New toy: Princeton Tec Scout headtorch

The humble headtorch has come a long way since the miner's carbide cap lamps of yesteryear. You can get modern LED headtorches that will burn retinas at 100 paces but for most jobs around camp a couple of LEDs and a few small batteries will suffice. So the Princeton Tec Scout replaced my ageing Petzl headtorch. Weighing 54g with batteries its as light as an empty nut sack. It has loads of neat details: it runs off four wee 2032 watch batteries, has 2 super bright LEDs, tilt function, 5 lighting modes (including a epilepsy-inducing flashing mode) and my model came with a Tackleberry-approved camo headband for stealthy overnight missions! Looks like a practical, neat and very light lamp for under £20. I will report back after some field testing.

Tinkering

Sitting amongst a mess of shockcord, clips, craft knives, pieces of zips I wonder how long it will be before someone offers a custom rucksack service, like PHD offer for their sleeping bags. Can you imagine the possibilities?

Whittle it, just a little bit

An e-mail from 'the brother-in-law' who is on holiday in Norway:

"Hi Hi, just letting you know how the whittlings going. It's day two and unfortuately mark 2. The mark 1 whittle came to a grizzly end, but it almost definitely saved my life! There I was happily whittling away in the sun when a pack of 'wild' dogs rushed me, I hear you guys may have encountered the very same beasts? Anyway the big one, I guess the leader of the pack "bbrrrum bbbrrum", was heading straight my way. I had to think fast. In one hand I had the knife I could try and take him out, the rest of the pack may then back off, but then again they might not. They were smaller than the leader, Jack Russells or Terriers or something, but never the less, fierce. The shear number of them, possibly 3 or 4, made this a risky choice. In my other hand I had my wood, not my dick!, but a perfect piece of timber for whittling a spoon. This left me with one other option, sacrifice the whittling wood. I know a hard choice to make. I only had seconds to react. I chose the latter course of action, hoping that if I threw the wood the big one would chase after it, giving me a little more time to regroup and come up with a plan should the dog return, which in my experience of throwing sticks to dogs is usually the case. It worked, the dog turned and ran, so did some of the smaller ones. The rest of the dogs, well one or two, surrounded me and made a fuss, but with the big one distracted I could try and make friends. Just then a call and a whistle came from the distance and the pack disappeared, but alas so had my whittling wood. As I said before I have started work on the mark 2, but the wood is nowhere near the quality of the mark 1. However this has made me more determined than ever to whittle the best spoon I could possibly whittle, in homage to the mark 1 who was so bravely, or maybe rashly, sacrificed for another. R.I.P mark 1. We salute you."

Time is short

I've spent the day preparing for my imminent departure. In between chasing up international removal companies and getting quotes for taxis to Heathrow I managed to catch up with a couple of good friends, share a Guiness and talk shit. On the way to the pub, listening to The Murder City Devils on my ipod I took this photo. As my shadow stretched away endlessly I was acutely aware that time is short and I'm going to miss my friends.

No More Mr Nice Guy?

Is PTC dead?! I don't like it when I can't have a little peak at his blog! Computer says no everytime I try and clicky. Hopefully normal service will be resumed shortly.....

Light Mears ahead?

