The Zugspitze

The Zugspitze via Reintal Theres a lot more to Bavaria than beer, bratwurst and the local population sporting their traditional lederhosen (for men) and dirndl (for women) dress. For history buffs there are castles, for skiers there are plenty of slopes and for hikers or climbers, well, you have the Zugspitze which, at 2,962 metres, marks Germanys highest point.

There are a handful of routes to the summit from both Austria and Germany - of course if its just the view you're after then you can get a cable car up to the top in about 10 minutes (49.50 Euro return). Two of the more popular routes start on the German side. Hllental (Valley of Hell) is the preferred option for many. Its a shorter, more direct route and is said to be more interesting; what makes it so interesting is that you'll need crampons to cross the Hllentalferner Glacier, bridge the odd crevasse and the route requires the use of a harness to negotiate a via ferrata (Italian for iron road) or more appropriate considering our location, a klettersteig (German for climbing path).

With this in mind (and taking our limited experience with crampons and harnesses into account) we decide to take the longer, and probably more off the beaten track, route via the Reintal valley. In the days preceding our trip, we told people of our intended route, only to be met with pretty much the same response each time - Do you realise how long it takes? followed by, You know there are huts where you can sleep along the way. Indeed we are well aware that this route can take over 10 hours and, even more pressingly, were aware that the last cable car down is about 4.30pm, so we know its going to be a very early start. Our journey starts in the Bavarian town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, or simply (though incorrectly) Garmisch. Wonderfully surrounded by alpine landscape, this place has a real charm about it. Typical Bavarian lodges, their balconies lined with colourful flowers, provide a lovely backdrop for a walk around town.

Even at the height of summer its easily to imagine what a magical winter wonderland this place must be. Accommodation and services are plentiful. We stay at the appropriately named Hostel 2962 the height of the peak weve come to summit. Following a 15-minute walk from our hostel, by 5am we find ourselves approaching the 1936 Winter Olympic stadium, where the trail officially begins. Our open space quickly disappears as the path nestles between a rocky wall and the fast flowing river. Before we know it were in a deep and narrow canyon cut into the surrounding rock, water roaring below through its narrow base, with water falling from the walls above - this is truly an amazing display of white water and vegetation far above you. The paths are cut into the wall and in parts lead through small tunnels alongside the water. The canyon twists and turns in the dawn twilight, allowing just a fraction of the light to penetrate through. Just being in the presence of such energy is enough to get our hearts pounding and fully wake us from our early morning daze. Its really tempting to stick around and play with different shutter speeds on our camera (and attempt to hold it steady) but weve got a strict time scale to stick to.

We've a long day ahead of us and the last thing we want is to get to the top of the peak, only to find weve missed the last cable car back down in 11 hours time. Its not long before were back in the open; the river opens up and slows down, the surrounding walls begin to widen to reveal a forested valley. The hike from here on could be considered quite leisurely - if wed not been on this time scale. For the first couple of hours the trek takes us over a well-defined gravel path. Gradually the path rises and falls again, running alongside the lush green forested valley walls before redirecting back to the fast flowing river. Occasionally a bridge takes us over to the other bank then back again. The dark of the early morn has lifted, but were sheltered from direct sunlight by the valley walls, and the air remains refreshing cool. We keep up the pace; hardly noticing the subtle narrowing of the path as our team naturally falls in line and makes its way through the depths of this marvellous valley. Before we know it weve gained some altitude and come across a beautiful naturally formed pool that is filled by a small stream.

The crystal clear body of water encased in the white smoothed rock provides an opportunity to replenish our water supply. For Dan the find is too difficult to resist as he strips down and jumps in to cool off in the near freezing water. A few photos are taken of this picturesque and pristine landscape, pool in forefront and meandering river glimmering in the sunlight below. Ten minutes from the pool we unexpectedly come to the Reintalanger Hut. We check the time and decide there's no time to stop and we persevere on to the next hut, a sign-posted two and a half hours away. Shortly after the hut we realise this leisurely stroll has come to an end. Weve had it easy for these first 15 odd kilometres, and now its time to gain some real altitude. A final section over a flat meadow takes us up to what Ive been dreading: the hard push up. By now we have steep, high valley walls not only on either side of us, but also up ahead of us. We can make out the steep, intimidating rocky switch backs which were heading towards, and no sign of an end to this misery.

Progress up the steep rocky switch backs is slow. Respite from the high sun is non-existent, its hot and were going through a lot of water. The journey is long and tedious, and altitude is gaining steeply. In front of us we can only see the rocky route, but behind us lies the amazing view of the valley through which we've passed. After what seems like forever in the blasting sun, surprisingly we come to a small pipe emerging from the rock offering ice cool water that's running into a wooden trough. I bend over and dunk my entire head in to cool of, and take a seat next to a German couple with a map; they offer me a biscuit and inform me that its only 45 minutes or so till the next hut. Cooled off we continue along the rocky ill-defined route, keeping our eyes open for red painted markers every few metres signalling the best way to proceed. Finally a building begins to come into view - first the roof then walls, followed by people on the veranda. We've made it to the Knorr Hut.

Its mentally rewarding to finally to pass some form of marker. Here we sit, order large colas and open up our sandwiches, enjoying a rest for 30 minutes. As my eyes close I can feel my body insisting its nap time but I know that's not really an option for us. Its incredibly hard to set off again, but essential. We've made good time but depending on whats ahead of us, this could easily be reversed. By now most of the vegetation is far below us; were surrounded by a world of greys, steep valley walls either side - this place seems remarkably barren. For now at least it seems that we've left the steepest section behind, less switchbacks and a more gradual route leads us slowly higher. Its necessary to cross patches of snow as we make our way to the Zugspitzplatt, the plateau below the summit, which in the winter is popular with skiers. Its eerily silent en route until the ringing of bells from sheep and goats meets our ear drums. There are hundreds from the flock basking in the sun, stubbornly not willing to move out of a hikers way.

Almost two hours from the last hut we passed were coming up to a horse-shoe ridged wall which towers above us from all directions (except from where we've come). In the distance we see buildings and a relatively large number of people crisscrossing the plateau in all directions; the isolation we've felt until now dissipates. High above I can make out the summit building, our goal, though at this moment I'm not entirely sure how the route will lead us up there. Within about 45 minutes we come to a junction in our route. Left lead to a cable car which could take us up to the summit in 5 minutes; right, we climb. We've been at it for over 8 hours. I'm exhausted, soaked with sweat and almost mentally defeated. Right now its so easy to cheat, so tempting to get the cable car up to the summit and for a moment I feel my body stepping in the direction with the cable car station and ski hub, but we've come this far and eventually I make my way along the track which will take us to the summit. The climb is along an incredibly steep and loose scree slope and more dreaded switch backs, the rocks dry and dusty and with every slip the unleashed dust blows in my face. Height is gained and below us we see the hustle and bustle of the plateau.

Though not immediately obvious, if you know where to look you'll see the Schneefernerkopf glacier which lies on the north back ridge wall of the plateau. The scree is climbed to get to the solid rocky ridge section. While I'm delighted with the prospect of solid footing, its pretty exposed and via feratta, the iron rope, is used. I take five, witness a few climbers attach their harness on to the iron rope, take a gulp of water and move on towards the final ridge section (no harness). Its not long before I ease into a stride, constantly running my hand along the iron rope in case I begin to feel my feet give way. For the first time in hours I have a sense of making real progress. The iron rope is a great confidence booster, perhaps even providing a false sense of security, as I'm not sure if after all these hours my reaction time would be adequate should I begin to fall. Even if it were, strength would probably fail me at this point. There are a few sections where metal spikes in the rock must be crossed but these are straightforward and easily negotiated if you've a head for heights.

