The enduring pull of Shropshire

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We return frequently to the Shropshire hills, and more to the Long Mynd than any other: 35 miles by road, a journey generally hassle-free, giving the feeling of proper hill country made accessible. The height might be unspectacular, but the complexity of the terrain and the propensity for ground-hugging mists, particularly in autumn, makes for some interesting outings. You can lose yourself in more ways than one.

45530185107941__405x720-argb_88881818675229The valleys (hollows), which cut into the hills, provide a variety of ways to reach the plateau; and indeed a variety of options for returning by a different route. “Plateau” shouldn’t be taken as meaning table-top flat; there’s plenty of undulation – some of it subtle, some less so. Many of the hollows carry a stream (although ‘brook’ seems to be favoured locally), often fed by springs, some of which are marked on the OS 1:25000 maps. Reduced to little more than a trickle at times, they can be difficult to cross at others – it is proper hill country!

For a time – an all too brief time each summer – there is the possibility of spotting a hobby, most likely in pursuit of a dragonfly; a still better chance of catching a fleeting glimpse of a merlin on the move. The merlins seem to have moved on, as indeed do the peregrines, although the latter were apparently sighted hunting over the hollows until a couple of weeks ago. The kestrel and buzzards seem to be ‘stayers’ though; and it’s no longer a surprise to spot a nonchalant, drifting kite. Not that raptors exactly have things all their own way: ravens go about their business without apparently feeling the need for a by your leave; ravens can probably take care of themselves.

Spotted for the first time last weekend, a respectably sized flock of golden plover – wheeling and diving over the moorland, dropping down into the heather, taking to the air again en-masse, endlessly repeating. They could be new arrivals – the UK population swells anything up to tenfold over the winter.

Winter will mean more layers: down jackets stuffed into the pack for rest stops; hats, gloves, thicker socks. All of those out-of-the-wind crannies will come in handy; just as long as we can remember where they are.

Pictures above: [Top]: Mist and watery sunshine – Long Mynd; [Above left]: Walkers descending into Light Spout Hollow, Long Mynd

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Light spout waterfall, reduced to a trickle following an extended spell of dry weather

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Detail from Routebuddy OSGB 217 – The Long Mynd & Wenlock Edge (1:25000) – showing a number of springs feeding the brook in Ashes Hollow

From the vaults: Navigation techniques… (17/08/2011)

These are many, varied, and the subject of articles, skills courses, even entire books. There’s one I used to adopt on occasions which, since I abandoned it myself, seems to have fallen completely into disuse. 

In simple terms, the strategy was to become slightly lost by virtue of neglecting to consult the map. This was followed by a period of denial, during which it was still considered unnecessary to refer to the map on the basis that it was only a matter of time before I recognised some prominent landmark. Phase three involved accepting that I didn’t have a clue where I was but my own inner compass would somehow prevail over the unfamiliar terrain*.
The final part involved a pathetic figure, nervously unfolding a OS Explorer or Landranger, praying to the god of the hills that he hadn’t actually walked off the edge of its coverage.
As I said, it’s a technique I no longer use. Anyone who’s tried it will understand the reasons for that; my advice to anyone who hasn’t is that it’s probably best avoided in favour of the more conventional approaches to navigation.
* There was no body of evidence to support this proposition, but… well, you know how it is with men.