I'm Off On The Scottish Watershed Walk

Beinn Leoid on the Watershed in the Northwest Highlands

Within twenty-four hours I plan to be camping on Peel Fell on the Border between Scotland and England ready to start my traverse of the Scottish Watershed. I am very pleased that Peter Wright, whose book Ribbon of Wildness inspired this walk, is joining me on Peel Fell. Ahead will be 1200 kilometres of mostly wild and mountainous walking. I'll be posting here and on my Facebook, Google+ and Twitter pages when there's time and a connection and also writing pieces for The Great Outdoors magazine. I hope you find my journey interesting. I'm certainly excited at the prospect.

I wrote more about the Watershed back in December in this post.

The Great Outdoors June Issue: Munros, Scottish Watershed, Tarps & Shelters

Liathach in Torridon, with its two Munros prominent

The June issue of The Great Outdoors is just out and has a Scottish theme. My main feature is an account of my summer long round of the Munros and Tops. (The uncredited photos with the feature are all mine but weren't taken on that walk but on later trips). Writing about this walk again was enjoyable, especially as I'm about to set off on another challenging high level Scottish walk, the Watershed. I also have two pieces on this in the June issue. My backpacking column covers the planning, which is still not quite complete! Some will now have to be done during the walk. The picture accompanying the column shows me on Ben Avon, which, for anyone curious, is nowhere hear the Watershed! There's also a piece about the main items of gear I'll be taking. One bit appears twice as it's also included in my gear feature on tarps and shelters. Unsurprisingly the one I'm taking on the Watershed is my Best Buy. I've also reviewed Brasher's new Superlite Active GTX boots and Lowe Alpine's Dryflo Zipped Top, the first item I've tried from the relaunched clothing range. And in the Hill Skills pages I describe how to repair damaged gear - something I hope not to have to practise this summer.

Elsewhere in the gear pages Daniel Neilson reviews the curious Vibram Five Fingers KSO TrekSport footwear and nine pairs of more conventional lightweight trail shoes whilst Cameron McNeish considers seven lightweight waterproof jackets. James Reader looks at some ridiculously ultralight gear including a 560 gram tent, 150 gram trail shoes, 45 gram windproof jacket and 127 gram waterproof jacket. There's also a brief mention of PHD's new Wafer range of ultralight down clothing. I have a Wafer Jacket, which weighs 190 grams, and will be taking it on the Watershed Walk.

Returning to the Scottish theme, photographer Dougie Cunningham visits St Kilda and bivvy expert Ronald Turnbull spends a night out on the Berwickshire coast. Far from Scotland Mark Waring backpacks the 100 kilometre Donjek Route in Klueane National Park in Canada's Yukon Territory. It's an interesting tale and brought back memories of my long hike through the Yukon, though I didn't visit Kluane. This summer Mark is setting out to walk along the mountains of Scandinavia. Having done that walk myself I'll be interested to read about his adventure. Mark has a website on this walk.

Other features in this issue include Daniel Neilson trying adventure racing on the Sussex Downs; Roly Smith reporting on the inaugural Spirit of Kinder event, which celebrated the Kinder Mass Trespass and looked at current access issues; and Paul Beasley describing forgotten  Everest 1953 climber George Lowe on this the sixtieth anniversary of the first ascent, an article illustrated with Lowe's photographs. There's also Jim Perrin praising John Pepper's Cockley Beck: A Celebration of Lakeland in Winter; Roger Smith worrying about landslips; Margaux Smale's advice on dealing with midges and ticks; and Heather Morning on how to avoid reversed polarity (there's a Dr Who joke in there somewhere).

Late May Snow in the Cairngorms

Fresh Snow in the Cairngorms, May 24, 1.35 p.m.

The last few days have been cold and cloudy with strong winds and showers of sleet and hail. The hills have been hidden, with just the occasional glimpse of snowy slopes below the ragged edge of the clouds. Today the clouds have lifted to reveal the Cairngorms clad in fresh snow. The sun is shining and down here in the strath the air is warm. Bees hum on the flowering heathers and butterflies drift through the grasses. The first leaves are appearing on the birches and rowans. But up there in the hills it's still winter.

Cairn Gorm and the Northern Corries, May 24, 1.35 p.m.

