certainly, again the far north is my focus when time and money permits. Other trips have been closer to home and proved that I don't need to venture far even to enjoy time outdoors. After all it's about exercise in the fresh air and a quiet repose thereafter (ie tea, food, whisky and bed somewhere nice!). Stuff facilitates that, clothing and equipment specifically. I'm surprised by the end of 2014 as to how much stuff I've acquired and run through! There's been some change in one or two key pieces and I'm embarrassed to say I've squirreled away quite a bit over the course of the calendar year. In my defence I've recycled a lot of value through selling unwanted and unused gear on ebay. I'm always pleasantly surprised how much I've got for various pieces and in effect it's allowed me to upgrade kit. Some useful second hand purchases as well. Accordingly, a quick run through the year and my thoughts on what's got me out there, what's worked and what hasn't. I'll add now that anything from Paramo or Pacerpole I've been given, the rest I've paid for myself.  Perhaps my biggest disappointment of the year was with the MLD Trailstar. I ended up damaging two (both incidences in some nasty Highland weather, worked fine in the gentler Lakes). My first trip in March (here) was enjoyable despite severe damage to the shelter after gusts in Glen Lyon. That saw a rapid change in plan and a cross country route hastily adopted instead of more Munros. Up the West Highland line to Corrour an easterly route and search for sheltered pitches got me to Glen Feshie nonetheless but had my question as to whether a Trailstar was the right shelter for me. Having spent over 70 nights in my Scarp the previous year I missed it's nailed down certainty. A tent is also an all in one package. I accessorized the Trailstar over the year with a Bearpawwd 'Pyra Net' inner, an 'Oooktub' and and 'As Tucas' door. Limping back from Scotland in March with a damaged shelter was a little depressing Back home I contacted Mountain Laurel Design who sent me a replacement shelter no quibble after I mailed Ron my tale of woe. I can't fault that level of service and remain impressed. Still focused on backpacking early spring saw me acquire a 'Nemo Zor Regular' sleeping mat on ebay for a bargain £40. I am still impressed by it and it's by far my favourite mat in terms of weight and comfort. That said I decided to do something with the bust Neo Air that had sat in my cupboard for over 12 months. I sent it back to Thermarest and was delighted to receive a new one a week later with no further ado. I guess their assertion of a lifetime warranty really means that!  Another 'discipline' runs parallel to walking and gets me outdoors most days of the week. I've been a fairly committed runner for several years now. Moving to Sussex had me switch to trail running and, equally, I flipped from road marathons to off road 'ultras'. I think I peaked running wise a couple of years ago with some strong events performances at the Fellsman and a good Lakeland 100 completion. I'll run 'till I'm in a box, it's simply joyful. Equally your body is the most important piece of outdoor kit and it needs frequent use to keep it maintained. A decent winter's training had me move into April with the 'Fellsman' coming at me hard. When the rain stopped falling hard in early March spring came to southern England fairly early. As a 'Fellsman' warm up I got out on the downs and ushered in my birthday. An overnight '50 miler' is more fun than it sounds (see here) and I knock off half of a national trail on an overnighter. Kit wise it confirmed how good my current favourite headtorch is the Petzl RXP. I blogged in 2013 as to my initial impressions (here). It really demonstrated how good it is as a trail running torch in about ten straight hours of darkness on the South Downs, it reacts well along the trail and keeps good flow. I love it and was very impressed with its battery life too.  Consequently, when that 'big big big day' in the hills came about I was sure as to the choice of head torch. To Yorkshire for the Fellsman at the end of April. There is nothing like it, you're up and down Ingleborough and Whernside and you've barely started with 58 miles to go and a hell of a lot of hard moorland to navigate across. See here for a little more.  The weather that Fellsman was pretty decent, quite the contrast to 2012 which saw Mountain Rescue pulling people off the hills (though me and my crew finished it that year, that event was the closest I've come to hyperthermic!). A grand 17 hours in the Dales with 62 hard miles done and I returned south happy. Within a few days I was back out in the high and lonely places. This time a five day backpack from Ballater to Aviemore which had me collecting Mt Keen and then Lochnagar (and surrounding hills) before the traditional walk to the Cairngorm Hotel and the Royal Tandoori via the Cairngorm plateau.  