BASE NOTES

The latest in adventure

The Brecon Beacons National Park is now officially Bannau Brycheiniog

As part of a campaign to celebrate the history and heritage of the region and address environmental challenges, on its 66th anniversary, the Brecon Beacons National Park in South Wales announced it will now officially only use the name Bannau Brycheiniog. By reverting to its original name, the hope is to inspire and reconnect people to become better custodians of the land.

In the early middle ages, Brycheiniog was an independent kingdom (named after King Brychan) with borders that roughly align with today’s perimeter of the national park. The name Bannau Brycheiniog means ‘the peaks of Brychan’s kingdom’.

Bannau Brycheiniog is the second of Wales’ three national parks to undergo a name change following Eryri, formerly Snowdonia and subsequently the renaming of its highest mountain, now officially Yr Wyddfa.

Europe’s Last Wild River Granted National Park Status

Known to be the last truly wild river within the continent, in March 2023, Albania’s Vjosa River was declared a National Park, becoming the first Wild River National Park in Europe.

Vjosa will now be conserved as a living, free-flowing river, to the benefit of people and nature.

The announcement marks a hard-fought victory for campaigners and is the result of a unique collaboration between the Albanian Government, local and international experts, environmental NGOs from the Save the Blue Heart of Europe campaign, IUCN (International Union for the Conservation of Nature) and outdoor clothing company Patagonia.

England Risks Losing Precious Paths

In 2020, the public helped discover 49,000 miles of lost paths across England and Wales. Paths that are currently not recorded on maps and therefore are without legal protection, with many of them becoming part of private land. Public access to these paths is currently based on historic evidence of use on old maps, and campaigners have been trying to register them again as legal rights of way based upon this evidence.

As part of a package of reforms applied to the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000, the UK government had placed a 2026 deadline for registering such paths but campaigners complained this put too much pressure on local councils to verify and register them and in 2022, the government agreed to scrap the deadline. Earlier this year however, the government broke its commitment by reinstating a deadline of 2031.

Hope Reignited for Wild Camping on Dartmoor

After wild camping on Dartmoor was officially outlawed, following the January case brought to court by wealthy landowner Alexander Darwall, (find out more in ReEnchantment for Resistance on page 16) it seems hope is once again alive on the moors.

In April 2023, board members of the Dartmoor National Park Authority voted to proceed with a legal challenge against a court ruling to remove the right to camp on the commons without landowner permission. The appeal comes as lawyers for the park argue the judgement is flawed due to its narrow definition of open-air recreation, where only activities such as walking, horse riding and picnicking are permitted, therefore failing to take into account the historical interpretation of the law, understood to mean a right to camp and leave no trace.

While a date for the court hearing is yet to be decided, campaigners are determined that the fight for the right to sleep under the stars on Dartmoor is far from over.

Inspiring as it is, for many of us the ‘epic’ narrative of adventure media can feel a little intimidating. Through the lens of a spontaneous four-month trip to the Central Rockies in Montana, Lena Drapella reminds us that good adventures don’t always need to be heroic to be worthwhile.

‘3, 2, 1… dropping!’ Oli’s skis slide over the edge of the ridge. The conditions are difficult today; the snow crust doesn’t make it easy even for the most experienced skiers. Oli’s not one of them. He learned to ski two years ago, and after just three days in Chamonix he left to go ski-guiding in Antarctica. No, he wasn’t the fastest learner on the planet, but he possessed a more useful skill – winging it.

He makes the first turn, so far so good. Form is decent, the snow seems hard enough and supports his weight.

Maybe it wasn’t just Oli who was a talented winger. Maybe it was all three of us. Maria managed to survive most of her adult years without getting a real job, living from ski season to ski season, changing hemisphere every few months. Myself –well, I enthusiastically agreed to go on a four-month trip with two people I had just met.

He makes the second turn; shoulders facing down the slope, weight on his shins, hips pushed forward. Maybe he actually knows how to ski?

With high hopes and little planning, we started our winter adventure in Vancouver, late November 2021. We decided to buy a 1976 Chevy van, and called it Jenny. It’s not that this particular year is considered a good year for Chevys; we bought a 46-year-old van because, well... it was the only one we could afford. Anyway, we had a basic mechanical knowledge, so what could possibly go wrong?

Oli’s eyeing his third turn. He’s getting into the flow of things, his body finally relaxes. He’s letting his legs do the work subconsciously. Suddenly he hits a soft patch. The crust breaks under the pressure and Oli is suddenly beginning his most memorable descent of the trip yet, headfirst.

As a climber, I always dreamt of buying a campervan and touring around North America. The United States is famous for its incredible rock, vast spaces and remote mountains. I’m not entirely sure why I decided to opt in for what was almost my biggest dream, a winter edition. I’d been ski touring once before, managed 15 minutes uphill, got bored, and skied down back to the lift. Let’s say I wasn’t the ideal backcountry partner.

