Ward’s Stone, Wolfhole Crag and White Hill.

Late sun catches the River Roeburn and Morecambe Bay.

A Wednesday walk in early July; another fabulous Lune Catchment outing. I was able to get out on a Wednesday because it was a strike day. With hindsight, I’m slightly ambivalent about our industrial action: the ‘deal’ we eventually settled for was so poor, putting us even further behind where we were before ‘austerity’, that the personal cost of numerous unpaid strike days seems hardly worth it, but on the other hand, now that it’s over, I’m really missing those occasional days off and the midweek escapes to the hills.

My route could be summarised as a high-level circuit of the headwaters of the River Roeburn. At this remove I can’t remember what inspired me to plan such a long and ambitious route for a day when the forecast wasn’t especially promising.

I drove in on the road from Hornby which crosses a shoulder of Caton Moor, giving great views of the head of the dale, before losing lots of height, sadly. Even so, where I parked, by Barkin Bridge, the map shows a spot height of 144m, which, given that the Bowland hills are of modest heights even by paltry British standards, is a conveniently high start.

The River Roeburn from Barkin Bridge.

Roeburndale Methodist Chapel at Lower Salter.

I climbed up the road past Lower Salter, beneath threatening clouds, before dropping back down again to the river on this metalled track…

Mallowdale Pike, High Stephen’s Head, Gallows Hill.

River Roeburn again.

It began to rain and I reluctantly donned my cag, but it soon stopped and I didn’t put it on again until many hours later, right at the end of the walk, as I was returning to my car past the farm and cottages at Middle Salter. At other times, I could see showers passing through, or at least it looked like it was probably raining nearby, but none of them caught me.

Haylot Farm.

A little judicious trespassing here, across a couple of fields and on to Haylot Fell, would have saved me a lot of time and effort. Had I known what was to come, I might have gone for it.

The hills above Kirkby and the Three Peaks.

Mallowdale Pike.

Melling Wood.

Instead, I followed the right-of-way down into Melling Wood – I know I’ve enthused about this steeply-sloping oak wood on the blog before. It’s a lovely spot.

Footbridge across Mallow Gill.

So – I’d realised that if I stepped over the fence by this footbridge I would be on Access Land. Well, almost: strictly speaking I would also need to cross a sidestream of Mallow Gill too, but once on the far bank, I would be on Access Land. Easy.
Or so I thought.

Mallow Gill.

The sidestream I needed to cross is on the right here, although you can’t really see it in the photograph. My problem was that the banks were very steep and I didn’t fancy trying to get down into it, or fancy my chances of successfully getting up the far bank. On the map, the hillside here looks entirely benign, with widely spaced contours – there’s no hint that this will be steep terrain. But it was. And the ground was dry and seemed to be composed of leaf mould, which was loose and unstable and difficult to make progress on. Added to that, there were lots more steep-sided sidestreams which the map also fails to disclose.
I eventually climbed to the top edge of the wood and followed a very boggy path there which looked to have been made by hooved creatures – sheep or deer. I fell into one of the boggiest bits, which rather negated the way the weather considerately directed the showers away from me.

Haylot Fell.

Anyway, I eventually climbed high enough to leave the wood and finally managed to cross the stream on to the Access Land. The stream, Lambclose Syke, was comically small by now, making a mockery of my previous inability to cross it.

Lambclose Syke.

Hawkshead, Mallowdale Pike, High Stephen’s Head.

Mallowdale Pike is an unusually shapely fell by Bowland standards, at least when seen from below. I’ve been intending to climb it for an age. I had half an idea to include it today, but it didn’t really fit neatly with the rest of my plans, so it’s still on my ‘to-do’ list.

The Three Peaks again.

Pano – Caton Moor, Three Peaks, Mallowdale Pike.

High Stephen’s Head and Gallows Hill.

Instead I headed up Gallows Hill and then along the rock scattered edge from there to High Stephen’s Head.

Morecambe Bay and Caton Moor Wind Farm.

The view north again.

A sheltered spot on High Stephen’s Head.

This hollow offered excellent shelter from the chilly wind, whilst still allowing extensive views to the North. Too good an opportunity to overlook, so I broke out my stove for the day’s first lengthy brew stop: Atkinson’s of Lancaster Blue Sky which is black tea but with a bit of Grapefruit flavour, my go to hike brew these days.

Forest of Bowland terrain.

Paths in the Forest of Bowland are usually little used, sketchy or even non-existent. The going was often rough and quite hard work. My hand-me down boots did me proud though, and my feet stayed dry through all of the bogs and peat hags.

Lesser Black-backed Gulls.

As I approached Ward’s Stone, the air was thronged with Lesser Black-backed Gulls. The cacophony was astonishing. The walk between Ward’s Stone and Wolfhole Crags was accompanied by the constant calling of the gulls, who seemed to be always on the move. Apparently, the breeding colony here was once the largest in the UK, but for many years culling was allowed, ostensibly to protect the water course from pollution, but since the gulls will eat Grouse eggs and chicks the action also protected the shooting industry’s revenue. It seems that after the species was red-listed and the licence to cull elapsed, the persecution continued illegally, for a while at least. I haven’t managed to find any data regarding the recovery or otherwise of the breeding colony. There seemed to be a lot of gulls, but that’s not very scientific evidence. This colony was at one time the largest in the UK, and since the UK has 40% of the World’s population of this species, it was pretty important.

Bog Asphodel.

I know that gulls often vociferously protect their nests and I fully expected to be dive-bombed, which I wasn’t looking forward to, but whilst they made a lot of noise, the gulls left me well alone – maybe I didn’t get close enough to their nesting sites?

Queen’s Chair.

I think this must be the feature, close to the eastern summit of Ward’s Stone, marked as the Queen’s Chair – to be honest, it didn’t look remotely comfortable.

Grey Mare and Foal, Ward’s Stone.

This jumble of large boulders seems to be called Grey Mare and Foal although I couldn’t see why. However, on the leeward side of the rocks, well out of the wind…

Grey Mare and Foal, Ward’s Stone.

There’s was a large flat slab, resting on other rocks, which must surely have been laid like this to make a seat? It was extremely comfortable, with a view of my route ahead, and an ideal spot for brew number two and a spot of lunch.

A perfect seat for lunch.

Here on Ward’s Stone, the highest spot in the Forest of Bowland, I saw some other walkers: two couples. They were the only other walkers I met all day.

White Hill, Wolfhole Crag and Pendle Hill.

Pendle Hill and Fair Snape Fell.

Whilst Pendle Hill stands proud and alone and is very distinctive and easy to recognise, Fair Snape Fell is the highest hill in a jumble of Bowland fells which I’m not sufficiently familiar with to distinguish between.

White Hill, Wolfhole Crag and Pendle Hill.

Pendle Hill and Fair Snape Fell and its neighbours. From Grey Crag?