That was a grand few days with some very pleasant weather. More here. It also saw me settle on my walking kit for the rest of the year. Paramo gave me the Bora fleece and wind shirt in 2013 (see here), I've worn nothing else save one trip in 2014. It's worked a treat, even in heavy rain. The fleece is comfortable and warm (though not overly so) and combined with the wind shirt keeps all but the very worst of the weather off. It's only really got damp once, in Jamtland in August, after a solid day of rain. Paramo gave me it to test and I was very positive in my report to them at the end of the year. They have more variations of in the pipeline so I hope I can get a go with any new incarnations of what is an effective and livable system. I'll add to the Paramo gave me three pairs of boxers to wear (Paramo Cambia Boxer here) and I've found them incredibly comfortable and durable. A new base layer from them too with the Cambia Sport Long (here). I found that too to perform well and wore it for three weeks (washed once) in Svalbard/Scandinavia over the summer. The only thing from Paramo that hasn't worked were a pair of Maui trousers. See below for details!  Lochnagar had me use again the Pacerpole 'Overmitts' which Heather kindly sent me (see here). I like these, effectively a very weatherpoof mitt that can be folded over and tied around the pole when not in use. April saw my birthday and a bit of birthday cash saw me buy some more items from As Tucas (here). I bought a pair of Sestrals Pants (lightweight insulated pants) and a pair of Forata Downsocks. I'm really happy with both items, very light but effective insulation and the workmanship is great. It's a real pleasure to deal with Marco too and I will certainly be buying more in the future. I would probably say the Sestrals Pants were my best buy of the year.  Sutherland next for nine days in June, my main Scottish trip of the year. I managed to upgrade my down gear. Flogging my old Rab Endurance 250 bag on ebay (veteran of my Gronabandet) I was delighted to be sixty percent of the way to a bag I had my eye on. The PHD sale had a central zip Minim 400 (here) at an attractive price. I figured that a central zip would be useful in Svalbard where, in the event of the incursion of a polar bear into camp, I could get out of it quicker or use it like a quilt. That arrived before I went to Sutherland and was quickly followed by a Minimus Down Vest (here). I'm pleased with both products, well made as well as warm and light. The Vest works well particularly as I'm a big fan of the bonkers Paramo sleeves (which I think have dropped off their range!). Combined it's a great jacket. Sutherland confirmed to me again how much I love my Trail Designs Fissure Ti-Tri. Rand sent me an email after picking up my article on my Grona Bandet in TGO, he's included me on his gallery (here). It was of course great to feature in TGO again, you can read that here.  Sutherland was a grand trip and I got some far flung Munro done as well as enjoyed some of the wildest backpacking I've done in the Highlands (more here). Of note too I started to use some food from 'Food on the Move'. I liked their range and price so much I spent around £200 on stocking up for Svalbard and Sweden with the family. Some really tasty meals, my favourites are the Cous Cous and Minced Beef Dinner. As I spent such a large amount of money this small British company gave me a 20 percent discount which was welcome. You can find them here.  That takes me to the Lakes in July where I walked the Lakeland 100 course for another crack at it in August. I enjoyed my walk around the western fells and my Trailstar behaved itself. This saw me back up to Lakeland in August where I wilted in the heat at the race itself after 65 miles. One real positive was staying with Heather and Alan of Pacerpole which was lovely!  Next the big one, Svalbard! You can read on what specialist kit I had to buy here. It's worth noting I took a tarp with me that I really liked. My Bearpawwd 8/10 flat tarp. The idea behind it was as a kitchen area but on the more settled coast line I moved into it as I liked the field of vision. This was the trip too that my veteran Golite Quest 80 final bust. Time for a new big trip pack I thought! Svalbard saw off a pair of Paramo Maui cargo trousers. In four days the rough and tough conditions of multiple river crossings and hard rocky ground put a hole in a brand new pair. I was testing them there and the 'range team' have had my report!  