It’s always hard to admit when a piece of outdoor clothing has had its last run. It probably cost a lot of money and over several summers has gathered memories you’re not willing to part with. Now there’s a third factor finding voice among the outdoor community — the environmental impact of our specialised gear. Chemical coatings are used during manufacture to provide technical features and finishes. Every time we wash this clothing, these substances (called perfluorinated chemicals) seep into our water systems, eventually finding their way into rivers and seas

Yet, while the use of PFCs and microplastics is still considered essential by the industry, consumers are looking for other ways to reduce the environmental damage that is growing on the back of the outdoor lifestyle trend.

One solution is repair and recycling.

Meet Neza Petreca. Slovenian-born co-founder of Blind Chic and saviour of tired equipment.

Over the last few years several leading brands have begun encouraging customers to return gear for repair, rather than discarding it. Patagonia have even gone as far as setting up pop-up repair shops for gear from any brand. However, Neza takes it a step further. When a piece of clothing is beyond repair she turns it into something new. In collaboration with her customers Neza looks first at repair and if this isn’t possible, they’ll discuss what material can be saved and what new item the customer wants from it.

Her specialism is in bags so often Neza will make pouches, bikepacking bags or even rucksacks from damaged clothing and gear. It was the humble pouch that sparked her ambition to turn recycling into a business. Following the success of her DIY tutorial video on bikepacking.com, friends and family started approaching Neza with their old clothing.

She’s been at it ever since.

When Neza realised this was a passion she undertook an internship with Barbara Heinze, repair seamstress and owner of her own kids clothing brand. It was Heinze who taught her to see every repair as a new problem to solve and who instilled the confidence needed to start cutting up £500 technical jackets!

Since returning to her native Slovenia, Neza has been putting her new techniques to work, as well as persuading anyone who’ll listen to consider where their old clothing goes.

What happens to it once we’ve decided it’s worthless?

The good news is Neza sees change happening. Once recycling was a thing people did because they couldn’t afford new. Now even the wealthy want to buy quality, take care of it and see it last. Customers have become curious; they want to know who’s making their products and where they’re coming from. In turn, this creates a mentality of investment. The customer knows the story behind their purchase which gives them a personal connection, not only to the brand but to the product. It’s an investment — both financial and emotional.  

As well as thermal layers and softshell jackets, Neža loves to work with damaged camping mattresses because the stiff fabric makes items that hold their shape. Tents interest her too because the large surface area offers the possibility for multiple new pieces. Here’s a few of Neza’s suggestions for simple ways to make worn summer gear work in winter:

• merino t-shirts become neckwarmers

• a thin windbreaker transformed into a vest

• merino ear flaps on a summer cap when the temperature drops

While the recycling work continues to gain momentum, the designer has set in motion plans to open her own repair shop in Bovec, the outdoor capital of Slovenia. In this tiny town, on the banks of the turquoise Soča river, she envisions a shop and community space offering outdoor education. After all, education is the force driving change in outdoor consumerism.

In the meantime, if you’re interested in recycling or repairing your own equipment, contact Neza through her website.

Image below by Franzi Wernsing

For the French, summer ends on the 31st August. By September 1st suitcases are back under beds, campgrounds are returned to fields and the bistro tables are stacked in a corner. Autumn isn’t for holidays, or campouts. It’s for chestnuts and open fires, first batch cider and jam.

So, why do the seasons bleed into each other so much on our side of the channel? Is it because we hope, every year, for an Indian Summer, or because we have multiple summers; bursts of blue-sky days throughout the year that we throw ourselves into because we know they won’t last?

Last Christmas I was gifted a Firebox. It sat, oiled and beautifully black, in its canvas bag while I waited for summer.

