Have you seen those old VW camper vans? You know, the 1967 fume-pumping, ear-rattling, moss-gathering things that top out at 50mph? With the greatest respect to any owners reading this, why would you buy one when there are more efficient and comfortable modern camper vans available? I suspect it’s a nostalgic hankering for a simpler life on the road, perhaps even a refusal to conform to modernity. VW camper van owners must see themselves as a bastion of motoring tradition.

And so it is with black-and-white photographers. Modern cameras and software enable us to do almost anything with our photography, but some prefer to strip their images right back to basics. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Now, before we go any further, I can drive a VW camper van, but I couldn’t repair one. In the same way, I can have a stab at a decent black-and-white image. But the art – and it is an art – of finely optimising monochromatic images in either the traditional or digital darkroom is not my thing. (It’s a patience issue – as in, I haven’t got any.) So I’m going to keep things simple.

Clean shapes and shadows

There are some images of nature that need colour; they cry out to have their colour celebrated. Poppy fields, sunsets, brightly marked birds or insects – all of these subjects rely on colour. It’s what they’re about, and removing it would clearly detract from the image created. Other subjects are all about mood, drama, texture or graphic simplicity, and these are the ingredients for the black-and-white treatment. It’s often a case of discerning what doesn’t work in black and white, rather than what does.

I look for clean shapes, straight lines, contrasting textures and shadowy curves – subjects that not only don’t need colour but actually benefit from leaving it out. These are subjects that rely on form to bring them to life; they need to be monochromatic in the same way that a rose needs to be a super-saturated red or pink.

The great thing with modern technology is the myriad options available at our fingertips. So for the modern black-and-white photographer, there’s no need for a specialist camera or a trawl around the darkest corners of the internet for black-and-white film. Anyone can create effective images in post-processing. OK, it’s a bit like the 1967 camper van owner having air-conditioning fitted to his vehicle, but I prefer to be outdoors rather than sitting behind a computer.

The image above was taken in the depth of winter when it was almost completely dark. Only the black lines of these Caledonian pines in the Scottish Highlands punctured the stark white of the snow. The low light resulted in a heavy blue cast falling across the frame. But although I quite liked it, I wanted the image to be all about the shape and texture of the trees – it was crying out for conversion to black and white. I used Adobe Photoshop to do this, which many people have on their PC or Mac, but there are lots of different software packages and methods to turn your standard colour image into simple monochrome. Just remember, though, that a computer can’t correct for a badly chosen subject or a poorly composed shot. That’s a black-and-white rule in photography, no matter what the colour.

STEP BY STEP

1. To change any image from colour to monochrome, open the image in Adobe Photoshop.

2. On the tool bar across the top of the screen, go to Image and scroll down to Adjustments, then Channel Mixer. Then tick the Monochrome check box in the bottom-left corner.

3. Now go to Image, then  Adjustment, then Curves and use the crosshairs to fix the line at the centre point of the graph.

4. Then move the top right and bottom left ends of the plotted line for different contrast effects.

5. Be sure to use the software in moderation – remember, subtlety is key.

TOP TIPS

• Train your photographic mind – look for shapes and textures that would work well as a black-and-white photograph. Or, conversely, check out colours that would work as colours.

• Study the work of top black-and-white photographers – why do their images look good? More often than not, it’s to do with a discerning eye rather than any post-processing black magic.

• Don’t be fooled into thinking that you can turn a weak image into a perfect one on your computer – you can’t create a silk purse from a sow’s ear. Much better to get it right in camera, so look, discern and execute to the best of your ability.

Inspired by Peter’s masterclass? Send us your best black & white shot by 21 January 2012 and you could win like an Olympus E-PL3 camera, worth £549.99!

Click here to listen to extracts of this interview as a Podcast Click on the play button to listen to extracts of Julia’s interview with Jean

If I had to pick the point when I fell in love with walking, I’d say it was at the summit of Long Mynd in Shropshire. I was in my teens on a youth hostelling weekend, getting my first experience of proper hill walking. The views were just spectacular; from that moment I was hooked on the outdoors. Even so, I wouldn’t have guessed what a big part walking would come to play in my working life.

Originally, I started working for the mental health charity BITA Pathways (Birmingham Industrial Therapy Association) as a cookery tutor. At the time they were operating a healthy living project. I offered to help out on the eating side of things and soon got involved with the activities too. That’s when I started walking with our service users, and I’ve been doing it ever since. I’m now a project manager and, as a result of seeing what a positive impact walking has on people, I’ve made it an integral part of what we do.

I lead two groups of around 18 people on walks twice a week. Their problems range from stress and anxiety to longer-term issues such as schizophrenia. Over a period of 16 weeks we measure improvements in their mental and physical health. We start from our centre in Digbeth and walk along the canals and footpaths nearby. After a few weeks, we venture further afield to the 2km Walking for Health routes in the parks of Birmingham. Then, when we really start building up our distances, we move even further out into the local countryside. By doing this, people get a taste of inner-city, suburban and rural walking.

Another walking activity we offer is lap walking. Three lunchtimes a week, groups of service users walk to a nearby park or green space to complete as many circuits as possible in the given time. This often sees huge crocodiles of people making their way along the streets of Digbeth – it’s great fun. A few years ago, we also linked up with the Ramblers’ own programme of short walks on their Get Walking Keep Walking project.

One of the first changes I notice in people will often be that they gain self-confidence. The groups usually haven’t met before, but by the second session they’ll be talking and getting to know each other as they’re walking. This mixing and socialising is really important because mental health problems can leave people very isolated.

One lady who came along was in her fifties and was suffering enduring depression. She said she normally found it difficult to talk to strangers; she’d never even spoken to people who’d been her neighbours for 20 years. The walking group helped her to relax and find her confidence in a supportive environment.

Some of our service users may not have been very active either, so these hour-long walks can really help their physical wellbeing. Over the 16 weeks, I see people moving more easily, walking at a faster pace and even their posture improving. And the benefits carry over into the rest of their lives, too. Success breeds success, as they say.

For me, it’s a pleasure to be able to pass on my love of the outdoors and show people what a big difference walking can make to them. The feedback I get from our service users makes it worthwhile. Take Bill, for example. He’s in his forties and has a condition through which he is losing the ability to see, hear and move. He needs treatment that involves prolonged stays in hospital and is very invasive, which has had an effect on his mental health, so he attends BITA twice a week. He told me going for walks brings him some normality: it gives him a glimpse of what it’s like to be normal again, feeling how fit and healthy people feel and doing what they do. It has given him the motivation he needs to keep going.

