| Location | The Bank Tavern, Keswick |
| Those Present | Bill, Sally, Jerry, Mark and Myself |
| Dates | 29th October - 2nd November |
It was a beautiful Autumn day, and as usual the breakfast conversation turned to where we were going. We have a long-standing joke about 'doing a gentle one on the first day', and so, not wishing to break with tradition, I suggested Bowfell. We had made a half-hearted attempt on it on Good Friday 1987, but the blazingly hot weather and the length of Langstrath had beaten us. This time we would do it direct from Langdale. We all piled into Mark's Cavalier and set off.
The car park at the Old Dungeon Gill was full, and so we had to park on the grass verge by the side of the road. It was cold and frosty in the shade of the hedges as we walked along the lane to Stool End (picture) , but as we emerged from the shadows to start the climb up the Band it got quite hot, and we shed layers of outer clothing. (picture) After the initial steep pull the gradient became easier, and we had marvellous views to the right of Pike O'Stickle across Mickleden (picture) , and ahead to Bowfell Buttress and Cambridge Crag. (picture)
There followed another steep climb up the stony, eroded path to Three Tarns, where we stopped to admire the views of the Scafells (picture) and Bowfell Links. (picture) It looked as if Scafell Pike could be reached by a simple stroll, the deep trench of Eskdale not being apparent from here.
Feeling refreshed, we began the final stage of the ascent. While I was looking for the Great Slab (picture) the others came across someone who made us look super fit, stopping for breath after every couple of steps. I now realise how he felt!.
The summit cairn was, as usual, occupied by other groups, so we set off down towards Ore Gap and had our lunch in relative peace and quiet. The selfishness of other walkers makes me cross; of course we all like to visit the highest point of a mountain, but to take up residence there denies this opportunity to others. I usually find that they are the sort of people who talk at the tops of their voices and laugh raucously, as if to draw attention to the fact that they have made the ascent and therefore deserve some kind of admiration. I have no time for them, and walk away to find a more private spot from which to admire the view. There, that's got it off my chest. I know I'm a grumpy old sod who dislikes people in general and crowds in particular, but I'm sure there must be others out there who agree with me.
The grass slope down to Angle Tarn was in the shade and still frozen, making the descent somewhat hazardous, but we made it safely and headed for the top of the notorious Rosset Gill. (picture) Personally I've never found it as bad as its reputation leads one to believe; there are certainly worse paths such as Red Pike to Bleaberry Tarn, and possibly the Band itself if the evidence of my last visit is anything to go by. (I understand that repair work has now been carried out in Rosset Gill).
We took the pleasant path along Mosedale to the Old Dungeon Gill for refreshment. We made the mistake of trying the Yates - it wasn't good. For some reason the others took against the bar. Personally I think the fact that it hadn't been cleaned for some years added to its charm.
I will never grow tired of this walk, and the only other time that Bill had done it was in the mist, so we took advantage of a warm, sunny day to do it again.
We parked at the top of Honister and took the usual route via Brandreth (picture) , Green Gable and Windy Gap. (picture) Along the way we met a solitary lady walker and her black Labrador called Henry and she tagged along with us. Normally I don't like being joined by strangers, but she wasn't annoyingly chatty like some people.
I'm about to make a confession. During my years of fell walking I have often been approached by people asking directions. I don't know why, and it always amuses the others who have an unfounded distrust of my route finding abilities, but I always try to help. On one occasion however, while going up Gable in the mist with my mother-in-law and brother-in-law, we were joined on the slopes of Brandreth by a man who was on the final stages of the Coast to Coast. He just wouldn't shut up, and in order to get rid of him I directed him along the first fork in the path which we came to. I hope he arrived safely in Ennerdale, but I suspect he ended up descending from Haystacks to Buttermere!
We paused briefly on the summit (having said that summit cairn hoggers annoy me, I have to admire the style of a young couple I once met; they appeared, breathless, from the Windy Gap direction and proceeded to celebrate their success with a bottle of champagne!) and then walked across the stony plateau to Westmorland Cairn to eat our lunch while gazing down into Wasdale (picture) (In my opinion one of the finest views in the Lake District). Finally, with some reluctance, we went down to Beck Head and back to the Brandreth path. There was still quite a bit of daylight remaining, so we made our way down to the left and headed for Haystacks, making our individual ways round pools and rocky tors to Innominate Tarn. (picture)
We returned to Honister in fading light via Dubs quarry and the Tram Way, and the lady walker had a moment of panic when she couldn't find her car keys. She finally discovered that she had left them in the ignition of her almost new BMW all day!
