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This is the first volume of the collection that has been named 'Bluebells and Canvas'. 'Bluebells and Canvas' shall consist of volumes-- possibly hundreds, over. Results 1 - 16 of 30 Flora and Fauna of Wales-Volume One of the 'Bluebells and Canvas' Collection: Flora and Fauna of Wales, and the philosophical moments.
We will only ever send you valuable deals and offers. Read our Privacy Policy. Show Hide recently viewed. Bluebell Wood Canvas Print. Bluebell Dawn - 5 Canvas Print. Bluebell wood in Micheldever Canvas Print. Woodland Bluebells Canvas Print. Bluebell Sunrise Canvas Print. Bluebell Woods Canvas Print. Bluebell wood Canvas Print. Wooley Wood Bluebells Canvas Print. Bluebells at Hooke, Dorset Canvas Print.
Arlington Bluebell Woods Canvas Print. Afternoon delight Canvas Print. Winding Bluebell path Canvas Print. Bluebell Light Canvas Print. Or choose the day version of this walk in Scotland. Lochs and Bens cycling in Scotland. Or find one of the other Coast to Coast trip options by bicycle or on foot. A coastal walk on the Italian Riviera with a centre based stay in Monterosso. Choose from a selection of walks or just saunter around the beaches and clifftops. Discover Crete, the largest of the Greek Islands. Panoramas of the Swiss Alps 5 days.
Walk beneath the Eiger, Monch and Jungfrau for unrivalled panoramas of the Swiss Alps during a selection of daily hikes on this centre based, self guided walking tour. Or check out an 8-day version and all other trips in the Swiss Alps. Or find the complete offer of holidays in Scotland. Cycle through the heart of England in the Cotswolds. Discover quaint stone built villages, ride across rolling hills between village pubs and old coaching inns.
Or check out all active holidays in the Cotswolds. Or find the complete offer of Coast to Coast holidays. For the complete offer of cycling and walking holidays in Europe, use the Holiday Search Wizard , or if you like to speak to one of our travel experts for tailored advice, contact us by email or phone. But this is not the only reason why we are such a big fan of Portugal's Madeira island. The trip departs year round. Every month our resident guide, John Millen, brings you an anecdote, update, or tip on the gear you are likely to use on a walking or cycling holiday.
Always from his personal point of view. Thinking about getting new footwear this spring for your walking holidays? Time to check the soles for your shoes with John! Often people have just one pair of outdoor footwear and this may mean that they end up wearing a less appropriate shoe for their particular activity. Soles that are too heavy for faster low level walking can leave you with blisters, whereas soles that are too light for 'proper' mountain walking could leave you lame. The development of extremely lightweight running shoes and boots with light fabrics have changed the landscape in this area completely, giving you so much choice flexibility.
For a lot of walking holidays, we always advise on a degree of ankle support. Numerous people with a running background will probably have quite flexible ankles though, so could cope with less protective footwear. A good place then to look at are the Salomon Speed Cross range for example, or various trail running models from Merrell, Vaude etc. There are also shoes called 'approach shoes' in this category, which have more of a traditional walking-shoe-look about them.
Some of these come with Gore-Tex fabric, which helps on wet days, although some may prefer more quick draining, faster drying shoes. The type of material is important if you are going walking in warm or cold conditions, where ventilation rather than waterproofness may be a bigger concern.
A lot of the easier to moderate walking tours that we offer involve farm and gravel tracks, through fields, forests and over downs and through dales. Generally, lowland-walking does not include sustained steep trails or climbs, or a lot of rocky paths, so the appropriate soles for these shoes and boots should be quite bendy. This will give you a lot of spring on your fore step.
These types of hiking boots often wear comfortable straight out of the box. Inevitably there will be some road walking on our tours, so have as much cushioning as possible. The running-style footwear is very suited to this. When it comes to the more moderate to challenging walks, often in national parks going uphill and on steep slopes, soles for shoes or boots should be much more rigid, flexing slightly at the ball of the foot. Vibram soles are the most famous in this department, usually with one type of hard rubber used on soles with large rubber cleats for gripping mud and moor, and the welt well bonded with the fabric or leather.