The via ferrata zig-zags up to the exposed ridge, which marks the border between Austria and Germany with a white demarcation post every few metres. The views are breath-taking here, and for the first time we can see the lands beyond the mountains, past the valley and ridge walls which confined our view until now. The final 20 minutes on the ridge are spectacular, but still our exhaustion takes its toll, and the summit buildings become larger as we approach. I conclude that with the right conditions and the right footwear you'll be fine on this section. Walking along the ridge is exhilarating, its not as narrow as Id imagined and at times I even let my hand go from the iron rope. After a little over 10 hours I finally set foot on the first step which takes me up to a complex build atop this mighty mountain. The summit buildings are a real feat of engineering.

Together they almost resemble a villains lair from a Bond film. Restaurants, bars, shops, even accommodation in the form of the Mnchner Haus hut are all available here. Much of the exteriors are viewing platforms, and wow what a view they offer. The surrounding peaks and ridges are spectacular; Lake Eibsee is stunningly beautiful in its deep blue glory. Its just a little past 3.30pm and we can relax with a drink among the crowds and toast our achievement until Dan actually notes we've not quite got the peak. We slowly set off again, for the last time. Its about 5 minutes away and involves a brief descent from the viewing platform and a short climb back up a neighbouring peak, aided with an iron ladder and rope here Germany's highest point is marked with a tall golden cross, the atmosphere slighted marred by the traffic jam of people trying to get a symbolic touch.

The views, however, remain undeniable. This gruelling yet amazing trek up the Zugspitze has taken us a little over 10 hours from the town of Garmisch. We've made it in time to get our cable car down though due to high volumes of visitors apparently well not be getting the 10-minute cable car down. Instead the attendant explains that we need to take the other cable car down to the plateau where wed come from, where we can board an underground cogwheel train that will take us the rest of the way.

The train takes an uncomfortable hour but were thankful for some brief shut eye before we make it back to Garmisch. www.doinitonline.com More info Hostel 2961: www.hostel2962-garmisch.com Information regarding the huts: www.davplus.de/huetten Zugspitze website: www.zugspitze.de"

Black C90: A Rather Unusual Moped Odyssey

Is this challenging enough for you? mocked Marley, his blue eyes clashing with the purple hue of his frozen skin. All around us the Kuban steppe was bent sideways in the tempest, the wind flattening everything in its haste to reach the Sea, whilst above, surging banks of black cloud prepared to unleash yet another biblical torrent upon us. We could have been fanning ourselves under Goan palms, or sipping Mojitos in Mombassa, but instead we were battling our way around the Black Sea on a pair of ageing mopeds, cold, wet and decidedly miserable. Everything had looked rather different in glorious August sunshine when Id first encountered the Black Sea four years previously.

Beguiled by its complex and fascinating history, its beautiful beaches and its glorious lack of pallid-skinned British tourists, Id vowed to one day return and travel its 3000-mile circumference. When a happy clash of circumstances made this possible last year Marley, my boyfriend, needed little convincing. As for a mode of transport, what could be more perfect than a pair of Honda C90s, of which we were already the proud owners? Marley was still a Learner and there was a certain comedy value in the fact that Ken, my bike, sported a zebra paint-job whilst Zulu, Marleys beast, was latitient in leopard livery. Idiot proof, light and indestructible, our 300 ebay purchases ticked every box in our Ideal Vehicles for Circumnavigating Oceans criteria. The plan was simple. From Bourgas, on Bulgarias Black Sea coast, we would speed southwards to Turkey, troll along the north Turkish coast, get a ferry from Trabzon to Sochi in Russia (thus avoiding the political minefield of Georgia and Abkhazia), tootle around the Crimea and romp through Romania back to the finishing line in Bulgaria.

On a sunny Saturday in September, we wobbled out of Bourgas in the general direction of Turkey. Despite months of procrastinating about the journey, it had never seemed quite real. But now, with the vast expanse of the Sea glittering beside us, the reality of the task ahead hit me like a brick wall. Oh my god I thought to myself, what on earth are we doing? We cant ride around the Black Sea on these mopeds, this whole thing is absurd. What the hell have we let ourselves in for? My barrage of nerves wasn't aided by the fact it was the first time Id ridden Ken with any extra weight and for the first few miles I lurched all over the place, feeling about as stable as Lindsay Lohan on crack. It wasn't the triumphant start I had hoped for. Our nerves were soon eroded, however, by the elation of being on the open road. Our first night was spent camped under a pendulous harvest moon in a wild corner of Bulgarias Standja National park, our only companions the bikes and the waves below. And the next day we rode to the Turkish border through enchanted oak forests, the road a tunnel of dappled light, the trees a kaleidoscope of colours.

Marleys bike sliced sliced through the autumn light in front of me, fallen leaves eddying in his wake. This was what it was all about, I thought, riding through a little known corner of Europe on a perfect autumn day, thousands of miles from anyone we knew. Yesterdays nerves seemed a distant memory. Things took a temporary turn for the worse when tackling the pan-continental superhighway across Istanbuls Bosphorus. An altercation between us and the curmudgeon at the toll gate ended with us fleeing into Asia, a cacophony of alarms signalling our arrival on the new continent. As we fled, we were buffeted by cross-winds and cut up by vast lorries and kamikaze taxis. It felt like we were flies stuck in a monstrous web, escape from which was by no means certain. By the time we got to the other side we were wide-eyed and shaking. Maybe we should get a ferry to Russia now? I only half-joked to Marley. Our day wasnt improved by being chased by vicious packs of wild dogs in the woods beyond Istanbul. But the wondrous thing about a trip like this is the constant flux of your emotions, and soon the bounteous beauty of the Turkish coast had thrust us back into the upper echelons of elation. Such is the joy of seeing the world on two wheels. Getting to Trabzon, in Turkeys far east, took longer than we had anticipated.

Progress was slow and we were only averaging around 17 mp/h. The Black Sea coastal highway, as its name suggests, clung to the shores of the Sea, at times wildly beautiful, at other times a crippling morass of construction. From Amasra to Sinop we plunged and weaved along 200 miles of breathtaking coastline, every corner opening up a new vista of capes cascading into the Sea. No traffic, no tourists, just the buzz of our engines. Our days were punctuated by stops at Turkeys ubiquitous tea shops, where crowds of men interrupted their clattering games of backgammon to ask us where we were going and how many miles a gallon the bikes did (an astonishing 223 we have since worked out). In one of these the owner, Mustafa, an ardent Ataturk devotee, not only refused payment for the buckets of tea we consumed but lovingly cleaned our bikes and grimy visors. Such kindness was typical of people throughout Turkeys Black Sea coast. After eight days on the road and 1000 miles covered, we finally made it to Trabzon, where a whopping $370 each bought us our passage to Russia.

Our fellow passengers on the 150-mile crossing were a motley assemblage of Turks, Russians, Kazakhs, Georgians and Uzbeks; the latter of whom were returning from the Hajj on a trio of matching purple bicycles. As they prayed to Mecca we drank illicit gin and tonics with four Russian bikrs, whose Yamaha FJR1300s made our ageing mopeds look all the more risible. Hours later, the sensation of the ferry lurching drunkenly on the waves interrupted a fitful slumber. Wed hit one of the Black Seas notorious off-coast squalls and the little ship was plunging and listing at the mercy of the tempest. The only human movement was people staggering to the loos to vomit the stench soon permeated the ferry. Thankfully, by dawn, the squall was behind us and through the mist we could see the Caucasus rising majestically to our right. After a single, cyclonic day of riding across Russias Kuban steppe we crossed the Kerch straits into Ukraines Crimea, the former jewel of the Soviet empire. At Feodosiya, the ancient port of Kaffa, we explored the ruins of the old sea gate, the very place the Black Death had crawled into Europe in 1347. It was extraordinary to think this unmarked spot had played such a devastating role in history.