Now we’re looking to Christmas again but my Firebox is grey, mottled with rusty creaks and misshapen corners. The bar across the middle is bowed from heat and the weight of feasts. We handle it with gloves to protect the smoke-parched skin of our fingers and as the nights get cool we layer silk liners underneath so we can keep cooking throughout the autumn. Dry leaves and a breeze: perfect campfire conditions. So we keep our eyes to the sky, summer’s over but it’s activities don’t have to be.

Courgette Flatbreads

If you’ve got a few courgettes left over from the summer harvest, this simple recipe is a great introduction to campfire cooking.

Ingredients

• Courgettes (1 large one p/p)

• Lemon - rind & juice

• Fresh rosemary

• Chilli flakes

• Olive oil

Method

Measure out 125ml of flour (any available, wholemeal/plain mix is particularly good) and season. Stir ½ tsp of yeast into 15ml of warm water. Add to the flour along with a tbsp of olive oil. Add boiling water until it forms a soft dough. Kneed and leave to rest for 20 minutes. Before griddling, divide the dough and flatten into discs.

Chop the courgettes into thin discs and zest the lemon. Heat a little oil in a large, flat pan and add the courgettes to soften. During cooking add the lemon zest, chopped rosemary, chilli flakes and seasoning. Once the courgettes are soft, push them to the edge of the pan and cook the flatbreads one at a time. Turn the flatbreads until they’re charred on both sides.

When everything’s cooked put the flatbreads on plates, top with hummus or cream cheese and spoon on the courgettes. If you like it zesty, you can squeeze over the lemon juice at this point, or toss in a few cherry tomatoes if you have them.

*

Sweet Potato Hash

Ingredients

• Sweet Potatoes, roughly chopped into small pieces

• Onion, diced

• Eggs (1pp)

• Cumin seeds

• Thyme, rosemary or oregano

Method

Cook the onion and sweet potato until soft and starting to caramelize. Add the herbs and season well. When you’re happy with the potato, break it up with a fork to make a jumbly, lumyp mess. Clear holes in the mixture and crack an egg into each one of these spaces. The pan should be hot enough to cook the eggs quickly, then scoop onto plates with some fire-charred vegetables or an apple and hazelnut salad.

*

Chilli Beans

An extra warming bowl, perfect for cold hands!

Ingredients

• Kidney, black or mixed beans (1 can does 2 people)

• Small tin of sweet corn

• Small red onion

• Red pepper

• Chopped tomatoes or passata

• Paprika

• Chilli

• Cumin seeds

• Mixed herbs

• Stock cube

Method

Heat oil in a large, shallow pan and fry the onion and pepper. Add the rinsed beans and sweet corn and fry for a few minutes. Crumble in half a stock cube per can of beans, stir in a generous mix of the herbs & spices before pouring in the chopped tomatoes or passata. You want to coat the beans, rather than make a sauce, so allow the tomatoes to reduce as they cook. If the mix starts to stick, add more tomatoes or a little water. Season to taste and enjoy a bowlful with avocado, salad or simply on its own.

The settlement of Melvaig looks distinctly unsettled. There’s spaces between the cottages that wait to be filled but instead new residents build on plots flung out at awkward angles from the village and coastline. In many cases, it’s hard to tell when a house is actually an elaborate garden shed. Or a house built to look like a shed. Yet the village is somehow more than a random scattering; two chocolate collies pounding across the lawn might have something to do with that. They’re a single sign of life on this remote stretch of land beyond the loch.

Melvaig ends where a private track swoops towards the headland at an alarming gradient we guess to be at least 25%. This is the end of the road. This is where we’ve come to ride.

In a redundant passing place we get back the breath that the steep climb stole. From here the cottages of Melvaig are cowering, every hillock and tree has been claimed as shelter from the briney Hebridean wind. I can taste salt on my lips; it stings the cracks.

This is Highland riding.

