AWW 28.03.2012 The Great 14-18 Debate *

‘Somebody stole the track! There was one here last week…’


‘Twas a bright, fresh morn’ when the Monchique hélipad became alive with the merry cries of happy hounds and their owners: the Walkers had arrived for another chapter in their quest for that elusive ten-spotter!

                                                          

 
Misty celebrated her reunion with the Blogueur in her usual effusive manner and left her paw marks on his T-shirt (the present Mrs. Blogueur was not impressed…);  still the Walkers, their numbers boosted by some returning faces and some new ones, set forth into the sunshine, cobbled streets and steep climbs.

                  

 
All went well for a while: the air was cool and progress was brisk-ish; we reached Foia at a canter, almost, before the Leader applied some ‘corrections’ to his recce. The Walkers, being made of stern stuff, followed unquestioningly –most had not a clue where they were headed in any event- through dense undergrowth, down precipitous slopes, over stones and boulders: excellent fun!

 
               
As befits an occasional Leader, David L made a point of signalling to the group the presence of a very large and mean bramble bush: those of us who saw his brave display of Son et Mouvement as he fell into it will never forget it! Thank you David!

           
         The rest before the fall                                                                     Thespian sacrifice…


The Leader saw to it that we arrived to the planned lunch-spot at about lunch-time. We could almost hear the water-fall when the feminish chatter stopped as they paused for breath.

                 
                      Les Quintuplettes (dixit the Ass. Blog.)

Fed, watered and rested, the group was now looking forward to a gentle amble back to the café: alas, once more the fates took a hand in the proceedings and somehow we missed our ETA (technical term for beer-time). Where did all these climbs come from? And the cows? Must have a word with the Captain, sometime…
All in all, a pleasant way to spend a Wednesday; perhaps a Lady Walker will explain what she meant when she exclaimed that ‘some men don’t seem to care how long it takes!’
Thank you Monsieur le Leader.

 

Les participants:  John H, David L, Maria, Val, Yves, David H, Dina, Rod, Frank, Hilke, Ian, Mary, Ingrid, Hedley.
Les chiens: Misty, Ember, Rosie and Shelley
La Piste Footsie:

Les Statisques d’Ingrid (translated from the original Belgish):
Distance totale*:                  17.9 kms*
Temps global:                     5h 56mins
Temps de marche:             4h 45mins
Lenteur globale:                 3 km/h
Lenteur de marche:           3.7km/h
Altitude maximale:             906m
Ascension globale:               774m
Le Leader:

                                     
It will be noted that despite this Blogueur’s steadfast efforts not to mention the Noble Game, the Leader contrived to find a tree shaped like a spoon made of wood…

Le Leader’s Report:

We mustered at the café Descansa Pernas, which was thankfully open, and those who needed a fix had one. Everybody arrived in good time and we set off at 09.30 under a blue sky and a stiff breeze. Climbing up through the steep narrow streets to the Convento surely cleared the lungs and resulted in us having an early stop to disrobe. We moved fairly quickly up through the desolation where a forest of eucalyptus trees had been felled, stripped of bark and branches and all the detritus left on the ground to prevent anything growing and provide fodder for a forest fire.

 

 

We skirted Foia on the south side walking through a good path in the heather and getting a full view of the south coast, which was not very clear on the day.

 

Half-way along the path we ran into a heifer, which was in the same place when we got back on the return journey.

 

Beauties and the Beast

                                 Heifer, moi? Them dangly bits ain’t udders, don’t you know?

 

Soon we reached the communication masts and listening devices which adorn the top of Foia and the café at the top, where the ladies were given time to powder their noses before we pressed on past the Area Militar, the white football-like tower and radar facility to the main road to Foia.

 

 

There, the Leader had a rush of blood to the head and tried to take a "shortcut" to a track he was heading for, but he ended up in brambles 2 metres deep and there was blood on the ground.

 

The two gurus

 

Rod found a way through and we continued on a decent track towards the Barbelote waterfall.

 

Dr. Doolittle, he talks to his animal…

 

We had lunch near the waterfall and although there was not much water, we listened to its tinkle before we also went to tinkle nearby.

 

                 

After lunch we laboured up the track and arrived at a ruin with lots of cows and a couple of bulls not far away.