Similarly, at Livadia Palace, we looked upon the table Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt had signed the Yalta Treaty at in 1945, thus carving up post-war Europe. There was so much more to see in Crimea, but our mistress time was cajoling us on, and we had to press on. Our final leg took us through the grandiose city of Odessa and the idyllic Danube Delta; place names such as Tartarbunary (meaning Well of the Tartars) and Babadag (Turkish for Father mountain) reminders of the millennia of settlement and invasions that have befallen these shores. A legacy of this complexity seemed to exist at the tripartite border between Ukraine, Moldova and Romania, where for the first time in my life I spent several hours with no idea which country I was in. It was only when we finally got out of this customs Rubiks cube and noticed an absence of Ladas that I knew for sure we were in Romania. As we reached Galati that night wed clocked 209 miles that day, our record of the trip. We spent our last night on the road at the Romanian resort of Vama Veche. My somewhat out of date 1998 guide book alluringly described it as the idyllic haunt of poets and thinkers. But sadly things had changed in the intervening 12 years and it was now a blitzkrieg of concrete and hotels, which looked even grimmer in the persistent rain.

Despite this, it was a milestone on our moped safari and we set off from the rainswept beach on our final morning with wildly mixed emotions. We were tired and had both had some uncomfortably near misses, but the prospect of finishing the adventure and returning to normality sat heavily upon us. Finally, after a what seemed like an eternity of endurance, we drove into Bourgas. 21 days, 2600 miles, 6 countries and two continents later, our circumnavigation was complete. There was only one thing left to do, and that was run victoriously into the freezing waters of the Black Sea. To read more of Ants' adventures please see www.theitinerant.co.uk and follow her on @AntsBK"

Walking in Logged Tropical Forest (can be a nightmare)

Trekking in tropical forests has long attracted people, despite the stifling humidity and temperature and the increased likelihood of being bitten, infected, scratched by spines (from plants or caterpillars) or getting completely lost in the disorienting landscape.

On a bad day I get claustrophobic and exhausted; on a good day the forest is one of the most incredible places on earth. The smells, sounds and cooling shade under a true tropical canopy is an experience never to forget. Sadly, it is an experience with dwindling possibilities. I am in Borneo writing this article after having spent two months collecting data with the SAFE (Stability of Altered Forest Ecosystems) Project.

The project, the largest ecology experiment in the world and open to all scientists, is set up in 7000 hectares of logged forest between two of the most important conservation sites in South East Asia, Maliau Basin and Danum Valley. Incredibly, in Sabah, the Malaysian province covering the north of Borneo, there is no longer any unmodified tropical forest that isnt protected as a reserve. The rest of the landscape is either Oil Palm plantation or logged forest. Trekking through the SAFE Project sites to collect data is rarely like the stunning tropical forest scene that many people will have in their minds. Logging opens up the ground to light and a profusion of plants shoot up to around two metres above the ground. Monotonous ginger, rattan with its spines perfectly placed to rip your skin, and thick grass which cuts like a paper-cut is everywhere. I had, perhaps foolishly imagined selectively logged forest this has been pretty much clear felled except for a few token trees. Saying that, biodiversity in logged forest doesnt suffer as much as you would expect.

Most groups so far studied maintain relatively high abundance, and ground flora increase in diversity as well as abundance. So far so good, but logged forest such as this doesnt remain so. Everything except for the fragments of forest SAFE will be monitoring will be converted to Oil Palm plantation over the next year or two. The last forest connecting Maliau and Danum will pass into history. And if the diversity of species in logged forest is an encouragement, the diversity of species in Oil Palm is a nosedive. I probably dont need to explain what damage an endless monoculture of an imported species does to an ecosystem. The encouraging results that SAFE will no doubt produce over the next ten years will tell us how much forest you need to conserve a certain amount of biodiversity.

This will hopefully be adopted in a similar way that hedgerows as corridors have been in the UK. Indeed, Malaysian law already stipulates that 30 metres of forest has to be left on either side of a waterway. Sadly, most that I've seen here appear to be logged forest. Before I finally left the forest (logged and unlogged) I climbed the highest mountain in the area with a friend. At 930m its no giant, but there are no paths or proper maps and we ascended at around 750 metres/hour with a trusty GPS, hacking our way through dense patches. Above 850m the forest changed completely from lowland dipterocarp forest to elfin woodland and finally to heath forest, where gnarled shrubs and giant clumps of moss are the order of the day. None of the other scientists at the camp knew about this.

This tiny island of heath forest must have been separated by a similar ecosystem by tens of miles. I have no idea where the nearest example is. That it survives and sustains is fantastic. But that it shows something of the resilience of nature is also true. Tropical forest is something not to lose. That there is only 700km2 left in Sabah (as opposed to 14,000km2 of Oil Palm plantation) is sad. But take a step into what is left, to see the majesty of those giant trees, and at least we can be grateful that large swathes are protected.

Any traveller or explorer, or human for that matter has to content themselves amidst landscapes that have been modified permanently by us. Many have lost much of their beauty, diversity and attraction for adventurers. That the products of this modification support the modern lifestyle, including travel, is also true.

Sometimes when travelling we think about all that has been lost in the transition to the world today. SAFE will be a heartbreaking process, giving us the raw data as a landscape is transformed and species such as the eight hornbill species go locally extinct. Looking back in 10 years time and expanding these 7000 hectares outwards, we will have a poignant reminder of what has been lost."

Climbinit - 3 European Peaks - Teide

The Island of Tenerife attracts hordes of tourists looking for an inexpensive sunny getaway. The package holiday machine ensures that by day the sun is soaked in by the pool and by night the inexpensive nightlife is taken full advantage of.

However for a hiker Tenerife can too be a true gem of a destination as the island is home to some of the most beautiful and natural scenery around, all available on a tidy budget. Best known, the centrally located Teide National Park, is home to Pico del Teide. With its summit of 3718 metres above sea level, Pico del Teide is the worlds third highest active volcano (measured from the sea bed) and also Spains highest peak. Though still active, Teides last eruption of 1909 has faded from memory and the volcanic cone is now a major tourist attraction. Most visitors will make their way up Teide via the precariously dangling cable car, which for 25 Euros will whisk you to the top viewing platform within eight or so minutes and back down again once you've had your fill. Visitors are free to go for a little wander around the main cone which almost symmetrically towers up a further 200 meters to the true summit.

A summit that is restricted to all but those with an advance permit from the authorities. Hiring a car is a practical solution for those who wish to explore the island and pretty much a necessity if you're planning on climbing Teide. Public transport links are sparse and links to the starting point are non-existent. The main TF-21 road passes through the national park and is where the trek to the summit begins. Approximately 2km down the road from where the cable car and visitor centre is located, is a small layby were hikers start their journey along the official route (Route Number 7). As this is a protected area you're reminded by official notices that its prohibited to stray from the designated trail and warned not to undertake the strenuous hike if you hold any heart or respiratory problems. The trek itself starts at an altitude of 2100m, well above anything in the UK.