Our prize is the lonely tarmac that carries us past beaches where waves are turquoise right up to the moment they smash white against vertical cliffs. Sheep cling to grassy clumps. One brazen lamb stands firm as we cycle past, more curious than his friends who scatter at the whistle of air through our spokes. As we leave the blue weight of Skye behind, the horizon appears translucent; a piece of silk hangs between us and the rest of the world. We’re cycling towards the headland now and a surge of adrenaline sears right into my fingertips as I push towards the void ahead. We’re only a few miles from the last cottage yet we’re pioneers.

That’s why I’ll never tire of cycling Scotland’s roads. In minutes we can be alone. We ride full of triumph at being the only ones to venture into an undiscovered corner – even if it’s not true.

In the wind, we think we might never make it home. My pedals are getting heavier and I can measure every rise and fall of the road by the volume of my breath. A lighthouse is a lonely place by definition but the road leading towards Rua Reidh feels truly abandoned. Tangled whips of wool struggle in their barbed wire traps and draw attention to my own hair which is being forced from under my helmet at the mercy of the wind.

A needle sharp tip is our first glimpse of the lighthouse. I blink rapidly to clear the hair from my eyes. The bulk of white washed concrete emerges just as the tarmac dissolves into gravel and eventually bare rock. A front of weather sweeps east. I’m having no trouble imagining the treacherous storms that wrap around the headland tormenting the lighthouse keeper, and more recently, adventurous guests.

We’ve not only run out of road, we’ve run out of land. There’s nothing for it but to turn our bikes around and head back to Melvaig. We’ll keep the sea to our right as it fills the loch and slows to linger on the shallow sands of Gairloch.

‘Weather cannot be divorced from the outdoors experience and nor should it be.’ Tristan Gooley

If you’re someone who spends time outside in the UK then you’ll be acutely aware of the weather. We have to be because it can determine if a day goes to plan or not and more than once I’ve wished I could enjoy the outdoors without the elements but as Gooley says, we shouldn’t. With a little understanding and patience, the elements can yield clues for navigating. Yes, we have maps, GPS, and even our phones so we’re not reliant on natural navigation anymore but there’s still value in observing how the natural world is behaving around us.

It’s essential to observe the weather from the outset of your journey because often clues are in the changes. If you don’t know which way the wind was blowing an hour ago, you won’t know it’s turned.

In fact, wind direction is a great place to start. The ancient Greek name for different winds was interchangeable with the direction they came from; for example, Boreas, the name for the cold wind from the north (and the God of winter) could be used to mean the direction north. In the ancient world the characteristics of a wind would be analysed to detect from where it blew but in modern times we’ve flipped this so we look at the direction to try and predict what’s coming. Where a wind comes from gives us clues about what it might bring with it. A westerly wind coming off the sea will bring damp, maybe rain. As we saw last year, a southerly wind can turn the sky orange with Saharan dust while also bringing heat and dry air.

Historically the clarity of air has been used to predict weather too. The sky appears a darker shade of blue when the air is extremely dry or at high altitude because the short waves of blue light aren’t being scattered by clouds or pollutants in the atmosphere. The Polynesians used the twinkling of the stars to judge weather conditions, as twinkling is caused by wispy cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere.

While this all sounds more like weather forecasting than navigation, they are incredibly closely linked. If you can tell where the wind comes from and what it might have encountered on its way, i.e. mountains or sea, from the weather it brings, then you can learn about a landscape even if you can’t see it.

If you know the prevailing wind direction of a place then natural features become points on a vast compass. Trees bent like cartoon hags go with the direction of the prevailing wind and are easy to spot. More subtle is the weathering of a hill or mountainside. The slope facing into the wind (windward) might have less vegetation, smoother rock, and curves while the sheltered side (leeward) will gather dust, leaves and shingle and will usually be dryer than the windward side.   

While this is only a small introduction to a huge topic, winter is a fantastic time to tune into nature. Start small, notice changes in the wind while out walking and slowly you’ll become more perceptive.

Happy navigating!

One month of no meat, dairy, eggs or honey...are you giving it a go this year? Here at Creative Countryside we’ve put together the basics to help you understand why so many people are opting into Veganuary this year, plus a beautiful winter recipe for inspiration.