White Hill and Wolfhole Crag. Slowly getting closer.

Lesser Black-backed Gull.

Lichened signpost.

Wolfhole Crag.

I think I’ve been to Wolfhole Crag before, many, many years ago. But if I have, I’d forgotten its jumbled, bouldery edge. I was impressed with what I found. I suppose that when a walk mostly covers quite featureless, bleak moorland, any rocky character really stands out.

Wolfhole Crag.

Wolfhole Crag.

Wolfhole Crag trig pillar.

A grouse eye-level view.

I found another spot out of the wind, behind one of the towering boulders, made yet another brew and may have drifted off for a bit.

Looking back to Wolfhole Crag.

Fair Snape Fell.

Mallowdale Pike and Hawkshead.

From Wolfhole Crag, I dropped down to the Hornby Road. This would be my return route to my car, but I decided on an out-and-back to White Hill first, even though it was already well into the afternoon.

Wolfhole Crag.

Stoat trap.

White Hill.

I’m assuming that White Hill is not often visited. There wasn’t much of a path and the going was hard work in places. On the other hand, the sun came out, and there were no Lesser Black-backed Gulls which meant a bit of relief from their raucous and relentless cawing. What’s more, it also meant there were other, different, birds to see. In fact, I was quite surprised to find how much time I spent taking photos of birds.

Golden Plover.

Mostly, my photos are really rubbish shots of Golden Plover. I didn’t see many, perhaps three, but those birds seemed happy to play a game with me, bobbing up and down in the grass and heather, or suddenly appearing in full sight, but with the light behind them so that all I could capture was a silhouette.

Golden Plover.

My game of hide-and-seek with this bird must have looked particularly comical: we were on opposite sides of a peat hag and both anxious not to be seen, so were both bobbing in and out of sight. I have lots of photos, but in most of them my camera has done a fabulous job of focusing on the vegetation between me and the plover.
I haven’t often seen Golden Plovers before though, so was very happy to have an opportunity to get even dodgy shots.
I also took a few blurred photos of Curlews in flight. And two distant, not especially sharp photos of what I’ve almost convinced myself might be a Merlin – Britain’s smallest bird of prey which lives on small moorland birds like pippits. I thought I saw one once before, flying around the craggy edge on Clougha Pike, not so far from here.

White Hill Trig Pillar.

White Hill sighting tower. Wolfhole Crag and Ward’s Stone beyond.

Sighting tower. Used to plan the Haweswater Aqueduct.

There are three of these fairly tall structures on White Hill. There are similar pillars on Selside Pike near Haweswater in the Lake District, and on Tarn Crag above Longsleddale. They were used during the construction of the Haweswater Aqueduct which carries water from Haweswater reservoir in the Eastern Lakes to Manchester.

Forest of Bowland terrain 2.

Wolfhole Crag and Ward’s Stone from Botton Crag.

My descent route was very close to the way I had come up, but the rocky slabs of Botton Crag gave slightly easier walking than the heathery amd tussocky terrain elsewhere on the moor.

Looking toward Fair Snape Fell.

Hornby Road.

On the map, Hornby Road is marked as a Roman Road, although it seems the modern track may not always stick to the Roman route. The track connects Slaidburn to Hornby and Wray in the Lune valley. A quick Google suggests that it is popular with cyclists, which makes a lot of sense.

Hornby Road.

Although I still had quite a long way to go, the track at least gave some easy walking to finish my long day. With the clouds gathering, the drama of the skies and the light kept me royally entertained.

Big skies over the Three Peaks.

Fortunately, my ‘new’ phone seems to have a really flair for clouds – I imagine the in phone processing power of the software designed by the boffins at Google?

The kind of light which makes a late finish worth while.

One final view towards the Three Peaks.

Threatening clouds amassing over Mallowdale Pike, High Stephen’s Head, Gallows Hill and Haylot Fell.

High Salter.

Haymaking near Middle Salter.

As the evening grew gloomy and I put my cag back on for the last few hundred yards, the local farmers were still busy cutting the grass for silage.

MapMyWalk gives a little under 18 miles and around 660 metres of ascent. More importantly, another day of really enjoyable walking.

Great Knoutberry Hill and Wold Fell

Dent Head Viaduct and Packsaddle Bridge over Fell End Gill.

Another Lune Catchment walk, on a day of decidedly mixed weather. I don’t mind a bit of mixed weather, depending, I suppose, on the ratios employed in the recipe: I can stand a bit of rain so long as it isn’t poured with too heavy a hand and if I get some dramatic skies in compensation.

I know that Dentdale is lovely, but curiously, given that it’s not really all that far from home, I haven’t actually visited all that often. I’ve climbed Whernside from Dent on a couple of occasions. We camped here once, in the rain, when the kids were little I think. But I haven’t visited most of the valley, I hadn’t climbed any of the hills to the north or east. All of which is even more odd, given that where I parked, this early July Sunday morning, by the magnificent Dent Head Viaduct, was about a five minute drive from Gearstones Lodge, where we’ve spent a weekend prior to every Christmas for a few years now. In fact, we fairly recently watched the cloud pouring over Great Knoutberry Hill and Wold Fell from the northern end of Whernside during a cloud inversion weekend at Gearstones.

Bridge End Cottage (I think).

My walk began downhill, along the road – neither of which would usually be my first choice when picking a route, but on this occasion, with the infant River Dee alongside, a mass of wild flowers on the verges and lots of old, listed buildings to admire, I was more than happy. Both the viaduct and the old bridge are listed, along with just about every building in this upper part of the valley it seems. All, perhaps, except this one, if I’m right that this is Bridge End Cottage.
In fact, I might have finished and published this post by now, apart from the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time down the rabbit-hole of reading all of the listings on the Historic England website. I think I enjoy the fact that they are quite clearly dense with information, but simultaneously, make no sense to me whatsoever.

“Rock-faced sandstone in massive blocks, mostly coursed but some snecked, with brick soffits to the arches. Slightly curved line on north-south axis. Ten tall round-headed arches on battered rectangular piers, that in the centre broader than the others and with a broad tapered pilaster; short cavetto-moulded imposts at the springing of the arches, rusticated voussoirs (now with 3 tie-plates to each arch), a moulded string course, and parapets with rounded coping.”

This is the viaduct, for example. Snecked? Soffits? Cavetto? Imposts? At least I know what voussoirs are, after a previous rabbit-hole episode, although I can’t tell you what it means for them to be rusticated; and I’m guessing that, in this context, ‘battered’ has nothing to do with coating in a mixture of flour, egg and beer and then deep-frying? (Although it has probably been tried in Scotland).

The River Dee.

Dee Side House.

Formerly Dentdale Youth Hostel and before that a hunting lodge; now available as a holiday let. I’ll let you insert here your own rant about the YHA losing its way and selling off so many wonderful remote properties like this one. I’m saddened that I never got around to staying here whilst it was still a hostel, but even more upset that apparently Patterdale Hostel in the Lakes, where I have stayed many, many times, including for several big family get-togethers when I was in my teens, is facing a similar fate.