After our exertions of the last two days, we decided to have a relatively gentle walk. The plan was to park near Grange and follow the Allerdale Ramble (so called on the OS map) to Seatoller, and then either up Honister and back via Dale Head, or return along the river to Rosthwaite. As it happens, it turned out to be quite an eventful day!
We parked in the Bowder Stone car park and walked back to the road. It must have been almost 20 years since I had last done this part of the walk, but I had vague recollections of a bridge near here which would save us the walk into Grange (I think in retrospect that it must have been the one at Rosthwaite), and so we set off straight down to the river. Almost as soon as we left the road, we came across a sheep which had become entangled in some barbed wire. The wire had sunk so deeply into its fleece that we were unable to release it, and so while Jerry held it still Mark went in search of the farmer. Unfortunately he found the best way to keep it still was to stand astride it and hold onto its horns, which led to ribald comments and some compromising photographs! (picture)
Eventually the farmer arrived and freed the sheep with the aid of some wire cutters, taking it away with him in his Landrover.
We continued down to the river, only to find that someone had stolen the bridge! Rather than retracing our steps we decided to remove our boots and socks and wade across, the river here being quite wide but very shallow. All went well, apart from the freezing cold water and hard little pebbles, until a Tornado flew over. Bill was so startled that he fell to his hands and knees in the river. (picture) Eventually we were all safely across and dried out, with only a few mutinous remarks about my ability to find bridges.
The next part of the walk, past Castle Crag (picture) and Rigg Head (picture) , was very pleasant, with fine views of Skiddaw and Borrowdale. We had lost quite a bit of time with the sheep, and so decided not to go as far as Seatoller. I wanted to go down to Rosthwaite, but Bill (I'm sure it was Bill, although of course he now blames me!) had the idea of going up the grassy slope to our right towards Launchy Tarn and High Scawdell. We scrambled up beside a deep ravine (Scaleclose Gill I think from looking at the map), eventually arriving at level ground at the top of the gill. Nobody had enjoyed the climb, which really was quite unpleasant, and seemed to blame me for it!
It was now really too late to return via the Catbells ridge, but I remembered the path leading from the depression between Maiden Moor and
High Spy to Grange. Although it is not immediately apparent from the ridge, I thought that if we walked north along the boggy plateau of Low Scawdell we would be sure to cross it.
We wandered for what seemed like hours, without any sign of a path. The light was fading, and Sally, and consequently Bill, was sarting to panic. It was then that I made a remark which I have never been allowed to forget!! "If we go back up to the ridge, we can send Mark ahead to get a taxi to pick us up from Hawes End".
And so was created the legendary Catbells taxi rank!
Eventually, just as I was seriously considering contingency plans, Bill stumbled across the path just round the rocky shoulder of Nitting Haws, and we went back down to the sewage works above Grange and took the track to Hollows Farm. It really was dark by now, and we waited in the layby on the main road while Mark fetched his car. (picture)
In protest at my route finding ability, Bill and Sally decided to have a day off.
Mark, Jerry and I drove over to Grasmere, with the intention of climbing Sergeant Man via Easedale. We made good time up to Easedale tarn, stopping for a while to admire the falls of Sour Milk Gill, and picked our way along the boggy shore of the tarn before beginning the climb up between Eagle Crag and Belles Knott.
(picture)
There was a bit of a scramble up some rock slabs before we reached the path from Blea Rigg. By this time my left knee had had enough of steep uphill bits, and so I regretfully passed on the descent into a dip and the final climb to the summit, walking instead round the back of it to find our intended path to High Raise. As it happens, I could have made the summit quite easily from here, up a simple grassy slope, but by this time the others were coming back down. I was so overcome with mirth at the thought of their unnecessary exertions that I promptly fell over and cut my leg on a sharp rock!
We followed the black, horribly sticky path over High White Stones and Low White Stones and down to the crossroads of Greenup Edge, taking the path down to the head of Far Easedale. It's one of my favourite valleys, being peaceful and relatively unfrequented, and the long descent to Grasmere was a pleasure.
Today the cold which Jerry had been brewing all week finally came to fruition. The rest of us are feeling a bit seedy as well, not helped in my case by sharing a room with Mark. He's one of those annoying people who are asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow, and in Mark's case sleep is synonymous with snoring! And so, whatever our collective reasons, we couldn't summon up the energy for a big one.
After much map studying we decided on Sale Fell. We parked near Eskin, climbed the gentle grassy slopes of the fell and returned to the road at Old Scales. (picture) As we were walking back down the road to the car, we passed a
couple laden with cameras and powerful binoculars, staring intently at a large crow drifting above the fellside. "Is it an eagle?", the wife asked her husband. (picture)
When we got back to Keswick it was still quite early, so we wandered down to the lake and visited Friars Crag. As the sun went down it got very cold, but the views across the lake were superb. (picture)