Even at this relatively low altitude, the effects of the thin air pressure are visible on air tight products, an effect that many will experience when opening a packet of crisps on a flight. Our team of nine set off in the early morning to avoid the mid-day heat and head along the gentle and gradually winding gravel track known as the Montana Blanca, a surreal but beautiful hike on a Mars like landscape consisting of orange dry rock and rolling hills which run for a few kilometres. As the sun rises and the moon begins to disappear the shades of reds and oranges really do make you feel like you're on another world. The temperatures begin to rise, but still the morning air is refreshing rather than too hot or cold. Teides towering peak becomes visible but seems like a mere speck amongst the surrounding horseshoe of mountains. The solidified lava flows that have scared the landscape and the Teide Eggs offer an unfamiliar glimpse of a catastrophic eruption that happened over a century ago.

The huge, dark boulders scatter the slopes and you cant help but think of the sheer scale of not only the eruption but the forces that Mother Nature can unleash in order to shift such enormous rocks. The gradual track continues for approximately 4km and can be considered an enjoyable walk, compared to whats to come. As we walk, only the sound is of our footsteps landing on the gravel, breaking the silence as we press on. Surprised by the stillness of air, it is easy to imagine were in the vacuum of space. We take a moment to just stand and admire the eerie atmosphere in complete silence, overlooking the very edges of Tenerife and the sleeping tourist towns. Every step we take brings us to our ultimate goal and the ascent becomes more and more justifiable with spectacular views. Before we continue, we refuel ourselves for what we know will be a long day. Even as we rest here for approximately 30minutes we remain the only people in sight and begin to wonder whether Teide National Park is truly living up to its reputation as one of the Worlds busiest.

The fairly easy going section eventually comes to an end and its time for the steep and arduous climb. The route begins to play tricks on you as it turns back on itself, like a snake slithering along from side to side. The summit is no longer visible and instead the immediate view is limited to the gradient before us. Altitude is gained in little distance, but with no clear goalposts in sight, progress is slow. As if straight out the textbook, we reach a height of just under 3000metres and there is a noticeable difference in air pressure. With every step we take, it begins to dawn on us how much of the volcano we have to go, only reaching approximately half of the climbing attitude. Effects of the lower air pressure start to physically manifest themselves in our team as it becomes harder to breathe. A constant shortness of breathe is not helped by the fact were physically exerting ourselves in a panic over making our allocated summit climbing time.

The only respite we have is that our backpacks are going down in weight with every bite of food and drink of water. Surprisingly, as we continue progressing, despite the drop in air pressure, we cant help but notice the living environment. Lizards upon lizard chase each other through lava rock and a flurry of insects, mainly consisting of bees can be heard through the dry bushy vegetation; the latter of which proving an unwelcome accomplice on what is already a challenging trek but alas, with the Altavista Refuge (3260m) falling into sight and with something to work towards, progress seems to speed up once again. Here the first signs of human activity appear. The refuge itself houses beds for climbers wanting to spend the night (20 euro) but during the day its locked down, and so are its toilet facilities - an extortionately expensive drink vending machine does remain accessible the mind boggles on how they got that up there in the first place though! The views from the refuge are absolutely stunning as you look down.

The initial gradual route along the Montana Blanca remains vaguely visible and triggers the back of your memory that it was just a couple of hours earlier, we and come from down there. What really catches the eye though is the Island of Gran Canaria that emerges form the deep blue sea. A stark contrast colours, and a perfect picture postcard moment is made here. Straight past the refuge, the route will take you through a cooled lava flow; the narrow defined track takes you through the dark brown violently jaggered rocks and really gives you the feeling of what the earth is capable of if in a geologically foul mood. Shortness of breath worsens; headaches and even a mild confusion are experienced as our body struggles to replenish oxygen. Regular stops to catch our breath are made and by this point its fair to say all members of our group are experiencing some difficulties. Even a drink of water becomes hard work as after every sip comes the inevitable grasping for oxygen. A temporary relief of side effects takes place when we crack open a canister of 99% oxygen; an action which may seem a little bit dramatic, considering people have climbed Mount Everest without any supplemented oxygen, but then again this is nine unfit individuals that have never gone to such dizzy heights and any relief is good relief! Replenished, a new sigh of optimism sweeps across us.

After a much longer than expected hike from the refuge, the summit falls into place and the viewing platform with the unmistakable top cable car station catch our attention. A few metres further and yet more switch backs we hit the tourist trail. The solitude we've experienced on the way up is suddenly gone as the crowds of tourists from the cable car hop along the lava route in their flip flops without a worry or a stretched muscle. Perhaps its the exhaustion, perhaps the thin air, but my frustrations are projected as these visitors get in the way as I try to make way along route 7 to the final observation point by the cable car. I cant help but feel that wed earned these amazing views through hours of hiking and that everyone else had simply cheated and taken the easy route on the cable car. Rather than express my feeling and taint my experience, I suppressed them and carried out looking over the entire archipelago of the Canary Islands.

The final few meters are on a rocky but horizontal path leading to the large cable car building; impossible to miss, looking very out of place. A toilet and running water are located here as is the tiny office with a hatch which allows those with a permit to persevere on to the main vent. Here park rangers inspect your permit and passport before they open a small wooden gate to the path leading up to the peak. The authorities cap daily visitor numbers, citing environmental protection, so many of the cable car tourists will not make it further. Its not long before the solitude feeling returns, as we head closer to the crater, and higher in the atmosphere. Though the final summit looks pretty daunting, its only about a further 25 minutes climb from the below viewing platform before we reach the crater at the top. Make shift steps along the way make for quick progress and the time we spent around the cable car and other people seem to have helped in our acclimatisation. Hot sulphurs gasses escaping through the rocks below our feet and along the main crater walls which were holding on to are the new challenges.

Almost as steam bursts from a locomotive, the gas blows out from small cracks, never sure where they come from next we hastily move on along the rim of the main vent. The main crater itself is out of bounds and the strong concentrations of white gasses escaping from it are enough of a deterrent to stop you venturing into it. At the highest point of Spain and all the Atlantic Island your greeted by amazing views of much of Tenerife and a truly awesome sense of achievement. Along the horizon, a subtle curvature of the Earths surface is just about noticeable only to be broken by another island in the distance. Far in the distance the coastal resorts are visible as specks, it truly is as if you were looking down from an aeroplane window. A short break and the obligatory picture taking are soon over as this exhausting experience, unpleasant smells, coupled with the thin air, doesn't really make you want to stick around too long. We make retrace our steps along the steep route back down to the cable car station where we buy our one way ticket (12.50 euro).

The quick decent relieves any ill felt effects from the altitude and before you know it were at the base. A large car-park as well as cafe and souvenir shop is situated at the base of the cable car station, and a well-earned drink is a must. For those who chose to climb Teide its a further 2 km (30 minute walk) along the winding TF-21 road with no pedestrian footpath to the layby where the hike began. The route is described as difficult, not technically but physically. No doubt its the high altitude which brings Route Number7 into this category so before setting of, make sure youve read up on high altitude and any precautions. At times it may not seem so, but on reflection Teide is a really rewarding experience and well in the reach of any outdoor enthusiast. How to get a permit? Many online sources and blogs state a permit is granted through small office somewhere on the island and that its difficult to find. THIS IS NO LONGER THE CASE. The permit is free and available online through following link: www.reservasparquesnacionales.es. You will need to present you passport with the permit at the top. Its not all about Teide! If climbing Teide is not enough, then dont worry. A quick internet search will unveil a comprehensive network of hiking trails across the island, ranging from over 80 kilometres to just a kilometre.

The Barranco del Infierno (liable to closures) as well as the Barranco de Musca offers the best hikes on the island due to their extensive network or tracks and trials. With no starting or finishing point, youre free to wonder how far you wish. Where to stay Your almost spoilt for choice here. Hotels and apartment blocks line the resorts. However if its a hostel your after you may be surprised to see that hostels numbers arent as high as you may expect, perhaps be down the to shere number of competitive hotel available. A quick scan through the web will produce a small selection to choose from.