A Few Days In The Lake District

Terry Abraham watching the sunset from Bleaberry Fell

A magnificent sunset high in the fells at a wild camp. Woken early in the morning by throbbing disco music. Rather different ways to start and finish a three night camping trip in the Lake District. I was there for the premiere of Terry Abraham's Cairngorms In Winter film at the Keswick Mountain Festival but before the showing and the Keswick crowds I'd joined Terry and one of the films Kickstarter supporters Mark (whose account of the trip can be found on his blog here) for a peaceful camp in the hills, my first in the Lakes for twenty or so years. Climbing out of the lovely, wooded, steep ravine of Cat Gill I'd found Terry and Mark camped not far below the summit of Bleaberry Fell. The slope was broken here by little terraces on which the tents were pitched, tiered above each other. Clouds sped across the sky on a gusty east wind but the tops were clear and glowing in the low sun. Dusk was gorgeous with a deep red sky. Just as the sun was dropping out of sight a squall of heavy rain and a fierce wind swept in. We watched the last colour fade from the sky from the shelter of the tents. 

Rainbow after squall at the camp on Bleaberry Fell

A quiet cloudy dawn made for a pleasant start to the next day. We wandered back down Cat Gill and along the path beside placid Derwent Water to busy Keswick where we camped on the festival site as far from a noisy generator as we could manage. That evening as we returned from refreshments in the town (food as well as drink!) rain started to fall. Dawn came and it was still falling, steadily and heavily, straight down from a sheet metal unbroken sky. The festival field was beginning to turn into a quagmire. By lunchtime we were beginning to wonder if the tents might float away. Streams were pouring down the streets of Keswick. The entrance to the festival field was a morass of thick, sticky mud. Having foolishly not bothered with overtrousers (well, I was in town!) my thin trousers were soon sodden and my legs cold. Terry's almost new waterproof jacket slowly leaked. I'd forgotten Lake District rain. Only Mark, sensibly attired in over trousers and properly waterproof jacket, was dry. Thankfully in the early afternoon the rain slowly drizzled to a stop, after fifteen hours without a break. The tents were safe. We could dry out.

Blencathra from Bleaberry Fell

Wandering round the festival and the town I met other outdoor friends, many of whom I only usually see at communal events like this. It’s one of the joys of such get togethers. I won’t name everyone I met – that way I can’t offend anyone I forget! Many of them came along to the film premiere, which was held upstairs in George Fishers outdoor shop, which was originally the photographic shop of the Abraham brothers, pioneers of climbing photography back in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It seemed appropriate that Terry Abraham’s first film should be shown here, though sharing the name is no more than a happy coincidence.

Mark looking down Cat Gill

After the film there was a question and answer session with me and Terry, followed by several hours of more informal discussion in various pubs. Eventually I returned to the festival field and slurped stickily through the mud to my still damp tent. I was astonished the next morning to discover that Terry had somehow managed to cross the field in white trainers and clean jeans without getting a speck of mud on them. In the dark. Without a torch. I had mud splashes up to my knees from walking over it in daylight. I reckon Terry must know the secret of levitation. There is no other explanation.

The welcome night’s sleep was abruptly shattered at 7pm by the pounding bass of speaker-distorting music. This was for the send-off of four hundred and fifty entrants in a triathlon race. As a fellow camper, who shall be nameless, said, with feeling, “why do triathletes need ‘expletive deleted’ disco music to get them going?” Staggering out of the tent clutching a mug of hastily made coffee I watched, bleary-eyed, as an endless procession of wetsuit clad bodies plunged into Derwent Water. Not my idea of a good start to the day. My mind went back to the camp on Bleaberry Fell. That was the civilised way to begin a new day.

 

Morning at the camp on Bleaberry Fell

More Reviews: Cairngorms In Winter

Terry Abraham at work on a stormy day

Several more reviews of the Cairngorms In Winter film have appeared over the last day. I'm delighted that so many people think the film worth reviewing and even more delighted at the praise it is receiving. Thanks everybody.