What could be more satisfying than that?

As told to Julia Buckley.

Your walk of life
Do you have a story to tell about a life-changing walk or how walking has transformed your world? Contact us at walkmag@ramblers.org.uk

“There’s always a sighting of the monster at the start of the tourism season,” admits a tourism official in Loch Ness, who’d best remain nameless. Nessie’s latest appearance was, fortuitously, in May. In the visitor information office in Fort Augustus there’s a blurry photograph and an account by a Mr William Jobes, who describes a “large, hump-like shape travelling towards the middle of the loch”.

The monster myth dates back to the sixth century and is still very much alive. One man, Steve Feltham, has lived in a camper van on the loch shores for 20 years, doing ‘independent monster research’ and selling knick-knacks to the tourists. Business must be good. When I visited in September, I found his neighbour feeding the cat. Feltham had flown to Cyprus for the winter.

Nessie has brought international fame to this 244m/800ft-deep loch. According to the same tourism official, a 1992 article in the South China Post that listed ‘Ten facts about Britain’ stated as number three: ‘In the north of the country is a lake with a monster.’ (Fact number one was: ‘Britain is ruled by Queen Margaret Thatcher.’)

No wonder, then, that the 37km/ 23-mile-long loch attracts hundreds-of-thousands of visitors each year. Most stay on the north shores, having hurtled along the busy A82. The majority of walkers also head north, following the route of the 117km/73-mile-long Great Glen Way that joins the Atlantic to the North Sea.

Along the south coast of the choppy waters, meanwhile, there are only small roads – often single-track. “The south is still relatively wild and unexplored,” says Graeme Ambrose of Destination Loch Ness. “Hardly anyone goes there, compared to the north, and there’s a real feeling of emptiness.” But now, thanks to an initiative by Graeme’s employers, the south is preparing for more visitors – of the rambling variety.

Boost for less-visited south

A new hiking path, the 45km/28-mile-long South Loch Ness Trail, opened in August after two years of negotiations, fundraising and manual labour. “Much of it connects lengths of existing paths, bridleways and small roads,” says Graeme, who hopes that the £200,000 trail will boost the economy of this lesser-visited area and encourage visitors to stay longer.

“Ultimately, the aim is for the trail to link up with the Great Glen Way to create a footpath all around Loch Ness.” For the moment, though, the blue posts with a squirrel that waymark the trail run between Loch Tarff, four miles north of Fort Augustus, and Torbreck, three miles south of Inverness.

Although walkers can roam almost anywhere in Scotland, landowners may not want to actively encourage hikers across their land with a designated footpath. This means that, as well as stopping short of the towns, there are stretches of the route that follow the ‘main’ B road (though a quick look at an OS map shows more pleasant alternatives on minor tracks). This is a sensitive issue and one that Graeme is reluctant to discuss, fearing that encouraging walkers to go off-trail may jeopardise development of the route.

“We see what we’ve done so far as Phase One,” he says. “Most landowners – the biggest one being the Forestry Commission – have been very cooperative, but we’re still negotiating with some.”

Despite the tarmac stretches, local hikers are happy that the region – known as Stratherrick – is opening up. “It’s a wonderful walk, varying between upland fields, rough pasture and small hills,” says Harry Lakeland of Inverness Ramblers. “There are terrific views, but only one or two steep gradients.” After a comfortable night’s sleep in Fort Augustus, I can’t wait to start.

Hide-and-seek with Ness

I leave my luggage with a local baggage- transfer service and set off in a taxi to the trailhead at Loch Tarff. The wind ripples this small loch, and the sky is grey as I hike up through heather along the newly gravelled path. Other walkers, descending, warn: “The wind will blow your head off at the top!” Before long, I’ve made the easy ascent to the trail’s highest point, at 393m/1,289ft. Clouds scud past a rainbow-arched landscape of hills, forestry plantations, a handful of houses and the small B862 meandering off into the distance. There are lochs in all directions but, surprisingly, none are Loch Ness.

Despite its name, the South Loch Ness Trail is not a water-side route and for much of the time the mile-wide loch is not visible, hidden behind hills or forests. But when you do get to see Ness, it’s truly spectacular. The wonderfully named Fair Haired Lad’s Pass (333m/1,093ft) reveals the vast expanse of water between swathed curtains of purple heather, as you look across to Urquhart Castle and up to Inverness and beyond. It’s not always so dramatic. For much of the trail, the beauty   is in the detail: bearded lichens on trees; a garden of mosses on an old stone wall; autumnal grasses waving in the wind. Deer are common, as are red squirrels, apparently (alas, I didn’t see any). There are old stone bridges, built by 18th-century General Wade, and small, isolated crofts.

All these notes build towards various crescendos, of which the Falls of Foyers – a small detour from the trail – is one. The main waterfall gushes with force through a narrow opening to cascade 50m/165ft. As early as the late 19th century, hydro power was being harnessed for aluminium manufacturing here. Foyers was such an important producer that the factory was bombed in World War Two. Although the damage was soon repaired, the industry didn’t last much longer.

Turbine trouble

The next day, Harry joined me with fellow Rambler Ed Simpson. On our hike up and out of Foyers, we talked of controversial plans for windfarms in the hills around Loch Ness. More than 200 turbines are proposed on four sites: 130 on moorland at Balmacaan, on the west side of the loch, with turbines 135m/443ft high; 23 units at a new farm on nearby Druim Ba; and an expansion of an existing farm in Glenmoriston. The third site is in the Monadhliath Mountains, to the south-east, whose rugged, wild flanks we viewed from rocks among heather and birch. The 31 turbines would be 125m/410ft high and fall just outside the boundary of the Cairngorms National Park.

It’s an ongoing threat to the country’s wild land, which Ramblers Scotland is keen to protect from further encroachment. “We need Scottish MPs to persuade the coalition government to modify the financial incentives around windfarms so the massive developments go off-shore, where there is less impact,” says Dave Morris, the charity’s director. “On land the focus should be on community, farm and croft developments with turbines of under 50 metres. If you carry on putting these huge turbines up around Loch Ness, there will come a point when tourists stop coming.”