Common Spotted-orchid.

Scow Force.

Speed up – missed Red Squirrel photo opportunity.

I did see a Red Squirrel, running along the top of a gate, but I was much too slow with my camera to get a photo. I was impressed that somebody has put out these signs in an attempt to save the local squirrels from motorists, but I clearly needed to speed up, not slow down, in response to the presence of squirrels.

Bettony.

I passed a garden hereabouts which had been decked out as a picnic spot for Dales Way walkers – which seemed like a really generous thing to do and reminded me of the esrtwhile ‘Hiker’s Rest’ near to Beck Head at the southern end of Whitbarrow.

Meadow Crane’s-bill.

The River Dee.

East Stonehouse.

Outbuilding at East Stonehouse.

There was something about the higgledy-piggledy design of this building which I found appealing. Higgledy-piggledy is the technical term obviously; I can’t think how else to put it, not asymmetric exactly, most houses aren’t symmetrical after all. It’s something to do with the windows and doors all being different sizes and positioned at different levels, I think. Anyway, I liked it.

West Stonehouse.

Confusingly, West Stonehouse lies NNE of East Stonehouse. I’m sure it made sense to name them that way to somebody at some time, but it seems very odd now. Here’s a snippet of the Historic England description of West Stonehouse:

“White-painted rubble, the centre portion random, with quoins, and the outer portions coursed, also with quoins; stone slate roof.”

I often bemoan the modern penchant for using the word random, when the desired import is actually ‘arbitrary’; so I was struck by the use of ‘random’ here. Apparently random rubble stone is where undressed or hammer dressed stones are used. Like a dry-stone wall; the stones are all different sizes and fit together like the squares and rectangles in a painting by Piet Mondrian, not in neat, even layers, which would be ‘coursed’. So there you go.

It probably makes more sense with a picture – I shall have to take one.

Arten Gill Viaduct.

By the track from Stonehouse there was an information board about the mining, or possibly quarrying, or – looking at the map – probably both, which formerly went on in this area. I didn’t take a photo, which is most unlike me, but the area’s industrial past no doubt explains the effort which was expended in creating the cobbled track up towards Arten Gill Viaduct.

Cobbled bridleway.

Arten Gill Viaduct.

This viaduct was if anything even more attractive than the Dent Head one had been. You’ll have to bear with me, I took lots of photos. On the other hand, I didn’t manage to catch the pair of raptors, I think Kestrels, which were flying in and out of the trees by the viaduct.

Arten Gill Viaduct.

Tautologically, the stream below is labelled, on the map, both as Arten Gill, and as Artengill Beck.

Arten Gill Viaduct.

The skies were beginning to build some ominously dramatic looking clouds and I was soon paying for it in the first of several showers. To be fair, the showers were at least short-lived and mostly not too heavy either.

Arten Gill Viaduct.

The track rises steadily, without being hard work and so was ideal. There were lots of birds about – Wheatear and Pipits, but most entertainingly Stonechats.

Male Stonechat.

A couple of individuals, first one and then later another, took it upon themselves to fly ahead in little short hops and then stop and wait on the fence, allowing me to get very close before scooting on again.

Male Stonechat.

Naturally, I took lots of photos.

I also got overly excited, during a shower, about what I decided was a Mountain Ringlet, even though I strongly suspected that they are not found in the Dales. Which absence would, of course, make my discovery all the more notable and exciting. When I finally got close enough to get a photo and a close look, it transpired that it was in fact a very small Ringlet, of the plain, old common-or-garden variety.

A sidestream.

And another – being neatly directed across the track.

An excess of weather.

Having reached the top of the pass, I could have taken a direct line up to the top of Great Knoutberry Hill, but I’d done a bit of research online and read great things about the track, Galloway Gate, which contours around the southern and western slopes of the hill.

Whernside from Galloway Gate.

Ingleborough and Whernside and more showers.

Looking down Dentdale.

Choosing Galloway Gate turned out to be a good decision – it’s a fine walk which gives great views, particularly down into Dentdale.

Baugh Fell and Wild Boar Fell from Galloway Gate.

Eventually, I turned right, heading uphill and on to Pikes Edge, where there a number of scattered cairns and even more scattered boulders.

Ingleborough and Whernside from one of the cairns on Pikes Edge.

Looking down Dentdale again.

As I approached the summit of Great Knoutberry Hill, I was engulfed in by far and away the heaviest shower of the day – for a while it was really chucking it down. A little annoyingly then, I found that I had unpacked my waterproof trousers from my rucsac, which is something I very rarely bother to do. Since I was wearing shorts anyway, and my waterproof trousers are mostly holes and layers of duct tape patched up with more duct tape, it probably wasn’t that great a loss.
Also, this stone seat, possibly of random rubble, was facing away from the wind…

Stone seat/shelter on Great Knoutberry Hill.

Lunch stop in a Bivvy bag in pouring rain.

Since the rain was falling horizontally, once I was hunkered down on the seat, and snug inside my bivvy bag, I was able to enjoy my packed lunch and a brew despite the rain.
Anyway, it soon started to clear again.

Ingleborough and Whernside from Great Knoutberry Hill.

Cloudberry – or Knoutberry.

I had a bit of a wander in the vicinity of the trig pillar and found several Cloudberries. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before, although I shouldn’t have been surprised to find them here, since Knoutberry is apparently a local name for Cloudberries. I also read that they are regarded as somewhat of a delicacy in Scandinavia; that the UK population of plants is predominantly male, so that it’s rare to find fruit; and that this example isn’t ripe, since they turn orange when they’re ripe.

Widdale Tarns.

Great Knoutberry Hill is merely the highest point on the huge expanses of Widdale Fell. Beforehand, I had been contemplating a little wander to explore the tarns at least, but based on the area around the summit, I decided that it would be very rough going and that I would leave that for another day.
Looking at the map again now, I see that Widdale Fell has an impressive looking edge above Widdale itself, that most of the streams drain either directly into the River Ure or into the Ure via Widdale Beck; but that some of the streams run down into Garsdale and the River Clough – a tributary of the Lune which I haven’t explored at all yet: so I shall need to come back at some point.

On this occasion I took a more direct route back towards the crossroads between Great Knoutberry Hill and Wold Fell.

Pen-y-ghent, Wold Fell, Ingleborough and Whernside.

Pennine Bridleway signpost.

This is the signpost at the crossroads, which I hadn’t photographed when I first passed it because it had been raining at the time. This track is part of the Pennine Bridleway, a route which, like the Dales Way, some of which I also lay on this route, always seems superb wherever I encounter it.

Wold Fell.

Juvenile Wheatear.

On Wold Fell, looking back to Great Knoutberry Fell.