 

‘Ils ne passeront pas!’ said Ermintrude…

 

‘M**de!’ said the Walkers as they trudged up Cowpats Alley…

 

At that point we went off piste again, but this time it was easy walking on grass before we reached the tarmac road that took us to the top of Foia and back to the café.

 

 
  Nice and easy… And this is why we do it…

 

 

        

 

Le repos du baladeur

 

While drinking a caneca of Super Bock, David How, a visiting friend of the Leader appeared to nod off, but went grey and could not be roused. Yves took charge of getting him into the recovery position lying on the ground and the ambulance was called. David revived immediately and called for his unfinished beer, but was kept lying down. The paramedics got him on a stretcher and put him in the ambulance, which after a few minutes set off for Hospital Barlavento near Portimão. David was given oxygen in the ambulance and was accompanied to the hospital by Maria, who helped to translate for him where necessary.

He was classified on arrival at the hospital as third level "urgent" and kept under observation until the doctor saw him. He had an ECG, which showed that his heart had had "an event" and would need further tests on his return to UK. He returned home at about 22.00 and claimed to be absolutely fine. This morning he felt none the worse from the walk and is raring to go.

 

Le Coin du Gourmet: In due déférence to the warning of steep climbs ahead, lunch was kept light and nourishing: salade de printemps avec fraises et mayonnaise aux câpres et jambon fumé dans un bun croustillant, suivi par fruit énergétique and washed down by a local Chateau-la Fontaine 2012…

                                                  
                                                   Spring has sprung!

Oxtail-piece:
                                          
                                                                     La Vache qui ne rit pas!

On a serious note: This walk was troubled by a couple of small incidents that came to happy conclusions, fortunately. Perhaps, this is a signal from Above that we ought to review some of our operating procedures: some of you ain’t quite as young as you were! Please DO use the Bogueur as the channel to pool ideas and suggestions to ensure even better standards of safety during our outings? Many thanks for all points raised for discussion.

 

*Reference the title of the Blog, the Leader had promised 14 kms but the Contradiction of GPSs settled for 18 kms at the end of the walk! At least that is Yves story!

AWW 21.03.012 Odelouca Loucura

A short, interesting, diverse, and tough one!

Bonjour à tous les Baladeurs du Mercredi en Algarve, présents ou en vacances!

Many of you have just missed a mini-classic, but fear not: it may yet be repeated…
There was a number reversal of last week’s walk: four ladies to seven gentlemen: the symmetry might have appealed to some but she was not here to be confused. Boldly going where he wants to, the Leader took the group to a ford where some did not wish to get their Fiat wet, rather leaving passengers to get their feet wet; who cared? It was a glorious day and the Walkers, spurred on by Hedley’s boundless enthusiasm set off upwards (where else?) through budding cistus and thorny bushes…

            

It was clear that the Leader had done his homework and the group did not really become lost; only the path kept vanishing on occasions. Cue more bushes, prickles, thorns and curses from Walkers.

                 
                 What, no path?

At times, the air was filled with the sound of slashing and swishing as they battled valiantly with the rampant brambles with their sticks scything and flashing; truly a magnificent sight, d’Artagnan would have approved! Some impromptu ascents were indeed very demanding and there was a lot of pull-me-push-you before the top of the ridge was reached for lunch; Sherpa Tensing would have approved!

                

Once the panting, bleeding and cursing had stopped, there was a consensus over lunch that the views are breath-taking (some recover more slowly than others). More perusal of the carry-along Google wotsit* led us to the foot of the barrage; luckily, no water came down the spill-way, perhaps it was low tide as some Walker was heard to remark (fiendishly clever, these Portuguish: tidal barrages!)A hop, a skip and another tongue-wagging later, the Walkers enjoyed again the cool beer on the terrace of the Café.
Important matters had to be attended to: namely the Leader roster for the next few weeks and there was just enough time for a small presentation: our Welsh (by association) Grand Slammer made the gift of a well-earned spoon made of wood to one of our Scottish representatives. He may keep it until next year when someone else might claim it but in all probability, the Wooden Spoon has found its permanent home…It must be noted, en passant, that the fellow-Scot charged with photographing the event managed to muff it (strange language, Scotch!); one wonders why there exists no record…Still, a very pleasant outing, thank you Leader, and thank you all for your valuable and extremely timely contributions to this Blog.