Back to mainland Norway and over the border to enjoy a great family hike with my wife and kids in Sweden. All the good weather I had enjoyed finished spectacularly and we got heavy rain! We still had a good time mind but I realised how invaluable a tarp is as an extra area when camping with the family. It made a good shelter for a lunch rest too.  Back to the Highlands in October, I killed another Trailstar and I was reminded what a tough place it is! See here for my tale of woe and learn if you use one yourself! (see here). I sold off the remnants and the bug net and door and looked for an alternative!  So began my relationship with Marc of Trekkertent. He sold me a Drift at a very good price as an ex-Demo. I used that in a local trip in Sussex which proved to me what I wild place I have on my doorstep! I also ordered an Edge off him too, that's still to arrive as he's super busy and I volunteered to slip down the pecking order as I stood him up in the Cairngorms! Sorry Marc! We still get on mind as he is knocking me up a complimentary custom groundsheet for my latest tent!  Back to the Highlands again in November for a wet n' wild four days in the Cairngorms. The weather was very mild though and I enjoyed myself. Marc and I missed each other in Feshie mind, I'm sorry about that. A malfunctioning stove (Primus Spider) had me looking for an alternative. Thanks to Martin Rye's tip I bought the excellent Kovea spider. This was not quite my last purchase of the year!  Flogging off my Akto I funded a 'Black Friday' purchase of a Helsport Rondane Superlight which had an eye popping 40 per cent off from Tamarack. I've had my eye on this for a while as it should help me get out in the UK with my kids at a very reasonable 1.65 kg for a 3 man tent. All in all a lovely Scandi tunnel tent! I rounded off the year in Dartmoor. That was a lovely trip and I'll be back for more there!   Five days of winter backpacking on Dartmoor has, frankly, been a revelation. For a man with strong connections to the county of Devon I had no idea that this fairly compact National Park had so much to offer as a wild walking destination. I've come back from a five day north/south traverse with my head full of the place. Perfect for a quick winter getaway and a place with much potential for the future. I now can't believe it's taken me so long to get onto the moor. With a father born in Devon, a grandfather who served in Plymouth during the war and family members still living in the county I spent every childhood summer on the beaches of the South Hams. Dartmoor could be glimpsed in the distance, a high brooding place which seemed at odd with the intimate lanes, coombes and coves of the county's south coast. My only trip up there previously was with my parents, pottering around in my dad's car one fine spring day in the late 80s. Mid-journey we sat in a car park drinking tea and listening to the reports of the poll tax riot in Trafalgar Sq.. Sounds from London of discord and violence whilst outside heather danced on a light warm breeze. A quarter of a century later and my interest was pricked by reading some good trip reports online. The site 'Blogpackinglight' has provided me with necessary information and some good tips on what's worth seeking out. Robin confirmed to me that Dartmoor, whilst not necessarily a place for striding long distances, had a lot of wild interest in a compact and rugged area. Wild camping too is legal in designated areas, highly unusual for England. To me that seemed to fit the bill for some winter backpacking. Some interesting walking in the short daylight hours of late December.  A little under five days and four nights gave me some time to play with. I was minded on a north/south traverse as this would enable me to get a sense of Dartmoor as a whole and to end up nicely positioned for South Devon where I was to spend the New Year. Route wise I had free reign due to the festive season. Access on Dartmoor is excellent ( see here) though the North Moor (possibly the wilder half of Dartmoor) is part of the Defence Estate and certain areas or 'ranges' can be closed due to military training. This wasn't a problem due to the timing of my trip, between Christmas and New Year. I plumped on a start at Okehampton with a finish at Harford in the south where I was to be picked up. Transport down to Devon from Sussex was fairly easy using train and bus. Booking in October I also managed to get from central London to Okehampton for under £20. Despite a difficult journey up to London from home the journey onwards was straightforward and I arrived in Okehampton a little after three and keen to get on my way. Heading up from Okehampton I was in a fine mood. The weather forecast for the next few days was framed by a high pressure which was to promise brilliant sparkling days of winter sunshine and clear starry nights. The consequence of course of this weather was some cold overnight temperatures and intense frosts. I'd packed accordingly with plenty of good down wear and generous food and gas.  