Wold Fell was quite odd: limestone pavement, mostly grassed over, a very flat topped hill – there was a small cairn, as you can see, but it was very difficult to tell whether that was the actual highest point of the fell.

Ingleborough and Whernside from Wold Fell.

The lump between, and in front of, Ingleborough and Whernside is Blea Moor. I’ve often looked at it, especially when climbing Whernside from Little Dale via Greensett Tarn, but never been up it. I suppose I might get around to it at some point, although the lower slopes above Ribble Head are a bit of-puttingly rough and reed covered.

Pen-y-ghent and Ingleborough from Wold Fell.

Descending towards Ingleborough.

From Wold Fell it was a simple romp down a track and then a minor road, accompanied by a couple more brief showers, back to the car.

Fell End Gill.

Dent Head Viaduct again.

Common Spotted-orchid.

As almost always seems to be the case with my Lune Catchment outings, it was a very satisfying trip, packed with interest, from which I came away with a host of ideas for possible future excursions.

More showers at home – and a double rainbow.

Back at home, there were more showers, and this time an accompanying double rainbow.

Later still, around 10pm, Little S sent me back outside to have a look at the moth which was resting on the plug on the charging cable for our car. It was dark and I’m amazed that my phone managed an image as clear as this…

A Large Yellow Underwing?

I’m told that this is a Yellow Underwing Moth , although to an untutored eye it also looks very similar to a Square-spot Rustic Moth. I’ll settle for it being a lovely colour, whichever.

Map the first.

Map the second.

MpaMyWalk gives a little shy of ten miles and 485 metres of ascent, which seems about right.

Lucky Man

Winter Aconites – not quite flowering, but almost there.

Mid-January. It’s a whole fortnight (and two posts) since I walked around the coast to Arnside and back over the Knott. Better do it again! What’s-more, I was back to it the following day. You have been warned!

Looking back, the first photo I took that day, from almost outside my own front door, had me puzzled for a moment. Then I remembered – it shows a thin strip of blue along the northern skyline – the weather had suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly improved, and the photo was an aide memoire to remind me of that happy change. To the south the skies were still black. Later, I took a picture of a dark, shadowed Arnside Knott with completely blue skies behind it.

Fortunately, rents began to appear in the massed clouds, giving some prospect of sunshine to go with the blue…

Light show off Know End Point.

Round the coast again!

Grange-Over-Sands and Hampsfell.

Turning the corner into the Kent Estuary.

I like to drop down on to the sands at this point, if not before, but the tide had clearly been high and it looked far too wet to take that option. Which was a shame, because the cliff path itself was extremely muddy and puddled.

The Salt Marsh at White Creek – inundated.

Meathop Fell across the Kent – showers beyond?

From New Barns – Whitbarrow Scar catching the light, hint of a rainbow behind the viaduct.

Witches Butter – another gelatinous fungi.

A train crossing the viaduct.

I’m no trainspotter, but a train crossing this, or any viaduct, always has me scrabbling for my phone to take pictures. I can’t explain my disproportionate excitement. Having said that, I also love crossing the viaduct on the train, but I think that’s mostly to do with the views it affords. I really hope the proposed footbridge along the viaduct becomes a reality, but I don’t know how likely that is.

Whitbarrow still basking in the sun. Yewbarrow in a black shadow.

The Lakeland Fells were mostly missing in the views, hidden in cloud, and it was clear that there were plenty of showers about, and the occasional attendant rainbows. I never tire of watching the play of light and shadows across the landscape on showery days like this one. It helps if the showers are falling elsewhere, on someone else!

A vicious looking cross-current in the river.

The photo doesn’t really do it justice, but the river here was highly agitated, with waves apparently surging in opposing directions, upstream and down. Maybe the tide was on the turn?

Now Whitbarrow has lost the sun and it’s the viaduct which is lit-up.

Arriving on Arnside Promenade.

A rainbow from High Knott Road.

There are lots of paths up the Knott, but I’ve definitely found a favourite, the path which climbs up from Redhill Woods to the bench on the south side of the summit, on which I don’t think I’ve ever met another walker.

I had company, however, on this occasion – two pairs of Roe Deer which I could see on the slopes below me, but which then darted across the path ahead of me, making their way into the trees towards the trig pillar. Although we often have deer in the garden – there are two there now – I still enjoy seeing them whilst out walking. It’s a bit harder to get good photos in the woods though!

Roe Deer – one of a group of four.

Winter flooding and Silverdale Moss – Ingleborough just about visible.

Beetham Fell and Farleton Fell from Arnside Knott.

Reclining Beech.

I wonder how long ago this tree fell into its current position? Before I moved to the area, so quite a while ago. It’s sent up a thicket of branches, each like a separate trunk. Is it the resilience of fallen trees which live on like this which I admire?

I’ve recently finished reading ‘Wild Fell’ by Lee Schofield about the RSPB management of two farms in the Lake District at Haweswater and Swindale, and which I can thoroughly recommend. One astonishing fact I gleaned from it is that there’s a single Aspen in Utah, called Pando for some reason, which occupies over a hundred acres, has 40,000 trunks, is estimated to weigh 6,000 tons and is thought to be several thousand years old. Aspen spread by sending up suckers, so all of the trunks are genetically identical and are thought to share a vast root system. It is, of course, under threat, probably due to overgrazing.

Looking along the Kent.

Gummer How – the Fells beyond noticeably absent from the view.

Grange-Over-Sands and Hampsfell.

Another free light-show over the Bay.

Arnside Knott.

I was heading home via Far Arnside and Holgates Caravan Park – using the same paths I had set out along. In stark contrast to earlier, Arnside Knott was now brightly illumined by the sun, but the skies behind were heavily clouded and rather ominous. I could see that a shower was coming, could I beat it home?

Caught in a sharp shower when almost home.

No! Still, a brief drenching seems a small price to pay for what preceded it.

Alan Price:

The Verve:

Grey Friar from Seathwaite

Waterfall on Tarn Beck near Seathwaite in the Duddon Valley.

When, last January, in the first flush of enthusiasm for my new assault on the Wainwrights, I tackled the Coniston Fells in less than optimal weather conditions, I chose an inefficient route taking in the three central fells of the range and leaving three scattered outliers – Dow Crag, Grey Friar and Great Carrs. With hindsight, I think that this is no bad thing, since it gives me an excuse for more walks in the area.

So, this mid-November Saturday found me parked on the roadside by Tarn Beck, just outside Seathwaite in the Duddon Valley.

Another waterfall on Tarn Beck.

It was a glorious morning, and very quiet in Seathwaite, in stark contrast to what I might have expected on the Coniston side of the hills.

Heading away from Seathwaite.

Harter Fell.

Harter Fell tended to dominate the views on this walk and I took lots of photographs of it, many of which, but by no means all, have made it into this post.

Tongue House.

Throng Close and Tongue House Close. Tongue House High Close is slightly out of the picture to the right.