There may be a cushioning element in the heel or even forefoot, but often if you want better cushioning, you may want to invest in a cushioned insole. Bear in mind though that this may reduce the clearance between the top of your toes and the roof of the shoe. This offers your foot, ankle and even calves more support. The sole of a hill-walking boot will often be much tougher and stronger than a standard rambling boot, as they are built to take on tougher terrain. At this point, insulation becomes more of an issue and so does having a rigid sole.
These types of soles have become a lot lighter over the years with new materials used. My advice would be to use boots like Scarpa Mantas and Scarp Charmoz on the Scottish and Alpine peaks and chunky Scarpa Vegas or Phantoms with integrated insulated gaiter for winter mountaineering and bigger Andean and Himalayan peaks. When you book a trip with us, you receive a unique discount code for shopping at Cotswold Outdoor with stores online and all over the UK.
This year you can be visiting Spain again from March onward, benefitting a long travel season in the southern European country. This opens up opportunities for all types of travellers. Will you be visiting Spain in March or later this year? Check out the below ideas that show the variety of options available for active holidays in the outdoors of Spain.
With an average of days of sunshine each year, the dramatic coastline where the Pyrenees tumble to the Mediterranean can be enjoyed almost all year. Hike the Vermillion Coast and expect stunning mountainscapes, sea views, bright skies and delicious seafood. Also, there is plenty of time for relaxation built in the itinerary, so that you can enjoy the off-season calm of the pretty fishing ports along the Vermillion Coast in months like March, April and May. Visit this part of Spain from March onward and find the hedgerows and paths lined with flower buds and migratory birds, while enjoying the pleasant temperatures.
With the snowy peaks of Sierra Nevada as a backdrop, go on an exhilarating walk in a remote part of Spain. Explore along terraced fields and irrigation channels that date back to the Moorish era, while staying in hidden white-washed villages. The majestic Sierra de Tramontana is a massif of limestone peaks tumbling to the turquoise waters of the Balearic Sea on the northwest part of Majorca.
Venture forth on a series of hikes through shady forests, olive groves and ancient farmsteads, visit tiny sun-drenched beaches and spend the night in a traditional monastery, listening to the sound of nightingales from your bedroom window. Hiking in Spain can be easily done year-round as long as you choose its exotic islands.
Explore for example the islands of Tenerife and La Gomera while visiting Spain in March or any other time in spring. Hike your way around the second smallest Canary Island, La Gomera. The Spanish side of the Pyrenees has a drier climate than the French side and is less visited.
It offers a magnificent array of rugged mountains, deep gorges, beech and pine forests, cultivated terraces, ancient stone bridges, unspoilt towns and villages with many historic buildings, linked through a network of waymarked trails and paths. This extensive account of his journey gives a great insight into the wonders you can expect on this approachable walking into the heart of Bavaria.
King Ludwig's Way walking holiday. I had arrived to the Beyrisher Hof hotel long after dark the night before, a delayed flight leading to a delayed start. Outside the glistening waters of the Starnberger See Lake Starnberg rippled behind the town to which the lake is named; I was eager to get going, to get out and start the km ribbon of culture and landscape that makes up the King Ludwig Way. At the second stop I hopped onto the docks and into a small village named Leoni and set about searching for the official start to the way.
I had to make sure I made the ferry at the end of the walk by 5 pm in order to reach my room for the night. Quiet winding roads soon lead uphill before detouring into a spectacular beech forest, here the trees grew far taller than I was used to in wind battered Scotland. The air was filled with a delightful smell of earthy undergrowth and rang with birdcall from the canopies above; stepping from the road into such a world of green seemed so sudden; it was almost as if I had entered Narnia. Two days after being removed from the throne Ludwig and his personal doctor were discovered washed ashore on the Starnberger See; a mysterious end to the romantic eccentric.
For me this cross marked more than the passing of a king, it was the official beginning to the way. Leaving the church for a wide track I continued through the woods toward Starnberg. Before long a series of tall wooden bridges spanning two canals lead my track back toward the centre of Starnberg, I had returned to the docks to which I had set forth earlier in the day.
Tall wooden beamed houses soon faded into fields chirping with crickets. I was aiming toward the gentle Maising gorge which ran along the path of what once had been a glacier into the distant woods. Passing a small white chapel of St. Mary I left sight of the town behind. Once again the crickets faded into birdsong as I crept into the tall beech woods. A small brook gurgled at my side as I meandered through the forest. Light dabbled upon the side of the path and often I would catch a glimpse of rainbow trout lazily drifting through the calm waters.