Just back from an overnighter that blurred the lines between Ray Mears-style bushcraft and fast and light trekking. I'm calling it here and now - Light Mears. My brother and I were taken to woodland where my Dad is a volunteer ranger with a view to spending the night under a tarp and learning a bit about how wondlands are managed. We were shown how hedges are laid, how coppicing works, how charcoal is produced in bulk and all the different types of trees and how their timber is used. After a bit of bushwacking we found a great spot to camp on top of a steep wooded combe. Firewood was lying all around us and a wee fire was soon blazing as we strung up a tarp between two trees. Mozzies were 'bugging' us until a splash of jungle brut (a.k.a 100% DEET) was administered. Camping in woods is a different kettle of fish to camping on higher ground or even on the SWCP. The different noises, smells and 'feel' of the air, still and earthy. Badgers and deer were our watchkeepers as we slipped off to sleep. I woke up to find my bivvy covered in slugs. The lil' bastards had slimed me. I lay awake for a while, savouring the morning sights and sounds under the chlorophyll light as my brother snored away. About an hour later we had packed up the sleeping gear and Dad had returned to pick us up. I had two golden syrup flavoured Readybrek sachets and a Snowpeak of coffee for breakfast. Once we were on our way we headed off towards the Dorset Coppice Group outdoor education workshop and had a gander at various woodland management displays like the surreal chainsaw carvings pictured above. We also saw the huge metal drum that charcoal is produced in. I'd seen local charcoal for sale in garden centres and I vowed to try and 'buy local' in future, knowing that I would be supporting this group of dedicated people, fighting to keep traditional methods alive. We circled around another valley, taking a scenic route back to the car, our Dad pointing out deer tracks and other subtle changes in the environment that I hadn't tuned into. We stopped for another fresh brew on the way back, my brother cooking up a storm on his home-made alcohol stove. The weather was absolutely blazing and despite light packs we all slowed considerably on the final pull up to the car park. Where was the rain we were forecast? I had new waterproof troos to try out!

Instruction booklet chapter: How to rock

Having been seemingly unable to learn to play guitar myself I used to have to imagine what it must be like being up on stage metal thrashing mad with a circle pit going nuts just in front of me. Then along came Guitar Hero to save all my fellow plectrum-challanged rockers. Now they've brought out a portable version for the DS, called Guitar Hero On Tour. I persuaded my girlfriend's brother to buy it for her birthday to replace the Brain Training that was taking up an unhealthy amount of her free time. Obviously I had to 'help' her open the box and get it set up. Within 2 minutes I was rocking out to Twisted Sister. Airline passangers of the world prepare to be annoyed by the frustrated metal head moshing in the window seat.

T minus 21 days and counting.......

Three weeks to go. 21 days and we leave the UK for Norway for the foreseeable future. 504 hours. A smidge over 30,000 minutes. There's a lot to sort out in that time. Better pull my finger out.

Wakey wakey! Get your hands off your snakey!

It's a view i'll never get tired of. Looking west (east is just as nice) along the Jurrasic Coast fist thing in the morning, feeling a bit fuzzy after a night around the campfire with friends. Breakfast was bbq ribs and coffee. Next weekend we're heading deep into the woods...

Jurassic Dinner

When i got home after my little overnighter with my brother i could tell my girlfriend was feeling neglected and in need of some 'nature'. Not needing any excuse to get out again i whipped together some haloumi and veg kebabs, grabbed my AGG stove, a disposable bbq and a couple of whole fresh mackeral and headed off to Kimmeridge. Whilst my girlfriend went beachcombing for fossils and lay in the sunshine i got down to throwing the food on the grill. It was a great way to finish the weekend, the food was great and a hot chocolate drink, stirred with a shard of chocolate kept the heat in when the sun dipped behind the cliffs.

He ain't heavy, he's my brother (and tarp)