We stayed at the lovely Hostel La Playa in El Medano. Though its worth bearing in mind that a package holiday option can too work."

Skiing across Scandinavia, diary extract from a 122 day expedition

Sweden and Finland Monday, March 17th, 2008. Latitude: 65.74811.

I have crossed the border into Sweden. After setting out from Hattfjelldal, I was able to follow some snow scooter tracks. Finding a snow scooter track is very good. If you are trail-breaking through deep powder and you move onto a snow scooter track, it can double your speed and reduce the effort expenditure.

It was still exhausting skiing and through thickly falling snow which reduced visibility, as the day went on this improved. At midday, quite unexpectedly I came upon a church service being held up in the mountains, the padre had built an altar from blocks of snow and the congregation must have travelled to this place on snow scooters as there were over thirty parked around. I am not religious at all, and although there are many things that I dislike about religion and its institutions, I never fail to be moved by being in a place of worship (I would feel the same if I were to visit Lenins mausoleum) I think that for me it has to do with the fact that such ceremonies and beliefs bring hope to the lives of so many, or maybe some vestige of my faith still lingers - who knows. I sat on my pack away to one side, and listened to the singing and the liturgy, the voices were clear on the mountain air and although I couldnt understand the words, I enjoyed hearing them as I ate my lunch, it was a special moment. That night I found an open hut. It was owned by Sami reindeer herders, who used it seasonally and left it open for hikers and skiers during the rest of the year.

The Sami or Laplanders formed nomadic tribal groups, whose culture, and livelihood revolved around their herds of migratory reindeer. Today many of them have settled, and become culturally assimilated throughout northern Norway Sweden, Finland, and the Kola Peninsula of Russia. However a percentage still maintain their ancestors lifestyle, albeit using snowmobiles for transport rather than reindeer. When its really cold going for a crap is a traumatic experience, exposed flesh can freeze in minutes, and sometimes its preferable to crap into a plastic bag in your tent, rather than go outside and brave the elements. I slept well that night, with nothing to do after having fed myself, I was in my sleeping bag before nightfall and must have gotten at least 10 hours in it.

I had set my alarm for 05:00 but when it went I said sod it and hit snooze for another hour. In and around Hattfjelldal snowscooter ownership and use is permitted, unlike other areas of Norway where only park rangers and owners of isolated cabins and land are permitted to operate them. Across the border in Sweden it is a different matter; seemingly everyone has a snowmobile and their tracks criss-cross the mountains. Today brought glorious weather for the crossing into Sweden. I'm not sure exactly when the border was crossed, but at one point I went to check the map, and realised that I must be here. In honour of the event I sat on my pack to enjoy a fag and a bit of hot thermos tea with the view. The day is over now, and I am exhausted. Exhausted is a word whose meaning can be stretched; I've been shopping all day and Im exhausted, as opposed to the kind of exhaustion which precedes death. Now I am feeling something in between, my face feels hot from the wind burn and sun, all my limbs ache. When enjoyed from comfortable settings it can be quite a pleasant sensation.

A great Swedish guy I met out on the ski track has invited me to stay in his house tonight, an ex-military man himself, having seen U.N. service in the heavily mined Gaza Strip, he is full of admiration for what I am doing,. He gave me a hot meal almost as soon as I had sat down - any worries I had about being as warmly received in Sweden as I have been in Norway have evaporated. What luck I have had on this journey, and what amazing people I have met. Mar 17, 9:11 PM How do Royal Just got back from Norway Myself and seen a little ditty on you doing this in the back of the Globe Buster (Magazine for Royal Marines - Harry) and thought I would have a look. Its Hoofing what your doing mate and really interesting and humorous reading, I bet your getting to see some amazing sights.

Any way I will let you crack on Royal Keep Safe and if you cant keep safe, Keep warm. Gaz. Tuesday, March 18th, 2008 when I set off this morning it was -20, at this temperature the hairs in your nose freeze together and cause constant itchiness, when I was in Norway with the Marines two years ago I plucked all my nose hairs to prevent this annoyance, it got rid of the problem but Im not sure I would wish to do it again. At -20, if you dribble a bit of spit out of the corner of your mouth, then it freezes before it hits the ground. I have yet to be in weather so cold that your urine freezes before it hits the ground, sometimes I write my name in the snow. The weather improved and the sun came out by midday, warming the valley. When setting off in the mornings, it is necessary to start cold, that is; wearing just one or two layers, you are cold to begin with, but once the movement starts warming you up, you do not have to stop to take off layers. I typically wear a thermal top under a Gore-Tex jacket. Fingers and ears are painfully cold to begin with, but before long the blood starts pumping and the extremities are warmed up. Sometimes when the sun comes out it is necessary take off the jacket, gloves, and even the hat. If the sun is out then you have to wear sunglasses or goggles, as the glare from the sunlight reflecting off the snow can cause snow blindness. I reached Tarnaby in good time and located the Tarnaby Fjallhotel, where I had posted the next section of mapping. The girls at the hotel were curious to see who had finally come to collect the maps that they have been holding onto for these past months, and they are kindly letting me stay here for the night, free of charge. The view from here out across the frozen lake to the mountains is spectacular, and it is very pleasant to sit and, enjoy the scenery without having to ski over it. According to locals, I can expect to find snowscooter tracks along the entire length of the Kongsladen.

The Kongsladen is an ancient trail running from Tarnaby, right up to Abisko in the north of the country. Over 440 kilometres long, it is a high altitude route, which should allow rapid progress, and regain some of the time lost at the beginning of the journey. If my sources are correct, then for the next 440 km all I have to do is follow the tracks, a much more welcome prospect than the uncertainties of navigation, and the exertion of trail breaking. Tomorrow I head for Amarnas (say it ten times fast), fingers crossed there will be more snow scooter tracks to follow. Mar 18, 8:51 PM Good to hear you are being looked after again. The Swedes are coming up trumps. Will get on with your instructions ref maps tomorrow all the other projects. Have a good ski tomorrow hope the track is worn thru love Dad This was a reference to the maps for the latter sections of the journey, not knowing whether I would make it this far, my father had not yet posted them on to the destination at which I would be able to collect them. Mar 18, 9:26 PM Were so glad the Swedes are as hospitable as the Norwegians and the kindness youve received from everyone must make you feel its worthwhile carrying on, despite the hardships. The freezing cold must be very painful, but its good to hear that your circulation is good and you warm up quickly. The church service you witnessed must be a rare experience not often seen. A friend told me today that she tried to donate to your fund and could not - is there a problem with other people trying to do the same? Thursday, March 20th, 2008 Harry set off early in the morning. We spoke as he had broken out above the tree line. The weather was fine he hoped for it to continue as the snow was good he could hear the sound of snowmobiles some way away, which he surmised he would have left reasonable tracks to follow.

He is now following the Kongsladen route from Tarnaby to Amarnas, which he expects will take him three days. He will be up in the wilderness doubts there will be a chance for him to communicate as the satellite coverage is sometimes dodgy in the mountains. He should get a signal in Amarnas will communicate with us then. My father makes several contributions to the diary from here onwards; this was necessitated by the fact that as I crossed the far northern latitudes it became harder to acquire a satellite signal, due to the approach of the satellite horizon. Mar 20, 11:05 PM Well Harry hope you get this when you surface from your black (white) hole in the mountains. Just wanted to let you know that our coffee morning carried on making money for MAG and is now up to the grand sum of 360! Your story is incredible and we enjoy all the comments from the folk that are following you. Their musings are every bit as interesting as yours! (No disrespect!) This has been written by someone who hates the cold and has never even tried skiing!

