Despite the good natured but inevitable bickering over Mr Kiya’s insistence on being Nancy Blackett (none of us could recall a bald, moustachioed Nancy in any of the Swallows and Amazons stories but there you go), it was a remarkably well disciplined crew and Ship’s Dog Molly, that set off in search of Pirate Treasure on a glorious Sunday morning. We were well "vitt’led” with provisions aplenty but in terribly Susanish mode, also had a trunk full of dry clothes and towels so as to avoid any “chills” that might impact on the successful liberation of the treasure! We soon arrived at the Blue Parrot parking area where Capt’n Nancy shivered his timbers at the cost but Cathryn stumped up the gold and we prepared for our first adventure to Plunder Port. Now maybe it was the excitement of reaching the bright lights of the port but some of the scurvy dogs that called themselves crew were ill prepared for the crossing, having left Pirate footwear in the for’ard cabin of the Red Peril. Some confusion reined but in due course, the crew stormed the island and quickly plundered the loot. We eagerly poured over the find and after consulting the compass, sailed forth in search of Grog and Rum Isle
With considerable skill, Capt’n Nancy berthed the Red Peril in a tiny roadside inlet and after Molly curled her lip at a rabid cur (the poor thing had a lampshade round his neck) the thirsty crew hot footed it to Rum Isle for a spot of Grog. (Actually, it was rather more of a squelch as we’d left our damp footwear on for the short passage; whatever would Susan have said?) This crossing was rather deeper than the first so thank goodness for over hanging tree branches as with great hilarity, the crew, emboldened by the lure of liquor, hung from the branches and splashed our way across. Once again the booty was soon found but to the dismay of certain parties, the Grog was absent!! Mutiny was only just averted! The Ship’s dog found something interesting to roll in and then it was back to the Red Peril for the sail to Maelstrom Cave.
By now the port was bustling and with piratical menace, Capt’n Nancy commandeered another roadside berth. It was here that the crew’s Susanish tendencies became more apparent; discussions were had over the best approach to tackling the cave, dealing with wet gear and the wilderness beyond. We trekked our way upto the roaring falls unhampered by rucksacks and boots and made the treacherous descent to the river, spotting ropes hanging in the falls. Were we too late? Did they belong to another Pirate crew? No, they belonged to a band of brigands escaping justice by climbing along the river so unseen by them, we bravely navigated across the thundering water (OK, I’m bigging it up a little here; the water fall was moderate at best!) and found ourselves facing the gaping jaws of the cave.
In true buccaneering style, Capt’n Nancy strode forth, his voice only reaching one octave higher than normal as the chilly water reached his pieces of eight. The ship’s dog was distraught; despite promising herself she’d follow the example of Tashington, when it came to it, she couldn’t face the swim into a watery grave! She dithered pathetically at the entrance as her beloved Capt’n was swallowed up by the darkness. He was soon followed amid much shrieking by Mrs K and C while R remained at the mouth of the cave, placating the ship’s dog. It was too cold to linger in the watery darkness so we grabbed the loot and retreated rapidly, our legs feeling totally numb. A hasty trek saw us back down at the Red Peril where after a change of Pirate trousers and pants, a swig of grog and a shouldering of rucksacks we were ready to tackle the wilderness beyond.
The compass was re-set and once more we sallied forth, initially retracing our steps. The Ship’s dog, fearful of another visit to the watery tomb, gave the footpath down the gorge a wide berth. By now the crew were starving and mutinous again (there were mutterings about gate crashing Fran and Dom’s wedding – well there was a sign to it) so permission was granted to eat our rations. Fortified by ships’ biscuits and the promise of the Olde Tavern, the crew set off again in high spirits, moving onwards and upwards in search of the illusive treasure. The ground grew rougher, the summit of Kanchenjunga grew closer and Mrs and Mrs K reflected that when reading Swallowdale and Pigeon Post as children, they’d never dreamt they’d be re-enacting it several decades later. On reaching the Olde Tavern, there was a critical moment as some of the crew realised it was “dry” but as their attention span was pretty limited, they were soon enthralled by the “brewing” equipment inside. With reluctance, the crew left the machinery and making rather heavy weather of the ascent by taking a less than direct route, the booty at the anchor chain was eventually found.
By now the sun was high in the sky and the crew’s desperation to find the treasure was increasing. After a ration of Grog to slake our thirst it was ever onwards and upwards in search of trash or treasure at the lookout cave. There were further mutinous mutterings as Capt’n Nancy ignored a critical waypoint but eventually, the crew were restrained from going off the rails! Perched high on the hillside, there was some confusion over torches but all soon became apparent. Led by the Ship’s dog, who was desperate to make up for her earlier woosy-ness, we enjoyed the Slater Bob experience, R looking for all the world like Squashy Hat prospecting for minerals. Deep in the hillside we turned off our torches to experience the total blackness and then made our way out. We didn’t find any gold or copper but there was plenty of mud in “them thar hills” as we could see on our boots and clothes once we came back out onto the hillside, squinting in the sunlight.
By now the thirst for gold was immense so despite the onset of C’s dodgy knee, which required her to adopt a Long John Silver gait on the down hill bits, we hastily navigated across the screes, keeping our height while relentlessly following the magic arrow tantalisingly pointing to the treasure trove. We picked up the path to the uncharted waters ahead taking just a moment to admire the stunning views all around, R commenting that he could see over to Cross Fell, site of another fabulous challenge we’d completed last year. And then we crested the rise and the whole of Pugwash Bay lay before us. In piratical style we made an undignified dash to the treasure chest and plundered the contents (for a photo) before finally taking a breather. We’d made it. The treasure was ours! The crew relaxed for a while drinking in the scenery and then made a careful descent, C sounding like Blind Pugh as she tapped along with her trekking pole.