Here's what people are saying:

SmirnieOutdoors

'Terry has vividly captured the grandeur and beauty of this rugged upland wilderness'

'Chris' easy, accessible and down to earth style left me feeling that I was on the journey with him'

'96 minutes of breathtaking scenes ......... I didn't want the film to end.'

blogpackinglight

'this is the best outdoor film I’ve seen in a long while, possibly ever'

'Terry has captured the full drama and majesty of the Cairngorms from the glens to the mountain tops. The time lapse photography is jaw dropping at times.'

flyingdogphotography

'This is a cracking film'

'Terry's filming is stunning'

Cairngorms In Winter - Another Review

Cairn Toul at Dusk

I'm delighted to say that the Cairngorms In Winter film has received another excellent review, this time from Andy Howell on his Must Be This Way blog.

It's a detailed review. Here are some snippets:

'This may well be the best 90 minutes that I’ve spent in years!'

'I find Chris’ pieces to camera to be quietly inspiring.'

'a montage of stunning mountain shots which are truly breathtaking'

'Terry Abraham’s photography though out is remarkable'

'a magical piece of work'

The Cairngorms In Winter Released Into The Wild - & A First Review

Terry Abraham on Mullach Clach a'Bhlair at dusk

Terry Abraham's Cairngorms In Winter film has now been released to those who backed it on Kickstarter. The response has been excellent and gratifying, making us feel all the hard work was well worthwhile. Thanks everybody!

The first review copies have gone out too and the first review has appeared on My Outdoors.co.uk. I'm delighted to say that the reviewer is impressed with the film. I'm particularly pleased with this observation: 'It goes against the grain of reflecting man's use of the natural environment for his kicks and instead returns the majesty and grandeur of wilderness to centre stage, glorying not in what you can take out but in what you can take in.' 

The film will have its first public showing in Keswick on May 18 at Fishers. This is already sold out but two months later the film will on the big screen at the Rheged Centre from July 22nd to July 27th. I'll be at the showing on the 26th and Terry will be there on the 27th.

A heavily laden Terry Abraham on the Moine Mhor

Makalu - Trekking In Nepal

Makalu

Just spent a few hours checking the proofs for a chapter on the trek to Makalu Base Camp that I've contributed to a forthcoming book, Trekking In Nepal. This is being edited by Kev Reynolds and will be published by Cicerone Press in September.

Reading my text and looking at my photographs (there are nine in the book) reminded me of what a wonderful trek this was, going from dense rainforest to the wild and remote Barun Valley. Of the three treks I've done in Nepal this is my favourite, with some of the most spectacular landscapes I've seen anywhere. You can see more photos from the Makalu trek in this blog post from a couple of years ago.

Guided Walks: Tomintoul & Glenlivet Walking/Cycling Festival 2013

Braeriach

Later in the summer (August 31/September 1) I'll be leading walks up Braeriach and Sgor Gaoith in the Cairngorms for the 2013 Tomintoul & Glenlivet Walking/Cycling Festival. Details here.

Backpacking & Wilderness

Pasayten Wilderness in the North Cascades

With the publication of Scottish Natural Heritage's Wild Land Map the question of what constitutes wild land or wilderness has come to the fore again. I understand that for the purpose of deciding which areas are worthy of conservation and protection lines on maps are needed but overall I think such designations are too limiting. Wilderness is more than just place. With this in mind here's another piece from the archives, written several years ago for TGO magazine, in which I look at the nature of wilderness.

Backpacking and wilderness go together. Backpacking is all about venturing deep into wilderness and experiencing nature at its most pristine and perfect. But what exactly is wilderness and how do you know when you are there? The answers may seem obvious but legislators and conservationists who have tried to define wilderness have found this surprisingly hard. Generally the conclusion is that wilderness is land without human habitations and little sign of human activity. In the USA there are designated wilderness areas, deemed to fit the definition of the Wilderness Act: “An area where the earth and its community of life are untrammelled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain”. As there is little land “untrammelled by man” (and what a lovely word untrammelled is) in the UK we prefer to talk about wild land rather than wilderness though the distinction is unclear. According to the John Muir Trust wild land is “Uninhabited land containing minimal evidence of human activity” while the National Trust for Scotland is rather more expansive, saying "Wild Land in Scotland is relatively remote and inaccessible, not noticeably affected by contemporary human activity, and offers high-quality opportunities to escape from the pressures of everyday living and to find physical and spiritual refreshment".