It was a full day’s hike to the village of Dores, with only a small section among conifers above Inverfarigaig where more waymarkers would have been helpful. The panorama from Fair Haired Lad’s Pass is the high point, literally, and a perfect picnic spot. Such heavenly scenery contrasted with Harry’s tales of Aleister Crowley, the infamous “practitioner of the dark arts”, who early last century lived in a big house on the lochside below and relished upsetting the God-fearing population with his ‘occultist’ ways. Some locals are still ‘Sabbatarians’, as Harry calls them, and object to people hiking on the Sabbath. Thankfully, none seem to live on the route of the trail.

By the evening I was ready for my feast of haggis, tatties and neeps in the lochside Dores Inn, and a peaceful night’s sleep undisturbed by either evil or monsters. The next day I completed my walk, along quiet roads and pine-fresh forestry tracks with fine loch views. I didn’t spot Nessie. But they do say that you never see the monster on your first visit. I’ll be coming back…

Images and video by Steve Morgan.

TIME/DISTANCE: The 45km/28-mile South Loch Ness Trail takes around two-and-a-half days to complete at an easy pace, with some 400m/1,312ft of ascent.

MAPS: OS Explorer 416; Landranger 34.

TRAVEL TO: The nearest trains stop at Fort William and Inverness. A Citylink bus connects Fort William with Fort Augustus (& 0871 266 3333, www.citylink.co.uk), but you’ll need to take taxis to/from the trailheads. Loch Ness Travel provides a baggage-transfer service, as well as taxis (✆ 07711 429 616, www.lochnesstravel.com).

GUIDEBOOK: South Loch Ness by the South Loch Ness Heritage Group (£3, plus £1.16 p&p. ✆ 01456 486691 to order). A Country Called Stratherrick by Alan B Lawson (£9.99, South Loch Ness Heritage Group, ISBN 978 0955318801).

FURTHER INFO: www.visitlochness.com/south-loch-ness-trail.

North West: Cape Wrath, Sutherland
GRID REF:  NC259747
Mighty storms lash Cape Wrath, the UK’s most north-westerly point, though the name – while appropriate – actually comes from ‘hvarf’, the Old Norse for ‘turning point’. It refers to its historical role as a landmark for Viking oarsmen. The isolation and scenery are staggering, not least at adjacent Clo Mor cliffs: at 281m/921ft, the highest sea cliffs in the UK.
EXTREME EXCURSION: Cape Wrath is not easily reached on foot. The 20km/12-mile hike from Blairmore is hard going through peat moorland, with no path beyond beautiful Sandwood Bay. The bay, though, is arguably the most breathtaking in Britain. It’s never overpopulated with visitors and is framed by the sandstone seastack of Am Buachaille. Dolphins, common seals, the rare corncrake (a land-based relative of the moorhen) and moody great skuas are among the wildlife attractions en route. Look out for a species even rarer than the corncrake, though: back in 1900, a shepherd claimed to make the last recorded sighting of a yellow-skinned, green-eyed, strawberry-blonde mermaid on the rocks at Sandwood Bay. Don’t linger too long: the connection back to civilisation with the minibus from Durness is tight.
FURTHER INFO: www.capewrath.org.uk

Click here to see more images of Cape Wrath from walk’s Winter 2011 cover shoot!

East: Lowestoft Ness, Suffolk
GRID REF:  TM556937
Lowestoft Ness is where the North Sea bumps into the UK. Ignore the nearby fish factory and instead look out for gannets and skuas. It’s an exposed, breezy place; a sense reinforced by the groynes that fortify the Ness against pounding grey waters.

North: Dunnet Head, Sutherland 
GRID REF:  ND201766
Reaching Dunnet Head enables you to scoff at those who’ve headed erroneously for John o’ Groats. From the latter, Dunnet Head is palpably further north and makes for a glorious walk by sea cliffs and coastal grassland, home to puffins and kittiwakes.

West: Land’s End, Cornwall
GRID REF:  SW341254
Technically it’s called Dr Syntax’s Head. But whatever you call it, Land’s End really is as far west as you can go in the UK without getting your feet wet. Going all that way for the tourist tat-fest? Thought not, so head for the sensational islets of castellated granite to the south.

South: Lizard Point
GRID REF:  SW699111
The rugged coves and sea mists that characterise The Lizard are the kind of scenery where you might expect to meet a just-landed pirate. Everywhere is north from here, including delightful Kynance Cove, and the walking is gorgeous if often strenuous.

Centre: Whitendale Hanging Stones, Lancashire
GRID REF:  SD641565
According to OS, these bog-marooned and isolated stones in the Forest of Bowland mark the epicentre of the UK, including its 401 associated islands. (Pedants note: this excludes overseas territories such as Bermuda.)

For details and a map of a walk to the Hanging Stones, check out walk’s Routemaster for this walk.

Low: Holme Fen National Nature Reserve, Cambridgeshire
GRID REF: TL192877
Sea level is around eye height at Holme Fen, Britain’s lowest point, where even the trainline towers two metres above your head. This graceful nature reserve, at the western end of the East Anglian fens, is home to bats and dragonflies, along with around 500 species of mushroom.
EXTREME EXCURSION: Grid-like footpaths criss-cross the reserve. Make your way around for a couple of miles before heading for the hide at Burnham’s Mere, in the north-west of the fen. From there, you can spot the attractive goldeneye duck chugging back and forward, along with cormorants, Daubenton’s bats at dusk and up to 18 species of dragonfly. In the skies above are red kites and buzzards.
FURTHER INFO: tinyurl.com/3u5t53s

High: Flash, Staffordshire
GRID REF: SK024671
High drama back in 2007, when the OS was called on to settle the rival claims of Scotland’s Wanlockhead as Britain’s highest inhabited place, and found the Peak District community of Flash was 102ft higher at 475m/1,558ft. Wanlockhead disputes this, but Flash – with its impressive, surrounding gritstone outcrops – isn’t budging.

We’ll be adding more extremes to this article over the winter months, or for the full photo-rich article pick up the Winter 2011 issue of walk, available online at Cotswold Outdoor.

Behind the scenes…

Ever wondered what it takes to get the perfect shot in an extreme environment? Click on the images below to see what it was like on the photoshoot at Cape Wrath for walk‘s Winter 2011 cover shoot!

It was a bright, clear day in late September and, on an isolated vantage point on Raddick Hill, the Tavistock Ramblers were packing away their picnic lunch. There were lovely views towards Cramber Tor and, away to the south, a little stream gurgled down the valley towards Burrator Reservoir in the heart of the Dartmoor National Park.

