Bivouac in Taburiente Crater, La Palma

Stashed in my luggage in hopes of night under the stars was a bivy bag, sleeping bag, and minimal sleeping mat.  A hike on La Palma that had eluded me the prior visit was a journey into the heart of Taburiente Crater.  It can be done an a day hike via the use of a taxi, but I wanted to spend a night in the bowels of the island, and perhaps explore extra trails deep in the crater.

Day trippers find the crater a fairly easy hike, since the taxi drives them up most of the elevation, and they are left with a long steady downhill and then a rocky river descent to the finish.   Why I decided to go the other way I'm not quite sure, but I do like to start and finish hikes under my own steam.  No taxis for me.  Rob dropped me off at the river bed and my pack felt much heavier than usual, loaded up with extra food and sleeping gear.  I could tell I was tired, too...the 2 weeks of steady long day hikes and beach walks were much more than even I was used to.  

But the river was an amazing place and the variety of rocks in the flowing river kept me searching for new colors.  It was another sunny, clear day, and I was lucky to be walking in such a place.   The river, flowing from springs deep in the crater, often colored the rocks orange from iron-ores.  In other places the trail brought me high above the water looking down into narrow gorges. 

A detour was a must to go up to see the Cascada de Colores, where the river bed got more and more orange from sediment until it was fairly glowing.  The cascada wasn't really much, though, just a man-made dam with orange and green stains from the water flow. 

From the riverbed up to the campground, the trail climbed steeply but was well groomed and smooth...probably the best maintained trail on the island, and that's saying a lot.   I was sweating but it felt great in the dry air by the time I arrived at the campground.  Which was a ghost town.  I dropped of my permit in a slot in the locked visitor center, then toured the area for the best locations.  I didn't see any sign of life aside from an empty tent.   The deeply shaded grounds were lined with tall pines, but I could hear another river gurgling nearby.   In short, it was paradise.  I found a spot where the sun shone down on a bed of pine needles, and proceeded to spend several hours reading and sunning, with the river a calming background trickle.

Near sunset, I moved out into the wide riverbed to catch a timelapse of shadows on the crater rim, and cooked supper on a rock. My bed for the night was on layers of thick pine needles which someone had helpfully gathered. As darkness settled in and I with it, I suddenly wondered where my walking pole was, as it was not near my sleeping bag. I found my flashlight and went looking for it in all the places I had visited, but saw no sign of it. I suddenly wondered if someone had taken it...unlikely given that I hadn't seen a single person all day, but the trees were thick. Could there be a thief? I couldn't believe it, yet where was my stick? (The short answer was no....I found my pole the next morning exactly where I had left it, somehow evading the dim light of my flashlight search the night before!) 

I struggled to get much sleep that night, for some reason, and found that the light of the moon in my eyes was keeping me awake.  Yet it was an absolutely perfect night, warm, calm, at times foggy and yet clear, with no hint of chill.  The moon and the stars waded through the trees above me, and there were no sounds aside from flowing water.  Well, aside from a really annoying rooster.  What's a rooster doing up in the crater, anyway?!



I had planned on doing an extra hike up to a large waterfall in the morning, but in the end, just didn't really feel like it when I woke up.  So I cooked breakfast in the warm air, and then slowly hiked up and out of the crater along another nicely graded path.   And I do mean slowly....I could tell that the endless days of hiking were catching up with my legs.  Fog shrouded the crater rim and it was kind of a grey day.  At the end of the hiking path was the road descent down to the river where Rob was waiting for me.  I suddenly realized that walking down the 10 miles of road switchbacks would take me forever (it seemed), so I took a few hiking trail shortcuts instead.  These were really steep, and made me want to get back on the road and flag down a taxi, I was feeling that tired.  The road went off somewhere else for a while, though, and I was stuck on the trail. 

