First of all, an apology. I forgot to take my camera on this trip, and none of the others can find the photos they took. We are still scouring attics and rarely-visited cupboards and drawers in an attempt to discover their whereabouts.
This was our first trip as a complete group, and initially Lyn booked the house through a company called Lakeland Cottage Holidays which she seen advertised in the Sunday paper. We have subsequently used them for all of our Keswick visits. There was then some doubt as to whether Lyn and Jerry would be able to make it, and so I took over the organisation, a task with which I have been lumbered ever since. We held several pre-trip planning meetings in the White Hart, Castle Combe. Bill, for whom this was the first visit to the Lakes, had been avidly reading Wainwright for the past month, and when I mentioned Catbells as a possibility for our first walk, he looked quite indignant. "You don't have to do an easy one on my account", he said. "Wainwright says it's a Sunday afternoon walk for Grannies and small children!".
The great day eventually arrived, and I picked up Bill and Sally in my Alfasud. Lyn and Jerry were able to come after all, and were travelling up in their Metro. I can't for the life of me remember how Mark got their - I'll find out next time I speak to him.
We arrived in Keswick, parked outside the house and walked into town in time for a couple of pints in the Dog and Gun, followed by a bag of chips from the Old Keswickian in the market place. It was immediately christened 'Mrs Miggins'. Those of you who have watched Black Adder will know why! After visiting George Fisher we walked back to Blencathra Street and unloaded the car, made our beds, etc.
Lyn and Jerry still hadn't arrived by six o'clock when we made our way to the Dog and Gun for the evening session. I can't remember how many pints of Theakstons Best we drank, but in those days it would have been at least eight, plus one the D&G's large goulashes. Lyn and Jerry still hadn't arrived as we made our way back to the house at about 10:30, but as we walked down Blencathra Street, we met them going towards town. They had run out of petrol on Shap, and had to call out the RAC. They continued into Keswick for a quick drink, while the rest of us had a cup of coffee.

The day dawned bright and sunny, and we drove over to Hawes End to begin the ascent of Catbells. Bill had bought all the gear; Zamberlan boots, Berghaus waterproofs and fleece, and a walking stick. By the time he was half way up, he was down to his shirt sleeves, and cursing the stick, which kept tripping him up, and by the time he had reached the little rocky outcrop near the top he had revised his ideas about grannies and small children. "They must breed tough grannies up here", he was heard to mutter.
We walked the ridge over Maiden Moor and High Spy and down to the marshy depression of Dalehead tarn, and then made our way down by Rigg Head quarries. Bill and Sally didn't enjoy their first experience of a steep, loose path, and I must admit I have never really enjoyed it either. About halfway down we stopped for a breather, and a group of young lads overtook us. They were helping one of their number who had twisted his ankle, and we remarked upon the fact that he wasn't making very good use of his expensive-looking boots. It was then that we had the idea of becoming 'Boot Bandits'. We could lurk in the rocks and descend on unsuspecting walkers, take their boots and run off. They would be unable to chase us in their bare feet!
We made our way back to the car by the path that goes below Castle Crag, past Grange and down to the Lake shore.

As so often happens in the Lakes, after having your hopes raised by a beautiful day you wake up to torrential rain. The previous summer I had stayed at Stoneycroft in Newlands and enjoyed the ascent of Causey Pike, so that's where we went. I seem to have been elected team leader; goodness knows why, because I have taken a lot of flack over the years about my route finding. Perhaps nobody else wants to get the blame? I always say in my defence that I have never failed to get us back for opening time. Anyhow, I find it quite touching that they still follow me (although from the front these days!), and they find it quite hilarious when other walkers ask me for directions.
It was cold, wet and miserable as we walked up the mine road and took the steep, eroded path up to Sleet Hause. There was frogs spawn in some of the puddles, and we wondered about the futility of leaving your eggs in such an inhospitable place; presumably some of them must survive to continue the process the next year. There were muted mutterings of displeasure from the others as we struggled up the narrowing ridge towards the crags which guard Causey Pike, but these soon stopped when we began the scramble up the rocky groove to the summit. Bill decided to make his way round to the left in search of easier ground, but had a moment of panic when he found himself stuck half way up the steep rocks. Eventually we were all gathered safely on the summit, and began the trudge across the boggy top of Scar Crags. At the depression between Scar Crags and Sail we turned right and took the narrow path which traverses a steep scree slope and leads back to the mine road.