Why vegan?

There are lots of reasons to go vegan: some people make the change for health reasons, others are against animal suffering or concerned about the future of the planet. Whatever your motives, the journey to veganism is getting easier with every person who opts in. Supermarkets are stocking more alternatives, restaurants are jumping on board and misunderstandings are being dispelled.

At its heart veganism is the opposition to all unnecessary violence. Vegans chose not to eat or use any product that comes from animal origin in order to live their life without causing harm to other creatures. While vegetarians don’t eat meat, vegans take this a step further and reject dairy, eggs, honey, leather too.

Scientific studies are telling us that production and consumption of meat is unsustainable, the impact on the planet is just too high. Veganism acknowledges that production of plant based foods has a lower environmental impact; we can feed more people nutritionally richer food with lower carbon emissions, less water and no deforestation. The idea is that enough individuals adopting veganism will eventually slow the demand and eventually the production of animal products.

Whether you’ve got veganuary well under way or you just want to know more, we’ve shared one reader’s recipe to show you just how good a vegan dinner can be.

Sticky Tofu & Pickled Veg

Sweet and fresh, ideal for a mid-week pick up or a cosy night in.

Ingredients

1/2 pack of tofu, drained and pressed for 20 minutes, cut into cubes approximately 3cm wide   

2 garlic cloves, crushed

2 tbsp tomato sauce

2 tbsp Hoisin sauce

1 tbsp dark soy sauce

1 tbsp golden caster sugar

1 tbsp rice vinegar

1 tbsp vegetable oil

Ingredients for the Pickled Vegetables

1 tbsp caster sugar

2 tbsp boiling water

1 ½ tbsp rice vinegar

2 tsp toasted sesame seeds

1 tbsp fresh coriander, chopped

½ tsbp fresh mint, chopped

2 carrots, cut into thin ribbons

1/3 cucumber, cut into thin ribbons

1 shallot, sliced thinly

Black and white steamed rice to serve

Method

• Preheat the oven to 200C/400F/Gas Mark 6.

• To prepare the pickled vegetables, dissolve the sugar in the hot water, allow to cool slightly then add the vinegar. Pour over the vegetables and sesame seeds. Cover and refrigerate.

• Mix the garlic, tomato sauce, hoisin and soy sauces, sugar, rice vinegar and vegetable oil in a bowl. Add the Cauldron Tofu cubes and coat well. Place on a lightly greased baking sheet and cook for 15-20 minutes until sticky and glazed. Coat with a little more glaze during cooking if required.

• Serve the sweet baked tofu with the crunchy pickled vegetables and steamed rice.

Want to know more?

Becoming vegan doesn’t mean throwing all your leather shoes away. Most people keep the products they already have and replace them with a vegan alternative as they wear out. Consider it a transition.

Animal Aid have a great website if you want to know more about choosing veganism and their Agony Aunt has your questions covered:

http://www.govegan.org.uk

For more recipes visit Veganuary official website:

https://veganuary.com/recipes/

Pinterest and Instagram are brilliant resources for recipes or advice on how other vegans are finding alternatives to animal products. Remember, to check out Deliciously Ella's Chilli and Ginger Pho on the journal.

At 21 years old, engineer William Roy was tasked with mapping the Scottish highlands. Following the rebellion of 1745, the military decided they needed to open up the wild highlands and to do this they had to understand them. William Roy and his teams spent eight years measuring distances with a 50ft chain, the rest was sketched by eye. 

This is the origin of the OS Map. 

Born from a military desire to control, the bright orange Explorer maps now form an integral part of our freedom to roam, to adventure and explore Britain. In less than 300 years these maps have completely reversed their philosophy and we should take a moment to celebrate the possibilities that lie within their folds.