So can give you no practical advice whatsoever, just sit here, reading, in awe. So keep on going with the love of everyone who has read your diary. All the best... Mar 21, 3:24 AM Harry, I have been following your daily blogs and keeping my fingers crossed for you to make the goal with no injuries. Both Dawn and I are tremendously proud of you, and I have 2 of my former U.S. Army Special Forces mates following your moves on a weekly basis. Your courage and your stamina can never be questioned, Ill attest to that as every person who follows your adventures must agree. Please know that I view you as a true man among a select group of World Class men that have had the opportunity to test themselves against the solitude, the mental and physical anguish that you have and will continue to endure on your quest. I salute you, Sir. All our best wishes and love, John Saturday, March 22nd, 2008 There is a James Bond movie with roger Moore (that name always makes me laugh, go on, say it with a straight face - I dare you) I forget what it was called.

Anyway, it begins with Bond having just shagged some gorgeous blond in a cabin high in the mountains, and leaving her wide eyed with the words Im sorry my dear but England needs me then he skis off with baddies on snow scooters chasing him, skis over a cliff, deploys a union jack parachute, lands safely, gets chased by more baddies in snowmobiles and helicopters, defeats them with a combination of witty one liners and good facial bone structure, then escapes in a speedboat disguised as a mini iceberg and sails into the arctic sunset with yet another gorgeous blond. Thats more or less how the last few days have been for me. I would like for that to be true... but Im afraid its not. James Bond would not lose control on a slope, and somersault downhill in a tangle of skis and sticks, breaking his nose, and spraining his wrist in the process, and if he unexpectedly went over a drop off, he would have something better to say than ohh shiiit! The last three days have been amongst the most amazing of the trip so far, the sun has been out every day, and the mountain scenery has been spectacular. Much of the time has been spent above the tree line, skiing across postcard scenery along the snow scooter tracks which abound in the Swedish mountains, but that is not to say that the weather has been ideal throughout. Every morning is bitterly cold, most days have begun with light snow, and if it is windy I have had to wear my face mask to prevent frostbite. The first day I headed north, at around 14:00 I had a major wipe out on a downhill section, I came to rest shaken but not stirred almost at the doorstep of a mountain cabin, and decided to call it a day. The hut keeper gave me a beer which went some way to making up for the broken nose. The next day ended at 16:00 arriving at another cabin, and on the third I only had to do 22 km to come down in to Amarnas, where I planned to spend a rest day.

It being the Easter weekend and all the hotels fully booked, I am sleeping on the floor of a hotel gym. As I was skiing down into Amarnas some Swedes who had witnessed my latest ski crash, invited me to dinner with them. It was an excellent meal after which two guitars were brought out, and they all sang songs. Some of them sang very well and the guitar playing was first class, it made me wish that I was musical in some way, it must be a great thing to be able to make music which can uplift, or conjure emotions from other people. This trip was supposed to be about suffering and hardship in the face of adversity - one man, fighting against the elements, in a lone quest against the odds e.t.c. Instead it has been a case of - one man, graciously accepting hospitality, on a quest to reach the cape, in the face of overwhelming kindness. I expected this journey to be a lot tougher, instead it seems that providence, or whatever star guides my fate, keeps contriving for me to run into some of the most generous people I have had the good fortune to meet, to all of whom I am very grateful. I can only hope that my luck holds. Hi Ya I just read you made a trip through Trnaby. Shame we missed you. Safe Travels. And thanks for the interesting reading. Matt P.S. You were very lucky with the mild weather of -20 in Trnaby. Its Usually -30/35! Sunday, March 23rd, 2008 When I got up this morning, or more precisely, when I didnt get up this morning. I decided that since this was probably the last comfortable place I would get the chance to have a day off, on this journey, that I may as well have two days here, rather than one. So I languished in bed as long as I could, and had a leisurely breakfast. Later on I learned that the outside temperature had been -35. While still back in UK, I had decided that if the temp was less than -30 I wouldn't move, below this temp military training is discontinued, as beyond this point the risk of cold weather injury increases disproportionately.

So it was just as well that I was overcome by laziness when I was, otherwise I would have ventured out into the mountains where the altitude and wind would have brought the temperature still lower. Tomorrow the weather forecast predicts that it will be -24, and up in the mountains it will undoubtedly be cooler still. There will be no shelter for the next section of the journey; there was an emergency cabin along the route I am planning to take but it was burned down last year. Below -30 strange things start to happen; zips fall apart because the teeth have shrunk in the cold, metals can shatter as they become brittle, and moisture on the breath instantly condenses to freeze on the nearest surface, causing the area around the mouth to become covered in hoarfrost. Since I am not very keen on finding out if I can survive a night in the open in temperatures below -30C, what I am going to try tomorrow, is to start at first light and try to cover the 60 km to the next possible place of shelter before nightfall. Mar 23, 7:53 PM Harry nice call sleeping in your trip is beginning to sound a touch hairy again - fantastic read good luck on your 60km dash mit broken nose Wednesday, March 26th, 2008 Latest message from Harry. He set out to do the 55 kilometres to Adolfstrom from Amarnas on the 24th March, starting early in cold temperatures of about -24C, initially hoping to do it in one shift. However, feeling exhaustion set in he sought emergency shelter for the night, before setting out again early on 25th March.

The temperature dropped down to below -30C during the night, but by the time he set out at 7am, it was around -24C. Had a good ski into Adolfstrom arriving about midday where he has found satisfactory shelter. The target for the 26th March is Jackvik about 27 kms away. The excellent weather seems to be holding firm for the time being. The shelter I found on the 24th was a private cabin. Coming down from a mountain just at the point when I was starting to get tired, I saw a couple of huts out in the snow by themselves. Skiing up to them to check if they were open I quickly realised that they belonged to someone, and were locked up, a quick search revealed the key. Now I was faced with a choice, technically I would be breaking in, but the alternative was to sleep outside in -40C, and I didnt much fancy it. So after spending the night there, I left a note on the table explaining what I had done and apologising, along with some money to cover the cost of the wood I had burnt to keep warm. Mar 26, 6:39 PM Hi Harry, It was nice meeting you in Amarns and good luck on the last part of your trip. Be careful with your nose! I am taking off for Inner Mongolia on Sunday. Best wishes, Gunnar from Arvidsjaur This was from the father of the family who invited me to dinner in Amarnas, a very kind soul. He also called ahead to a friend of his who ran the tourist station at Abisko - Harry Thursday, March 27th, 2008.

Latitude: 66.49070 Occasionally someone will ask me about what it was like in Afghanistan. Like many others, when faced with this situation, I usually reply that I didn't do anything worth talking about, or that I cant be bothered to talk about it, or change the subject. The truth is that I would like to talk about it, but through experience have learnt that this is a pointless exercise. In the past when I have tried to relate my experiences, I usually come to a point in the conversation where I look up at that person and think to myself, you haven't the faintest clue what I'm talking about. No one who hadn't been through that experience could have the least understanding of what it was to be there.

So it is with this; I'm writing it, and you are reading it. But unless you have done something very similar, you will never be able to understand what I am going through, or what it feels like to be alone in this great white wilderness. Some days are bad in ways which I cannot relate. Being lost and alone and far from help. Each day brings pain and exhaustion, I could end it now but it would mean a failure which would live with me forever - to continue means at least another month of this.

The Rockall Solo Expedition

The Rockall Solo Expedition Rockall Solo is a unique endurance expedition to be undertaken by Nick Hancock in order to raise funds for Help for Heroes.