The Coniston Fells are liberally supplied with crags and hows and pikes and this western side is no exception. The path climbs between Tongue House Close and Tongue House High Close, just right of centre in the photo above.

Harter Fell pano.

Grey Friar.

The path I had chosen fell away slightly leftwards here, towards those shaded crags on the slopes of Troutal Fell, the south-west arm of Grey Friar. Between here and those crags, the path crosses Tarn Beck. There’s no footbridge marked on the map, but this is the busy, touristy Lake District – there’ll be a bridge surely?

Harter Fell again, and Cirrus clouds – a sign of what was to come?

The ground descended very gently towards Tarn Beck and was quite boggy. When I reached the stream…

Tarn Beck again.

…it was to discover that there is no bridge. What’s more the stream was large and deep and fast-flowing.

It was so sunny at this point that I actually contemplated a swim, but sanity prevailed, in part because of how fast the stream was running. I hate to think how cold the water would have been.

Since I clearly couldn’t cross Tarn Beck without a dip, I followed it instead and then cut up to the dam of Seathwaite Tarn…

Seathwaite Tarn pano.

I paused on the dam to take several photos of a lone Goosander, none of which came out very well.

The rough rocks of Tarn Brow and Cirrostratus – another warning sign!

The early part of the steady climb away from the tarn was enlivened by the presence of numerous brightly coloured waxcaps…

Waxcap.

Waxcaps.

Naturally, I took loads of pictures, but I’ve restricted myself to just two here.

Brim Fell and Dow Crag.

In my mind, Dow Crag is always associated with the eponymous crag above Goat Water, with the south ridge over Brown Pike and Buck Pike and with Easy Gully, which is far from easy and which I haven’t ascended for many, many moons. It was good to see it from this less familiar perspective.

Harter Crag, with ominously dark skies behind.

Looking north – the Scafells capped with cloud.

Looking south-west, back to the Duddon Valley. Oh no!

Brim Fell and the Old Man – just evading the clouds.

Sadly, I arrived at the summit cairn on Grey Friar at the same time as the low cloud brought by the encroaching weather front. I was lucky to still have some views, but not the spectacular views I might have expected given the open blue skies at the start of the walk. In addition, the temperature had dropped appreciably and, without the warming sunshine, it now felt very much like mid-November in the hills.

Grey Friar summit. And very grey weather.

I found a sheltered spot for a quick drink and a snack. Truth be told, as usual, I had an overly ambitious plan B which involved climbing the main ridge and completing a horseshoe round to Dow Crag. It was clear though that I didn’t have the daylight hours left for that route, or the weather to make the extra effort worthwhile.

One last, contrasting, view of Harter Fell.

So, I beat a hasty retreat, retracing my ascent route initially, before following a track down, which gave very easy walking and which is presumably a remnant of the construction of the Seathwaite Tarn dam.

Looking down to Seathwaite Tarn.

Seathwaite Tarn pano. Dow Crag now lost in cloud.

Presumably due to the lack of retail outlets and other tourist attractions, the lovely Duddon Valley often seems to be relatively quiet; I saw very few other walkers on this outing. When I get around to ticking-off Dow Crag I think I shall have to do it from this side for a change.

Yellow Berries

Looking south along the coast from Heathwaite.

October half-term. Some very mixed weather, if I remember right. I stuck to local walks. Actually, the weather was sometimes better than expected, and then I felt a bit cheated, because I could have gone further afield, but in truth we were probably getting better weather here on the coast than I would have experienced in the hills, so local walks weren’t a bad choice after all.

A lot of weather out in the Bay.

These photos are from a short outing up Arnside Knott. An ascent of the Knott, or a walk around the coast to Arnside, or some combination of the two are my go to walks these days, especially when there’s some drama in the skies.

Crow.

Gummer How and Whitbarrow from Arnside Knott. No sign of the Lakeland Fells beyond.

Fungi.

I’ve joined a few Faceache groups, a butterflies and moths one, obviously, a plant ID one, and a fungi of the world one. I think the latter made me more conscious of the huge amount and diversity of fungi on display locally last autumn.

More fungi.

I took loads of photos on this walk, and through the week generally. The ones I took on this day mostly weren’t very sharp. Maybe it was a gloomy day, although there were definitely some periods of blue sky…

Autumnal-leaved Silver Birch.

Yellow-berried Holly.

Finally, I was surprised to find this holly bush, which was liberally festooned with yellow berries. I wondered if it might be a cultivar, a garden escapee, but I’ve since read that yellow or orange berries are just a rare variation of our native holly.

A Langdale Round

White Stones – The Band. Crinkle Crags and Bowfell hidden in the cloud, but Rossett Pike is clear on the right of the photo.

Easter Monday. The forecast was a bit mixed, but generally for improvement throughout the day. I had big plans, so I’d set off early and was parked up in the National Trust carpark by the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel while there was still plenty of room.

Pike of Blisco.

Side Pike.

As I walked up the road towards Blea Tarn the cloud lifted off the Langdale Pikes, but it was cold and pretty gloomy.

Langdale Pikes.

The Langdale Pikes would dominate the view for much of the early part of the walk, and then again towards the end. I took a lot of photographs of the iconic crags.

Redacre Gill.

My route up Pike O’Blisco curls right behind the stand of trees and then follows the gill into the obvious deep cleft right of centre.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the incredible standard of the paths in the Lakes. This was an easy one to follow at a lovely gradient. somebody did a very fine job of making it.

It was spitting with rain now and again and my cag went on and off a few times.

A well constructed path.

Kettle Crag, Langale Pikes, Side Pike.

I seem to have stopped taking panorama shots for a while, without really deciding to, but I took loads on this walk. If you click on them, or on any of the other pictures for that matter, you’ll see a larger version on Flickr.

Side Pike and Lingmoor.

Side-streams, in often quite deep ravines, with lots of little waterfalls, abounded. This area would definitely repay further exploration.

Pike O’Blisco.

As I reached the top of the gully and the angle levelled off, the weather turned temporarily a bit grim. I have several photos obviously taken in the rain. Fortunately, it was short-lived, and when the sun appeared once again, it had wet rocks to sparkle on.

The Langdale Pikes again!

Lingmoor with Fairfield Horseshoe beyond and a glimpse of Windermere.

Pike O’Blisco summit.

The wind was blowing from the west, so those large slabs just below the summit offered superb shelter. I settled down, leaning against one of them, poured myself a hot cordial and video-called my Dad to wish him a happy birthday.

Langdale Pikes and a rainbow.

It was soon raining again, but I had a well-sheltered spot and it didn’t seem to matter too much somehow.

Rainbow panorama.

Red Tarn and Cold Pike.

Cold Pike was my next target. I decided to take the path which angles up towards the head of Browney Gill, but then strike left when the angle eased.

Red Tarn again. Wet Side Edge behind, which is heading up to Great Carrs, hidden in the cloud.