With an experienced and well-prepared leader in charge, the group had followed the old railway track from Princetown through the fascinating landscape high above the River Walkham, chatting easily and taking photographs as they went. But now, as they prepared for a pleasant afternoon trekking back over the moor, something was wrong. Mary Stevens, normally a calm and capable walker, was in so much pain that she couldn’t stand or walk any further. She felt faint and shaky, and became very pale.

“Mary’s husband and other members of the group helped me to make her comfortable with coats and emergency foil blankets,” recalls the walk leader, Roger Fowler. “She was fully conscious, with no chest pain or breathing problems, and she had a strong and steady pulse. But she obviously needed evacuating from the moor for a proper medical assessment, so I got on my mobile and called 999.”

Roger carefully described the casualty’s condition to ambulance control. He gave a precise National Grid reference and stressed that the group was in a remote location, over a mile from the nearest road at Norsworthy Bridge. But, says Roger: “The operator was obviously inexperienced and seemed unable to locate us, either with a grid reference or from my description of local landmarks. In addition, she didn’t seem to grasp that we were more than 350m/1,150ft up on open moorland that could only be reached with a 4×4 or an air ambulance.”

Eventually, after seeking help from her supervisor, the operator pinpointed the group’s position and an ambulance was dispatched. “She estimated that it would arrive in an hour, and was counting down the arrival time as we talked,” says Roger. “But she still didn’t seem to realise that the vehicle simply wouldn’t be able to reach us.”

Meanwhile, the leader had other things on his mind. The remainder of the group was getting cold and restless and, with an ambulance on its way, someone had to go back to the road to meet it.

Luckily, there were several other competent leaders among the group: two returned to the road to rendezvous with the ambulance, while another guided the less-experienced walkers safely back to Princetown. There was more luck down at Norsworthy Bridge. “The ambulance crew soon realised that they couldn’t get their vehicle any further,” says Roger, “but fortunately a kind and capable man with a well-equipped 4×4 stepped in to drive them up the rough track to meet us. He later evacuated Mary, together with her husband and the ambulance crew, about an hour and a half after the incident began.”

Grid reference frustration

The story has a happy ending as Mary’s condition wasn’t life-threatening and she made a full recovery. Sadly, though, it wasn’t an isolated case: the Ramblers has some 40 similar incidents on file, recording the frustrations and delays caused by ambulance control rooms unable to recognise grid references or the special nature of emergencies in remote locations. And it’s not just frustrating for the casualties and walk leaders involved.

The Bluebell Walkers, an independent club affiliated to the Ramblers, was involved in a similar incident on Hepburn Moor, near Alnwick in Northumberland. Their leader was surprised when the ambulance call handler told him that they did not use National Grid references, but after a 45-minute wait the ambulance finally arrived to deal with a member who’d broken their ankle. Later, the paramedics said that they preferred to use a grid reference wherever possible, and could have reached the casualty half an hour earlier if only the control room had passed that information on to them.

“Our walk leaders first began highlighting ambulance services that couldn’t locate National Grid references about two years ago,” says Karen Inkster, who spearheads the Ramblers’ ‘999: It’s an emergency!’ campaign. “We know of just one incident in Scotland and another in Wales, but the overwhelming majority of reported problems are in England.” Karen, who represents the Ramblers on the emergency services’ Search and Rescue Committee, is also in touch with the Long Distance Walkers Association, the British Caving Association and other organisations working to support the Ramblers’ campaign.

Karen admits that unpicking Britain’s complex network of emergency services – and knowing exactly who to contact in a crisis – isn’t always straightforward. “England is covered by 12 independently managed NHS Ambulance Trusts,” she says. “A further Trust serves the whole of Wales, while the Scottish Ambulance Service covers mainland Scotland and its offshore islands.”

Ambulance services work closely with national search and rescue organisations when responding to calls from incidents in remote or hazardous locations. The Maritime and Coastguard Agency provides 24-hour cover around the UK’s coasts and cliffs, while the police are responsible for inland search and rescue throughout Great Britain. In turn, they rely on more than 80 volunteer Mountain Rescue teams – each one an independent charity – for help in rugged upland areas. In a typical year, these teams attend more than 1,000 incidents involving over 1,300 walkers, while the coastguard responded to 13 walking-related fatal accidents in 2010.

“Walkers in distress can dial 999 and ask for any emergency service,” says Steve West, Director of the Association of Ambulance Chief Executives. “All of them can and should be able to coordinate an appropriate response.” But the Ramblers’ advice is to always ask for the police if you are well away from a road or in a remote area. A regular ambulance will find it difficult to get to you lost on the moors or stuck on a cliff path, but the police can coordinate a rescue operation.

“Mountain-rescue teams aren’t insured without a police log number,” explains Andy Simpson from Mountain Rescue England & Wales, “but our volunteers have good relations with the statutory emergency services, including the coastguard, and teams are generally on their way within 15 minutes.”

Rapid ‘twin-track’ response

What happens when you make that emergency call is fascinating. “It’s a twin-track process,” explains Steve, regarding the complexities of handling 6.5 million calls each year. “The call handler should answer the phone in about two seconds and, if you’re calling from a landline, the registered address will already be displayed on their screen. Calls from mobile phones will trigger an approximate location, but the degree of confidence does depend on the location of the surrounding phone masts.”

The call handler will ask a series of structured questions to confirm the location and assess the clinical need. Then, they’ll be able to offer advice in looking after the casualty until the ambulance arrives.

While all that’s going on, an ambulance dispatcher will be picking the details off a linked computer and getting a response on its way – typically within 30 to 40 seconds of the call coming in. “It’s a complex decision matching the asset to clinical need,” says Steve. “Our options range from a community first responder with first-aid and a defibrillator to an air ambulance.”

The ambulance service aims to help 75% of life-threatening emergencies within eight minutes. The fastest response might be a paramedic in a car or on a motorbike. But, if the casualty needs transport to hospital, an ambulance should reach 95% of cases within 19 minutes.

Nevertheless, at a meeting with the Ramblers’ Karen Inkster in September, Steve West admitted that – in a small minority of cases – things don’t always work quite so smoothly. “Between them, the various Ambulance Trusts use four different computer-aided dispatch systems,” he says. “They all feature advanced mapping systems, but they don’t currently accept National Grid references in an easily accessible way.”

