AWW 12.11.2008 Pole to Pole or Memories are Made of This

Chronological proximity to Remembrance Day seemed to inspire several of the Walkers last Wednesday to their own individual brand of reminiscence. Writers as diverse as Lawrence Sterne, Flann O'Brien and Anthony Powell have employed the device of memory streams and the empirical association of ideas to construct literary works of some stature; and it is Proust, of course, who remains pre-eminent in this field with his exploration in A la recherche du temps perdu of the notion of involuntary memory aroused by incidental causes. (Once upon a time, one could churn out this sort of cod lit-crit or garbage all day, but you, dear reader, will readily have gathered by now that the Chief Blogger has delegated the task of this week's blog to a deputy while he girds up his loins and polishes his thesaurus ready for next week's RTC, and will have had enough of it.)

Be all that as it may, the leader Ian Scott had vague recollections on his mind, the history of the Great War for example, how Maddy was found on Madrinha by Maurice some years back, and of a path round the south face of Foia; Thyl could dimly recall being on a Foia Walk led by Ian when all was shrouded in mist (that was AWW 22.11.2006); Rod mourned Purdey; and Paul muttered poetry to himself as he marched along. Ian may not yet be in quite the same league as the previously mentioned writers but even so here is his report, unabridged, after the Starters photo, the statistics and the route map.

Starters at 10 a.m.

The stats are: Total Dist: 18.4; Moving time: 4 hr 33 min;Total Time:
5 hrs 18 min; Moving Average: 4.0 km/hr; Overall Avg: 3.5 km/hr; Total
Ascent: 828 m;
Max Elevation: 904 m.

Up around and down - as the leader said! (Click to enlarge)

"AWW 12.11.2008: Pole to Pole over Foia (OR NOT 'pole pole' for those with Swahili)

Lord Kitchener played by Ian S.
Cannon Fodder: Paul, Myriam, Rod, Mike, John, Hazel, Tina, Janet, Hilke, Lindsey, Andrew, Maria, Terry, Thyl, Dina, Vitor.
Gun Dogs: Maddy, Nandi.

A sunny, crisp if windy day saw us depart a little late (10.10 a.m.) for Foia, which we reached in under an hour, noting the cleared and improved paths and tracks.

As this was planned to be a non-controversial walk, we meandered northwest past the dam and looped west and south below the impressive terraces to the north of Madrinha, noting little cultivation and not much stock save for a few cattle and pigs.

We lunched in the lee of Madrinha and then passed on to the Miradouro to enable our geocachers to do 'their thing'.

The route back to Foia is becoming a problem due to the vigorous scrub growth almost obliterating the stock trails.

Back to base by 3:30 after a bracing workout."


The CB suggests that considerable padding is needed to that terse memo. So be it; you get it.
"Pole pole", by the way, is Swahili for "slowly slowly" which Ian's walk was anything but. From Monchique helipad up the drain to Pegoes ridge took us 55 minutes, bloody "upesi" if you ask me. Partly that was due to the fact that the drain had been cleared of all its fallen trees ("Only fallen women left" Ian S) by a mountain bike group who had marked their route round Foia every ten yards or so, but mainly because of the truly unforgiving pace set by the leader.

The bikers' marks

CB's comment: There was a scurrilous suggestion that these were not BTT marks, but Polish Poles erected by Polish workers and marked with the Polish Flag, to guide their fellow countrymen in heavy cloud, over to the site where the NATO radar was being erected. Hence the title of the walk.

Once up the hill, just as the walking became easier, Janet was struck down by a recurrence of last year's FDS (Falling Down Syndrome) - it always gets you when you least expect it - but she bravely bounced up again.

Easier walking

At the dam, Myriam paused to give Dina her first golf lesson: I don't know why. "First, the stance."

Past the dam, the conversation took something of a Chinese turn as Andrew waxed nostalgic about the beauties of China encountered during his and Lindsey's recent visit to that country and Myriam explained the onomatopoeic significances of the delicacies traditionally served during Chinese New Year before dashing off to place her order at the local charcuterie for a little suckling pig for roasting later that evening.

The lunch spot presented a good view of the new Autódromo (if you like that sort of thing)

while the Leader posed with Maddy for a souvenir picture in the area where she was originally found by Maurice:

Maddy on Madrinha

He then broke totally with tradition by not taking the group up to the Madrinha trig point but instead we were "diverted" to Mirador da Fonte where the geocachers did their thing. (Some diversion!)

"Geocaching is such fun, don't you think?"

Then we had to climb back up the road and up past yet another new NATO watch tower, the construction of which has obliterated what used to be a perfectly good track across the hillside, (queries: why are NATO so keen on looking out across the southern Atlantic? Where and who do they expect the attack to come from?) and some sort of trig-point shot (technically very sound) was taken by the perennially camera-shy Thyl in front of the Foia cafe.

Not a trig-point shot

Then came that bit where Ian's vaguely-remembered stock trails had indeed been obliterated by that "vigorous" scrub. Paul aptly and alliteratively described the undergrowth as "thorns, tendrils and tentacles all testicle-high" . Maddy, probably born to the scene, scampered underneath but Nandi found it all extremely hard-going and, after giving a good imitation of a steeplechaser up and over the scrub for a few hundred yards, eventually refused, and had to be carried out in the arms of Andrew, adopting his best Good Shepherd mode. The rest of us struggled through and out at last. But one suspects that, now, there is no way across the southern slope of Foia and that for most of us, as we tweezer yet another thorn out of our shins, our particular memories of that stretch of torture will be to the tune of "Oh, How the antiseptic stings! These foolish things remind me of....."

Out at last

The Leader was then able to crank up the pace again and we fairly raced down the hill, in sparkling sunshine, retracing our route back through the drain and back to the helipad cafe where refreshments were taken.




And now a final contribution by our Chief Blogger being responsible for the next photograph and the poem:

The Nortada doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
And hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son. Dryden, John

"Hang on a moment; can't close yet" a voice from the back shouts. "Where's the movie?"

Well, I didn't take any this week but, seeing that it's all about memories, how about this lot from the archives, taken in years past when the AWW met up with DL's Irish-HHH-Trans-Algarve Expedition and had a pub stop one wild and windy day atop Foia?

One

Two

Three

and Four

Aplausos for our special guest star, David L, for this cameo appearance. As William Shakespeare put it well:

"Praising what is past makes the remembrance dear."

{ "Louvando o que se perdentorna a lembranca querida"}