My friends say I have a fair amount of fuck it in me. That is to say I tend to say yes to stupid ideas rather easily. Unsurprisingly, when – a month before the departure date – I first met Oli and heard about the trip, I was hooked. I managed to convince Oli and Maria to let me crash their plan. I guess the initial drunken chat about the trip didn’t give me the best idea of their plans; I thought it would be a type 1 fun

CLOCKWISE resort skiing holiday. I started to get a little worried when Oli sent me a bunch of videos from ascents of 4000m peaks. Wait a minute. You guys wanna do what?

Jenny was many things but fast. We were constantly overtaken by everything else on the road, including lorries. © Oliver Grant; Lena Drapella wishing she brought her crampons for the Spearhead traverse, Whistler, Canada. © Oliver Grant; The beforemath of the best skiing day during our four-month trip: an insane dump of snow in Stevens Pass, Washington. We did have to overstay our visit for a few nights until we could dig the van out, but didn’t mind it too much considering the quality of the conditions; Oli Grant enjoying the best snow of the trip. Seconds before the fall. Stevens pass, Washington; No better feeling than taking your ski boots off in -20 ºC to warm them on the fire. The only downside is the fire keeps moving away from you while it melts the snow underneath it… duh! Hyalite canyon, Montana.

Fast forward a couple of months, and we’re back to Oli and his headfirst descent. We're in Hyalite Canyon, Montana. We only planned to stay here for a week or two but fell in love with the place and overstayed our plan – by a month. Hyalite Canyon is especially well-known for its incredible ice climbing. It’s a convenient spot as you can choose your own level of adventure. You can be ‘cragging’ five minutes from the car park, or choose an epic multipitch and most likely get benighted. No wonder Conrad Anker and many other world class mountaineers chose to settle here.

Hyalite also has some really good skiing. True, the long approaches do make it slightly less appealing – especially to cardio haters like myself – but the rewards are immeasurable. We decided that camping was our best bet to limit the long walk-ins. Instead of going fast and light, we opted for the slow and heavy approach.

With overfilled bags and overflowing psyche we left our (t)rusted Jenny in a cul-de-sac to begin the long slog towards the mountains. The path seemed mostly flat. We weaved our way through the forest, hearing only the musical clinks and thuds coming from Oli’s bag – it looked like a scout’s backpack on a first ever camping trip. Considering we all had 15-20kg loads, we toured surprisingly briskly towards our destination for the night. Maybe we’re finally getting a little bit fitter? After a few hours of moderate effort, the path started to steepen. The last kilometres reminded us that we were all indeed still punters. With breaths heavier than the bags, we finally made it to this imaginary dot on the map that we agreed would be our camp for the next three days.

As it happens, our van insulation was nearly the same thickness as the canopy of the tent, so by this point in our trip we were pretty well trained for the cold nights. After we pitched our tent, we still had an hour of daylight left. What now? It was around -10ºC outside so sitting down to relax wasn’t really on the cards. With little thought, Maria and myself grabbed the shovels, while Oli disappeared into the woods. After a solid 30 minutes of digging, we stood proudly above our creation – the living room. In the meantime, Oli had returned with a dead tree on his shoulder.

What a surreal evening it was. The fire illuminated the tent and our skis, glowing orange. The three of us, sitting in our snowy living room with no other sounds around but the wood crackling in the fire. Even though it was now nearly -20ºC, close to the fire we were all just in socks, warming our feet, and hugging our freeze-dried meals. Sometimes these simple moments feel more adventurous than the biggest summit, drop or epic climb. Yet, having to unwrap yourself from three jackets, sleeping bag and bivy bag for a 3am wee is definitely an adventure you’re embarking on less willingly.

Back to Oli’s headfirst descent now. Legs first. Headfirst. Legs first. He finally comes to a stop. His face emerges from the snow, with a newly earned white beard.

We had left the tent pretty early that morning, and our main goal for the day was to ski this line. Considering we spent a solid few hours getting up to Hyalite Peak in the hope of having one of the best ski descents yet, he seems weirdly happy with how it went. He brushes off the snow, revealing his contagious smile. I look at him, look at Maria, look back at Oli and we simultaneously all burst into laughter.

During the four months of this trip, a lot of things went wrong. Our 46-year-old van broke many, many times. Pretty much everything inside it froze at some point, including washing up liquid and eggs. We got stuck in the snow on multiple occasions. At some point each one of us had a pretty bad ski crash. And from day one, the delights of winter van travel continued until the very last moments of the trip, when we crashed into a fire hydrant.

In hindsight, I’m glad all of this happened. Every single one of those calamities and hardships brought us closer together, making the trip all the more memorable. The adventure of a lifetime.

All three of us were, and still are, pretty rubbish skiers. None of our attempts would ever make the news – and that's ok. Every day our news feeds are flooded with the incredible achievements of outstanding athletes. And often it’s inspiring to hear about those endeavours but sometimes it can paint the wrong picture in our heads. You don’t have to be the best athlete to live a life of adventure. You don’t have to send death lines with the perfect technique to enjoy the outdoors. It’s ok to fail. Just get up, brush off the snow and go back at it, headfirst.