Following the meeting, Steve has agreed to raise the issue nationally with the NHS Ambulance Director of Operations Group, and to liaise with the national software suppliers’ forum to ensure that all the different systems can use National Grid references. Call handlers will also receive additional training after the software is upgraded. “It’s a fantastic result,” says Karen, “and we expect to have a follow-up meeting in about a year’s time.”

Meanwhile, the Tavistock Ramblers were recently involved in a second incident, when one of the group dislocated her knee near the start of a walk. “This time, South Western Ambulance Service was superb,” says their chairman, Paul Brookes. “They arrived promptly and the paramedics called in the fire service to carry the casualty back to the road. Afterwards, I wrote to congratulate them.”

Some individuals’ names in this article have been changed to protect their identities. Illustrations by Nina Hunter @ Illustration Ltd.

What to do in a medical emergency

Stay calm…

Dial 999 on your mobile… and ask for an ambulance. But if you are well away from a road or in an inaccessible location, then always ask for the police, who will contact the nearest Mountain Rescue service or coastguard.

Tell the emergency services what’s wrong… answer their questions clearly.

Give an accurate location… including the National Grid reference and any prominent landmarks.

If you’re uncertain of your position… Mountain Rescue may ask you to send them a picture message of what you can see.

Be patient… as calls are prioritised and will be handled as quickly as possible.

If there’s no signal on your mobile… send two people for help, if possible. Alternatively, use six quick whistle blasts or torch flashes, repeated after a one-minute interval, to give the emergency distress signal.

If you are deaf, hard-of-hearing or speech-impaired, you can register your phone at www.emergencysms.org.uk. This will allow you to send an SMS text message to the UK 999 service, where it will be passed to the police, ambulance, fire rescue or coastguard.

Winter on a freshwater loch is a great time for wildlife-watching,” says Ian McCallum, of Strathkelvin Ramblers in central Scotland. “The sight and sound of thousands of geese flying in from Iceland and Greenland is one that you never forget.”

Pink-footed and greylag geese make for Scotland’s lochs in huge numbers over the winter months. One place in particular to see them up close is at the RSPB’s Vane Farm reserve in Perth and Kinross. “It’s centred on Loch Leven,” says Ian, “and there are paths and hides around the shores, plus some good walks in the area.”

Similarly, Loch Lomond hosts large flocks of wintering wildfowl, as well as uncommon visitors such as Greenland white-fronted geese. More unusual still is what lies under the water: as well as the typical trout and salmon, a rare freshwater whitefish called powan lives almost exclusively in Loch Lomond and is a relic of the last Ice Age. Meanwhile, along the shallower reaches of Lomondside you can find a range of rushes, sedges and the rarer whorled caraway, which thrive in damp meadows.

Lochs higher up on the moors are often more acidic and low in nutrients, so tend to support fewer plants. But some of those that do survive manage to supplement their diet in an unusual way. “On the boggy fringes you can find ‘midgie-munching’ carnivorous plants such as butterwort and sundew,” explains Ian. “They trap and digest small insects and invertebrates.”

He also suggests looking for wildlife where rivers feed into the lochs. “You might see goosander, a large diving duck that feeds on salmon and trout in particular, but also look out for mammals such as water voles, water shrews and even otters.”

Find out more

The Winter 2011 issue of Walk Magazine features a species-by-species guide to the wildlife of Scotland’s lochs– click here to order a copy or why not join the Ramblers to receive it free four times a year? Walk Strathkelvin by John Logan includes an introduction by Cameron McNeish and nature notes by Ian McCallum. It features over 70 varied walks and costs £7.99 from Strathkelvin Ramblers, 25 Anne Crescent, Lenzie, Kirkintilloch G66 5HB (cheques payable to ‘Strathkelvin Ramblers’).

A sinuous line moulded in red clay grows out of the gravel floor and unfurls up to the very apex of the gable wall in graceful coils. The artist’s caption explains that the relief is meant to resonate with the meandering path we have just followed out of the valley.

Yet this was no hushed, climate-controlled gallery but a candle-lit mountain refuge with an unusual twist. Reinvented as a refuge d’art by the internationally renowned British artist Andy Goldsworthy, it is one of seven such bothies in the mountains of Haute Provence, south-east France, where walkers can travel and shelter in the company of art.

My walk involved climbing a steeply winding path, and the dust clouds created by scuffing feet had – as predicted by the artist – formed an uncomfortable red layer on my clothes, boots and hot skin. But now, before preparing dinner or setting the fire, I was being asked to elevate my experience with a piece of art that had been purposely placed for the delectation of walkers.

Majestic and brutal landscape

With so much else to contemplate from my walk, the addition of art hardly seemed necessary. In the early evening cool I’d emerged from the depths of a narrow limestone gorge sliced open by the river Bès and, once clear of the restricted view, the brutal majesty of the mountains was revealed. The bare summits and mountainsides above the tree-line acted as a screen, on to which the sun projected its palling light. Going from pink to orange and then cool purple, there was just enough of a glow for us to locate the red-tiled refuge set in a high meadow.

Here, in the predominately limestone mountains, where the temperature swings wildly between extreme summer heat and winter snow, life would never have been easy. The vegetation is stunted and contorted with thirst and it clings to the once-prehistoric sea bed like coral. The grassy meadow, although green, was brittle and coarse. Yet what the flora lacks in stature it makes up for in pungency, and the night air throbbed with the scent of pine, rosemary and thyme. In the absence of any human habitation, the night sky came alive with the afterglow of the galaxy.

Formerly one of many derelict buildings in the abandoned village of Vieil Esclangon, it has now been given a new purpose as a mountain refuge. The roof has been replaced and there is a mezzanine floor with five bunks, a dining table and benches, a fireplace and that snake-like clay artwork – entitled La Javie – which is held together with donated human hair. Water, however, is nowhere to be found, and has to be brought with you. The bothy is free to use overnight and can be booked in advance with the Musée Gassendi in Digne-les-Bains, who will provide you with a key in exchange for your passport or driver’s licence.

Sculptures that create mystique

It’s all part of a concerted effort to attract walkers to the region, which is often overlooked in favour of its near neighbours, the high Alps and the Cote d’Azur. Originally, Andy Goldsworthy was commissioned to make just one of his trademark environmental artworks in Digne-les-Bains, but the project has literally taken legs, and now a 150km/94-mile trail has been created following ancient byways between seven refuges and other sculptures, including a series of stone beehives, or eggs. Goldsworthy regards these eggs as sentinels guarding the gorges and the high passes. Three more refuges are currently being ‘artworked’, too.

