5. Hostels and Huts

Hostels provide a cheap and simple place for wayfarers to rest, eat and clean up before moving on, and for school parties to practise swearing.

English Hostels:  in my day there were special features which distinguished English hostels from the rest.  English 'Youth' Hostels were run according to the principle of Suffering (See Post, Suffering, 23rd May 2015). They eschewed comfort. Housed in redundant mansions, their gaping fireplaces yawned bleakly out, crying for the fuel that never came. They refused admittance except at certain tightly defined periods of the day. This was so that their wardens (note the term), who chose this career as an escape from human society, could recover from the trauma of the previous day's forced interaction, and stoke up and repress sufficient reserves of anger with which to greet the next intake. Each hostel retained an elderly cyclist who was tasked with intimidating children. Since 1980 I have avoided English hostels. Perhaps they are better now.

Then there are things called huts, which can be very variable: I have stayed in huts which have employed cordon bleu chefs, and in, er, well, huts.

It is sometimes the practice in the part of the world that I infest to haul large parties from hut to hut, either on foot or by coach. In the huts the group members are decanted onto sleeping platforms for a night's hand to hand trumping. They are booted out by their couriers early next day to walk about and look at stuff. If I see such a party approaching I pitch my tent outside. At least I'm inhaling my own gases.

A 'cool' urban hostel which I often use is different again. Its bar/restaurant has regular music nights and is a valued part of the city's nightlife; it is frequented by celebrities.

Having said that, after bed time it can suffer from the same kind of irritations as any other hostel:

The squeaker: any room with more than two beds is equipped with a bed having a hair trigger squeak. The unfortunate occupant soon becomes aware that any movement, however slight, causes a high pitched squeak. Becoming ever more self conscious the occupant lies awake, breathing ever so shallowly, scared of moving, and so stiffening with painful cramps. Counter intuitively, they may increase movement at times in order to randomise some accidentally regular squeaks - dispelling any intimation of malarkey. Meanwhile the tension rises as the other occupants  quiver, wide awake, in anticipation of the next random squeak.

The cougher: a resident with an irritating throat tickle which causes spasms of inconclusive coughing. We take turns at being this one.

The ostentatious broken relationship phone call: a male occupant has discovered the call of the life of the natural and free man. (He got his end away last night). He decides to call his fiancé back home and tell her that a/ he loves her dearly, b/ he's not ready to settle down, c/ he loves her dearly, d/  he wants there to be no secrets between them, e/ he loves her dearly and f/ they should meet henceforth less often, and in a mature sort of way, when he's not getting it anywhere else. At this point the conversation starts over again, repeating as before, with an increase in volume and incidental expressions of regret. The other occupants should postpone going to bed until his pay-as-u-go sim runs out.

• Update Spring 2015: Recently there have been menacing developments. I refer to the now ubiquitous Tablet , equipped with Skype or Facetime. Whereas before, one's pain was limited at least by the fact that the perpetrator's pay-as-u-go sim would run out, it now has the potential to go on indefinitely, fuelled by the charging lead plugged into the socket I want to use for my Kindle. Or until the Tablet falls from his insensible hand as he rolls over, emotionally exhausted. The whole performance is furthermore accompanied by a light show as the glow of the screen bounces around the room. There is not even the compensation of being entertained by the other side of the conversation: the accoustics of the device are so poor that, from our distance, there is just a tinny 'weer - weer - weer' sort of whine. One must resort either to earplugs plus sleep mask, or vandalism. It's probably not necessary to assault the perpetrator . Though come to think of it, there might be merit in it, with an accomplice directing the cam towards the action.

The Whimperer - Residents with a high payload of guilt and/or terror live torrid lives in the hours of sleep. This results in expressive yelps and despairing mumblings which are frustratingly difficult to decipher by the wide-awake listeners.

The Sock Rotter -  As we all know, a gas expands to fill the space within which it is contained. So when some backpacker hauls off his boots to expose the decomposing remnants of ancient socks clinging wetly to pale necrotic skin, we know there is no escaping the thick, foetid stink soon to be sliding towards us. As far as I am aware no-one has died from the miasma of the sock-rotter - in fact there are those who claim to have been cured of sinusitis by it. But a cleaning person once told me he sometimes sweeps up discarded noses which, he believes, have been torn off by despairing victims of the sock-rotter during the night.

There are unanswered questions about this phenomenon. Is it an affliction or is it anti-social behaviour? Is the perpetrator aware of the smell? If so does he/she like it? I'm going to ask next time. Oh, no - I'm not. I'm English.