Walking out of Okehampton I followed the signs for the MoD base, simply marked as 'Camp'. Some cloud hung in the sky with the odd brief shower, the last of a blustery front over southern England which had disrupted travel earlier on the day. With a three o'clock start my ambition for that first afternoon was to climb onto the moor and get settled for the night. I climbed up on a steepening gradient between Rowtor and West Mill Tor. A little off the North-South track I found a good flat pitch at Moor Brook head. Pitching took a little longer than normal as I had a brand new tent (Helsport Rondane Superlight 3) to get to grips with. Purchased as a light weight tent to go backpacking with my children in it served too as an excellent winter tent, palatial for one person but equally fairly light at 1.65 kgs.  A little after 5.30 pm and I'm sorted and settled. Some tea, a meal and then I'm in the sleeping bag by 7pm. Okehampton's lights shine to the North and the temperature begins to fall as the night progresses. The first of four cold winter nights.  Next morning I up at 7.30 am as light begins to fill the moorland. A frost overnight, by no means the heaviest of this trip but I have to gently defrost frozen trail shoes before I can begin to pack away. the clarity of the day to come is apparent as the sun rises over East Mill Tour. Light floods the moorland, I feel the warmth of the sun as it climbs higher in the winter sky.  I'm full of cheer as I pack up and head off. What a day, clear bright sky and the visibility is superb! I can imagine how difficult navigation could be up here in heavy weather. The terrain's fairly featureless and contours more subtle than say the Highlands or Lakes. I've no particular plan than to make my way to a camp at South Teign Head in the East. I leave the certainty of the North-South track and head east through the heart of the Okehampton Range.  I'm impressed immediately by how rough the terrain is. The ground reminds me of the Dales or indeed Lancashire. Tussocks up to about knee height make for slow progress. I even slip and fall flat on my face, luckily the ground is soft and forgiving. By about 1.30 pm I'm on Whitehorse Hill. I can see the plantation down below and I'm confident of my location. I follow the fence line down to Sittaford Tor, mid-way I stop and chat with a fell runner. We swap trail running yarns and events and then I'm down to South Teign Head.  South Teign Head is somewhere that's appealed to me since reading 'Blogpacking Light'. I'm not disappointed by what I find. Set against the green of the plantation the yellow grasses of the moor yield a decent pitch or two. There's good water too from the stream and the bowl I'm in catches the last hour of sunlight, I relish it's warmth as I prepare camp. I sit enjoying the sun and drink tea, conscious that it's a cold night to come.  When the sun does disappear I'm blessed with the clarity of a prolonged dusk. The moon's risen and sunlight's replaced by moonlight. It's stunning, deep blue abounds. The temperature rapidly drops and as I'm readying myself for bed my thermometer records -7. I bury myself in my sleeping bag.  I sleep well. The only disturbance is at around 3 am. I awake to the feel of vibrations, wild ponies are charging around outside. I shout a few times. A whinnying a minute or two later and they are off. I fall asleep again. Next morning the frost is heavy. I awake and move, 'snow' falls on me from the inner tent as condensation accumulated overnight has frozen.  The sun though is coming and as it crests over the ridge line I feel a real sense of anticipation. It's warmth is instant and I use the opportunity to dry out my damp sleeping bag. It's another day of promise!  By about ten (I seem to take longer every morning, the frozen starts of winter camping take some dealing with) I'm following the southerly track down towards Postbridge. I'm slightly regretful that I'm leaving the North Moor already but I'm pleased there's plenty to come back for. It's another glorious day. I note a few potential good sites along Winney's Down Brook. Other walkers climb from the car parks of Postbridge and we exchange greetings.  