It isn’t a walking trail in the traditional sense

, since a car or bicycle is required to link the walks. But what the art has done is create resorts and landmarks where, previously, there were none. The old chapel at St Madeleine, high on a promontory above the village of Thoard, has been given a new mystique with an almost blasphemous installation that replaces the altar with a dry-stone niche in which you can stand to fill the void. None of the artworks are well signposted, but this may be a deliberate attempt to engender a sense of serendipity about each encounter, cultivating the idea that the art emerges from – and is complementary to – the landscape.

Compared to the snow-capped Alps, I found the mountains of Haute Provence something of an iguana: difficult to love, and its charms not at first apparent. On part of the trail I crossed ugly mounds of shifting black shale, known as marl, that swallows trees and telegraph poles as it slips down from the mountaintops to settle in the valley. But the shale is whipped into miniature peaks and ravines during floods, forming a strangely compelling landscape that felt edgy and impermanent. Several times I had to scuttle across loose gullies that threatened to funnel me downwards.

Beyond the marl, a clearly marked path negotiated a more familiar world of meadow and light woodland of pine, ash and rowan. In every direction there were shapely and accessible peaks of up to 2,300m/7,500ft.

Eventually I arrived at La Ferme Belon, a former war-time resistance training camp, and yet another building to receive the Goldsworthy treatment. Rescued from dereliction, its basement houses a series of six white, rough-hewn limestone arches that interlock in the gloom. Unable to see where I was placing my feet, I found it a strange and intimidating place; these ‘architectural ghosts’, the artist claims in his caption, are being protected by those egg-like stone sentinels positioned at the entrances to the passes in the surrounding area.

It might seem far-fetched, but the craft and scale of the piece was undeniable. Later, at a viewpoint 1,150m/3,370ft above the village of Esclangon, I recognised echoes of those arches in the sweeping swirl of rock strata that geologists have nicknamed ‘the velodrome’. It was then that I began to properly appreciate the scope of Goldsworthy’s project.

What the artist has succeeded in doing is building on what is already there. His materials and inspiration emanate from the landscape, and I found that there was a coming together in my consciousness of the art and the region’s remarkable geology. It’s a subtle approach that has added unobtrusive landmarks and breathed new life into a largely unspoilt area, abandoned for more than a century. Far from adding sentinels, Goldsworthy has actually created beacons.

WIN A HOLIDAY FOR TWO WORTH £2,000!

Enjoy a walking holiday for two – choose from six trips, including an Andy Goldsworthy Walking Tour in July or September – courtesy of Adventures in the Alps (click here for further details). 

The prize includes:

• Return flights, plus airport transfers

• Six nights’ accommodation (according to trip)

• Breakfast and dinner every day

• Five days’ guided walking (according to trip)

Adventures in the Alps is also offering walk readers £100 off any of their walking holidays, simply quote WM001 when booking (go to www.adventuresinthealps.com).

HOW TO ENTER
Complete the entry form at www.walkmag.co.uk/competitions (where you’ll also find full terms and conditions) or send your name, address, telephone number and email to Alps competition, walk magazine, Ramblers, 2nd Floor, Camelford House, 87-90 Albert Embankment, London SE1 7TW. Closing date is 31 January 2012. The first completed entry picked at random after the closing date will win the holiday.

The dust is still settling on the tree-shaded lane when I arrive. Pausing for their elevenses, seven men sit in Day-Glo yellow bibs and goggles pouring hot tea from flasks and surveying the partly demolished steps they’ve been working on for an hour. With heavy-duty tools, helmets and a wheelbarrow at their feet, all that’s missing is a ‘Men at Work’ sign to complete the scene. Minutes later, they’re back on their feet: a chainsaw whirs into life, and a sledgehammer begins thwacking away at the concrete remnants.

“Don’t tickle it – hit it!” cries Mel Hardy, cajolingly. A former mining engineer, the 67-year-old muscles in and begins swinging the sledgehammer relentlessly, showing all the expert action and brute force of a Victorian pit worker, while everyone else stands well back.

“I’ll be looking out for reports of an earthquake in Australia on the news tonight,” someone quips, drily. It’s safe to say that, when I arranged to join Chesterfield & North East Derbyshire Ramblers’ footpath working group, I was expecting secateurs, not sledgehammers. And while there are plenty of times when clearing vegetation and footpath surveying are the order of the day (attracting many more female volunteers, they assure me), this week’s task is a demolition and construction job that’s not for the faint-hearted – or puny-strength editors of magazines. The ugly concrete steps, near Old Tupton, south of Chesterfield, connect a footpath with the Chesterfield Round Walk down a steep bank and on to a green lane. But after half a century of use, they’ve subsided dangerously and the group is replacing them with timber-and-earth steps, which will blend more naturally into the surroundings.

Relinquishing the hammer, Mel resorts to more dramatic measures to prise away the remaining few steps from the bank, using a huge steel bar as a lever to send them crashing to the ground. A hearty cheer goes up from the others, who quickly clear away the rubble in a neat procession-line and begin chopping back the undergrowth in preparation for the timber. Watching them, it’s hard to believe that this friendly, well-drilled team hasn’t been working on building sites all their lives, rather than being the retired professionals volunteering their spare time that they largely are.

“I’m a frustrated carpenter, really, so I enjoy doing this kind of work,” says Geoff Bell (right), a former radiologist and lecturer, who’s been with the group for more than seven years. “We’ve learnt a lot from each other and from the local rangers on the job, sharing the skills we have.”

One of those rangers is Derbyshire Countryside Service’s Jonathan Tilling, who’s overseeing today’s project, as well as supplying the tools and materials. He seems quite relaxed to let Mel and the team forge ahead with only the occasional intervention. “I know it will be done to a good standard with this lot,” he tells me, as he looks on, quietly pleased.

Vital partnership with councils
And he should be pleased, as these Ramblers are saving his employer, Derbyshire County Council, thousands of pounds a year in manpower alone and ensuring that walking in the region – a huge tourism draw for the local economy – remains viable and enjoyable.