Looking back to Pike O’Blisco. The broken crags on the left look like they might give a good scrambling route.

Pike O’Blisco disappearing into the cloud, from near the top of Cold Pike.

I found another sheltered spot on Cold Pike for another quick stop. The clouds blew in once again. The weather was changing very quickly.

Pike O’Blisco from Cold Pike. The Helvellyn and Fairfield range behind.

Looking back to Cold Pike.

Pike O’Blisco and Cold Pike. Wetherlam behind.

Panorama from the same spot.

The many tarns of Stonesty Pike. The Duddon Estuary, Harter Fell, Whitfell and Black Combe behind.

Crinkle Crags.

Upper Eskdale and the Scafells.

The ‘Bad Step’. There were a couple of guys standing beneath it, having quite a lengthy discussion before deciding to follow the path around to the left. I went round too. I’ve been both up and down that way in the past and I don’t remember it being all that difficult.

Bowfell just about out of the cloud.

Lingmoor and Pike O’Blisco. Windermere beyond.

The Duddon Valley and Harter Fell.

Langdale, Lingmoor and Pike o’Blisco.

Panorama – Scafells, Bowfell, Langdale Pikes, Langdale, Pike O’Blisco, Windermere, Coniston Fells.

There are a lot of ups and downs on Crinkle Crags. The scenery is fantastically rocky, but it does mean you really have to concentrate over where you are putting your feet to avoid taking a tumble.

Scafells.

If the Langdale Pikes had kept drawing my eye during the early part of the walk, it was now Scafell and Scafell Pike which were hogging my attention.

The weather hadn’t been too bad, but it was getting bluer and brighter…

Scafells again.

Bowfell.

Scafells and Bowfell panorama.

Pike O’Blisco and Wetherlam.

Pike O’Blisco, Crinkle Crags and Three Tarns.

Langdale Pikes from Bowfell. Helvellyn and Fairfield range behind.

Esk Pike, Grasmoor, Allen Crags, Glaramara, Skiddaw, Blencathra.

Scafells.

Langdale Pikes, Langdale, Lingmoor, Windermere.

Pike O’Blisco, Wetherlam, Coniston Old Man, Crinkle Crags, Dow Crag.

Esk Pike.

I know that the geology of the Lake District is quite complex, with some igneous rocks, lots of slate, periods when the area was underwater and sedimentary rocks were laid down, three separate periods of orogeny lifting the hills, glaciation etc – but I don’t often feel like I know what I’m looking at. The rocks on this walk seemed to change quite often.This large boulder, in Ore Gap had lots of parallel striations which make me think it must be sedimentary. And yet we’re in the central part of the hills, close to Borrowdale, where I thought the rock would be volcanic?

Sedimentary, my dear Watson?

I have a book on the shelf in front of me, ‘Lakeland Rocky Rambles’, which I’ve never really dipped in to – hmm, could be a new project.

Dale Head, Maiden Moor, Allen Crag, Glaramara, Derwentwater, Skiddaw, Blencathra. (And Many more!)

Looking back to Bowfell and Crinkle Crags from Esk Pike.

Great End, Great Gable, Green Gable, Grasmoor and more of the North-western fells.

Langdale Pikes,Rossett Pike, Bowfell.

Angle Tarn panorama.

Panorama from Rossett Pike.

Langdale Pikes, Langdale and Lingmoor from just below the summit of Rossett Pike.

Buck Pike and Black Pike – my descent route.

Another panorama.

I think it’s 11 years since I was last on Rossett Pike. Back then, I didn’t get too much of a view, but I did have my one and only (so far) close encounter with a Dotterel. That was also towards the end of a walk, and thinking back, I’m pretty sure that whilst I may not be particularly fit, I am at least fitter now than I was then.

Buck Pike.

Pike O’Stickle and Mickleden.

I picked up a path which skirted below Black Crag and kept me in the sun for a bit longer. It was a great way down, never too steep, and deposited me on the path down from Stake Pass which has superb zig-zags. Once down in the valley I followed two walkers, one of whom was barefoot. I met another barefoot walker a couple of weeks later. I quite like the idea, but I think I would probably stub my toes roughly every five minutes.

I wasn’t quite dark when I arrived back at the car, but it wasn’t far off.

Around the head of Langdale.

Some hike stats:

MapMyWalk gives a little over 13 miles (although once again, confusingly, the numbers on the map make it look closer to 25 km i.e. well over 15 miles. Who knows.) The app also suggests 1162m of ascent, which is definitely an underestimate. For a slightly different route, over exactly the same hills, Walking Englishman gives 12 miles and 1466m of ascent. I think the truth, for the climbing at least, lies somewhere between those two figures. The fact that they differ by around a 1000 feet is a bit shicking!

It was far enough, at least, to leave me feeling pleasantly tired by the end.

Despite all the effort, there are ‘only’ six Wainwrights, to wit: Pike O’Blisco, Cold Pike, Crinkle Crags, Bowfell, Esk Pike and Rossett Pike.

There’s lots more Birketts because all of the Crinkles are on the list. And some of the bobbles on the ridge down from Rossett Pike – but I wasn’t very careful about which of either of those I actually visited, so I shan’t list them on this occasion.

Leaving aside all of the stats, it was an absolutely superb day which will live very long in the memory. All day long I was thinking that this area is definitely the best bit of the Lakes. But I was thinking much the same thing when I did the Coledale Horseshoe, so I think all we can conclude is that I’m fickle!

Birthday Double

The ‘upper’ path from Far Arnside. Third time running I’d foolowed this path, which I don’t usually use.

Long-suffering readers will know that on, or close to, my birthday I like to climb a hill to celebrate. This year, my Lingmoor walk was just two days before my birthday and a couple of days later I was back in the Little Langdale area with TBH, so I did pretty well.

On the actual day, the forecast was pretty ropey. Never-the-less, we managed to persuade the boys to join us for a walk to Arnside over the Knott. Possibly the promise of a pie in Arnside had some influence on their decision.

In Far Arnside, we sheltered behind a tall hedge for the duration of a short, sharp hail shower. It was pretty fierce, but also wind-driven so that in the lea of the hedge it came over our heads and we didn’t do too badly.

Warton Crag, the Bay and Bowland from Heathwaite. I think you can see showers tracking in off the Bay.

Taking a Heathwaite selfie. Not sure why Little S wasn’t included.

Far Arnside and The Bay.
As we approached the toposcope on the Knott, the heavens opened again.

Kent Estuary in the rain.

River Kent, Cartmel Fell, Gummer How, Yewbarrow and Whitbarrow Scar – bigger fells beyond conspicuous by their absence.

Fortunately, it was another short-lived shower. And the pies and sausage-rolls at the Old Bakehouse went a long-way as compensation for the changeable weather.

Kent Viaduct. Louring skies.

Arnside Tower – blue skies!

