High Spy with my little eye...

Skelgill Bank with Bassenthwaite Lake behind.

Oh come on - I couldn't write a blog about an ascent of High Spy without going for the obvious pun now could I?  Last weekend had been booked in the diary for a couple of months; my cousin Esther was visiting Keswick and had asked if I'd take her on a proper fell walk and I was, of course, only too happy to oblige.  It tied in perfectly with some friends who were also visiting Keswick and so it was all agreed; hiking on Saturday followed by lunch with friends on Sunday.  And then the weather intervened...

We'd decided to take Delores up and camp for a few nights to save us the one hour each way drive but as we drove through the biblical downpour on Friday evening the plan seemed rather less brilliant.  We found the site and parked up easily enough, but as we sat huddled in the van listening to the rain drilling holes in the roof we couldn't help remembering that there was a perfectly good house fewer than 60 minutes drive away. I poured myself a large glass of wine to rule out any possibility of a break for the south.  The next morning didn't so much dawn as bubble to the surface, with the pouring rain now being given a little more "oomph" by the prevailing gale.  I called Esther and agreed to postpone the maiden hike until Sunday and we instead spent the afternoon tucked up snug and dry eating cake and drinking tea (or "carbo loading" as I like to think of it) with our good friends Caz & Ian.

On the top of Catbells

I'd like to tell you that Sunday arrived a little more quietly than Saturday did, but the thing is we'd camped on a working farm.  Now this may sound very "Famous Five" but the reality is our hardworking farmers are up bright and early 7 days a week and the combined chorus of dogs, chickens, cows and sheep had Steve convinced we were in the middle of a real time re-enactment of "Old MacDonald had a farm".  There was a definite "swear, swear here" coming from Steve's side of the bed at 5am.

Having stuffed the rucksack with just about every available foodstuff we owned we headed off to collect Esther.  I was very mindful of the fact that on this walk I wouldn't have the luxury of bickering with Steve about which path we should take; I was going to have to be responsible for an inexperienced hiker so, mindful of this fact, I packed an extra pack of peanut M&Ms in case of emergencies.  Steve deposited us at the foot of Catbells and we were off!

Views back up the valley to Dale Head

I would say it's pretty much impossible to get lost on the ascent of Catbells, but I'm sure someone will have managed it.  There was a steady stream of people pouring up the hill and, despite her concerns, Esther was keeping up a cracking pace and we were soon getting our breath back as we sauntered along Skelgill Bank. The last push up onto Catbells is a pleasing scramble.  Well it is if you follow me.  If you follow my rather more sensible cousin you'll find there's a good path up through most of the rocks.  We reached the top where we were greeted with a lively breeze and a little heavy "mountain dew" (I refused to concede it was raining) so we layered up and headed for Maiden Moor.  By now Esther was smitten and as each new peak or ridge came into view she added it to her list of "must climbs".  Don't blame me, blame the fells.

We fair roared up Maiden Moor propelled by a fine lunch and a couple of Snickers.  As it was Esther's first proper hike I was trying not to overdo things, but we're clearly bred from the same stock; once she spotted the path to High Spy there was no stopping her, and I hadn't entirely ruled out Dale Head and Hindscarth as our return route.  As we breezed over the top of High Spy however we settled on a return trek along the valley, following the Gill from Dalehead Tarn all the way back to Skelgill.  It's a wonderful route with an easy descent and spectacular crags and waterfalls along the way - looking all the more impressive following the previous day's deluge.

As we made our way through Little Town we encountered a couple of very friendly horses who were keen to say hello.  I never mind them when they're the other side of a nice big wall, but generally give them a wide berth if I have to cross their field.  The path from there to Skelgill is very pretty and I noted several houses I planned on buying when I next win the lottery.  At least when I next win more than £10 anyway.  I have to confess that by now we were tiring and, despite shoveling in a few handfuls of M&Ms, we were very glad when Steve found us along the road in Portinscale, thus saving us the final 1 1/2 miles back into Keswick.

