AWW 10.06.2009: Mata and Natter

"Nothing is more hopeless than a scheme of merriment." (Dr. Johnson)

The editorial sub-committee (Paul) decided that it would be too much to expect the Leader (Paul) to lead the walk, to report it, and to blog it as well , in addition to having to catch a flight to UK at crack of dawn the following day. Said sub-committee therefore "invited" DCB to do the report and the blog. Mindful of the great doctor's strictures against humour, DCB decided, from the outset, that this would be a totally serious, factual journal, but this resolution was hit for six from the very start by Myriam. First, she masqueraded as a sort of security official, taking photographic identities of all participants until she was somewhat confused by Dina's arrival in a car sem condutor. Can't blame her.



"How did she manage that?" (Click to enlarge)

And then she and Hazel indulged in some tomfoolery at Misty's and Rod's expense:

Anyway, enough of that, back to the facts.

The start: Barao Sao Joao, 9 a.m. The route: through the Mata Nacional.

Our leader: Paul.
His supporting cast: Myriam, Ian S., the Whittle Four (Chris, Antje, Alex and Marcela), Dina, Yves (the invisible driver), Rod, Terry M., Ingrid, Hazel, JohnH.

The dogs: Misty, Tiggie, Sambo, and Maddie (welcome back indeed!)

And the stats, courtesy of Paul:

Total Dist.: 14.3 Km; Moving Time: 3 hrs 17 min;

Total Time: 3 hrs 44 min.; Moving Avg.: 4.3 km/hr;

Overall Avg.: 3.8 km/hr; Total Ascent: 335 m.
Max Elev.: 183 m.

The Starters




The track

We set off, downhill briefly, and then south-westwards along a winding and shady path with panoramic views down to the coast over farming land where strip agriculture was noticed which led to reminiscences by Yves about his youth and the girls in the Land Army, info from Alex about the limited height of modern corn hybrids, and a few choruses from Oklahoma. Maddie was doing well but Ian was solicitous and ensured she had regular water. We rested a while beside a calm pond where Paul temporarily let his guard down, admitting that he hadn't actually recce'ed what was to come next.

Alex discovered a natterjack toad which attracted considerable attention from everyone except the paparazzi who seemed to be asleep on the job, so that it's neccessary to import a file picture of this creature (aka Bufo calamita) for the edification of the herpetologists among us.

Rest and nature study over, the group now moved out from the shade and up to the park ridges which at first sight seem to be dominated by modern windmills or aerogeradors. This encouraged Yves to educate us about some of the symbolism involved with these monsters.

(Copyright: Yves Ferrer S.A. @2009)

But then, just as one had thought they'd gone out of fashion, a trig point showed up, tradition reasserted itself, and TOTPPic was taken.

By now the temperature had risen well into the thirties, the track seemed to stretch into infinity, and the dogs needed more water, which was nearby.

But the Leader proved merciless to the humans, accelerating the pace and heading straight up an almost impossibly steep scree, at the top of which he waited, sadistically filming the struggles of us lesser beings. He must have been inspired by the Sean Connery/Sidney Lumet film "The Hill." Just take a look at Paul's video to see how steep his hill was, and also how concerned Maddie was about Ian's progress. (A few of us more canny ones circled round to the right.)

Then on and on we went. Not even a pause for lunch, apparently because the Whittle Quartet - by accident or design, I know not - had left their packed meals in their car. Hazel, somewhat famished, decided to eat on the march and asked Myriam for assistance in "taking her banana out" (from her knapsack.) That was done,but what Paul then said to Myriam about his banana cannot properly be repeated in this family magazine.
The next stretch proved pretty relentless going, northish and then eastish along an undulating but never-ending ridge through farm areas.

At last, more water for the dogs was found near a cross-roads where we came across some Via Algarviana markers, whereupon Ingrid pulled rank (as one of DL's All The Trans-Algarve Way belles is entitled to do) and demanded a photo-opportunity for herself and all the other belles de la jour, all gathered around the sign.
Les Belles

When asked if he had got all the signage into the picture, the paparazzo replied, with a modicum of gallantry, that he hadn't been looking at the words.

Further on, Rod convened a brief seminar on agricultural machineries of the early 20th century and, at Pedro Branca, he and Ian exchanged reminiscences about walking in Sierra da Aracena with some guys in some vans whose dog's water our dogs had helped themselves to uninvited.

Thereafter homewards, the race to be first to the bar being a deadheat between Ian S. and JohnH. Thirsts were quenched, and lunches taken at last, albeit Marcela looked a trifle unsure about her pao a pedras , or was it a rock bun?


In the background, the regulars only had eyes for each other :-

while Antje flourished her new gizmo:-

and Myriam was as active as ever, while we bade farewell for the summer to Terry M., returning to UK, and debated a bit lethargically whether there might be a walk next week or not; the concensus being that it would depend on the direction of the prevailing wind, so probably not.

Probably no more until the SparrowFart, a name immensely intriguing to Yves.

" I am but mad north-north -west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." (Shakespeare)

But the last word is with Dr. Johnson:

"Your manuscript, Sir, is both good and original; but the parts that are good are not original, and the parts that are original are not good."