| Location | The Bank Tavern, Keswick |
| Those Present | Bill, Sally, Jerry, Lyn, Mark and Myself |
| Dates | October 23rd - October 26th |
This was a long weekend, rather than a full week. We stayed in the Bank Tavern, opposite the Post Office, where Jerry, Mark and I had stayed previously. I always felt rather guilty while staying there; we slept in their beds, ate their (excellent) breakfasts, but disappeared down to the Dog & Gun for the entire evening.
Friday 23rd October - Scafell Pike
It was a reasonable morning, and we drove down Borrowdale to Seathwaite to climb Scafell Pike. I had decided to get the worst of the slog over at the beginning by taking the Grains Gill route to Esk Hause and return by the Corridor Route and Styhead. It had been some years since I had last set foot on Grains Gill (18 in fact), and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the path had been repaired, making upward progress much easier.(picture)
Shortly after leaving Stockley Bridge (picture) we were overtaken by a group of lads, probably army or T.A. from their kit, one of whom had a badly leaking personal stereo. Mark unslung his Kalashnikov and shot them, and we continued on our way in peace.
After reaching Esk Hause the walk became much easier, although very rough crossing the boulder field of Broad Crag. (picture) As we started the final ascent to the summit it started to snow. Fortunately it didn't last long, and we were able to get some sort of view from the summit, although it was still a bit misty. Bill has a photo captioned 'Ah, Sellafield; jewel of the North'. (picture)
We began the descent by the Wasdale path, turning sharp right to pick up the initially faint path of the Corridor Route. I have always enjoyed this path, with its views down into Piers Gill, its little rock scramble, and the final descent to Styhead Tarn. (picture) By the time we reached Styhead the weather had cleared, and it was a beautiful late autumn afternoon.
It was a bright, cold morning with low level mist, and when I looked out of our bedroom window there was a beautiful view across the rooftops of Catbells rising from the mist. I called Bill and Jerry from the other room to come and have a look. I should explain that the window was a good six feet from the floor, and Bill and Jerry are about 5' 6''. The sight of them gazing blankly at the wall was too much for me, and I collapsed onto the bed, laughing hysterically! (picture)
We drove over to Buttermere with the intention of doing the High Stile ridge. We parked in the car park down past the Bridge Hotel, and took the path across the meadows between Buttermere and Crummock Water. We crossed the stream at Buttermere Dubs by the little stone bridge, pausing to wonder at the clearness and deep green colour of the water, and then turned right along the path to Scales Force. (picture) It was boggier than usual, especially as we climbed left to approach the falls, and Bill had his usual mishaps! It's strange, isn't it, that some people (like Mark) can walk across a bog and keep their trousers in a pristine condition, while others (like Bill) seem to sink to the knees at every opportunity.
We stopped by the falls for quite a while, climbing the rocks to the left of the lower fall to get a view of the far more impressive upper fall. (picture) Finally we dragged ourselves away and climbed the steep, slippery grass slope to the left of Scale Beck until we reached Lingcombe Edge. The ascent from here to the summit of Red Pike is much more pleasant than the dreadfully eroded slope rising from Bleaberry Tarn, (picture) and certainly worth it for the magnificent views along Crummock Water and the Vale of Lorton. (picture)
Unfortunately, we had spent too much time at the falls, and in any case Sally didn't want to go much further, so we descended to Bleaberry Tarn and returned to Buttermere by the path which zig-zags down past Sourmilk Gill to Burtness. (picture)
It was a dull, windy morning, and so I suggested a walk which might keep us more sheltered than a ridge route. We parked in Braithwaite and walked up Coldale along the old mine road. I think almost everyone felt out of sorts that morning, and there were various moans from the troops about what a boring walk it was.
Matters improved slightly as we climbed past Low Force and High Force to Coledale Hause. I decided not to take the Grisedale Pike option - it can get horribly windy up there with nothing to the north to act as a break- and instead turned left and took the more sheltered path beneath Eel Crag.
When we reached the crossroads between Grasmoor, Eel Crag and Wandope the wind seemed to have dropped, and so we went up the long, stony slope to the summit of Eel Crag. (Yes, I know the OS calls it Crag Hill, but I've always known it as Eel Crag).
Mark was the first to reach the summit plateau, and we discovered him clinging to the trig point at the top of the crags. The wind on top was horrendous, and we literally had to hold on to Lyn just in case. I've only twice experienced stronger wind in the Lakes, once on the ridge between Slight Side and Scafell, and once on Broom Fell. (picture)
We quickly crossed the plateau and carefully made our way across the narrow ridge between Eel Crag and Sail. Fortunately we were once again sheltered from the wind. This was before I had the ear infection which affected my head for heights; I don't think I would enjoy it now.
We climbed up Sail and made our way down to the depression at the base of Scar Crags, and then took the narrow path which contours between crags and steep scree down to the Stoneycroft mine road. We followed the road beneath Outerside, and then turned left along the path to Barrow Door and Barrow.
As we were descending Barrow towards Braithwaite (picture) , Lyn experienced a 'call of nature'. We politely waited while she went ahead in search of a suitable rock. Shortly after she had disappeared, three mountain bikers raced past us and headed towards where we had last seen Lyn. She was not amused. "I was just pulling my knickers up when those **** cyclists appeared. Why didn't you **** well stop them!". Short of throwing ourselves in front of them, I'm not sure how we were meant to achieve this, and our hysterical laughter further enraged Lyn. (she saw the funny side later).
We packed the cars and made an early start, waving goodbye to Blencathra and heading east along the A66. Our destination was Malham, and we managed to keep more or less together, arriving at about 10am. We parked in the village, and walked up the road to Gordale Scar. I was surprised to find people rock climbing on the walls of the gorge; I had always thought the limestone was too loose and unstable. We climbed up on the left of the waterfall and made our way towards Malham Cove. I had previously found a path which avoids the walk down the road, instead crossing the road and climbing the wall by a ladder stile. The path across the field is not very distinct, but by following a wall on the left you emerge half way up the valley which leads to the top of the Cove. We admired the limestone pavement and then made our way back down to Malham. We probably had a pint of Theakstons in the pub, and then set off for home.