AWW 15th April 2015: Walkers not Wimps, Whatever the Weather

The previous week, the AWWs had come in for a wee bit of friendly badinage from the WAGS when it was learnt that they (the AWWS) had called off their walk, partly because of the weather, whereas they (the WAGS) had gone out through wind and rain on their geriatrical walk. So this week, several brave and determined AWW souls did go forth despite the extremely grim forecast and the equally grim actuality of the early morning weather. JohnH´s phone had begun ringing from early on.

“Surely we won´t be walking in this? You cannot be serious!” “For safety´s sake, let´s cut it short.“ “It´s coming down like stair-rods in Algoz.” “Sorry, I can´t hear what you´re saying, John, because of the thunder!” “ It´s really bucketing here in Covoes.”

But JohnH was either obdurate or optimistic -  to tell the truth, in a sadistic sort of way he was rather looking forward to filing a report about a sodden route march on a par with that soaking wet day 2 of last year´s Trilho Historico – and he insisted that his walk was on: there was to be no wimping out this week.

Extremely disappointing for him, therefore, to have to report that there was scarcely a drop of rain throughout the day – it was perfect walking weather.

The Starters

Whoops, sorry, wrong picture – those were the starters on the same walk led by Terry Ames back in February 2013. Terry, by the way, sent me this message on Tuesday:

“Hope you have a nice walk, I always find that walk to be “Just a good walk”; what more do walkers need?  Walked it with clients 4 weeks ago lots of spring flowers out and orchids.

I will not be with you have the EDP calling to change meter and do other things so they better come or I will not be a happy man, having just finished my 9th Algarve Way on Thursday my feet are still a bit sore.”

Blimey, 9 Algarve Ways !

Let´s start again.

The Starters 15 April 2015

From the right: Yves, Miriam Wood, JohnO, Hazel, Lynn with Harry, Ingrid, David, Janet, special guest re-appearance by Bruce Lygo, Mary Cave and JohnH (the Leader). The two dummies wimped out.

Late arrival: Eileen Dalton had a bit of a lie-in that morning but joined us at Benafim for the second stretch.

This walk followed the Terry Ames´ track of 6th February 2013. First, a casual stroll through Alte to the Fontes Bridge, where we paused for a moral-boosting team photo-shoot. (At this stage I was still expecting a cloud burst.)

Then we took the high-road up the fairly stretching hill into le pittoresque village of Julia –Ingrid solo protesting that there had been no pre-warning about this ascent in the pre-walk publicity. If I had known that she were to be so pernickety about there being consistency between what it says on the tin and what comes out when the tin is opened, I could have given her an easy low-road opt-round.

But, as it happened, when we did pause for a breather on the benches in Julia, it was Ingrid and the rest of the girls who looked as fresh and  as fragrant as daisies on their way to a matinée dance……….

……..and it was the men who showed all the signs of feeling the strain, the poor Old F***s:

Duly rested, the group then headed down and across the valley towards the deserted village of Rocha Amarelo; your scribe recalled that Terry Ames had made two speeches on that stretch, but he was unable to remember what he had told us other than that, in the old days, the Rocha Amarela villagers used to travel 12 km to the Fontes at Alte and back fetching their drinking water. Now all is apparently abandoned, but not entirely so; nearly all the plots of land have newly painted white markers complete with owners´ initials to comply with Loulé Camara´s plans for a digital land register. They remember their roots, these people, and their property rights. 

We then crossed back across the valley floor, passing by the sausage factory at Chouriço Corner and then headed up towards Benafim across country that had, believe you me, been carefully reccéed some 5 weeks earlier by Yves and myself.

And this is where the trouble began. 

First, in the intervening weeks, a crucial landmark had been dismantled and taken away; secondly, some zealous farmers with harrows had been scouring and churning up the land under their carobs and in so doing had obliterated the tracks and paths that I had carefully memorised. And so it was that we had to plough our way through the mato grosso, your disorientated leader trusting more to vague instinct rather than to certainty about where we were going and how on earth we were to get there. David, with his wealth of experience of such situations, was a reassuring presence in this hour of need!

And it really was a case of ploughing our way – the sticky red mud addding extra thickness to our boot soles as we went. And now, Yves  our designated Tail-End Charlie, where had he disappeared to? Contact was lost. Whistles had to be blown. Let him explain in his own words:-

The Back-Marker´s Tale, part 1: Bees and Broken Sticks

“Now, your Honour, we were proceeding in an orderly file along the lack of track or piste when a lot of noise and activity was perceived up ahead: Janet had a bee in her bonnet! Clearly, there is only room for one head in that bonnet so something had to go: the bee or Janet’s head… The bee was a small but pugnacious fighter who refused to concede an inch in that territorial battle (an inch is a lot when you are a bee) but it had met with an equally determined if slightly nervous opponent. There followed much thrashing of arms and other limbs, some shouting, a lot of wing flapping, the sound of twigs snapping and thigh slapping to the accompaniment of shrill shrieking… By sheer happenstance, John O was close by and did not fail to notice the commotion: he charged to the defence of the lady in distress with all the gallantry of a small Irishman, his stick thrusting, flashing and slashing through the air like an older D’Artagnan, missing both bee and Janet by not much, truth be told! The bee was quite a small target compared to Janet, it has to be said, and it was moving quite fast, too… It was obvious that the bee’s comrades may come to join the fray when they heard the fracas so the decision was made to concede that bit of land gracefully and move off to rocks and thorns new; and this was done…quite successfully: the bee had eventually drawn blood!”