Passing below a tall road bridge the trail wound uphill, the stream now falling in trickling waterfalls from nearby Maising village. Maising town itself was a quiet and attractive collection of red roofed houses and barns, the bright tiles still crackled with the heat after the passing thunder storm. At the side of a small pub at the top of the road I set off into the open fields. Behind the golden swathes of wheat another tremendous boom-clap echoed across the plains, time to find shelter! Taking refuge inside the Maisinger Seehof Gastaette Inn I watched the rain pass by in a quick yet intense curtain, sipping a lunchtime weissbier wheat beer I waited for the sun to return.
As it passed to leave the ground smelling with the earth scent of petrichor I stopped to watch herons and waders dabble between reeds in a mirror calm lake to my side, above in the woods I caught to my delight a fleeting glimpse of a greater spotted woodpecker. Passing into the town of Aschering I stopped to admire the first of many churches to come.
A tall white and red testament to Bavarian architecture it was a beautiful sight before the dark clouds behind. Nearby a tall blue and white striped maypole towered over the houses, adorned with the traditional signs shaped to mimic the professions of the local residents; a fish, an anvil, a tractor, a plough, an axe all gave an insight into how the locals made their living.
As the tractor and plough on the maypole might have suggested I soon found myself wandering uphill through large maize fields and shortly into a dense pine wood. This time the coniferous forest laid a colourful array of various mushrooms to admire like jewels aside the trail. Before long a tall spire appeared beyond the trees, I was eagerly waiting to catch a glimpse of the famous Andechs monastery yet this was not it, the remains of a monastery were now the annex to Andechs prison … possibly the most scenic place to loose ones freedom I have ever seen.
Beyond the tall barbed fences lay open fields and distant townships which rolled into the afternoon haze. Passing the white walls of the Andechs Monastery I peered in to glimpse a small chapel, despite being built in only to be confiscated by the state in the monastery had retained much of is original grandeur, however the most impressive sight lay ahead. Beyond the gently snaking path, beyond the 14 small white shrines to represent the stations of the cross, beyond the fields and trees a tower stood.
The tall pointed spire of the Andechs church rose like a needle from the top of a steep hill, it dominated the skyline all around it to display its colourful salmon pink walls and copper bulbous top. Following cobbled roads and a bustling crowd of others who had gathered to admire the spectacular church I climbed uphill to the base of the spire.
The tall walls dwarfed the other buildings of the small township, inns and cafes lined the streets to fill the air with a delicious scent of warm baked bread. Munching on a pretzel lunch I passed the church under flocks of crows which soared above, somewhere in the valley ahead lay Herrsching and my ferry.
Descending into a steep sided gorge I followed the last boundary of the church walls, back in woodland I enjoyed the shelter of the thick beech canopy as the heavens opened once more. Intense rain clattered through the branches to scatter across the track ahead, I made a dash toward town. With just 10 minutes to spare before the ferry arrived at the dock I arrived at the shore.
The bustling town of Herrsching was the largest I had passed since Starnberg. Lines of cafes and inns stretched from the pier up the main high street, the occasional small church seemed lost amongst the bustle of life rumbling up and down the narrow roads. The rain had passed leaving colourful reflections in puddles to enjoy as I waited to board. Sat inside next to a warm heater and holding a cool Weissbier I enjoyed watching thick curtains of rain cast across the lake at a comfortable distance, the smooth water seeming to swallow the dark clouds into a soft hue.
In the distance I watched as the tall bulbed church tower amidst the town of Diessen drew closer. Passing a scenic dock covered in fishing nets and cork floats I wound into Diessen in search of the Seefelder Hof Hotel. Hidden between the colourful array of narrow streets the large traditional hotel came into view. Greeted with the friendliest of welcomes I was delighted to be ushered into a cosy room and to be announced that they served the best food in town. With a dinner of pork medallions cooked to absolute perfection on a bed of local wild mushrooms and spatzle a traditional pasta the owner was right; without a doubt the best meal I have had in a long time.
I enjoyed the night in the fine company of a group of Australians; fellow hikers who would follow the same route as I for the upcoming days. Watching the sun set into an orange haze over the silhouette of the church I set in to bed with the promise of good weather and an eagerness to continue. An early yet relaxed start saw the day begin with another waddle, so far each day the spread of meats, cheeses and pastries had grown increasingly extravagant; needless to say I had devoured far more calories than I would surely burn.