Designated wilderness sign in the North Cascades

There is a problem with these definitions. They leave out large areas of the UK beloved by backpackers, including much of the Lake District, Snowdonia, Peak District and Yorkshire Dales, not to mention many coastal areas. Popular long distance paths like the Pennine Way, West Highland Way, Offa’s Dyke and Cleveland Way don’t run through much wild land by these criteria either. Yet surely they do. The land in these national parks and along these trails doesn’t feel tame, which it must be if not wild. But feelings don’t come into official designations. Camp high on Cross Fell on the Pennine Way on a night of storm and wind, with the clouds racing across the moon and heavy showers hammering on the tent, as I have, and tell me this is not a wild place.

Many years ago I came up with my own explanation of wilderness: “If there is enough land to walk into, enough room to set up a camp and then walk on with that freedom that comes when you escape the constraints of modern living, then it is wilderness, in spirit if not by definition”. For backpackers I think this still holds. Trying to classify wilderness precisely doesn’t work, as it shouldn’t. The wild cannot be contained, defined and corralled into a neat box. If it could it wouldn’t be wild. As well as having a physical reality wilderness is also an idea, a feeling, a set of concepts that come together to shout “this is wild”. This idea is especially important in the UK and Western Europe where we do not have the huge areas of pristine land found in the Americas. Yet we do have many pockets of wildness that fit my description, places where you can feel you are far from civilisation even if it lies only a few miles away.

Camped deep in a wood with the only sounds those of wild life and the wind in the trees and you are in the wilds despite the nearby roads and villages. Climb into the Lakeland fells to camp by a high tarn and you are in a wild place though you could be back down in the pub in a few hours. The distance doesn’t matter; it’s the situation that says where you are. Strolling country lanes to camp on a crowded roadside campsite only touches the edge of the wild. Walk just a few miles on and camp in solitude beside a hill stream and you are part of it. In distance and time you are almost in the same place. In feeling and experience you are in a different world. I realised this when I camped in the Grand Canyon on the Arizona Trail. I was crossing the Canyon on the popular trails, which are spectacular but crowded and with strict regulations about where you can camp. I had planned on camping at the Bright Angel Campground at the bottom of the Canyon, a lovely but organised, safe, and tame campground with picnic tables, neatly laid out tent sites, toilets and fees. However the site was full so I followed a ranger’s suggestion and walked a few miles away from the campground along the Clear Creek Trail to an area where I could camp wild. Leaving the somewhat tempting lights of the campground and nearby Phantom Ranch with its bar and restaurant I followed the narrow winding trail below great cliffs as darkness fell. The instant the lights of Phantom Ranch vanished I felt back in wild country. Camp was on a flat stony platform just off the trail, where I simply threw down my foam pad and sleeping bag. The walls of the canyon rose above me, a hard blackness darker than the soft black of the sky, in which a myriad stars sparkled. There no lights, no sounds, no sign of people. Phantom Ranch and Bright Angel Campground were just a few hours away but no longer existed in my mind. For this night the Grand Canyon felt it belonged to me. At dawn I woke to the sun slowly lighting the colourful cliffs as the Canyon came back to life. I lay and watched the light and the glory return and felt incredibly grateful to be there rather than at Phantom Ranch. It was the finest camp site of the whole walk. Similar feelings of excitement, wonder and wildness can be found all over Britain by walking that little bit further away from bright lights and warm indoor cosiness.

Wilderness? Camp near home after a heavy snowfall

Once wilderness is seen as a feeling and a concept, an ideal perhaps, then various factors can change how wild a place seems. The weather and the time of year are significant here. A storm adds wildness to any place, as I found on Cross Fell, while winter changes the nature of the land. Under snow tame domesticated land can become like the Arctic. Last February, after exceptionally heavy snow, I set out from my front door and camped not far away on a rounded undistinguished hill, exploited for grouse shooting with heather burning and shooting butts. I could almost see my house from the summit. But all around spread a white wilderness, almost every sign of humanity hidden by the snow. It looked wild, it felt wild, it was wild. There are many such places that are transformed by storm or winter into wilder places that echo with what they once were. And many more that feel wild under blue skies and warm sun. Seeking them out is a large part of the joy of backpacking.

Spring At Last? Big Thaw In The Cairngorms

The Cairngorms, May 6, 2pm.