And there was more to come:-

“Then there was the loss of John O’s walking stick! As we struggled during the short off-piste section, it became noticeable that John was walking with a very pronounced limp : two feet down on every right step, to be precise. A quick inspection of the trail behind him soon revealed the cause of his predicament:he had lost the lower half of his right stick! It was duly picked up and John was almost righted but no amount of squeezing, pushing, shoving, swearing or invoking the wrath of the Little People could put the stick together again. John battled on manfully to the café where a thorough examination of the confounded item revealed that it was ‘well knackered, man!’. Of course, said stick belongs to Rose who may yet have something to say about it when she returns: wait and see? Unless the staff of the shop whence it was purloined from agree to do something about it… All in all, life at the rump end of the peloton was quite eventful…”

Up front, of course, we could know nothing of these dramatic events. And even more drama was to come. When, somehow or other, instinct had brought us out onto the broad track leading up to Benafim and we could regroup, Janet, quietly and with considerable self-control in the circumstances, asked for a short pause. She didn´t mention the bee episode but divulged that she had just been assaulted by a wild asparagus, in proof of which there was blood streaming down her shin, in quantities Mike Pease would have been proud of.

Was there a doctor at hand? Yes, have no fear, M. le Médecin Sans Frontières races to the rescue again!

 

Unguents, balms and bandages applied, the flow of blood was staunched and relative normality was restored and, close to 1 o´clock, we were able to adjourn for drinks and lunch at Café Ponto do Encontro in Benafim which was where Eileen joined us.

The weather after lunch was if anything even more clement than it had been before, as we ambled through the back lanes of Benafim, pausing to admire the diligence of some dung beetles as they tidied up underfoot, and then made our way down to the river crossing.

where the stepping stones were firm, and all crossed without difficulty.

Bruce, with his customary gallantry, was at hand to assist some of the more hesitant across……….

…… among them Yves who endeavoured to thank Bruce with an effusive Gallic kiss, which luckily both Bruce and the camera managed to avoid.

All would have gone smoothly thereafter, had it not been for the Mysterious Affair of the Lost Pedometer. Let Yves take up the tale once more:-

The Back-Marker´s Tale, part 2: The Pedometer and the Lady who stopped for a Minute

“Lynn asked that we went ahead while she enjoyed a private moment of reflection. As she re-joined, she seemed quite happy with herself but that did not last long: she stopped on the track and patted down her jacket, belt, bag, etc. to look for her pedometer: ‘I must have dropped it there!’ she exclaimed as she raced back down the track… A few minutes later, she panted back up the same track and announced that she could not find it, sadly; that would be €19.99 wasted and it did not work all that well anyway but it would good to know how many calories she had lost… then she paused to catch her breath.

“We walked on a while and as we neared the leading group, there was a joyful cry: ‘Aye oop! I think I’ve found it!’ Indeed, Lin was tugging strongly at the calf elastic of her trousers(?) and she extracted said pedometer from some crevice below her knee. Quite delighted was she, as she found out that it still read something! Then ensued some technical discussion between a few of the ladies, mostly centred on how a device the size of a small oyster but smoother could slip from a high position to a much lower one in feminish garments… I was losing the will to live by then, but the sight and happy sounds of the leading group rekindled some kind of fibre; somehow, I swept them towards the leader. In the meantime, the pedometer had been prodded, opened, closed, sniffed even! And the ladies agreed that they would say nothing about it all; why? The only guess is that the distance measured by the device could not have included the descent down Lynn’s leg; that was almost confirmed at beer-time when the reading from the pedometer was grossly lower than the contradiction of GPS apparatus!

“Still, we had a happy Lynn, reunited with her gadget (incidentally, its light blue colour almost matches that of her eyes) and her faithful companion Harry who ran up and down the track at great speed many times to check that BossLady would still feed him tonight.”

So, after a welcome 10 minute pedometer pause, we resumed and without further excitement made our way back through the Fontes to Alte for some welcome refreshment and relaxation.

Mustn´t forget the Track and the Statistics ………….

The Statistics

Distance: 18.5 km

Total Time: 5 hrs 56 mins

Moving Time: 4 hrs 25 mins

Moving Average: 4.2 kph

Lunch break: 30 mins

Total ascent: 426 metres.

……….nor the obligatory quotation, just to satisfy The Emeritus Blogger-in-Chief:

“Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote

The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote”  (Chaucer: The Canterbury Tales – Prologue)