This was one of our best days. The rain had stopped, and the morning was cold and sunny, a perfect day for walking. We drove over to Ullswater and parked in Glenridding, from where we took the road which leads up to the Youth Hostel at Greenside mines. The zig-zag path up from Kepple Cove to Whiteside Bank was a bit of a slog, but compensated for by the views of Swirral Edge and Catstycam. There were patches of snow on the path as we approached the base of Lower Man, and the summit of Helvellyn itself was heavily corniced with snow. (picture) As we reached the top of Lower Man we paused, and stared in wonder. The whole of the summit plateau was covered in snow, and Red Tarn far below had ice-flows. Very unromantically we christened it 'Gravy Tarn'. Reluctantly we left this place of beauty and began the descent via Nethermost Pike, Dollywaggon Pike and Grisedale Tarn. We paused at the tarn for refreshments, and overheard a group of boy-scouts studying their map. "What's that lake, then?", asked one of them. Pause. "Griselda Tarn", replied another, and henceforth that has become its name.
We began to feel quite weary as we descended Grisedale, but again we had the magnificent views and bright blue sky to comfort us. The only low spot of the day was a pint of indifferent beer in the pub at Glenridding.

We decided to have a day off. I can't remember what the weather was like; I seem to recall it being dull and overcast but not raining. We drove through Ambleside and Little Langdale, over Wrynose and Hardknott passes and down to Eskdale. We stopped on the way down to visit the Roman fort. It was considerably restored since I first visited it as an eight year old.
We took the little steam train (the Ratty) from Eskdale Green to Ravenglass and back again, had some lunch in the Bower House, and drove round to Wasdale, finally returning to Keswick via Cockermouth.

Today I wanted to introduce the others to my favourite mountain - Great Gable. Unfortunately the weather wasn't too good, and much of the walk was done in mist. It only cleared as we descended the flanks of Brandreth to the Tramway, and Haystacks looked very inviting. Of course Bill wanted to do it after reading that it was one of Wainwright's favourites, and so we all made our individual ways round rocky outcrops and little tarns until we reached Innominate Tarn. I can't remember if we actually went on to the summit, but we made our way back past Blackbeck Tarn and Dubs quarry and down to Honister.

The weather had changed yet again, and it was sunny and very warm. Bill and Sally (mainly at Sally's instigation I suspect) drove to Windermere, while the rest of us set off to climb Bowfell by way of Langstrath and Ore Gap. It was pretty ambitious, especially as we made quite a late start, and because Langstrath isn't called 'the Long Valley' for nothing. We enjoyed the walk up Langstrath, pausing frequently to enjoy the falls in the beck, and by the time we reached the start of the climb up to Angle Tarn it was apparent that we weren't going to make Bowfell. In all honesty, I never thought we would. We made a prolonged stop by the beck, bathing in the hot sun, and gazing longingly at the remote, snow covered summits of Esk Pike and Bowfell. We finally retraced our steps back down to Stonethwaite and the car, just in time to meet hoards of motorcyclists making for the campsite.
That evening the D&G was very crowded, with people queuing to take our seats when we left.

We got up early, did our packing and cleaned the house, and were on our way home by about 9:30. The traffic on the Motorway was very heavy northbound, heading to the Lakes for Easter, but in our direction it was quite light. And so ended one of my best weeks in the Lakes. Others have been good, but cannot recapture the sense of excitement and newness of that first trip.

Return to Diary