Yesterday the temperatures finally began to rise, well into double figures Celsius by noon. I didn't light the stove for the first time in many weeks. Outside the air felt warm, the strong south-west wind not chilling the skin or cutting through clothing. Last night the temperature barely fell below +10C. Today the clouds lifted a little to reveal hills stripped of much of the snow. In fact it's going so fast you can almost see it shrinking. The air feels warm and heavy with moisture. Spring, it seems, is finally here.

Despite the warnth activity is as intense as ever on the bird feeders. The last few weeks have seen a change however. The various tits - great, blue and coal - are only occasional visitors now. Instead there are masses of chaffinches and siskins. The latter rarely appeared during the winter. Now there are regularly half a dozen and more. Only the red squirrels, great spotted woodpeckers and dunnocks are present in the same numbers. The only reason I can think for the change in the bird species is the availability of natural food. During the winter there would still have been seeds from the last summer and autumn but few insects for the tits. Now those seeds will be running out and this years are yet to appear so the bird feeders are more attractive to seed-eating birds. There are insects about though and so food for the tits. Today I saw the first big bumblebees on the flowering heathers. There's not yet the summer insect hum in the air but there are hints of it.

Siskin

To see more of the wildlife in my garden have a look at Terry Abraham's latest blog post about the trip he made last week for the final audio recordings for the Cairngorms In Winter film. Whilst here he couldn't resist filming the squirrels and birds and he's included a short video in his post.

Thoughts On Long Distance Backpacking

I'm thinking about long distance backpacking even more than usual at present as I'm deeply involved in planning for my forthcoming Scottish Watershed walk and have the book on my Pacific Crest Trail walk that I'll be writing next autumn in the back of my mind. A few years ago, reflecting on a recent TGO Challenge crossing, I wrote a piece for The Great Outdoors about the reasons why long distance backpacking is so satisfying. Here it is again:

 

What is it about walking for day after day carrying all you need on your back that is so fulfilling? Day walking is easier, staying in roofed accommodation is more comfortable. But neither has the same intensity or produces the same feeling of contentment as long distance walking and camping. The reasons, I think, are complex and many. They are to do with the nature of journeys, the significance of self-sufficiency and the importance of closeness to nature.

Backpacking is about travelling, about moving on from place to place, with the only limitation being how far you can walk each day. This can be done as a random venture, setting out each day with no destination in mind, just following the whims of the hour, and with no overall aim for the walk. Such relaxed unpressured backpacking sounds appealing but in reality I’ve found it strangely unsatisfying on the couple of occasions I’ve tried this approach. Whether on an overnight or a multi-month hike I like an ultimate point to aim for via a series of intermediate destinations even though I know that what is most important is what happens between those points not in reaching them. Having an objective gives a purpose to a walk, a structure around which to plan and an incentive to keep moving. A walk like this becomes a journey, an odyssey, an exploration. The goal gives the walk shape and meaning. It becomes a challenge too, something that requires physical and mental effort. And on long walks I find that the two go together and that increased physical fitness and increased mental sharpness add to my appreciation of and involvement with nature and the landscape.

A backpacking journey is a progression, a slow accumulation of distance, a gradual movement towards the final destination and away from the beginning. Every journey grows, matures and then declines. At the start there is anticipation, excitement, even trepidation as I look ahead to the adventure to come and wonder what it will bring in the way of joy and difficulty. Once the journey is well underway and the little niggles of the first days, the concerns over equipment, camp sites, water sources and route finding, have faded away its nature changes. The experience becomes deeper and more intense and I can concentrate on the land and the walking and camping. On multi-week hikes it becomes my way of life. This is what I do, this is what I am. Then as the end approaches the journey starts to wind down and the mind leaps beyond the world of the walk to the one outside that I am about to rejoin. Life after the walk suddenly emerges and becomes a reality whilst the walk itself starts to fade as I complete the last miles. 

