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“Climbing to the top of England” |
Published in Saturday Star on May 19.
Puffing and panting to the top of England, examining the inside of a cloud, the strange call of a banshee breaking the eerie silence. It is mid-August, supposedly high summer but after all, it is the wettest place in England. On conquering the top I feel like Sir Edmund Hillary, only to find a dog with a slimy ball in his mouth and a two year old who has made it on her own steam.
In May 2005, the right of access was introduced to the area giving people the opportunity to walk freely across the land.
When a trip to the Middle East fell through, I joined up with Peter Phillips, fellow hiker from Cape Town on a visit to the Lake District for the seventh time. He had planned two circuit walks going from hostel to hostel. The only walking I had done over the past nine months was over flattish terrain.
The journey north had been dull until we reached the bingo promenade of Morecambe on the coast of an inlet of muddy tidal sea. A little further, barges on the Carnforth Canal and then “Welcome to Cumbria” and the true entrance to the compact mountainous area of the Lake District with many bicycles loaded onto cars. Arriving in Windermere late afternoon, asking directions it was a 7km walk to Trout Beck Youth Hostel. The place was humming with people finishing supper and enjoying drinks on the veranda overlooking rolling hills and the bluish waters of Windermere, named after the wild boar that roamed the forest in times gone by and at 17km the longest lake in England. Meals have to be booked before 17h00 but they kindly threw together a delicious three-course meal for me.
Next morning, fortified with a hearty English breakfast, we set off up the Trout Beck valley following a Roman road. With the exception of horse-riders, we hardly saw anyone until we reached the top of what is known as High Street, living up to its name with people everywhere, most of them doing the horseshoe route from Patterdale and some on the Coast to Coast trail (315km in 15 days). The top is flat and was used as a racecourse at the time when the sheep of Mardale, the valley now submerged under Haweswater Reservoir, met other shepherds from the neighbouring valleys on top of High Street and exchanged back the sheep who had strayed from their own valleys into their neighbour’s. As part of the day’s events they also held horse races on the lofty fell top.
The descent seemed to take forever but the scenery helped to ease aching, sore feet and muscles, mountain slopes patched with scree, bracken and mauve-pink heather, all dotted with pink and turquoise tattooed sheep. Patterdale Youth Hostel is a Scandinavian style building tucked between trees between Ullswater and ?.
Next day we tried to get an idea of the weather from locals but they either didn’t want to commit or truly didn’t know. We took a chance. A day off conjures images of feet up, good book, relaxing. But not my friend. His idea is to scale England’s third highest peak, Helvellyn 949m, the most-climbed peak in the area. Body sore with lactic acid build up offset by the pleasure of walking with a small backpack. The path was gradual but very long. The main feature and most difficult route to the summit is Striding Edge, a sharp, dramatic, serrated ridge splitting Grisedale Tarn from the Grizedale Valley? There is a lower path but I wanted to ‘stride the edge’, blood pumping in my ears, heart jumping out of my chest. About halfway along a steel monument to Robert Dixon, who in 1858, while following the Patterdale foxhounds fell to his death. Foxes on this mountain? Surely an urban legend? Then I spotted the sheep below me. After the devastation of foot-and-mouth, Swaledale and Herdwick Sheep are a common sight on the mountains with some of the wool going into the carpet making business. From the Edge the final ascent looked like a walk until we reached it and had to scramble on all fours – fun!
Heavy backpacks again following the long Grizedale Valley, all to ourselves until we reached the overnight hut, Ruthwaite Lodge. While enjoying a cuppa we met two guys collecting Munro’s (there are 284 peaks in the British Isles of which most are in Scotland) and even a cyclist. At the top of the valley, a colourful sight with two tents next to Grizedale tarn and bedecked hikers, most of them climbing Helvellyn or doing the Coast to Coast trail.
Sheltering under one of eight yew trees planted in the churchyard by William Wordsworth, examining the graves of the poet and his family. Grasmere is a small, beautiful village lined with grey-stone houses, restaurants and shops. At the far end of the village, the unassuming home of Wordsworth, Dove Cottage next to the new, award winning museum.
Sheep, ducks, Grolsch beer, crisps (chips) overlooking an island in Derwentwater and the outline of Cat Bell’s in the distance made a perfect end to a tiring day. Keswick is the ‘big city’ of the Lake District, population 5000, its grey buildings blending with the grey mountains, grey sky and grey water. It’s a touristy place swarming with wannabe hikers in search of fish, chips and beer, and yet it has a charming quality. Keswick Youth Hostel hangs above ? River not far from the centre of town, unfortunately this proximity endears it to part people and un-hiking types. In need of news but the television hogged by Big Brother enthusiasts so we retired to bed.
Derwentwater, at 1.6km wide and almost 5km long, is owned by the National Trust. Cradled by hills and fringed with autumn colours. Four small wooded islands Beatrix Potter was a regular visitor.