The Snorer - Much has been written on the subject and most of us have experienced it. As well as the obvious irritation, I find I experience a mix of awe and fear for the person's welfare. How can the human respiratory and vocal equipment be put through such violence  without damage? How can the perpetrator sleep through it when no-one else can?  My good friend R suffers from the affliction. When, as a group, we set up a new camp, the scene resembles the humourous song, 'The Banana Boat Song', by Stan Freeburg. He drags his tent a distance from the main group and looks beseechingly back at us. We shake our heads (‘Too loud man’). He moves further away and turns his sad eyes towards us. Our fingers point. He moves on. At a great distance, the outcast is finally allowed to put up his tent. Faintly in the night we hear his depredations, muted by great distance, as we drift off to sleep.

Shared Facilities - another drawback of hostel life. Not having en-suite means trekking out for toilet visits and showers. Disaster awaits those of us with poor personal organisation. Having on many occasions forgotten to take my towel, I have had recourse to drying myself on: a fleece, my underwear, multiple paper towels snatched from the dispenser and centrifugal force. My friend Clugston, in similar circumstances, managed to dry himself by juxtaposing parts of his body around the mouth of a hand dryer. However on a subsequent occasion,  when he tried it with a Dyson Air Blade, an intimate part suffered a serious injury. I am doubtful however of his real motive for  that particular insertion.

One night during a quiet part of the year I had a room to myself. Wanting a pee,  and there being no-one about, I nipped to the toilet sans trousers. Of course, the swipe card which opened my door was in my trouser pocket. My only recourse was to go down to  reception clad only in my Sloggi minibriefs and queue with as much insouciance as I could muster. The receptionist told me it was quite a common mishap and that I was at least lucky enough to have the Sloggis: one gentleman had only a paper towel with which to maintain his dignity.    

4. Fear Flatulence and Gravity

Fear, irrational

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A certain amount of 'atmosphere' goes with the territory for those of us who wild camp or work in remote places: swirling mists, sinister looking shapes viewed through the dusk, scufflings and animal sounds maybe, and a general feeling of isolation. These can vary from the pleasantly spooky to the outright chilling. Or -  no sound at all! A friend and I once wild camped at the place reputed to be the location of the novel, Wuthering Heights. It was one of the stillest nights I have ever experienced. If the ghosts of Heathcliff and Catherine had come out for a mumble, however quietly, I could not have missed it. I prayed for the the wind to get up to mask any haunting that might be going on.

Of course, it is all in the mind. My friend Yatterclack had an irrational fear that, if he looked out of his tent at night, there would be something looking back at him.

Often, the duvets one is provided with in guest houses and hostels are too short. Being moderately tall I find that, if I pull the thing up to my chin, my feet are exposed. If I make sure my feet are covered, my shoulders get cold. So I end up in a foetal position, which soon becomes uncomfortable.

What has this to do with fear? I hear you ask. Well, I have a confession to make. I fear the Ankle Grabber! Even in the safety of my own bed at home, if a foot breaks through the very secure tucking-in at the end, it quivers with hypersensitive anticipation. I expect at any moment to have my ankle grasped by bony fingers, the sole of my foot to be tickled, teeth to bite my great toe, or to feel some creature brush by. I have to have the 'Be a man now' conversation in my head, of course, where I attempt to ignore the situation and drift back to sleep. It seldom works. My imagination conjures up all sorts of dreadful creatures milling about under cover of darkness, inexplicably fascinated by my foot. Once, when I did get back to sleep again I dreamt straight away that a wild looking ginger haired man had grabbed my ankle and was trying to drag me out of my bed. Breathless with terror, I did what I should have done at the start: got out and re-made the bed.

(My dad was a wild looking ginger haired man, but it was definitely not him. I know well enough what it's like to be dragged out of bed by him.)

There are often wild looking ginger haired men in hostels

Flatulence

It is bad form to bang off in a tent.

G

Gravity

The hill walker and Gravity are in a state of constant war. We strive to grow up; gravity pulls us down. 

                                        The hill walker strives to go up; gravity pulls him down.

My friend Jobson made light of gravity and paid a terrible price.

He should have done what I always do. I stand on my head for an hour or two after each walking expedition so that the fabric of my body can settle back into its original position. Be careful not to overdo this precaution though: look out for shrinking of the lower limbs and swelling of the head, and if you detect them, desist immediately.

3. Call of Nature to Dehydrated Food

Note:

To view this blog in chronological order click on the first item at the top of the blog archive on the right.