By the end of the hike the skies had cleared and the weather was on its very best behaviour with the nearby fells all clamouring for our attention.  All around us tired hikers were making their way back to their digs with full cameras, empty stomachs and heavy legs, but none of us was too tired to re-tell the tales of the days adventures, accompanied by a cold pint, a hot dinner and a great big grin.

Derwent & Catbells

Twice I’ve set off with the intention of walking around Derwent and twice I’ve got distracted and done something else.  I hope it’s not the sort of lake which takes that kind of thing personally.  The truth is Dewent and Catbells have great personal significance for me as that’s where my love affair with the Lake District fells began.

Back in August 2010 we visited Grange (in Borrowdale) as part of an extended tour of the north in our trusty campervan Delores.  By January 2011 I’d found a new job and we moved up here, though still in Delores as we hadn’t quite managed to find a house at that stage.  Steve had grown up in the area but amazingly that was my first ever visit.  During that first visit I also discovered my alarming magnetic attraction for the fells.

We’d parked up in Grange and decided that after lunch we’d take a walk around the lake with a break at Keswick for a spot of dinner – perfect plan.  So off we set along the west side of the lake, but it wasn’t long before something rather odd began to happen.  Try as I might I couldn’t walk in a straight line.  However hard I tried to point my boots towards Keswick they insisted on veering off left towards Catbells.  We made it as far as Derwent Bay before the boots won and up we went.

I’ll be honest; I had no map, no compass and no food.  We were massively underprepared but it was a clear, sunny day and Catbells had her very best “come hither” look, so who was I to argue?  We started on the lower path but impatience got the better of me and when we reached Skelgill Bank we switched to the vertical option.  I’d like to tell you how when we reached the summit we admired Skiddaw and Blencathra, but the truth is I had no idea what the fells were called, I just knew they’d been added to my list.

So what about the second time I tried to walk around Derwent?  Well that was yesterday and this time I’m blaming Chris Bonington for my failure to make it round.  We were headed for Keswick Mountain Festival and, knowing there would be little parking in town, parked up under Walla Crag.  This time we were planning to take the lakeside route to Keswick for a spot of lunch, tootle around the festival for a while then complete a lap of the lake, but when we got there there was so much to do that we soon became very distracted.

There was a huge array of tents selling everything the outdoors enthusiast could ever need – including hot pork sandwiches so that was lunch sorted.  Next we got distracted by the Berghaus tent where Silva were giving free navigation courses.  Since I’ve always taken charge of the map and compass I thought it was about Steve got to grips with it all and, seeing as how he was never going to listen to me, this seemed perfect.  90 minutes of tuition in the lovely Castlehead Wood and he was sorted.  And hooked.  I may never see my compass again.

Returning to the Berghaus tent I spotted one of my heroes; Chris Bonington.  Whilst I’m new to the Lakes I’m not new to the outdoors and have been an avid reader and collector of mountaineering books for many years.  I’m a particular fan of early explorers, adventurers and people who are more interested in forging new routes than simply following what others before them have done.  Luckily Chris Bonington was utterly charming and happily posed for a photo with me, even giving me a bit of a hug.  I’d like to say that I took the opportunity to express my deep admiration of all that he has achieved but the reality is I babbled like an excited schoolgirl and probably said something inane.  Perhaps seeing I was somewhat over excited by this encounter the lovely Matt (Berghaus marketing supremo) thrust a bottle of Berghaus brew into my hands and I retired to a small grassy knoll to recover with Steve and a large bag of Ritz crackers.

By the time I returned to my senses and we’d taken another tour of the field – this time discovering the outdoor swimming group which I’m now determined to join – it was getting late and we noticed the last speaker of the day in the Berghaus tent was Gordon Stainforth talking about Adventure and his new book Fiva “An adventure that went wrong.”, a phrase which could also be used to describe my second failed attempt to circle Derwent.  Next time I promise I’ll make it the whole way around; well, maybe…