“We value the voluntary work of the Ramblers very highly,” a Derbyshire County Council spokesman told walk. “It helps to provide excellent access to the countryside in Chesterfield and surrounding areas… cutting back vegetation, waymarking, improving signage and drainage, and maintaining stiles and gates. Ramblers act as our eyes and ears in the countryside, alerting us to where work is required, and promote and use our paths regularly – the best way to keep them functioning for everyone.”

Chesterfield’s is one of more than 25 similar Ramblers footpath working groups in operation all over England and Wales. The Ramblers provides insurance for around 350 volunteers, who, it conservatively estimates, do more than 20,000 hours of practical path work each year. And the impact is massive. Take Ynys Mon Ramblers’ footpath working group, for example. Known as the Silver Slashers, in the five years since they were formed they have cleared and created more than 40km of footpaths in Anglesey, installing 129 stiles and gates, 34 bridges and 290 steps provided by the council. It’s a partnership with local authorities that’s vital to the survival of England’s and Wales’ footpath network, with council rights-of-way teams enduring savage cutbacks or – in the case of Bolton Council – being axed entirely.

“I am totally convinced that the way ahead in these times of extremely restricted budgets is co-operation and partnership,” says Graham Ronan, chairman of Cornwall Ramblers, which recently helped to reopen an important local footpath near Newquay, saving the public purse an estimated £28,000. “The volunteers showed Cornwall Council that we can monitor, report and assist with footpath maintenance, at no cost to the council, and that we are also ready to get our hands dirty to improve the county’s footpath network for the benefit of local residents and visitors alike. We also funded most of the material costs for this project, thanks to a bequest from a local Ramblers member.”

In Chesterfield, a core of 20 Ramblers volunteers helps to monitor every footpath in the region, parish by parish. Today’s project is on Mike Sims’ parish patch, Wingerworth. He’s a well-known local figure, having lived and worked here for decades, and swore to do something about the state of the area’s paths when he retired. The reconstruction of the Martin’s Lane steps will mark the culmination of more than six years of Mike lobbying the council for improvements along this route, which had been degraded by trail-bike users, and has so far resulted in resurfacing work and the installation of a new squeeze gate and footbridge.

The unsung hero
It’s the understated Basil Merry, however, who – as the local Ramblers’ footpath secretary – masterminds the whole operation in Chesterfield. He’s brought together disparate groups of countryside volunteers from across the parishes, including members of a local Footpaths and Bridleways Society, and convinced Derbyshire County Council to give them a two-day training course in tools and health and safety with its countryside rangers. In doing so, he’s created a larger and far more effective team, increasing the flow of projects they work on and upping their days from just once a month two years ago to weekly sessions now.

“I hope to get to a point where we’re just maintaining footpaths rather than doing any major works on them,” says Basil. Key to that vision is maintaining the 34-mile Chesterfield Round Walk and several other local promoted routes, which form the spine of the town’s annual walking festival each May. “Many of us will be leading walks,” he says. “It follows through on our work, keeping the paths used and highlighting any problems.”

It’s this impressive joined-up approach – from infrastructure to walking promotion – that Basil was invited to share at the first national Ramblers Practical Path Work Workshop in August. Fifty footpath volunteers attended from more than 20 Ramblers’ areas and groups. “The day was inspirational, and just showed that ordinary people like you and me can do extraordinary things,” says Ed Wilson, the Ramblers’ volunteer support and development officer, who organised the event and is planning another soon. “There’s something very special about Ramblers members who go out and help to ensure our public footpaths are open through practical steps. I suspect it’s their positive can-do attitude that makes volunteering as a footpath worker rewarding and fun for everyone.”

It’s this positive experience that’s been helping 40-year-old Simon Riddington to cope with unemployment since he moved back to Chesterfield last Christmas after 15 years working in London. “I love getting outside and the physical exercise,” he says. “It keeps me fit while I’m not working and there’s great banter among the group here – they look after me as the youngest. Seeing a big project like this coming together keeps you coming back week after week.” In fact, Simon tells me he’s enjoyed the work so much, he’s enquiring about getting a job with the council as a ranger.

Like Simon, everyone I speak to in the Chesterfield group mentions the camaraderie and banter of working together as key to their enjoyment; but it’s also the long-term results that they find so rewarding. “There’s a lot of satisfaction and a bit of a thrill doing a walk and going through a gate thinking, I made this! ” says Geoff. “But it’s really our love of walking that makes us want to do this.”

It’s that same driving force and sense of community pride that’s behind Mel’s tireless grafting. “I’ve lived in Chesterfield all my life, and will die here, and I’m passionate about keeping all footpaths open,” he says. “We all love walking – many of us regularly lead walks – and we want to encourage more people to walk locally.”

Generations of stewardship
By four o’clock, tools are downed and work draws to a close. The steps aren’t quite complete, but it’s an impressive accomplishment in a six-hour day. I’ve contributed very little – just a few barrow-loads of rubble and a poorly struck nail – but the group makes a generous show of their appreciation. Already, several passing locals walking their dogs have complimented our efforts and I leave Martin’s Lane with a palpable glow. Earlier that day, Basil took me to see another set of steps the group had completed recently nearby. Marooned among paddocks and farmland, I found myself in a beautiful and secluded wooded valley called Grange Lumb. A bridge over the brook was donated by a Ramblers member who died in the 1960s, but Basil didn’t recognise the name on the dedicatory plaque.

“It’s great for watching birds in the morning,” he said of this hidden beauty spot, which he clearly adores. Down one wall of the valley, he showed me the steps his group installed using fallen tree branches and stone salvaged from the river bed below, and the drainage culverts and gravel along the floor to prevent flooding. What so impressed me was how inconspicuous it was, preserving access without sanitising or manicuring the natural landscape. All that vital work by Basil and his team, like the generations of stewardship by Ramblers volunteers before them, just blends into the background unnoticed.

Get Involved!
Fancy having fun and learning new skills as a volunteer with the Ramblers? Get in touch by emailing volsupport@ramblers.org.uk – or visit www.ramblers.org.uk/volunteer for more details.

What were your highs and lows during the whole expedition?
The leg on Carstensz Pyramid in New Guinea (pictured below) was my lowest point. We trekked through the jungle rather than helicopter to base camp, and it was the most amazing environment, but tough. The humidity was 90 per cent, so I was either soaking from sweat or the torrential rain. But I was lucky to meet tribes completely removed from Western experience. My high point was summiting Denali in Alaska, having suffered frostbite and falling into a crevasse on the first day. I worked hard with my climbing partner, and we reached the summit in nine days. It usually takes twice as long.

