A personal journal recording and reflecting on my walks around the world.
It’s summer, or at least that brief moment in time that passes for summer these days. It’s also a Sunday on one of the hottest days of the year so I know today’s walk up Silver How and Loughrigg Fell, two of the lower lying and popular fells around Grasmere is likely to be a busy one.
Continue reading “Silver How and Loughrigg Fell from Grasmere Village”
Over the last few years I have become familiar with every twist and turn of the A592 and A591 as I have tramped over the Eastern and Far Eastern Fells. Today, I’m driving down the B5289 into lovely Borrowdale. Excited to be making progress I feel like an early pioneer heading slowly westwards into new territory. And road numbers aren’t the only change. I survived on mostly van meals in the more remote fells but the fleshpots of Keswick and Grasmere are already tempting me with easy access to beer and steak, coffee and cake. Like Odysseus I must resist their siren call if I’m not to finish the Central Fells heavier than when I started.
Continue reading “Great Crag and Grange Fell from Rosthwaite”
I’ve had company over the last couple of days. A Robin arrives regularly at the van door looking for food and then repays my benevolence by demanding that I get off its territory. He needn’t worry as I’ll be gone today and he’s fatter than when I arrived. The murk of yesterday has gone and I can see today’s walk from my parking spot. The long southern ridge leading up Steel Fell, the curve around the head of Greenburn leading to Calf Crag, Gibson Knott and finally Helm Crag all look inviting in the morning sunshine. The most dangerous part will be crossing the A591.
I have some personal rules which guide my journey through the Wainwright’s (here) one of these ‘I will get a view from each top’ has already entailed some return visits over the first two books. The awful weather and cancelled plans over the first months of the year have got me thinking that I may have to take more risks with the forecast if I am ever to finish my Wainwright journey before I go to rest with my ancestors. For a man who likes certainty and all his ducks in order it’s an uncomfortable prospect, but here I am, heading up Far Easedale looking up at a cloud topped Tarn Crag hoping that by the time I get there it will be clear. I can hear the roulette wheel spinning.
From the campsite I can see a fair chunk of today’s walk from the van window. A short climb up through trees to a undulating ridge that eventually leads on to the summit of High Rigg. Stopping at High Bridge End gives me the rare treat of being able to walk from the campsite two days running and saves the hassle of packing the van up before setting off. In fact the Central Fells, being quite compact means I’m going to be able to do this often whilst working my way through book three. Life’s simple pleasures, or alternatively, simple things please simple minds, take your pick.
Stepping onto the wooden balcony that adjoins our room at 6am all is silent in the valley. The cool, still morning air fills my nostrils with the scent of pines and wood smoke. Dew glistens on the grass in the small camping field next to the refuge and people in the tents are stirring. I stand for a while in the stillness, looking up at Mont Blanc and reflecting on our walk so far. We have seen the mountain we are walking around from different aspects, from different countries and in different weather. It has been the central hub and ever present reminder of the reason for our journey, our very own ‘Tour du Mont Blanc‘. Today is our penultimate day and it promises to be a good one.
Continue reading “Tour du Mont Blanc Day Eleven – Tré Le Champ to Refuge la Flégère”
It’s the second day of a settled weather pattern that has brought crisp, calm and freezing weather to Lakeland. There is not a breath of wind and the bright sun shines down from a cloudless azure sky. The air clarity is as clear as crystal. It’s pretty much perfect walking weather and I’m looking forward to my first walk in the Central Fells, a walk up Walla Crag and Bleaberry Fell.
Winter has arrived in Lakeland. Which is a day early for the Meteorological calendar and three weeks early if you’re waiting for the Astronomical calendar. But the evidence of one’s own eyes doesn’t deceive and the hard frost, frozen water and bone chilling temperature is telling me it’s time wrap up warm for the next three months. Today’s walk has an end of term feel to it as I’ll complete my journey through Wainwright’s Book Two, The Far Eastern Fells with a walk up Beda Fell and Angletarn Pikes from Patterdale.
Continue reading “Beda Fell and Angletarn Pikes from Patterdale”
Troutbeck Tongue is a small mound of a hill, separated from the higher hills surrounding it by two valleys. The term often used for these hills is the slightly dismissive term ‘outlier’. Those seeking to walk the Wainwright’s in the shortest time or looking to fit multiple peaks into one day do not like outliers, they are an inconvenience with lots of effort for little reward. I don’t mind them so much, they provide short days and time for relaxed, contemplative walking. A chance to decompress. The enjoyment is in the journey not the target.
Dawn brings with it another gloriously sunny day on the Tour du Mont Blanc. We are now in the Italian Alps and the rising sun is shining directly down Val Veny casting long shadows and turning the rivulets and pools of Lac de Combal into silver ribbons and mirrors laid out on the valley floor. Our stay at the iconic Rifugio Elisabetta has been a good one and the experience is stored in the memory for future happy recall.
Continue reading “Tour du Mont Blanc Day Five – Rifugio Elisabetta to Courmayeur”
It’s been a while. My summer has been spent elsewhere but the seasons wait for no one and in my absence autumn has arrived. Golden yellow leaves, having enjoyed a brief summer of life are falling to become mulch and then food for leaves waiting to be born. In the cycle of the seasons the land is going to sleep, preparing and protecting itself for the cold dark months ahead. There has been rain, lots of it and the ground is sodden underfoot. Moisture hangs in the air and I can smell the scent of Lakeland on the fresh morning breeze, moss and manure, wood smoke rising from the cottages, comforting and familiar. It’s good to be back.