It was on a graveled path where my tired legs lost their footing and I went down hard on the rocks.  Luckily the rocks were of the normal variety and not the sharp volcanic stuff.  After a few whimpers, I realized that I hadn't done much damage besides small scrapes and what would turn out to be a softball-sized bruise on my thigh.   I continued on hoping to hear the sounds of a vehicle...I really wanted a ride down now.  Nothing.  I continued on, more trail shortcuts, and soon the river started to look larger...I realized I was getting a lot closer to it than I expected.  I determined to finish the descent on my own steam (good choice...no vehicles ever did pass me), and soon I could see Rob at the river coming back from his own hike up into the barranco.  It wasn't the strong finish I was hoping for, but it was an absolutely beautiful night out and so peaceful that I will remember that, rather than my crash!
Distance: 13 miles, 8 hrs, and 3500 feet of elevation gain (and loss).

Walk #17 from the Walking on La Palma Cicerone Guide

Cascada de Colores...clearly not the best time of day for photos of this

Fastpacking: The Nidderdale Way

Alternatively Titled: The Misadventures of my First Solo Backpacking Attempt! 

For many months I have wanted to get out by myself.  Love it, hate it, don't know until I try it.  The 53-mile Nidderdale Way was an obvious choice for a short weekend round.   The best part?  I could walk out my front door and be down at the trail in minutes.   Oddly enough I hadn't been on any of the trail yet, aside from a few short miles.

Friday afternoon saw me walking down the sidewalk and waving goodbye to Rob.  It was mild, I was in no hurry (yet) and with a small tree-identification book in hand, I was feeling up leaves as I ambled down the trail.  Ripley Castle came and went, along with a lot of unremarkable scenery, remarkable in that it was all rather pleasant, even in a quick rainshower. 

Almost October and the days are short, the coming darkness saw me peering desperately for a spot to hide out for the night, just short of Brimham Rocks and the boggy moors that surround them.  Many likely-looking sleep spots were filled with cows, sheep, in sight of houses, or just plain soaking wet.   Finally, a good spot, hop a fence and set up my bivy bag.  The wind died, the (almost) full moon rose, and I had a wonderful evening cooking over my stove and laying down watching the stars. 

Just short of sleep and short of midnight, I hear a motor (strange for my location), and peek out of my bag to see a 4-wheeler driving slowly around the field with a flashlight waving around.   I hunkered down in my +  bivy bag, which luckily is the color of grass, and realize they were in the field next to mine.  No consolation if they see me, though...the first rule of wild camping:  tell no one where you are.   The lights disappear, only to turn around and come slowly back.  Eek!  The motor exits the field without discovering me, and I am left in peace for the night.  It's warm enough I brave the possible slugs and leave the top open on the bivy. 

I packed up quickly in the morning and around the bend found a concrete pad, which I shared with some mud and random animal bones for a sheltered cooking spot.  Breakfast was an epic fail.  My alcohol fuel was too cold to light, I guess, requiring that I swap to my good fuel.  Trying to pour it back into the bottle (from a holey cat food can stove) was almost pointless.  Once I had a good boil, I failed to stir up my rice (boil in a bag) pudding at all early enough, leaving crunchy bits of rice in the bottom and rendering it inedible.  Uh-oh, my food ration suddenly seemed a little short.  The bag of now-congealing rice pudding went back in the pack as dead weight.

Saturday was sunny, if quite windy, and never quite warm enough.  I stayed on the move, surprising at least 1000 pheasants from the path.  No, I'm not exaggerating, I think there were a few pheasant "farms" near the trail to help out with the population.  Mid day found me still battling a headwind and skirting the edge of Masham Moor, heading for the most northwest point over Scar House Reservoir Dam.  Along the way I crossed a completely dry creekbed, remarkable after the monsoonal rains we had earlier in the week.  I speculated that the water must have diverted into one of the many potholes (caves) in the area.  This would not be a good week to go spelunking. 