I set off with the hope to enjoy a gentle walk toward the next townships with the hope of stopping to admire the many churches along the way. The narrow streets wound uphill toward a church which stood between colourful houses. Adorned with crosses or ornately carved balconies many of the houses sported spectacularly ornate frescoes upon the walls painted with a little extra gold in the morning sun. The Marienmuenster Church was the first church of the day.
Beneath its towering walls and tall steeple was a small wooden door; to my delight with a gentle push and loud creak it swung open. I stepped inside to the echo of my own footprints across the stone walls. An incredible fresco was adorned across the roof yet somehow seemed lost in the veritable feast for the eyes that was the rest of the decoration. Golden pillars, vines and ornate carvings covered every shelf, wall and windowsill. Pinks and reds, golds and yellow; every surface held something to look at be it an angel, a cross or a gigantic baroque alter.
To describe it as a jewel would be understating the colours and spectacle. I had intended to visit but for a few minutes but to take in every angle took well over half an hour; by the time I stepped back outside I had to squint to adjust back to the dazzling sun. Beyond more farm houses and barns I wandered into a new stretch of thick beech forest. I was now following a children's nature trail, instead of blue K signs I was guided by yellow footprints sprayed on the trees and track.
A chance sighting with a deer, a fleeting glance of a jay and a long stare at a luminously orange slug kept the natural theme alive as I went. Once in a while a small shrine would appear lurking between the branches, each would have an ornately carved cross or virgin Mary within and often held a still flickering candle devotedly lit.
With open doors and wooden pews I took their advantage to stop and enjoy a quick rest between tramping along the wide forest track. It was almost a surprise as I emerged so quickly from wood back into field, the transition so swift it enhanced the views. Open prairies led ahead with a ribbon of tarmac road to follow, lonely barns stood between occasional tall oak trees between the wheat.
Occasionally I would pass fields of curious cattle, their bells chiming musically as they flocked to have a look at their strange new visitor. Their bells were soon lost to the rustle of leaves in the wind as I returned to the woods. Back on wide forestry trails I descended to discover a deep gully and a ford to cross a small stream. The water was a refreshing spot to enjoy a quick snack and listen to nearby wrens warbling from the banks. Ahead I was in search of the town of Wessobrun. Leaving the forest to hop around a large black snake which was baking in the hot morning breeze I set off perhaps a little more cautiously toward the distant red roofs of town.
A tall church steeple promised the chance to explore another ornately decorated wonder. As I arrived at the monastic buildings I was set to enter and explore; suddenly out of nowhere an elderly man approached. The room was small with a narrow dusty staircase leading into the floors above. The silence seemed to be dampened with each step reverberating into the wooden beams and cobwebs above, I climbed and ducked through a hatch into the next room.
Here a large glass box stood in the centre of the wooden floor, inside was an beautifully engineered clock; the glass allowed the chance to gaze upon all its inner workings with delightful ease. The man explained how he had to check the timings were right every day, he expressed the importance that the bells rung exactly at the hour. Hanging above our heads were a series of tremendous weights which swung gently as he wound them high into the rafters, somewhere above the wires led to the bells. As he tightened some cogs and wound some dials the watchmaker glanced at the time; we have a few minutes, he exclaimed with a wry smile, come on, lets go up to the bells..
I followed through increasingly narrow staircases to reach the very top of the tower. Four heavy brass bells hung in a row silently awaiting the heavy blow of the hammer in the imminent minute. The watchmaker put his fingers in his ears…. A clunk from below, a whir of cogs and a whizz of wires; the hammer struck! A deafening ring of the four bells exploded from the strike, the room seemed to reverberate, the dust shook on the stone windowsills and a flurry of startled pigeons burst from the rafters.
In 10 short seconds the deafening sound rang out. Beaming from ear to ear both of which were now ringing I retraced back down the ladders and stairs to emerge into the warm sun once again, as quickly as he arrived the watchmaker shook my hand, nodded and left. Left with the excitement of the bells I wandered inside to explore the impressive rococo decorations of the main monastery. Here there was no dust nor cobwebs but an extravagant array of gold leaf, marbled paintings and incredible frescoes on the walls, the display was too much to take in in a single glance and enticed the urge to linger.