 Call of Nature/Cure for Loneliness

If you feel lonely and crave a little company, digging a hole with the ‘U Dig-It’, lowering the trousers and hunkering over it can be effective. Invariably a walking group will appear. Be prepared though - do not throw away this social opportunity by being confused. However much the urge is to the contrary, this is not the time to get to your feet. Nod up to them in an affable way and pass the time of day (do not strain while conversing). If the walkers are British you will not have to deal with the question, 'Having a shit?' because they're British. They will be happy instead to converse on some neutral topic.

However the company is not always what one would wish for. I was once importuned by a beggar in Morocco whilst hovering thus, and having reached a point of commitment, could not rise up and drive him off.

Craic

A term that is sometimes seen in accommodation advertisements, as in ‘good craic’. It means the place is run by a fat man with a beard who won’t shut up.

Crises

 A British walker knows how to behave in difficult situations. I can do no better here than to give you Mr Charles Dickens' account of a crisis which befell him on Carrock Fell in the Lake District:

'Mr Goodchild draws [the compass] tenderly from his pocket, and prepares to adjust it on a stone. Something falls on the turf -- it is the glass. Something else drops immediately after it -- it is the needle. The compass is broken, and the exploring party is lost! It is the practice of the English portion of the human race to receive all great disasters in dead silence. [My italics] Mr Goodchild restored the useless compass to his pocket without saying a word, Mr Idle looked at the landlord, and the landlord looked at Mr Idle ... the lost travelers moved forward, still walking round the slope ...'

This extract is from a fine essay of Mr Dickens' entitled 'Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices', the ‘Idle Apprentices’ being himself and fellow novelist Wilkie Collins. It describes a hill walking expedition in the Lake District with full regard to the principle of Suffering (of which more later). It is a fitting complement to the more effulgent writings of William Wordsworth (poet, fell walker and twerp, 1780-1850).  

Dehydrated Food

Forty years ago mountain nourishment was revolutionised by the introduction of dehydrated meals especially made for the wayfarer: light to carry, easy to prepare and packed with energy-providing nourishment. 

Each meal came as a sachet  of powder. All one had to do was cut open the top of the sachet, pour in boiling water and wait. 

After a few minutes one had a nourishing meal of  wet powder, ready to eat. 







.






Nowadays there’s a huge range of meals, hydrated and dehydrated, such as chilli, Irish stew, treacle sponge and custard, and so on...

.

 ...limited only by the manufacturer's creativity.          

However, even now, things do sometimes go wrong …

2. Ascent, Barefoot Walking, The Bogeyfort Scale

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Ascent

This is the key concept of hill walking. Without it, we would just be walking. Ascent combines with gravity to physically challenge the hill walker. With my personal experience of meeting this challenge over many decades I wish here to highlight an issue which should be claiming the attention of geographers, cosmologists and mathematicians: Why is there more up in the world than down?

 If you have, like me, toiled endlessly uphill, barely to notice any descent thereafter, then found yourself faced with another fierce ascent, you will know what I mean. If, like me, you have spied a summit, gone for it, then found, as you get near it, you are approaching the foot of another one, seemingly added on while you weren't looking, you will know what I mean. If, like me, you have spent all day toiling up hills, only to find yourself back where you started, you will know what I mean, I suspect it is to do with this 'expanding universe' we're always hearing about.  Come on you university intellectuals – what are we paying you for?

Barefoot Walking

There is currently a fashion for ‘bare foot’ walking and running. Indeed, one can purchase shoes which, it is claimed, enable the walker to enjoy the bare foot walking experience. They have very thin soles and all round flexibility I believe. I had shoes like that in the post-war austerity years. They even had round holes in the soles through which you could enjoy the authentic 'sharp stones and wet feet on a rainy day' experience. Some of these barefoot shoes even have toes! They look rather like fancy dress gorilla feet. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn't the best way of enjoying a barefoot running experience to run barefoot, rather than spend 200 quid on a pair of shoes that try to be not-a-pair-of-shoes? Also, apparently, one needs to be trained in this barefoot malarkey. There are videos entitled, ‘How to Stand’, and ‘How to Squat’.

The idea is, I believe, that it is more ‘natural’ to go barefoot; that we evolved this way. Well, I suppose so, but I’m sceptical. True it is that early man went barefoot. But surely it is also true that, at an age we would think of as little more than  our ‘middle years’, his feet would start to give out, and he would no longer be able to outrun some big bitey thing that fancied him for lunch. There must have been a reason why he started tying skins and stuff round his feet.

Bogeyfort Scale, the

The ‘Bogeyfort Scale’ of wind strength, devised in the 19^th century by Rear Admiral Sir Francis Bogeyfort, provides us with the means by which we can judge the power of the wind using no more than our own noses.