Every time I pick one of the maps off the blue bookcase that stands in the corner of my office I experience the tiniest flutter of excitement. It means I’m heading outside, it means my rucksack and my precious Scarpa boots will soon follow. It means I’m going on a journey. Thanks to Roy and his ability to dream big and achieve bigger I’m able to explore an empty valley on my own in an afternoon, knowing I’ll make it home. Or I can cycle the length of the country knowing exactly what obstacles I’ll meet each day. I can chose somewhere to pitch my tent before I even leave the house. Isn’t that amazing?!

In 2017 we’re so obsessed with surveillance, with who is tracking us and that nothing is unknown but why not highlight one positive in the culture of fear and control. Every detail of the landscape is known and available to us, from the farm wall to the footbridge or bridlepath that might guide us to the breathtaking view over our home town. Having that knowledge gives us a freedom that didn’t exist in the past. So next time you reach for your OS take a second to thank William Roy and the explorers who’ve made your adventure possible.

Happy travels!

These are the directions if you want to reach YHA Black Sail, one of Britain's most isolated hostels—one that could be mistaken for its Scottish cousin, the Bothy. Under the protective bulk of Great Gable at the head of the Liza river, sits a one-story building; clad in Lake District slate, it’s a welcome sight for walkers coming down the Ennerdale Valley, or over the hills from Wasdale, Borrowdale and Buttermere. Black Sail sits at the convergence of many trails making it a special kind of secret. If you know it’s there you’ll have no trouble finding it.

A dreary Monday in October is an unusual time to explore this lesser-known corner of the Lake District but we set off undeterred. As we walk, the path plays hide-and-seek between the pines. One minute we’re tramping rusty gravel along the riverside, next we find ourselves squinting at wet grass for signs of wear. Like a stereoscope we’re transported to Norway, to British Columbia, to Sweden and back to Ennerdale under honey leaves and a retreating fern line. We’re not aiming for Black Sail but we’ve heard rumours and as the rain seeps under our cuffs, the lure of the hostel grows.

Our plan to climb Pillar, on the north edge of the valley, is scuppered by low cloud so we content ourselves with gazing up at the sawtooth ridge swirling in a cloak of fog and rain. We’re entranced by a valley that couldn’t be further from the pastoral fells of the eastern lakes; Ennerdale is imperfect, the water has a grey tinge and its flanks are swathed in a forest that’s broken only by streams rattling down with unpredictable intensity. We emerge from the trees and a game of ‘imagine you’re in Scandinavia’ to the scream of a chainsaw and west coast accents bouncing of Kirk Fell. Forestry work brings us sharply back to reality. We might be in the wild heart of an adventure but life goes on for the guardians of the valley so we move swiftly past. I’m wet and keen to find the hostel.

The river Liza is silent now we’re walking above her thrashing, autumnal water and as if in defeat she begins to diminish until a kissing gate tells us we have arrived at the top of the valley. The corner of a roof is just visible in the dip ahead. We stop and take a moment to enjoy the almost perfect crown of peaks bearing down on us. Great Gable remains under cloud cover – the moodiest of the Cumbrian fells and for that one of my favourites – but the green, marbled tops of the others are momentarily visible creating the impression of being in the bottom of a huge bowl. This feeling increases as we descend to Black Sail and duck into the open door, the next sheet of rain at our heels.

We enter a stark room of exposed brick, oddly matched chairs and a log burner that sits like a king toad opposite the door. An assortment of clothing has been draped over the ancient frame beside the fire and I notice a man wrapped around himself in an attempt to keep warm. “The kettle’s just boiled if you want tea.” His accent is Dutch. He inclines his head towards a doorway leading to a well-equipped kitchen and honesty cafe.

As we cradle scalding, enamel mugs with sleeved hands, waves of rain and fog drift past the open door offering us only glimpses of the fells but we can feel their weight through Black Sail’s damp walls. Even inside there’s no forgetting where we are. We’re at the end of the valley and the only way out is over the hills.