Place Fell is one of Lakeland’s iconic and best known mountains. The walk up it from Patterdale, one of it’s prettiest villages is a Goldilocks walk, not too long, nor too steep, but just right. It attracts children and grandmothers alike, neither of whom would be inclined to tackle other tops and the view from its small but perfectly formed summit is also one of Lakeland’s finest.
It’s a dank grey day in Lakeland with a cloud filled leaden sky hovering worryingly over it. A day where the monochrome clouds threaten to descend to earth and smother the tops with their blanket of invisibility. Having a self imposed rule that I will see the view from each summit as opposed to only the hand in front of my face has inevitably meant some return visits on my journey through the Wainwright’s. This is because the weather does what it wants and does not seem the slightest bit interested in my needs, wants or desires. If we were in a relationship it would not be a happy one. It’s all good exercise though and as the saying goes, a cloudy day on the hill is still better than a good day in the office, not that I have had occasion to visit the office recently. And so it is in this frame of mind that I set off, more in hope than anticipation towards Rest Dodd and The Nab.
Continue reading “A walk up Rest Dodd and The Nab from Brotherswater”
Putting my boots on in the car park of the Brotherswater Inn, my eyes are drawn upwards to the long straight grassy ridge that leads to the summit of Caudale Moor. Stretching high into the blue sky it gives the mountain the look of a giant green Lakeland pyramid and I wonder what ancient king is buried at its centre. This ridge is my chosen route to the heights today where I’ll be visiting Caudale Moor, (which has a somewhat split personality as it is also known as Stony Cove Pike and John Bell’s Banner) and Hartsop Dodd. The ridge looks pretty steep from the car park but I console myself with the words of Wainwright, who says “Of the many approaches to the summit, this is by far the best”.
Continue reading “Stony Cove Pike and Hartsop Dodd from Brotherswater”
The morning sunlight is casting soft shadows over the quiet valley of Martindale as I park up at St Peter’s Church. Time passes slowly in this peaceful remote valley on the edge of Lakeland. St Peter’s sister church, St Martin’s, a little further down the valley dates from the fifteenth century and has a thirteen hundred year old yew tree in its graveyard. Not far away there is a Queen Victoria post box dating from 1851. Five Wainwright’s is a lot for me but they fitted together nicely when I was planning the route. So ahead of me, on what is turning out to be a fine spring day are Steel Knotts, Wether Hill, Loadpot Hill, Arthur’s Pike and Bonscale Pike.
Continue reading “Five Wainwrights from St Peter’s Church Martindale”
From the car park at Hartsop the lush green tree peppered slopes of Brock Crags, my objective for the day rise up blocking any view to the north east. The view up the valley compensates with Gray Crag and Hartsop Dodd, their tops clear of cloud today, looking down from their lofty heights, silent observers of daily life in this small attractive lakeland village. The parking is free but donations are encouraged to support the local primary school. I went to school in a city and as I get my boots on I wonder what it must be like to go to a small rural school, surrounded by sheep and mountains in one of the most beautiful National Parks in the country.
It’s a promising morning, the sun is shining and blue sky is all around. As I set off from Sykeside campsite I notice a band of cloud lingering over the higher fells. I figure however that the sun will have long burned this off by the time I get up there. My intention today is to walk up Gray Crag, Thornthwaite Crag, Stony Cove Pike and finish on Hartsop Dodd.
Continue reading “A walk up Gray Crag and Thornthwaite Crag”
My wife and I have very different interests and hobbies. She is a creative, an artist. Part of an online Art Journaling community that collaborate and create elaborate pieces of Scrapbooking art. I on the other hand prefer the silence, solitude and simplicity of putting one foot in front of the other in the great outdoors, the sky above me and the earth below me. Occasionally, we venture into the other’s territory. I will go to the ballet where I will understand nothing of the subtle storytelling conveyed without words through the medium of dance. And she will join me in a walk up a hill, so long as it is not too big a hill, or too steep a climb.
When I leave my warm sleeping bag and look at the thermometer it tells me that the inside of the van is -4°c. I knew it was getting cold in the middle of the night as my ears started to ache and I had to put my sleeping bag hood over my head. This is something I’ve only ever done a few times before, when sleeping in a tent at 15,000ft, you can read about those occasions here and here if you want to. When I check the outside temperature it’s -10°c so I know it’s going to be a cold walk up my designated hills of the day, Sour Howes and Sallows.
Continue reading “A freezing walk up Sour Howes and Sallows”
I knew that I had to get away before Christmas otherwise the festive season with its activities, indulgences and its unique ability to warp time so you lose track of what day of the week it is would arrive and it would be New Year before normal life resumed. Thankfully, a period of very cold but dry and settled weather was forecast and I took advantage of it to head north, arriving at Troutbeck just as the last rays of watery sunshine were vanishing over the western horizon and the temperature started to plummet. When darkness fell, the clear star studded night sky sucked the last vestiges of any heat out of the ground.