The route:

The Stats:

distance              9.71km

total time            4h15m

moving time        2h47m

moving avg.         3.5k/h

overall avg.          2.2k/h

max elevation      252m

total ascent           470m

S/M/L thorns:     millions!

The Starters:

Janet, Yves, John O’, Hilke, Ingrid, Dina, Ian W, Terry A, Rod, Hedley (welcome back!), John H.

The Best Friends: Misty, Ember (still on probation).

The Leader:

The Walkers won’t notice…

The Leader’s Report:

Yet another cloudless day as this somewhat modest (in terms of numbers anyway) band set off from the Café Ourique... Well it was the Café Ourique but the name has been expunged for reasons I forgot to ask... by vehicles. We drove up the dam road to the bridge over the river and swung off down a track towards the river; the most considerate intention being to cross the ford and park on the other side to avoid wet feet before we even started.  Terry declined to entrust his vehicle to the waters so his passengers were obliged (curiously without much audible -Myriam was absent- complaint) to swim. And so we set off up the valley towards the dam. 

 

     

Before getting there we took a steep track up to the top of the ridge; exertions being rewarded by increasingly dramatic views of the downstream side of the dam and eventually of the lake beyond.
 
                     
                      Wait for meeeeee…
We wandered (the pace was indeed such) along the ridge, well like all Algarve ridges they tend to be a string of hills with sharply lower bits in between. 

 

          
           And still, he moaned about the ‘Ref!
All the ground on the north facing side of the ridge towards the dam has been replanted by the dam authorities - Aguas do Algarve - indeed, with a selection of indigenous trees. Hopefully they won’t have withered through lack of water, so it should be an impressive backdrop to the dam one day.

We disappeared over the far end of the ridge into quite different scenery; pine trees giving way to inevitable eucalyptus but with periodic splendid views of stretches of the new lake with Picota and Alferce hills beyond.

      
Indeed, splendid views!

Some of us may reminisce about long past walks along the Oudelouca Valley but the lake that has consigned them to the deep certainly has a different sort of beauty. 

‘Step back a wee bit!’ the snapper enjoined; ‘Unprintable’ the group replied…

Having absorbed that, we set off along a track that headed back towards the dam. In truth: 'towards' it might have been but somewhat to the Leader's surprise it terminated in impenetrable jungle somewhat short of our goal, leaving the choice of retracing our steps or finding our way upwards through the almost vertical 'mato'.  Never one for going back if it can be avoided, he chose to go up, convinced it would be worth it when we got there.

 

                                    
                                      Wearing a kilt may have proved rather more hazardous.

After many oaths and some bloodletting, but surprisingly few serious complaints, we did get there and the spectacle was indeed terrific.

 

Bonnie Scotland.
Bonnie Scotland? Och Laddie, one wee dram too many?

We were perched right at the end of the ridge with a stunning panorama of the dam and lake far below us against a backdrop of Foia and Picota. There we stopped for lunch.

 

One day Ember, this will be all yours…

Sometimes I sits and thinks, sometimes I just sits…

After that we descended down a network of tracks bulldozed for the tree plantation right down to the foot of the dam (going across was  not an option for it is not yet open to the public). We passed right under the massive spill-way with the dam now towering above us and down along a track and footpath along the northern side of the river...well, river it hardly is because little water is being allowed to pass the dam. 

 

Magnifique! And a dam.

We were obliged to cross back again shortly before completing the walk back down the main track beside the river to the cars and back to the nameless Café.  A brief walk indeed, not even reaching double figures but one with unbeatable views of the new dam and lake.

Ploughing lonely furrows

Le déjeuner: Une affaire modeste: salade niçoise sans anchovies or olives (Lent! and watching the waist-line), followed by a Chocolate Moose with red fruit, meringue et crème fouettée. Easy: first, catch a moose and cover it in chocolate (some like it, I hear), then convince your wife that she wants to bake meringues for you; lastly pack it all very carefully and voilà: enjoy!

Triple dessert, said John.

Tail-piece:

                                              
The ‘Big Haitch’ at the far end of the pitch, Portuguese style; even a Wooden Spoon aspirant could not miss that!

*: When the RCB comes back from his travels, he may tell us the correct technical term for a ‘Google wotsit’.