Since the first recorded landing in 1811, only four people have spent more than one night on Rockall. Rockall is a very small rocky island lying approximately 300 km (186 miles) west of St Kilda, which itself is 41 miles west of the Outer Hebrides. The outcrop measures just 25 metres (82ft) on its north-south axis by 22 metres (72ft) on its east-west axis. The summit is now just 18 metres (59ft) above sea level, having been officially 19.2 metres (63ft) ASL prior to the top being removed by the Royal Engineers for a navigation light in 1971. The only flattish area of Rockall, named in 1955 as Halls Ledge after the first recorded person to land there, is just 3.5 metres by 1.3 metres (11 foot by 4 foot). There are no plants on Rockall, and the only animals are resting birds. Greenpeace placed a solar powered beacon over the frame of the original navigation aid in 1997, and returned to upgrade the light in 1998. This was the only permanent mark of human occupation on Rockall until it too succumbed to the ravages of an Atlantic storm two years later.

The earliest recorded landing on Rockall was in 1811, by a Royal Navy officer called Basil Hall from the HMS Endymion. Hall observed that, the smallest point of a pencil could scarcely give it a place on any map which should not exaggerate its proportions. On 18th September 1955 at 1016 GMT Britain claimed Rockall, and in 1972 The Isle of Rockall Act was passed, which made the rock officially part of the District of Harris, Scotland. This represented the last territorial expansion of the British Empire. Rockall is today probably most famous for being an area of the BBCs Shipping Forecast. In 1985, a former SAS soldier, Tom McLean, lived on Rockall in a wooden shelter bolted to Halls Ledge, setting the record for the longest solo occupation of the islet at 40 days. Then, in 1997, several members of Greenpeace were landed by helicopter. They stayed in a kevlar re-enforced capsule for 42 days, setting a new longest occupation record, albeit by a group.

They were regularly resupplied and the team swapped over from a nearby vessel. Nicks original aim was to land at the end of May this year and attempt to live on Rockall in his bespoke shelter, for 60 days, thereby setting two new endurance records: the longest solo occupation of Rockall and the longest occupation of Rockall in history. Due to the harsh weather conditions and the ocean environment (waves regularly top Rockall even in the summer month) a bespoke rigid shelter is required. Having considered various options, Nick settled on converting a water bowser, made by Trailer Engineering, and now christened The RockPod. The bowser provided the required shape, size and rigidity for the shelter, whilst having the additional benefit of being designed to keep water in (so logic says it should keep water out!). Having been donated several yacht hatches by Lewmar, these were fitted with some issues due to their low tolerance to curves.

The pod is manufactured from 10mm thermal plastic, and some remoulding was required. The RockPod was subsequently insulated with expanding, fire retardant foam, and a floor fitted. The shelter will be tethered to Rockall using in-situ stainless steel ring bolts placed by Greenpeace, ratchet straps provided by Safety Lifting Gear, and 1 tonne lifting points bolted to the pod, which were donated by William Hackett. With the shelter designed and built, the next major issues were that of food and water. There are no fresh water sources on Rockall, and Nick considered taking desalination equipment (theres lots of sea water out there!). However, due to limited power options and the potential for breakdown, he has decided to take the majority of his freshwater requirement with him, with the remainder being supplied by rainwater collection. Again, various options were considered for food. Dehydrated rations would be light, a benefit for hauling up the rock, but would require extra fresh water to rehydrate. In addition, they rehydrate better when heated. Wet rations have the advantage of, well, being wet and can be eaten hot or cold, cutting fuel requirements.

Fresh food, apart from an initial small supply, has been disregarded due to bulk and the lack of refrigeration facilities, even though its likely to be pretty cold for most of Nicks time on the rock. Power, which will be used to charge a satellite phone, VHF radio, and a laptop, will be provided by a combination of solar panels and a micro-wind generator, provided by Ampair, with storage provided by a portable battery pack. Nick is also considering taking a small recreational petrol generator for emergency use. The electronic equipment will not only allow Nick to blog and Tweet, thereby bringing his expedition to the wider world, but will also enable to him to stay sane with electronic books and music (theres not much else to do on Rockall!). In order to keep himself busy during the 60 days alone, Nick has also devised a number of scientific projects to undertake whilst on Rockall. These include obtaining rock samples from both Rockall and the nearby Hasselwood Rock for study by the British Geological Survey; establishing the true orientation of Rockall, which to date has only been estimated; conducting a GNSS survey of the rock; and collecting any insect and algal samples he is able to identify for future study by the Natural History Museum. Unfortunately, due to lack of funding (the boat charter alone is 13,500) the main expedition has been postponed for a year until 2013.

However, Nick is still heading out to Rockall at the end of this month on a reconnaissance trip, The Rockall Jubilee Expedition, and will attempt to land and hopefully, weather dependant, spend a night on the rock in order to test his clothing and some of his kit. Nick also hopes to raise a flag in honour of HM The Queen during the Silver Jubilee weekend, and will be accompanied by BBC Radio Scotland, who will be broadcasting a programme about the expedition on Monday 4th June.

You can find out more about the Jubilee expedition, follow Nick on this expedition and the future 60 day attempt, and sponsor him in support of Help for Heroes at www.rockallsolo.com ."

Tunisia - Cave Rescue Training 2012 Report

Successfully finished the mission of the 6 - Bulgarian cavers team in Tunisia. Group which was composed of representatives of Sofia caving clubs Academic, Vertilend, Keving, Helicitit and Black Peak: Alexei Zhalov - Head; Gyorev Vanyo, Kamen Bonev, Constantin Stoilov, Nikolai Kamenov and Svetlomir Stanchev from the SC Prista - Ruse carried out the 6-day course for initial training for cave rescue techniques. From the Tunisian side event was organized by the Association Sport for All and the Speleological Association of Zaghouan.

Its realisation was supported by speleo equipment and financially by the Fund Euro Speleo Projects of the European Federation of Speleology a result of prepared and submitted by the SCVertilend- Sofia project. In the training took part 3 cavers from Algeria, 2 Iranians, 4 cavers from Morocco and 12 from the host country or a total of 21 persons. The practical exercises was held in a labyrinth of abandoned mine ores at the foot of the Zaghouan Mt. (1295 m above the sea) rising above the town. The natural range enable the participants to learn and practice techniques for dealing with stretcher transportation in a cave, rigging , the hauling up of the stretcher in vertical sections of pulley and counterweight system, building and running a trolley, haul down the stretcher etc.

Someone managed to master most of the above methods and others of them, but in the end everyone left the course with more knowledge and skills certified for participation in courses, but not that he is a qualified Cave rescuer . The course enabled the Bulgarian cave rescuers to share their experiences in cave rescue. During his stay in Tunisia the Bulgarian cavers penetrated in 4 caves in Jebel Serge Massif (1375 m above the sea) located about 150 km southwest of Tunis.

Larger than they are Rhar Jebel Serge or mainsail de la pass which is the deepest cave in Tunisia (displacement of 305,8 m (+139.3; -166.5) and a length of 2.5 km) and fantastic water cave Rhar d'Ain et Dab which is 2.7 km long. During the stay was collected zoological material from outside, and in particular cave invertebrate fauna. Undoubtedly made one of the secondary, but important destinations of the Bulgarian mission - to lay the foundations for fruitful cooperation with cavers from North Africa and Southwest Asia. We believe that our mission in Tunisia was very useful and successful and we hope it can be appreciated at home and abroad.

The group due to their and our foreign colleagues sincere and heartfelt thanks to Nicola Landzhev and his company Landjoff for his exceptional assistance to having made especially for this training cave rescue stretcher - something without which the training would be impossible.