For several weekends, due to different social obligations, me and my brother have been prevented from getting 'outdoors' together as time runs out before I leave for Norway with my girlfriend. Finally we got to get out for a night over the weekend. Unfortunately time is still in short supply so we decided to head to a spot where I've often been summer camping, down at some old sea caves on the SWCP. The difference this time was that we planned to go fairly lightweight and not be dragged down by the usual 'cave camping' paraphernalia which often includes 20lb of firewood (each!), boxes of wine, party kegs of beer, 100 tealights ("to make the cave look pretty") and a three man 3.5kg tent 'for the girls'. The usual friendly get-togethers at this spot are only done when the weather is guaranteed to be 'Mediterranean' but this time my brother and I would whisk down there whatever the weather and I think that deep down inside we fancied a bit of 'weather' just to make it interesting. We went with 35L packs, a tarp just in case, a hip flask of whisky and, a new product for us, a Duraflame log. We left B-town under a dark cloud and got to the carpark half an hour later. The 40 minute stomp to the caves seemed a lot easier than usual, no doubt due to hardly carrying anything! We ducked through the 'technical' route into the cave area and found we had the place to ourselves. My brother got straight onto the task of putting the tarp up in the grassy area near the caves and I fired up a brew on my AGG. We spent the rest of the evening building a 'hearth' for our Duraflame log, a windscreen for the stove and a small wall to keep the prevailing wind from lifting the tarp. As darkness descended we fired up the Duraflame and after a bit of coaxing we had a perfectly decent fire that provided warmth, light and a 'focus' for the next four hours. The Duraflame weighs in at 2.2kg which is a chunk to carry but the benefits are unquantifiable. It was still burning after we called it a night and sank into our sleeping bags. In the morning we were greeted with a spot of rain. The tarp kept the worse off and the bivvy bags were just enough to keep the sleeping bags dry where our legs were sticking out from under the one-man tarp. After a hearty breakfast of coffee, flapjack and muesli we packed up inside 20 minutes and removed all trace of our stay before heading back up the steep path that leads straight out of the cave area. Somehow I managed not to puke up my breakfast when we got to the top.

Musical interlude

I was sent this yesterday: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXVdNKciP94&e which got me thinking about the blues band we wanted to form when we're older covering heavy metal classics from our youth. My friend Pete wants to play the banjo and I thought a ukulele would go well with that. Then Swellbow told me about the Flying V Ukulele.... Now all we need is a name. Answers on a comment-shaped postcard please.

Stolen afternoon

Taking a couple of hours TOIL (Time Off In Lieu) from work meant i had a whole afternoon to myself. I decided to go for a walk over the Purbeck Hills. The weather reports on the radio threatened rain but the lowered sun visor and temperature guage in the car sang a different tune. Was it going to miss us completely or sneak up and dump on me later in the day? I packed the Jiri 35 with wet/cold gear and a stove for a hot dinner just in case and for some perverse reason i hoped for bad weather to justify carrying it all. I needn't of bothered. Instead i fried and sweated for five hours. Stepping out the car i realised that not only had i forgotten the camera (mobile phone to the lower-resolution rescue) but that i'd left the map at home. I could see it in my minds eye, laughing at me, sat on the floor where I had packed my bag. That meant sticking to a well known circuit of the hills but two minutes out of Corfe and i was already 'off map' deciding to find a new route up to Kingston. Half an hour later i was drenched in sweat and heading along to Swyre Head into the stiff breeze whistling along the Jurassic Coast. My planned route, heading inland to climb Creech Hill was thwarted by closed access to the military ranges that Creech sits on the edge of. Second choice was to head south down to Kimmeridge and the costal path which i could follow east towards home. It was very overgrown, steep and difficult walking. The remoteness was amplified by the lack of people, the fierce wind threatening to knock me over and the trecherous, subsiding cliff top. At times the path puts you 18 inches from certain death. After a few miles I decided to stop for a breather. A fresh brew and noodles warmed up on the AGG revitalised me for the final few steep pulls up to the inland path and the undulating push back to the car although the zigzagging search and rescue chopper reminded me that whilst i had had a trouble-free excursion others hadn't been so lucky. On the way back the view of Corfe Castle across the heath, standing guard between the 'barrows' signals its nearly time to rejoin society. 13 hot, sweaty miles and my feet are still getting used to the Roclites. Much cooler, grippier and way lighter than my boots but your feet have to get used to them and the final mile of tarmac burned my soles. I was beat when i got home but glad i had got out. The map I had forgotten was waiting for me on the bedroom floor, probably upset that I had returned safe and hadn't got lost.