FORCE

0     Calm
       Nose is dry.

1     Light air
        Nose is dry. There is an agreeable cool feeling in the nose.

2     Light breeze
       Nose is dry. There is an agreeable cool feeling in the nose. One utters, ‘Aaah’.

3     Gentle breeze
       Nose feels cool to the touch.

4     Moderate breeze
       Slight nasal redness compared with rest of face.

5     Fresh breeze
       Slight nasal redness compared with rest of face; intermittent sniffing

6     Strong breeze
      Distinct redness of nose. Regular rhythmic sniffing.

7     High wind, moderate gale, near gale
Sniffing not effective; some deployment of tissue needed to stem steady flow.

8     Gale
       Nose begins to stream; constant use of tissue or side-of-path honk-out if that  is the preferred method.

9    Strong gale
     Contents of nose whipped away from face by wind; downwind companions jeopardised.

10  Storm, whole Gale
     Contents of nose forced back into head.

11  Violent storm
      Nose bleeds.

12 Hurricane force
     Nose bleeds due to contact with hard things.

1. Animals

I have made this area available to my old friend and mentor, Bartlebury. A hardened hillsman with many decades of experience behind him, he has agreed to share his wisdom with us, and I am sure we cannot fail to come away from reading his words without feeling in some way improved.

His contributions will be published as I receive them and I will notify them as updates. I will try to keep them in some sort of order, preferably alphabetical, but he is very much his own man, so may not always succeed.

Please be aware that the views expressed herein are Bartlebury's own and do not necessarily represent those of WhysWhys.

WhysWhys December 2014

Animals

Cows

The walker, particularly on the lower slopes, is sure to notice numerous ungainly mammals with little better to do than eat grass. These are Cows. Listen for their call: ‘Moo’. Do not be alarmed. They are usually docile. Grass requires very little hunting down and is easy to subdue, so cows have little need of aggression.

Cows belong to the earliest phase of evolution. We know this because of Name and Noise. When names were allocated, obviously the simple ones were used up first. ‘Cow', being a simple monosyllable, would have been one of the very first to go. By the same principle, the cow’s noise, or call, is basic, just a vocalised exhalation. Dog (‘wuff’) and owl (‘ooo’) are shown by Name and Noise to have appeared on the planet at roughly the same time as the cow. And we know, for instance, that whippoorwill (‘whip poor Will’) and hippopotamus came at a very late stage in evolution when simple solutions had long been used up. (The principle can be applied to places too. The earliest city we know of is ‘Ur’. I expect people there just went around grunting.)

Detail

Why do cows have their tails on their bums instead of their heads, where the flies are most irritating? It has been suggested that this is probably a remnant of an early stage in cows’ evolution, when they lived in trees and needed tails for balance. Clearly, for reasons I need not spell out, when humans started to walk among the trees this behaviour became unacceptable so they were told to get down.

Grooming - the nostril

Whence comes our symbiotic relationship with the cow? It appears that an early man, seeing one of these creatures ruminating quietly in a clearing, decided that, rather than stun it with a log and eat it, he would see what happens when you tug at them dangly things below it. Stuff squirted out. He thought, ‘I’ll drink that.’ Counter intuitively, it didn't kill him. And the rest is history.

There is a story told west of the Urals that, encouraged by this, another tribesman went out to do the same, but tried it with a cow that had only one 'dangly thing'. His remains were found some distance away with some puzzling injuries.

It is suggested by some researchers that this behaviour indicates that alcohol was invented before the discovery of milk.

The cow’s lifestyle is an elegant example of sustainability. The cow eats grass; after making use of it, it poos; the poo nourishes the growth of new grass; the cow eats the new grass. And so on. I was once invited to join an experimental commune based on this principle. I declined. 

Cows seem to have an instinctive knowledge of the correct distribution of poo around a given field: any surplus they save up and deposit in the corner of the field where the stile is, during one of their many social gatherings there.

Dogs

A dog once ate my baguette on Coniston Old Man.

Sheep

The sheep had become stuck in a narrow stile. I was attempting to rescue it. Grasping it firmly from behind and pushing and pulling was the most effective way of going about it.

Smeet

For a feature that is intended to keep things inside an enclosure, dry stone walls do seem to have rather a lot of gaps and holes in them. Well of course the reason for this is selectivity. By making a gap in the wall of a certain size the farmer could, for instance, keep cows in, while letting the sheep, being somewhat smaller, pass through.

From time to time you may come across a small squareish hole at the base of a wall. This is a smoot hole. As intimated above, larger animals, in this case cows and sheep, would be kept inside the enclosure by the wall. But the diminutive smoot with its need to forage more widely, could roam the hillside.

Sadly, smeet had been hunted to extinction by the middle of the nineteenth century.

A Smoot Hole

A Smoot