You’ve said trekking in Antarctica is as much a mental game as a physical one. Does being in extreme terrain make the brain sharper?
Antarctica is not an environment for everybody: you have to be on it every minute of every day. But it is an opportunity to be in your own thoughts all day, and it’s rare to get that peace.

Do the world’s highest mountains and poles still retain a sense of wildness, or did you see evidence of them being degraded by too many expeditions?
There’s still a sense of wilderness. The expedition companies respect the environments they’re in: our Antarctica guides made us carry our waste with us. And after the horror stories I’d heard about Everest, there’s been a massive clean-up, with eight tonnes of rubbish taken off the mountain. I did see a few dead bodies on Everest, but they’re respectfully managed in body bags and kept away from the track. I think there’s a consciousness now to keep these parts of the world beautiful.

How important was access to the British countryside for your pre-expedition training?
It made me appreciate everything we have in Wales. I ran along the canals of Newport every day, and went to the Brecon Beacons every weekend, hiking for 24 hours non-stop.

You took on your first mountain in 2009 with the expedition company Jagged Globe. How did you learn so fast?
The company had a clear idea about what needed to be done to keep me safe on the 737 Challenge, and devised an 18-month programme for me. I never gave up on training because I wanted to give myself the best chance. There are no shortcuts to getting to that level, so even in the depths of ice-water immersion it was always a privilege.

You say success on a mountain isn’t black and white, and that climbing is a ‘soul sport’. Can you explain?
Planning and preparation can be meticulous, but accidents still happen, because next to Mother Nature we’re all very small. And the outdoors is simply spiritual, whether you’re on Wales’ Ogmore beach or Everest.

The 737 Challenge came from wanting to fill the void left by your professional rugby career, after being forced to retire with a shoulder injury. How did you cope with that life change and how important were outdoor activities in maintaining a sense of wellbeing?
I didn’t handle the end of rugby-playing well: my world collapsed. Then I read Sir Ranulph Fiennes’ Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know and challenged myself to learn new skills. I’ve raced motorbikes since I was six and have always been into the outdoors. I basically grew up in a tent, so the outdoors has played a huge part in my wellbeing.

After your death-defying experiences, does anything still scare you?
My biggest fear is not being able to capitalise on what we’ve achieved with 737 in terms of fundraising for Marie Curie Cancer Care. We’re still some way off our £1 million target.

Why is there such a strong link between outdoor challenges and charitable giving?
Against the gloom and doom of the news, there’s a conscious shift of people wanting to do more and be more. We want to help the less fortunate and get more out of life. I’ve been blown away by the support the 737 Challenge has received, ranging from letters from schoolkids sending in their pocket money, to small cheques from people who have very little.

For those of us without the fitness of a former rugby international player, what tips would you give for getting in shape for an outdoor trek or challenge?
Make fitness and the outdoors a way of life, not a chore, and involve your friends.

Britain has an incredible heritage of explorers, including one of your backers, Sir Ranulph Fiennes. What advice would you give to young people who want to follow in your adventurous footsteps?
Sir Ranulph’s challenges captivated me. He’s the first to admit he’s not a mountaineer and he gave me the courage to channel my energies into an expedition. I learned the concept of the seven challenges from him. Young people just need to get out there. The UK has so many amazing places. So long as you have the right gear to be safe, it doesn’t cost a penny. Get an OS map and have fun.

The 737 Challenge has left you skint, but you’ve also said your backers’ leap of faith in you is more valuable than any of their financial contributions. Does the natural environment reshape our priorities?
To fund the challenge I used my savings and my insurance policy from rugby, and sold my possessions. In this economic climate, how can I expect people to donate and invest if I won’t? The people I’ve met during the challenge have altered my perceptions. I really miss the simplicity of life on expedition, where you only need to worry about your lifeline, food, shelter and tent. It hasn’t turned me into a hippy, but it does make you realise what’s important.

What challenges would you still like to take on?
The 737 Challenge has opened my eyes to environmental issues, so perhaps something involving conservation. But I don’t see this one as over until the £1 million fundraising target is reached.

Are you excited about your home country’s All-Wales Coast Path opening next year? How about taking that on as your next challenge?
I am excited! Wales has some of the most beautiful coastline on the planet. I’ve cycled some of it, and will attempt it in the future. Ben, my dog, will love it.

Scroll down for a slideshow from Richard’s 737 expedition or click here to visit the website.

What’s your favourite…

…urban walk?
My favourite has to be Cardiff: from Pontcanna Fields to St David’s 2 shopping centre, via Cardiff Castle and the Millennium Stadium.

…country walk?
Ogmore beach, near Bridgend, with my dog, Ben.

…view?
The reflection of the sun in ice crystals at the South Pole.

…piece of walking kit?
I love my Scarpa Cristallo boots – I had no blisters during the whole seven-month challenge.

…post-walk tipple?
Beer.

A busy urban setting may seem an unlikely place for wildlife. But you’ll be surprised by what you find, says Libby Hunt, chair of City of Birmingham Ramblers. “We were walking the canal towpath in the heart of old, industrial Birmingham and a solitary stick was poking out of the water. On it sat a simply glorious, shiny blue kingfisher!”

Birmingham and the Black Country’s canal network stretches over 100 miles and took shape during the Industrial Revolution. “Follow the Worcester and Birmingham Canal out through the leafy suburbs of Edgbaston and Selly Oak,” says Libby, “and you’ll see mallards and moorhens busy on the water, and yellow iris and reedmace along the banks. Canals are like linear nature reserves and provide corridors for wildlife to move along.”

Canals are not just a haven for water-loving creatures either. “You can see fox runs beside the towpaths,” says Libby. The less well-used of Birmingham’s canals offer stiller water, and here you’ll see a range of insects and invertebrates such as pond skaters, great diving beetles and water boatmen. One of the best locations is the Bumble Hole branch of the Dudley Canal, near Sandwell – now a local nature reserve. The tunnels on the Dudley Canal are an important roosting site for bats, including Daubenton’s, whiskered and Natterer’s, which hibernate there in winter. Purple clumps of buddleja grow out of the smallest cracks in the waterside walls, their nectar-rich flowers attracting more species of butterfly than any native plant.

With urban canals as ever-cleaner, green corridors, it’s no wonder there is now evidence that otters are frequenting Birmingham’s waterways, too. “You just never know what you might see,” says Libby.

Image: suneko