Exploring the Yukon: 24th May to 3rd Aug 2011

Tom, Teo and I set ourselves the goal of paddling 3000 km down the Yukon River last summer. This unguided and unsupported adventure across North America took us 6 weeks and through some of the world's most beautiful and scarcely populated wilderness areas.

Our total lack of kayak/canoe experience made it that much more exciting (daft). Highly recommended!

Visit the website: http://www.exploringtheyukon.com/ 

Overland UK to Morocco with my son

What an incredible journey and experience. For 3 weeks my son Markus and I lived in our modified Land Rover which consisted of Tent, Cooker, Fridge, Shower and other expedition equipment to explore Morocco and the Sahara and to deliver donated supplies to the under privileged children in the remote areas.

We also managed to raise 1600 GBPfor a local charity called The Zipper Club who support The Papworth Hospital. Papworth specialize in cardiac surgery and saved my father several years ago. Below is a description of the trip, which I was asked to send to the local paper who did an article on our journey. There is also details of our trip on the Norfolk Zipper club web page- http://norfolkzipperclub.weebly.com/2011-morocco-adventure.html After driving from UK and through Spain we met the rest of the team in Malagaand headed to the ferry and onwards to Morocco. Things started to get interesting at the Moroccan border as my son was asked if he was carrying any guns or weapons.

He gave a cheeky smile and said No. The Moroccan border guard then ruffled his hair and then we were on our way into Morocco! Our first camp in Morocco was near the ancient ruins of Volubilis - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volubilis We explored the ruins of Volubilis the next day and my son, Markus, was amazed how they lived back then! We then headed deep into the Cedar forest and climbed up to 7,000 ft in the Atlas Mountains through dense forest, crossing rivers, splashing through muddy puddles and sliding on muddy tracks to reach our next camp. As soon as we made camp high up in the cold Atlas Mountains the heavens opened and we were soaked through to the skin by a tropical storm!

Not the Morocco we had imagined..! As we descended off the mountains we stopped at a very remote school to hand out some of the donated supplies. Several pens, pencils, rulers, note pads and paper were delivered which was gratefully received by the Children. All that was near the school was goats, a water well and several chickens! We then made our way to the Imperial city of Meknes to stock up on supplies as we were now heading for the Sahara. Markus had great delight in discovering that they could make pancakes in Meknes but soon lost his appetite when he spotted a skinned goat with its head still on hanging outside the caf. Our route took us to the Berber town of Tinerhir and over the Jebel Ougnat Mountains and we stopped at an area where they are digging for fossils.

This area is littered with Fossils and the Moroccans make beautiful ornaments with them and sell in the Souks but not everyone realizes they are dug out by a few guys with nothing more than a pick axe in the middle of the Desert. The tracks were punishing and we soon got into the routine of checking over the vehicles everyday to see what had broken or fell off. Markus and I became slick operators at making camp and preparing the food. Markus even washed the dishes a few times although was not a fan of that chore We then entered the gigantic dunes of Erg Chebbi. Erg Chebbi is an incredible place and some local Moroccans have built an Auberge. This is a place with basic amenities but we were shocked and delighted to see a swimming pool in the middle of the Sahara after several hot, dusty and sandy days - http://www.aubergedusud.com/

The Berbers then presented Markus with a birthday cake! What a surreal experience to see my son enjoy his birthday cake followed by a dip in the pool in the middle of the Sahara. Tummys full, well rested and clean we then set off even deeper into the Sahara and after a day of fighting sand dunes in the Land Rover with our tyres deflated slightly to aid traction we arrived at a Berber camp. These are nomadic people and there lifestyle is as basic as you can get. Everything they own they can pack on the back of a camel and move house. We delivered some clothes to the Berbers, and they were very kind and showed Markus around their home. To say Markus was gob smacked would be an understatement! We the fought on for several more days and our next target was the 20th Century city of Zagora. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zagora,_Morocco

Zagora has gained its reputation of being a good stopping point of any expedition as it has several garages who can jump into action at the drop of a hat (and right price, normally called the diplomatic price ). We spent a night here for stocking up on supplies again and took the opportunity to get our vehicles checked over. We had 10 vehicles and 6 of them needed serious attention! One even had a broken chassis.! Disaster we thought! How on earth can we carry on and complete our planned route in time and deliver the rest of the supplies. The 6 vehicles were left at the garage at 4pm and by 11am THE NEXT DAY they were all ready! The garage mechanics worked through the night and waved us good bye the next day. You don't get that service in the UK.!!! We were glad we had all our vehicles checked as we were now entering the Western Sahara and going further and further from any form of civilisation. This was also a dangerous area as this is known as a disputed area so it is known for bandits to regularly cross back and forth from Algeria.

The Moroccan army try to police this area but due to an invasion in 1995 some of the area is littered with land mines. We always had a briefing by our support crew leader John in the mornings but this one was different. We had strict instructions to stick to the track and stay behind him as he had information of a track which had been swept by the Army and was clear of mines and to put a wheel outside this track may ruin our day. We decided to stay at the back of the convoy for obvious reasons. We battled on through this section which was very rocky with the odd sand dune to surprise us. We then started meeting children towards the end of the route. We had no idea where they had come from as there were no buildings in sight or any signs of civilization.

We stopped often to greet them and handed out the remaining donated gifts and supplies and wondered how they knew where the mines were!? Since Markus had been so good at helping with everything, I asked him if he wanted to drive. He sat on my knee and drove through the mine field area for 30 minutes. I dont think there are many 10 year old boys who can say they have driven through a minefield in the Sahara..! Thankfully we got through without loosing anyone and we headed for Taroudanthttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taroudant If we thought we would be arriving in a city full of glittering lights, cinemas and McDonalds then we would be wrong! Taroudant is a Berber market town and is full of character. Markus and I sat in the town and just watched everyday life go by.

We had a competition to see who could spot the craziest thing, I am not sure who won. We could not be further from what we consider our normal life back home! Markus and I walked around the Souks and investigated all the different arts, crafts and dried fruits. Even though Markus had been given a cake earlier in the trip, this was his actual birthday, and he put his hand in his pocket and bought me a drink to celebrate him turning 10 years old. Once at Taroudant our off road section of the trip was over and all our donated supplies had been handed out. It was tarmac all the way back to Spain, so nice easy drive, so we thought The road twisted and turned over spectacular cliff tops and sweeping bays. We stopped at the delightful fishing port of Essaouria which is fast becoming busy with surfers due to the Atlanic coastline.

The homeward journey took us via the coastal lagoons of Moulay Bousselham. However, our thoughts of a nice easy drive on tarmac was shattered when another tropical storm developed and washed the sides of mountains onto the roads. Roads were flooded and became slippery so we had to drive carefully through the floods, avoid the washed out roads and also keep an eye on the normal Moroccan motorist, who are not used to such slippery road surfaces. This can be confirmed by the amount of holes there were in the stone barriers on the side of the mountain passes. Tired and dirty we fell back into our hotel in Spain and enjoyed a full nights rest, hot shower and a few celebratory drinks. We had done it! Over the 3 weeks we had been to some incredible places, seen amazing things, met some fantastic people and had managed to deliver some donated supplies to make a small difference to a few children in Morocco.

The one single thing that stands out in my mind is just how friendly the Moroccan people are. Everywhere we went we were greeted with huge smiles, the shout of Salam and frantic waving as we drove past. We have raised over 1,600 GBP for the Norfolk Zipper Club which both Markus and I are very grateful. Just goes to show with a little effort you can make a difference and no matter where you come from, what your religion is or what you believe in, a smile is the same in any language!

Scott Laddiman Driver, Cook and Bottle washer