As I said – a very changeable day.

Quince.

A had been working on my birthday and so wanted to go for a walk the following day. The weather was similar to the day before and although we had originally planned to go to Arnside for pies again, A eventually decided that a short Eaves Wood stroll would have to suffice.

TBH and A at the Pepper Pot.

It’s very handy having some little hills on the doorstep to climb when the weather isn’t conducive to a longer expedition!

The Langdales and Lingmoor

Blea Tarn. Side Pike on the far side and the Langdale Pikes obscured by clouds behind.

B had a shift in the cafe at Brockholes; since I was dropping him off there, I decided to stay in the Lakes and make the most of it, despite a fairly ropey forecast. I had a fine time, even though it rained on and off most of the day.

I parked up by Blea Tarn, another National Trust carpark, although the joy of ‘free’ parking was tempered by high winds and driving rain which weren’t terribly encouraging. I rarely set-off for a walk in full waterproofs, I’m a fair weather walker, as much as I can manage to be.

Looking back towards Blea Tarn. The plug of rock in this photo is Tarnclose Crag.

Fortunately, my route started downhill into Little Langdale and I hadn’t walked far before both the wind and the rain had abated a bit.

Farmhouse at Fell Foot
When the skies are grey and the weather is rotten, I always think the white-washed stone buildings still look attractive. I’ve often thought that the porch over the door here is unusual. Turns out this is a Grade II listed building.

“At the foot of Wrynose Pass. C16 north wing, the main block C17. A long, low house, white-washed stone rubble, flag roof, 2 storeys. The door is under the overhang of a slate-hung upper storey, gabled, and without windows, the timber beam ends showing in the gable.”

Source.

This shows the entire farm complex at Fell Foot with Castle Crag behind, itself a scheduled monument because of it’s suspected history as a hill-fort. By the farm there’s the Ting Mound where the Norse inhabitants of the valley had council meetings.

Behind Castle Crag you can see Lingmoor which is out of the cloud and would remain so all day, unlike any of the surrounding higher hills. I assume these very rocky lumps – Side Pike, Tarnclose Crag and Castle Crag are volcanic in origin, but would love to find out more.

Bridge End Cottage.

The National Trust own both Fell Foot Farm and Bridge End Cottage, in the latter case at least, gifted to them by Beatrix Potter. Bridge End Cottage is another grade II listed building.

I had half an idea that I might be able to bag Holme Fell and Black Crag as well as Lingmoor, but I needed to collect B from Brockholes at the end of his shift, and even I could see that I would be pushing it to manage all that and still arrive on time to pick him up. On the other hand, just climbing Lingmoor would undoubtedly leave me with quite a bit of time to kill, so I decided to extend my walk along Little Langdale as far as Skelwith Bridge and then come back up Great Langdale before bagging Lingmoor.

Lingmoor and Little Langdale Tarn.

High Hall Garth – you’ve guessed it, Grade II and property of the National Trust.

Low Hall Garth. Owned by the NT, gifted by Beatrix Potter, Grade II.

Lingmoor and Slater’s Bridge.

I didn’t divert, as I usually have, to photograph the marvellous Slater’s Bridge – it was very busy. It has appeared on the blog many times before. (Here for example, or here). It’s an amazing structure, in a low-key picturesque sort of way. I’ve never thought to look up it’s protected status before, but it turns out that it trumps the other local properties by being Grade II*.

“Slater’s Bridge II*. Over River Brathay. C17 packhorse bridge of slate and natural boulders. Huge boulder in mid-stream supports segmental arched bridge of 15 ft span with 3 1/2 ft voussoirs, and a flat causeway of a single slab on slate supports.”

Source

Voussoirs? A wedge-shaped or tapered stone used to construct an arch, obviously. Learn a new thing every day! (And forget it the next sadly.)

The obvious knobble on Lingmoor with a prominent gully on its right, is Busk Pike, of which more later.

No sign of any voussoirs at the next bridge down the Brathay, but still quite a handsome footbridge I thought.

Little Langdale and Lingmoor.

Colwith Force.

At Chesters, at Skelwith bridge, I managed to buy a nice lunch* from their takeaway counter and then was lucky to get a picnic table under the eaves and so out of the rain. (*Pricey, but very tasty.)

Elter Water. Lingmoor on the left. This should be one of the iconic views of the Langdale Pikes, but they were still lost in the cloud.

Bridge over Great Langdale Beck in Elterwater. Rebuilt 1702. Grade II listed of course.

Judging by Historic England’s map, just about every building in the village of Elterwater must be listed. I shall have to come back to investigate some time. Since one of those listed buildings is the Britannia Inn, that should be an enjoyable experience!

I left Elterwater on a steep and stony track and was amused by this cycle route sign at the bottom, since ‘challenging’ seems like a huge understatement to me.

This path leaves that track at around its highest point. I think it must be an old mining track, it has fabulous zig-zags and clearly someone has gone to a lot of effort in constructing it.

I’ve become a bit obsessed with being able to put a name to every hill, hump and hollow in the view. I blame Andy. The wooded hill in the middle-ground here doesn’t have a name on the OS map and there’s no path to the top, but the wooded slopes on it’s northern and eastern flanks are access land, Fletcher’s Wood, so it would be possible to get at least close to the top. The higher ground to the right, meanwhile, is the end of the Black Crag ridge. TBH and I traversed those slopes on our walk between Coniston and Ambleside last summer.

A day of contrasts – the Coniston Fells are lost in what I suspect was foul weather, whilst the sun is trying to shine on Little Langdale Tarn.

The weather had brightened up enough for me to take a short stop and drink some of the contents of my flask. The view was limited by the dense, low clouds, but still pretty good.

After the initial steep climb, somewhat eased by the marvellous zig-zags, a much steadier ascent ensues. There were still a number of broad grassy tracks, testament to this areas quarrying history. I took the lower path, intending to take in Busk Pike.

Looking down on Little Langdale Tarn. Holme Fell visible through the rain. Spoil heaps and small, tumble-down walled structures like this were dotted about the hillside.

Busk Pike.

Busk Pike again.

I’d like to revisit Busk Pike when the views are less curtailed by clouds.

Brown How – the summit of Lingmoor – from Busk Pike. Notice the ruined buildings between the two tops.

This was the biggest of the many derelict buildings I saw on Lingmoor. It provided a sheltered spot for another drinks stop. The sun even shone a little, although it also started drizzling again, just in case I was getting complacent about the weather.

Looking back to Busk Pike and the the old mine buildings.

And again.from a little higher up.

On the summit of Lingmoor, I met a family party of three, the first walkers I’d met since leaving the track near Dale End. We congratulated each other on the fact that it was “Not too bad”. As soon as our conversation ended, I realised that it was indeed ‘too bad’: the weather was back to how it had been when I first set-off from Blea Tarn – a howling gale and very heavy rain. It seemed highly plausible that closer to the higher hills around the head of Langdale, the weather had remained this way all day.

