The not-so-great outdoors, Teesdale Mercury

The not-so-great outdoors

Feb 20, 2008

IT was a no-brainer really, the choice between flogging one's puddings out at indoor cricket nets, or taking advantage of the finest Sunday morning of the year so far to embrace the great outdoors.

I had been looking forward to some decent weather in order to head along part of the Teesdale Way which regularly catches my eye on the way to dropping my wife off at work.

The stunning riverside didn't disappoint - when you could see it through the all the signs telling me what I could and couldn't do and where I could and couldn't go, that is.

It was staggering.

The first I came across, just a few yards from where I had parked the car, told me in no uncertain terms to stick to the designated footpath, and under no circumstances was I to even think about going down to the bank - it was private property, so I would be trespassing and prosecuted.

This is plainly ridiculous. How can anyone lay claim to a river bank? For starters, what happens when it floods? Prosecute the river for trespass?

The sign didn't say under whose authority I wasn't to venture to the river bank, and as there was no telephone number, I couldn't find anyone to take the matter up with.

There certainly didn't look like there was any kind of conservation work going on there or any other reason to keep out.

In addition, swimming was out (obviously, as the river itself was out of bounds) and so was picnicking (perish the thought).

So, I ventured over the bridge to the other side of the river and, lo and behold, stumbled (almost literally) across a path to take me to the water's edge.

And yet it was only a few yards before I came across another sign, this time warning me to keep out of a crumbling old stone structure.

A bit further along, the notice emblazoned in front of me said if I ventured into this particular area of what resembled an old walled garden, the owners of the land would accept no liability for any injury suffered (though judging by the state of the place, why anyone would think about going in there remains a mystery).

Finally, pausing for a few minutes as the water lapped up around the rocks, there was the inevitable ‘no fishing' sign. Yet again, there was hint of who was telling me not to fish.

Somewhere, struggling to get out from underneath all this unwarranted signage was a stunning little walk.

Compare this to Orkney, where I lived and worked for four years.

Orkney can be as idyllic as you might imagine from the brochures (although the weather off the north of Scotland makes sun-drenched, crisp, frosty mornings, such as Sunday, something of a rarity).

But the one thing you won't find spoiling the view is an overload of ridiculous signs telling people what they can and can't do.

We lived in a house on top of a cliff. On the sea shore below, seals would haul themselves out to bear their pups. People would pull up and enjoy the breathtaking view.

Theoretically, it was private property - but how can you own a cliff? Do you ban the birds from nesting? Charge them rent? Take the seals to court for trespass?

Orkney was also home to the British fleet during two world wars. The crumbling remnants of coastal defences are a stark reminder of that era. There is not a warning sign in sight, and, miraculously, no-one has hurt themselves exploring these amazing structures.

Wander off the beaten track, and more than likely, you will be in an RSPB reserve, but not a fence to be seen, unlike the 5ft barbed wire fencing keeping me from the river on Sunday.

The great outdoors? Take away all the do's and don'ts and it really can be!

First published in the Mercury, February 13