A journey on foot is the best and arguably only way to journey through a landscape and really see it, really take in the details, the subtle changes, the way the land works. Walking speed is just right for this. The faster the travel the less the engagement with the land, culminating in the supersonic speed of jet aircraft, which is fine for whisking you from continent to continent but useless for experiencing anything at all about those continents. Mechanized transport is about getting to places as fast as possible not about the journey itself. Backpacking, slow and inefficient at getting anywhere, is about the process not the product, about enjoying nature and land, about relishing the physical effort of walking and the skills of navigation, camping and coping with the terrain and the weather. The backpacker has freedom and depends on skills and knowledge, the mechanized traveller is bound by timetables and dependent on the abilities and competence of others. There is no sense of personal involvement or adventure let alone any connection with nature. Even when the landscape can be viewed, from a train or car window say, it’s no more than a scenic backdrop rushing past, pretty perhaps but no more than that. You can’t touch it, smell it, feel it change under your feet, experience the wetness of the rivers, the roughness of the rocks, the warmth of the sun, the rush of the wind down the glen or hear the wild sounds of nature – a stag’s bellow, a diver’s weird shriek, a barn owl’s chilling scream, the softer tunes of song birds. A landscape is far more than a picture but to realise this you have to become part of it, slowly, and on foot.

Backpacking is the finest way to lose yourself in a landscape. By spending days or weeks moving through the land and sleeping there at night you become attuned to its characteristics (that soft down slope wind that arises after dusk, the bright green attractive looking ground that signifies a deep bog), its smells, its plants, its wildlife, its feel. And as you move through the landscape you can watch it change, watch mountains and rivers grow and diminish, watch forests deepen in the valleys and thin and dwindle as you climb, watch the shape of the land gently alter as rocky peaks give way to rounded hills and the latter in turn to low moorland or forest. A picture can be built up of the way the land is formed and how it changes. TGO Challengers know this, beginning on the wild, indented western coastline where rocky pointed mountains rise steeply from the sea with narrow glens and fast short rivers winding through them, then walking out of this tightly packed landscape into a more expansive one of massive, steep-sided, flat-topped hills, broader, gentler glens and bigger, longer rivers. Finally this central and eastern Highland landscape is left for a slow descent from the last low moorland hills into flat forests and farmland and the towns and cities of the east coast. The various landscapes merge and intertwine with each other, details fading in and out from one to the other. There are no straight lines delineating the end of one landscape and the start of the next. The wild is not neat and tidy. Yet at the same time there is a clear progression from the wild west to the tamed east.

In my opinion the best backpacking routes are natural ones that fit in with these changes in the landscape. By this I mean ones whose start and finish points are determined by nature not by humanity. The TGO Challenge is a good example. Coast to coast is a natural route to take, with clear, indeed absolute, end points. Walking the length of a mountain range, as I did in the Canadian Rockies, is satisfying in the same way. I finished that walk looking down on rolling hills as the big mountains I’d been following for 1600 miles faded away.  Ending the walk at the end of the mountains felt appropriate, a suitable way of completing a long journey. That’s how a backpacking journey should end, with a satisfying sense of completion.

The Cairngorms In Winter: Recording the Final Words

The Cairngorms from Aviemore, May 4, 2013

Fresh snow decorated the high tops of the Cairngorms, making them shine in the hazy sunshine. I was with Terry Abraham in Aviemore and we were looking at the mountains from the railway station bridge. Even down here in the town the air was chilly. Winter in the Cairngorms is not yet over. The Cairngorms In Winter film I’ve been making with Terry Abraham is finished though, bar the last tweaks and adding the last words from me, which we’d recorded the previous day.

The actual filming was finished over two weeks ago and Terry had spent the intervening time selecting from his work and putting the film together. Now with that done it just remained for me to record some words to go with some of the visuals, words covering everything from the formation of the Cairngorms to winter camping. We recorded these in the comfort of the living room with a DVD of the film playing on the TV so I could see what would be on the screen with my words. Outside the rain teemed down. The mountains were hidden in thick grey clouds. Occasionally bits of snow of snow were visible on the mountainsides as the ragged edges of the clouds lifted slightly. Up there on the tops it would be a white-out. It was a good day to be indoors. It was hard work though. We recorded six separate segments which meant working out what I would say, refining it, recording it and then recording it again and sometimes a third time as this was Terry’s last visit. Today’s work had to be right.

This was also the first time I’d seen the whole film from start to finish. Terry had sent me clips and sequences to view and comment on, not all of which made it to the final cut, but I hadn’t grasped just how these would fit together to make a film that flows and builds beautifully. Terry has done a great job. I just hope my words fit well enough.

I left Terry on the station waiting for his train south. My part in making the film was over.

In just over two weeks I’ll be in Keswick for the premiere (already sold out) and then on July 26^th I’ll be at the Rheged Centre, where the film will be shown all week.