Untangling myself from the impractical sheet after a night shared with snorers, I stiff-legged my way to a hearty breakfast. The outskirts of town and the threatened rain arrived so we sheltered under a tree for almost an hour with me trying to persuade my friend that Britain is not so great and that our homeland deserved more credit than he was giving to it. Back to the Youth Hostel. Later, back to the tree to continue to the ridge high above the lake. Our highest point would have made a fantastic picture, surrounded by purple-pink heather, lake-strewn Derwentwater below framed by the sensuous curve of distinctive Cat Bell’s opposite and Basinthwaite Lake? to our right. One of the islands is a literary landmark, St Herbert’s – only accessible by boat. Wordsworth and a century later Beatrix Potter took the island as inspiration for Owl Island in Squirrel Nutkin. Down to the road at Ashness Bridge and then a short way to Watenlath, salivating in anticipation of tea and scones on the tarn-shore. It was closed! Watching fly-fishermen on the tarn, surrounded by ducks, swans and cats we debated what dastardly deed could prevent the restaurant from being open, a divorce, a death in the family.
Our disappointment was made up for with delicious coffee and scones in Rosthwaite and then hunt-the-Youth-Hostel of Borrowdale, hidden amongst fields split by dry-stone walls and on the hillside amongst a grove of trees. Borrowdale is the place where the coal-like mineral graphite was discovered in around 1500, from which all pencils were made. Borrowdale is a popular Youth Hostel and I could not get a booking so had to continue 3km to Honister Youth Hostel.
“It takes me about half an hour,” said one of the workers.
“It’s a bit steep,” warned my friend.
After a short walk along the river watching four guys trying to negotiate a small rapid in a dingy, I came to Honister Pass and a 25% gradient! It was easier to walk backwards. I tried hitch-hiking, after all, it is a National Park, but no-one stopped, no-one wandered why a woman alone with backpack was walking up this atrocious pass in the late afternoon – “May the mountains grow steeper for you”.
Honister Youth Hostel sits at the top of the Pass and next to Britain’s only slate mine. Westmoreland granite and slate is extracted from 17km of tunnels beneath the hills. And that is all there is. A wild and windy spot, no electricity only a generator, the food disappointing, but thank goodness they have a license unlike the other hostels.
Next morning, another day off. This time to scale England’s highest peak, Scafell Pike, 977m. My friend had to climb the Pass but this didn’t slow him down. Base Brown for morning tea and the company of a guy who had left his four kids and wife at home to climb the four highest peaks, camping rough. Green Gable towered above blocking out the light. A short descent to Windy Gap and then lose all the height we had gained descending a slippery scree slope to sunshine glittering on Slyhead Tarn and what looked like a busy highway speckled with walkers below. Worrying that we would not have enough time, we calculated our route and made our way along the Corridor Route, a gradual rocky path clinging to the mountainside laced with valleys split by meandering streams, lakes, tarns and peaks. Rounding a corner the shock of rocky Scafell Pike towering above. Energy level low, long past lunchtime and another short, horrid scree which was almost my undoing. Head down, it was only psyche that made me push on for the final busy ascent and suddenly a rocky mound, a beacon and crowds, including a dog with a slimy ball in his mouth and lots of children, including a two-year-old who had made it on her own steam without whinging. Summit photographs, lunch and the crowds gazing at the sea in the distance through the haze. One million years ago this was a glaciated landscape with a series of ice ages leaving hanging valleys, often having tarns.
Different descent to Seathwaite boasting the highest annual rainfall in England. There were a few trees in the ravine. Apparently there aren’t many trees because the sheep eat them. We also saw signs of path building with enormous rocks having been dropped by helicopter.
We had been warned that Black Sail Youth Hostel is “an experience”, “different”, a “legend” and famous for its remoteness. We passed across multiple peaks of Haystacks dotted with numerous tarns and rocks scratched from ice age days. The final descent into Ennerdale Valley and the isolated shepherd’s bothy accessible only on foot. This Hostel keeps to the tradition of 1933 allowing people to stay that arrive on foot or bike. There are three dorms sleeping 16, each entrance is from the outside and solar generated. Legend goes that people staying in the hut saw a Viking Ship with a black sail in the valley but it is more probable that the name is derived from a Norse word, many places have Norse names from the Vikings who landed and colonised the area in 1900AD. These were not fierce Vikings with horns and swords. They came for the land.
The hostel was closed until late afternoon and there was a constant stream of hiker’s in search of cake, tea and coffee, knowledge passed by word of mouth. But today, there was no cake. What the warden lacked in personality he more than made up for with his cooking, spicy lentil soup followed by pasta with chicken sauce and for vegetarians an aubergine and sun-dried tomato sauce for vegetarians. For desert, chocolate pudding with chocolate sauce and filter coffee.
Buttermere Youth Hostel overlooks the lake of the same name and is a complete contrast to Black Sail. As we descended from the nek between Haystacks and Red Pike, with Buttermere Lake, Crummock water and Loweswater and then along the lakeshore through a forest, the sky was dotted with colourful paragliders. The town consists of three hotels and two small shops selling amongst other things delicious homemade ice cream. Our evening was spent watching the history of the area in a slide show given by voluntary Park Ranger, Gillian Thorne.
Last lap, uncomplaining body, rain on its way but later, our highest point Robinson, a mere 737m, followed by Hindscarth 10m lower. A family of five walking part of our route on the way to Borrowdale, the youngest aged five years. We dallied on Little Dale High Crags to enjoy the purple heather scenting the black fly filled air, the grey town of Keswick in the distance beyond Cat Bell’s. Forming an impressive backdrop is Skiddaw, England’s fourth highest peak and the oldest in the Lake District. A novice painter also enjoying the colourful ridge. Black sky chasing us promising rain.
To book a Youth Hostel www.yha.org.uk or tel. 015394311117
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