I pass through the small village of Postbridge. It's useful to note a small shop and a pub, that could assist in future Dartmoor trips. I keep heading south to Bellever and then through the forest that skirts the East Dart river. I start to wonder about looking for a pitch but decide to move on.  Rounding Laughter Tor I survey the valley before me. Princetown with the infamous jail is to the east, I spy on the ground ahead my intended route south. I'm reckoning one a bridlepath which is marked on the map. To get that I cross the road and move up a farm track to Dunnabridge Farm. As I pass the farm a voice calls out. Within a minute a women comes out of the farm and tells me there's no right of way. We discuss that as it's marked on my map, however, I'm happy to accept her explanation and she tells me of a footpath that will get me south. Back onto the 'B' road and then I pick up a footpath which crosses the River Swincombe twice. I'm really now conscious of the time of day and start to seriously consider what pitches are available. I regret now now printing out the Dartmoot wild camping map as I dont fancy anymore discussions with locals as to the legalities of my activities. I have such a discussion though soon enough! I ask a lady walking her three dogs about whether the immediate area is in the permitted zone. She tells me it's her impression that there's no wild camping allowed on Dartmoor at all (which is clearly wrong) and holds forth on a fearsome local landowning family. I move off and camp where I was going to camp anyways (which in the end turns out to be perfectly legal).  Walking along the banks of the River Swincombe I despair about finding a pitch as night begins to fall. However, amidst the tussocks I find a flat pitch with good water access. Night falls and with it the coldest temperatures of the trip. A little wary I start when I hear barking dogs but shake that off wondering if a farmer would really head out looking for wild campers on a freezing festive night. As said I was perfectly entitled (see here ) to camp where I did.  It's a deep cold night. I awake again to frozen condensation and get going slowly in the cold of the morning. Again I appreciate how winter camping is about managing moisture. By this third morning I'm already handling things a little better. Wet sock went into a plastic bag and under my thermarest so no frozen socks today. My stove helps everything else. I'm pleased with my new Kovea spider and Primus winter gas.  But it's another beatiful morning a I head off. From the Swincombe I turn south and into the heart of the South Moor. The Childe's Tomb appears in the distance, it's cross a striking sight in the midst of the moor.  The south moor certainly has a different feel from it's northern counterpart. The Tors less distinct but I enjoy its sense of expanse. The terrain ranges from the difficult to flat and broad.  No real particular plan other than to make it to the car park at Harford for noon the following day. Following the rough line of the Blackford Path I keep a high line.  Plenty of livestock up here. More sheep than the north and a fair few ponies too.  Around two I find a pitch by the old railway line of the Two Moors Way. There's well drained and heathery ground with good access to water. A few walkers traipse the Two Moors Way as I pich up but as darkness descends I'm quite alone. Cloud begins fill the sky and I'm pleased that tonight won't be quite so bitterly cold.  I wake the next morning to a balmy two degrees. I'm in no rush and take it slowly in the morning. Plenty of tea before packing up and off at 11 am. It's an easy walk for a couple of miles down to the car park at Harford. The weather is perhaps a little more typical. Cloud covers the moors and the landscape is brooding. It suits it on this last day of 2014.  As I descend I pause to let a hunt past at Harford. A stream of walkers pass me on the way up, a couple congratulate me on walking across Dartmoor (!), revealing they have met my father in the car park.  It's good to see my old dad waiting there patiently for me. One woman suggests a medal for a winter traverse as we pack the car. I tell her a pint will do instead. An hour or so later and we are in the familiar town of Salcombe where I enjoy New Year with my nearest and dearest. It's been a great few days and I'll be back to Dartmoor for sure. Some great walking and fairly easy to get to. It's a place I'll bring my children too as it's compact but with some real opportunity for adventure. A grand end to 2014.  |
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