We were soon we were back at the Red Peril and the busy port in a comparatively short time, where we fortified ourselves with provisions from another local tavern!! We had a totally, brilliant adventure, taking in places we never knew existed and thoroughly enjoying the challenge.
With considerable skill, Capt’n Nancy berthed the Red Peril in a tiny roadside inlet and after Molly curled her lip at a rabid cur (the poor thing had a lampshade round his neck) the thirsty crew hot footed it to Rum Isle for a spot of Grog. (Actually, it was rather more of a squelch as we’d left our damp footwear on for the short passage; whatever would Susan have said?) This crossing was rather deeper than the first so thank goodness for over hanging tree branches as with great hilarity, the crew, emboldened by the lure of liquor, hung from the branches and splashed our way across. Once again the booty was soon found but to the dismay of certain parties, the Grog was absent!! Mutiny was only just averted! The Ship’s dog found something interesting to roll in and then it was back to the Red Peril for the sail to Maelstrom Cave.
By now the port was bustling and with piratical menace, Capt’n Nancy commandeered another roadside berth. It was here that the crew’s Susanish tendencies became more apparent; discussions were had over the best approach to tackling the cave, dealing with wet gear and the wilderness beyond. We trekked our way upto the roaring falls unhampered by rucksacks and boots and made the treacherous descent to the river, spotting ropes hanging in the falls. Were we too late? Did they belong to another Pirate crew? No, they belonged to a band of brigands escaping justice by climbing along the river so unseen by them, we bravely navigated across the thundering water (OK, I’m bigging it up a little here; the water fall was moderate at best!) and found ourselves facing the gaping jaws of the cave.
In true buccaneering style, Capt’n Nancy strode forth, his voice only reaching one octave higher than normal as the chilly water reached his pieces of eight. The ship’s dog was distraught; despite promising herself she’d follow the example of Tashington, when it came to it, she couldn’t face the swim into a watery grave! She dithered pathetically at the entrance as her beloved Capt’n was swallowed up by the darkness. He was soon followed amid much shrieking by Mrs K and C while R remained at the mouth of the cave, placating the ship’s dog. It was too cold to linger in the watery darkness so we grabbed the loot and retreated rapidly, our legs feeling totally numb. A hasty trek saw us back down at the Red Peril where after a change of Pirate trousers and pants, a swig of grog and a shouldering of rucksacks we were ready to tackle the wilderness beyond.
The compass was re-set and once more we sallied forth, initially retracing our steps. The Ship’s dog, fearful of another visit to the watery tomb, gave the footpath down the gorge a wide berth. By now the crew were starving and mutinous again (there were mutterings about gate crashing Fran and Dom’s wedding – well there was a sign to it) so permission was granted to eat our rations. Fortified by ships’ biscuits and the promise of the Olde Tavern, the crew set off again in high spirits, moving onwards and upwards in search of the illusive treasure. The ground grew rougher, the summit of Kanchenjunga grew closer and Mrs and Mrs K reflected that when reading Swallowdale and Pigeon Post as children, they’d never dreamt they’d be re-enacting it several decades later. On reaching the Olde Tavern, there was a critical moment as some of the crew realised it was “dry” but as their attention span was pretty limited, they were soon enthralled by the “brewing” equipment inside. With reluctance, the crew left the machinery and making rather heavy weather of the ascent by taking a less than direct route, the booty at the anchor chain was eventually found.
By now the sun was high in the sky and the crew’s desperation to find the treasure was increasing. After a ration of Grog to slake our thirst it was ever onwards and upwards in search of trash or treasure at the lookout cave. There were further mutinous mutterings as Capt’n Nancy ignored a critical waypoint but eventually, the crew were restrained from going off the rails! Perched high on the hillside, there was some confusion over torches but all soon became apparent. Led by the Ship’s dog, who was desperate to make up for her earlier woosy-ness, we enjoyed the Slater Bob experience, R looking for all the world like Squashy Hat prospecting for minerals. Deep in the hillside we turned off our torches to experience the total blackness and then made our way out. We didn’t find any gold or copper but there was plenty of mud in “them thar hills” as we could see on our boots and clothes once we came back out onto the hillside, squinting in the sunlight.
By now the thirst for gold was immense so despite the onset of C’s dodgy knee, which required her to adopt a Long John Silver gait on the down hill bits, we hastily navigated across the screes, keeping our height while relentlessly following the magic arrow tantalisingly pointing to the treasure trove. We picked up the path to the uncharted waters ahead taking just a moment to admire the stunning views all around, R commenting that he could see over to Cross Fell, site of another fabulous challenge we’d completed last year. And then we crested the rise and the whole of Pugwash Bay lay before us. In piratical style we made an undignified dash to the treasure chest and plundered the contents (for a photo) before finally taking a breather. We’d made it. The treasure was ours! The crew relaxed for a while drinking in the scenery and then made a careful descent, C sounding like Blind Pugh as she tapped along with her trekking pole.
We were soon we were back at the Red Peril and the busy port in a comparatively short time, where we fortified ourselves with provisions from another local tavern!! We had a totally, brilliant adventure, taking in places we never knew existed and thoroughly enjoying the challenge.
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