| Location | Little Ground, Wasdale |
| Those Present | Jerry, Mark and myself |
| Dates | October 13th - October 19th |
This was the first trip for my XR4i. Mark and I arrived in good time and waited for Jerry. We went shopping in Gosforth and Waited for Jerry. We sat in the sun by the side of the road and waited for Jerry. He finally arrived having taken scenic route via Morcombe Bay and Barrow-in-Furness.
We decided to walk to the pub (The Screes) at Strands that evening.
The path led past the farm and through a field. The ground near the gate at the far side of the field was very muddy, and I leapt onto what, in the moonlight, looked like a white rock, but in fact turned out to be a puddle! I spent the rest of the evening trying to cover up embarrassing splashes on my jeans.
For the rest of the week we drove to the pub.
It was a bit of a struggle finding our way up to Irton Fell from Cinderdale Bridge, but eventually, after a bit of illegal fence climbing, we managed it, and made the easy ascent over the grassy ridge of Irton Fell to the summit of Illgill Head.
There were splendid views down the ravines of Hall Gill to Wastwater (picture) ; there seemed to be a path down the gill, but not one which I would care to take! We walked along the top of the Screes and down to the Burnmoor pony track and returned on the path along the bottom of the screes.
It was a beautiful sunny autumn afternoon, and the view back along Wastwater was perfect; it took a great deal of effort to get to our feet again and complete the walk. (picture)
We woke to a damp and miserable day, and spent the morning on a drive along the coast to Egremont and Whitehaven.
What a thoroughly depressed area! We passed a pub called The Distressed Sailor, which just about summed it up.
In the afternoon we decided we must get out for a walk, so we went back
along the road in the direction of Gosforth and turned right up a track
which apparently went right over to Blengdale. At the top we turned right and went over Cat Bields and up to Seatallen. The slope was gentle, but the rough, tussocky grass made it hard walking. We went back through grass and heather to Buckbarrow (the craggy lump which overlooks the cottage). (picture)
The wind was very strong and in our faces, with fierce gusts of rain,
but it was an enjoyable walk all the same. The back of Buckbarrow was a
fascinating place, a bit like Rannerdale Knotts or High Rigg, and as we
usually do at such times, we said to ourselves "Bill would like this".
We parked at Wasdale Head and walked past the Inn, turning left into Mosedale and then up Black Sail, pausing occasionally to examine our intended return route down Dore Head. (picture)
At the top of the pass we admired the views down into Ennerdale and then turned left for Pillar.
The top was covered in mist, so we missed the view. (picture) By this time my left knee was telling me it wasn't a good idea to go up anymore, and so I made a strategic retreat by the route of ascent while Jerry and Mark continued over Scoat Fell, Red Pike etc.
It actually turned into quite a nice day, and the sun was shining as I came down to Wasdale. I stopped on the path for some time trying to see the others on the way down, but eventually gave up and returned to the car.
When they arrived, Jerry was full of the praises of Steeple; considering my head for heights I was almost glad I hadn't accompanied them. (picture)
We parked at bottom of Hardknott and walked via Brotherikeld farm
to the top of Eskdale. (picture)
The path started pleasantly alongside the Esk, and we continued along the right bank to the small packhorse bridge at Lingcove, where a path turned off to the right for Three Tarns and Bowfell. It was a beautiful spot, and we lingered for a while at the junction of Lingcove Beck and the Esk.
Eventually we crossed the bridge and started the only real climb of the day. There were good views of the falls where the valley narrowed into a gorge. (picture)
At the top of the rise we came to Throstlegarth, where the narrow valley suddenly and unexpectedly opened out into a large boggy expanse.
We picked our way along the edge and round the rocky shoulder of Scar Lathing, and there before us was the Great Moss, with the infant Esk meandering through it.
On the left were Scafell and Scafell Pike. Straight ahead were Esk Hause and Esk Pike, and on the right were Bowfell and Crinkle Crags. What a splendid place. (picture)
We followed the river across the middle of the Moss (just about keeping our feet dry by walking on large shingle banks), and then picked our way carefully towards the waterfall of Cam Spout. (picture)
Scafell was covered in clouds, but we caught glimpses of the narrow ridge of Mickledore high above us.
We returned along the ridge on right of Eskdale - Silverybield Crag, Rowantreee Crag etc.
When we got back to the cottage we realised we had lost the key, but fortunately were able to collect a spare from the caretaker.
I think this must be my favourite low(ish) level walk. The top of Eskdale is a lonely and desolate place, but none the worse for that! At least you don't see yellow Mickey Mouse cycle capes!
We parked once again at Wasdale Head and took the old pony track
towards Burnmoor Tarn, wondering who on earth would bother to build a
house up here. (picture)
We had intended to pick up a path direct to the summit, but we obviously
should have turned off before Burnmoor, and instead we made our way up
a never ending grass slope to the right of Bleaberry Howe towards Slight Side and the ridge to the summit.
The wind had now risen to gale force proportions,and it was almost impossible to stand upright. Jerry decided at this point that he was going to put his waterproof on. It took all three of us to achieve this - I held Jerry down while he and Mark struggled with his coat. Luckily the wind was blowing away from the Eskdale edge, with its crags and precipices.
The top of Scafell was covered in cloud, and we begin to climb what we hoped was the main summit, only to see an impossibly large black shape looming out of the cloud in front of us.
The same thing happened again, but eventually we were convinced that we were at the top. We didn't linger because of the wind, but set off almost immediately down the path by which we had intended to ascend. We were rather pleased we had missed it, as it consisted mainly of very steep, loose scree.
Jerry tripped and cut his leg, which cheered us up, and then lower down it was my turn on the wet grass.
I made yet another mental not to get my trusty Zamberlans resoled!