With a sweet pastry in hand from the local gasthof I headed toward a gorge, following a trail marked with a large cow painted like the German flag I descended into another fine woodland. Before long I was back on the open country roads and heading fast toward the small farming hamlet Metzgengasse. Ahead on the trail I could see the Australians also walking the trail. Passing tall maize fields we walked together into the township, ahead another tall bulbous spire of the St. Leonhard church promised the chance to admire more rococo decorations. In similar fashion to the Wessobrun monastery the interior was a feast for the eyes, detailed paintings, gold leaf and marbled walls were overlooked with a spectacular ceiling depicting another heavenly scene.
I chose to linger to enjoy the church a little longer and left the Australians to push on ahead. Alone again on the quiet country roads I set my sights on the distant rise of the Hohenpeissenberg Hill - the final push for the day before descending into Rigialm for dinner.
The road soon jointed onto a seemingly endless straight forest trail, to each side tall pines and occasional beech trees rung with crickets and evening bird song. Over the tops of the trees the sight of the church atop the hill and the impending rumble of thunder over haze hidden alps helped to spur me onward. At the edge of the forest I emerged onto a busy road at the base of the Hohenpeissenberg Hill, a short yet steep m climb to reach the summit loomed ahead, a tiring stretch after a lengthy hike.
In the beautiful forest I enjoyed the occasional shrine erected to provide an excellent excuse to rest against the incline, the curses from those beside were soon muted with the promise of a cafe at the summit. At the summit the Gasthof Bayerischer Rigi provided shelter from a torrential thunderstorm downpour; with a well-deserved coffee we dried out and enjoyed discussing the events of our day. As the storm abated I set out to explore the interior of the hilltop church which was built in Yet more beautiful carvings, paintings and gold greeted my arrival, a small painting near the alter purportedly had miracle healing powers; I joked with the Australians that they should get their blisters healed.
The promise of a spectacular view across to the alps was dampened in the clouds, however below the hillside the town of Hohenpeibenberg greeted our arrival and the promise to rest for the days ahead.
Despite the rain the spectacle of wispy cloud hovering atop the pine woods below was a fine view indeed; in all the greenery it was strange to think that at over m I was standing in the region of the highest hills of Scotland. Leaving the hill behind we descended together through thick woodland. The path zigzagged upon itself in steep switchbacks to arrive into fields and then town. A final few kilometres along the road soon brought us to the Rigi Alm hotel. A quick change of clothes later and we were whisked back up to the Gasthof Bayerischer Rigi on the top of the hill, it was the only place open on a Tuesday for dinner.
A tremendous plate of cheesy spatzl, beef and mushrooms ensured any energy spent through the day was soon recouped, after coffees and a weissbier we returned back to the hotel to get ready for the morning. The rain had passed through the night to leave a thick fog and cold morning dew on the grass outside. As I devoured another tremendous plate of salami, cheese and pates on freshly baked bread I watched a hummingbird moth dart across the flows beside the dining room window; its colour seemed exaggerated in the dull grey mist.
Although the mist shrouded any hope of a view it did seem to bring out the colours in the bright mosses and mushrooms along the woodland floor. Soon giving in to a steep slow we switch backed to and fro toward the Ammer river which could be heard rumbling somewhere below behind a wall of trees.
Through muddy trails and thick brash we found our way onto a revealingly wide forestry track; to our side the milky blue water of the river gurgled down the valley. My attention still focused on looking for mushrooms quickly became enthralled in a whole different natural wonder. The base of each tree had not been cut by saw but by tooth. It was the hallmarks of the Eurasian Beaver!
With excitement and delight we spent a keen half hour sneaking around the flooded reeds and trees in search of a sighting; alas they proved characteristically illusive. The bonus of seeing a native black squirrel however made the explore worthwhile. Delighted to have seen my first ever signs of beaver activity I took extra spring in each step as I walked toward the steepening sides of the gorge upstream. We soon arrived at a scenic roofed bridge which spanned the Ammer.
Investigating an intriguing natural limestone terrace which was covered in thick moss and colourful fallen leaved I enjoyed the chance to break from the steep steps. The path had climbed short but fast high into the woods. A little way ahead the steps gave way to iron boardwalks which clung to steep sided slopes.