I was keen to get out of these conditions and back to the car, but I did divert slightly to include Lingmoor Tarn on my route…

Side Pike – it had been my intention to include this on my route, but with the weather now so foul and with time running short, I decided to keep it for another day.

MapMyWalk gives a little over 11 miles and 560m of ascent (the latter might be a bit of an overestimate)

B had told me his shift finished at 6.30, but when I arrived to pick him up (and two friends who had also been working at Brockholes that day), it turned out that, because the cafe had been so quiet, they’d been ‘sent home’ an hour early. B was furious that I hadn’t been answering my phone (it had been on flight mode, preserving the battery whilst I probably didn’t have a signal anyway). Unfortunately for B, beggar’s can’t be chooser’s, and he soon calmed down when I offered to leave him behind, if he didn’t like the free taxi-service on offer.

Two for One: The Mell Fells

Despite what I’d said to TBH about having climbed ‘most’ of the Wainwrights, there are actually quite a few I’ve never been up; Great and Little Mell Fell being a case in point. Although they aren’t particularly high, they really stand out from anywhere in the north-eastern Lakes, so they’ve been on my ‘to do’ list for years. On this Saturday, at the end of January, the forecast wasn’t very promising, so they seemed like an ideal target.

From the lane to the east of Great Mell Fell there’s a path which heads directly for the summit and I guess that most people go straight up and down by the same route, but Aileen and Brian Evans’ ‘Northern Lakeland’ book (Short Walks in Lakeland Volume 2) has a circular route which follows the edge of the woods before ascending the shoulder on the North-East side of the hill. There’s a path, seemingly quite well used, quite boggy in places.

On the shoulder we didn’t find much of a path, but it was pleasant enough winding up through the trees, it helped that the weather was unexpectedly brightening up, there was even the odd shaft of sunlight getting through.

Some of the trees were twisted and gnarly – I guess they are very exposed to the winds.

As we cleared the trees, and the gradient eased, the going became very tussocky. Quite hard going. TBH hates this kind of thing. There is actually a path – we just missed it somehow.

TBH on the top – Blencathra in the cloud behind.

It was pretty windy on the top, but we thought we’d find a sheltered spot on the way down. TBH had bought me an insulated mug, similar to one she has herself. It was full of hot tea and stowed away safely in the outside pocket of my rucksack. Except it wasn’t, I discovered when we stopped: it must have fallen out when I took my bag off near the summit. TBH went to look for shelter and I went back up. Couldn’t find it, so I retraced our steps, part of the way down our ascent route, with no luck. That was how I found that there was actually a path just a few yards across the hill from where we had come up. In all then, I ‘topped out’ on Great Mell Fell three times that day – can I count that as three separate ticks?

I’m a bit confused by this low ridge – I think, by a process of elimination, that it must be Great Meldrum and Gowbarrow Fell.

Descending towards Little Mell Fell.

TBH had found ‘a lovely sheltered spot’ but had also got cold waiting for me, so we returned to the car and ate our lunches there.

The weather was clearly worsening, but we decided to risk an ascent of Little Mell Fell. Lazily, we drove around to The Hause, where there’s a lay-by with room for a few cars, and from where there’s a short, sharp climb to the top.

Great Mell Fell – Blencathra seems to have cleared.

Hallin Fell and Place Fell across Haweswater.

We made it back to the cars just as it started to rain in earnest.

So, two more ticked off, making seven Wainwrights for January, which I thought was a reasonable start, could I maintain that pace?

Sour Howes and Sallows

River Kent from Ullthwaite Bridge. The monument on Hugill Fell visible on the skyline.

For Christmas, TBH bought me a Wainwright Map:

“But I’ve done most of them,” I protested, “several times.”

“I know, I thought you might like to start again.”

A map, a ticklist, and a project – an irresistible combination!

Meanwhile, Little S has become highly engaged in his BJJ and trains several times a week, but has decided that the Saturday morning class, which he has regularly attended for years, is no longer appropriate since most of the participants are genuinely little, unlike the rangy Little S.

So, spurred on by TBH and with my calendar suddenly blank every Saturday, I’ve been getting out on the hills much more frequently than I have for a while.

Croft Head.

Having said that, this walk, from mid-January, started late, after midday – I can’t remember what had kept me occupied in the morning, so a shortish route was required. I was very lucky, at that time of day, to get a parking spot in Kentmere, conveniently next to Ullthwaite Bridge.

Bothy? by Acretarn Plantation.

We used to tease our friend UF for his obsession with seeking out small buildings which he had identified on the map as potential ‘secret’ bothies. This building looks relatively salubrious compared to some of his hopefuls: the glazing and interior decor are a bit lacking and the ceiling was falling in, but it looks like somebody has used the fireplace, so maybe it’s ripe for adoption by the MBA?

If there’s been a common theme to my days on the hills to date this year it has been wind, wind and more wind. Cold and often very strong winds.

“Oh, you’ve caught the sun!” People will say.

“No, I’ve been wind-blasted.”

This afternoon was the single exception so far, a fairly mild day, especially for January. A faint path ascends alongside Park Beck, a really pleasant route.

Park Beck. Sallows behind.

Brunt Knott, Millrigg Knott, Spy Crag, Hugill Fell. And Mackerel sky?

Pano. The humps and hollows of Sour Howes on the left. Moor Head, the broad ridge in the middle and Sallows on the right.

View down Windermere.

It’s a long while since I was last on these hills and I’d forgotten what great views they have, Sour Howes in particular.

Sour Howes pano.

I parked myself just off the top and enjoyed a late lunch and some hot cordial.

Looking down into Troutbeck. Wansfell Pike behind. Scafells and Great Gable on the skyline.

The cloud was breaking up, and the sunlight began to alternately pick out different patches of hillside, which was wonderful to watch.

Red Screes and Stony Cove Pike.

Sallows.

Howgills catching the sun.

Stony Cove Pike, Thornthwaite Crag, Ill Bell, Yoke.

It looked like it would be the easiest thing in the world just to romp up onto the western ridge of the Kentmere Horseshoe, but that will have to wait for another day (and almost certainly won’t be ‘ the easiest thing in the world’ when that day comes!)

Scour Rigg.

On the way down, I found a path and rather heedlessly followed it, which serendipitously brought me to the curious knolls of Scour Rigg. Then I wandered around Mould Rigg. The OS maps app was an invaluable aid in locating my position and guiding me down Whiteside End and onto the track which would take me back to my car.

Kentmere Tarn.

MapMyWalk gives a smidgen under 7 miles and close to 400m of ascent (I reckon 420 from the map, so that’s not a bad figure, I don’t think). Not bad for a short winter afternoon. I was also thinking that these hills would be ideal for a summer evening stroll.

So, two down (and Capple Howe is a Birkett), just two hundred and twelve to go!