The dam overflow at Scar House was really kicking up, putting on quite a show for visitors.  It must have been really crazy a few days earlier.  I was mostly grateful I would now be walking with my back to the wind, over the moor and back down to How Stean Gorge.   It was near there that I accidentally forgot to shut off my GoPro camera after taking a photo...after snapping 1,847 worthless photos at 2-second intervals, it finally beeped to complain that the memory card was full.  Given the limited field options of the GoPro, and no spare chip, there were no more photos to be taken.  Into the pack it went.

After 11 hours of walking for the day, I hopped another fence on top of a likely deserted hill, and found a lush pasture just past a "private road" sign, with no hint of animals, poop, soggy ground, people or unwanted 4-wheelers.  Aren't I particular. I had just dumped my gear all over the grass when I heard a woman walking by yelling at her dog.  Luckily she was so busy watching the dog (who probably knew I was frozen behind the rock wall), that she didn't notice me then, or again when she walked back a few minutes later.  It was windy in my little rock corner, the moon was soon obscured by clouds, and my stove fuel (warmed by a few minutes in my armpit) still went out at least 7 times.   I managed to eat and then burrowed inside the bivy, which kept me surprisingly warm even if the wind was whacking the cloth into my head. 

I woke to a light rain in the morning, and wondered what to do about it.  With no small amount of contorting, I was able to stuff my sleeping bag away and slip into full rain gear before I opened the door to the bivy.  The sad news was that I didn't feel like fighting with my stove for a hot breakfast.  Sadder still was the contents of my food bag.  Congealed rice pudding, uncooked couscous, and a few gels.  They would have to last me the last 15 miles to get home, which was looking like a long, soggy way.  Raiding all the pockets of my pack only turned out a few squares of leftoever chocolate.  I guess 6000 calories (minus rice pudding and couscous) wasn't enough for a 45-hour tromp through 50 miles of valley trails.    (Yes, I could have stopped in one of the many villages I passed through for additional supplies, but I wanted to be self-sufficient.)  No, gels don't even taste good when you're hungry...why did I even pack them?  This wasn't a race. 

I had managed to keep my feet mostly dry for a day and a half, no mean feat in a country where I usually measure my first soaking in minutes, not miles.  Not today.  The grass was already wet, and this section of the trail relied heavily on cow pastures.   At some point, once water has soaked into every crevice in my shoes, I stop caring where I step.  I think this helps me go faster, but at times when I hear that sucking sound, I wonder which will win out for control of my shoe...my feet or the mud trying to suck it off.   And then I wonder why I didn't tie my shoelaces tighter BEFORE the diluted cow poop got smeared all over them?!?

Let me just say that a little rain is no fun.  A lot of rain ruins even the strongest wish to stay outside.  Yet driving rain or not, the high moor trail south of Pateley Bridge was beautiful.  In the fog, the deep crevices in the cliffs held green ferns, and the damp atmosphere transported me straight to the rainforest in New Zealand.

The last few miles of trail were along the River Nidd.  A few days before, it had been raging at the highest flood levels in recorded history, due to heavy rains over just a day and a half.  Sure, that only resulted in a couple inches total of rain, but around here in the UK that's a month's worth, and enough to send everyone rushing for needed sandbags.  The river was trickling along nicely enough now, 15 feet below me, but there was clear evidence that most of the trail had been underwater in the flood, with some of the path rather washed out. 

I arrived home close to noon on Sunday, soaked to the skin, looking like a drowned kitten and ready to raid the kitchen.   In short order I was washed, dried, fed, and watching football on the couch.   Amazing things, houses.  I really like mine sometimes.

So did I enjoy going out solo?  Well, yes.  Well, no.   I would have prefered it to be warmer, and sunnier.  Then I would have packed more food, and walked slower, and nosed into my book for a few more tree discoveries.   Then again, I always say I want to slow down...perhaps in a warmer climate I even would.   It is nice to have friends on the trail, too...I don't think I'll audition for a hermit anytime soon!

Near Ripley Castle

Moon Rise

Home for the night

A sunrise (failed) breakfast spot

Brimham Rocks



Scar House Reservoir