The Truth about Hiking.

Saturday's hike was a 7 hour extravaganza up and around the Tilberthwaite Fells.  We kicked off in Tilberthwaite, nipped up and over Great Intake, down to Greenburn Beck, then up along Wet Side Edge and around the Carrs.  We then whizzed over Swirl How before dropping down through the Prison Band then up and over Wetherlam and back to the car.

Doesn't it bother you when all the route reports you read make every hike sound like something straight out of The Waltons?   I have, therefore, decided to start a new genre of hiking blogs and will be adding a little more realism.  Our route for Saturday can now be described thus:

We kicked off in Tilberthwaite and at the first fork had a bit of a disagreement over the route.  We bickered our way to the top of Great Intake before making up and enjoying the views.  After slithering down through mud and sheep s**t to Greenburn Beck we headed up towards the old reservoir before nearly breaking our necks hopping across the stream.  We then bravely forged a new route to the top of Rough Crags (henceforth to be known as the "rough route for rough hikers") before keeling over in a sweaty heap and devouring lunch. 

View from Great Carr

As we surveyed the roller coaster route ahead of us we enjoyed a lively discussion pertaining to the fact that I merrily ignore contours when planning routes.  My defence "but it looked like a nice circular route" apparently carried little merit.  Continuing upwards we waded through Wet Side Edge (a more appropriately named fell I have yet to find)  and sidetracked ourselves by inventing new walking songs, a game which left me with that old Mud classic Tiger Feet wedged firmly into my brain for the duration of the hike.  Don't ask.

Reaching the top of Great Carr we paused to enjoy the view.  Well we mainly enjoyed the view.  The part we didn't enjoy quite so much was the drop down to Prison Band and the hike back up to Wetherlam which lay ahead of us, but with the sun sinking and no alternate routes available we pressed onwards.  About two thirds of the way up Wetherlam I decided that I wanted to be at the summit for sunset so upped the pace much to the delight of Steve.  We got there just in time but were both panting so hard that most of the pictures were blurred.

Wetherlam

And so to the final descent.  With the light fading fast we joyfully realised that our chosen route down from Wetherlam was not the lovely clear footpath as marked on the map, but was instead a rocky plummet, and at this point we adopted two different approaches.  Steve maintained his calm and dignity and slowly picked out a sensible route down whilst I opted to tear vertically down the rock face slipping, falling regularly and swearing loudly.  We both arrived at the bottom at the same time but only one of us still had the backside in their trousers.

It was now completely dark so the torches were deployed.  Hampered by the fact that my compass had packed up somewhere between Swirl How and Wetherlam I had decided to navigate using the stars and poured withering scorn on Steve's suggested route.  I agreed to go his way for a while smug in the knowledge that he'd soon be begging me to tell him more about The Plough.  Five minutes later, having arrived at the exact spot we needed to be I muttered a begrudging apology as he helped me over a stile.

As we made our way back down to the car we paused to admire the stars and the many fireworks going off in the distance.  So we'd been out a little longer than we planned, so what?  I'd rather be lost on a fell in the dark than be subjected to most Saturday night TV, unless of course the bring The Waltons back.

Long legs or little feet?

Steve has the long legs and I have the little feet and I've often wondered which is best for fell walking.  He's 6ft 4ins and, unbelievably, the shortest of his three brothers.  Imagine that, 6ft 4ins and the runt of the litter.  But those long legs do come in handy when striding over fells, for a start he can go twice as fast as me and I am often to be seen scampering along behind him trying to keep up, and they're undeniably useful when scrambling over some of the more challenging routes such as Sharp Edge,  BUT those lovely long legs come at a price; attached to them are 2 very big size 12 feet, and they're not always quite so versatile.

Th long and the short of it.

I, on the other hand, despite being a non-too-shabby-for-a-girl 5ft 10ins, have irritatingly short legs and freakishly small feet for my height.  I'm only a size 5 1/2 - 6 but that does have its benefits.  For a start my walking boots are way cheaper than his, and although I can't quite stretch as far as he can when stepping across streams and climbing slidey hills, I can wedge my feet into tiny little nooks and crannies and find grippy spots he'd be lucky to fit his big toe into.

So what is the best build for the fells?  Well for a start you don't want to be too skinny.  Not only will you get blown away by the first decent gust of wind but you will also fail to bounce.  The fells are not all glorious green curves and well made paths, no siree.  Many of them are slippy boggy booby traps whilst others, like Scafell Pike, lack any discernible path and require you to rock hop your way to the summit.  You will, inevitably, fall over at some point, and when that happens it's best if you don't have a scrawny skinny backside else you'll probably break something important.  The well upholstered posterior will, on the other hand, provide you with a rather more comfortable bouncing experience and leave you with nothing more serious than a few well hidden bruises.  But you don't want to overdo the cushioning effect.  Some of the sheep proof stiles can be a little on the narrow side and many's the time I've squashed my baps trying to squeeze through, and who wants a squashed egg mayo bap for lunch?

4 Points of Contact

And is taller really better?  Well the shorter you are the lower your centre of gravity so the less likely you are to fall over in the first place, at least that's the theory.  Despite being a full 6 inches shorter than Steve I have almost no sense of balance, even when completely gin free.  He will hop, skip and jump his way across streams whereas I'm forced to resort to the "4 points of contact" approach. (Please see embarrassing photo.)  And when it comes to descents, well I can whiz down any "bum plummet" faster than he can, even if it's not always intentional.

So what am I saying?  Well, for maximum efficiency on the fells you need to be no taller than 5ft with 4ft long legs and size 3 feet. You'll also need J.Lo's backside and The Great Blondin's sense of balance.  Of course if you look like that you'll be far more likely to be making your living in a circus than hiking the fells but if Peter Jackson's still on the lookout for Hobbits you might just be in luck.

Why do we do it?

100 years ago today the first of the polar parties involved in Scott's expedition to the South Pole set off; at 11am on 1st November 1911 Scott himself left Cape Evans for the last time and began his journey south.  He was very clear on why he was doing what he did, primarily his was a scientific expedition with the additional aim of his party being the first to reach the South Pole.  As we all know he narrowly failed on the second part of his mission having been beaten to the pole by Amundsen whose party arrived there a little over a month before Scott.   What's frustrating is that the outstanding successes of the first part of his mission are often overlooked; much of the data his team bought back is still being used even to this day.  If you enjoy reading travel books then they don't get any better than "The Worst Journey in the World" by Apsley Cherry-Garrard, one of the youngest members of Scott's team and also one of the party that discovered his body on 12th November 1912.

As I've mentioned before I'm a massive fan of Scott and all of the other early explorers, I admire the way they launched into the unknown armed with a compass and an overdeveloped sense of adventure, determined to lead the way up new mountains and across new continents simply, as George Mallory put it, "because it's there."  Their motivation is fairly easy to understand, but what about ours?  What is it about getting soaked to the skin, frozen to the core and blown off our feet that we find so enjoyable?

That thought has crossed my mind a number of times this past weekend.  It crossed my mind on Saturday when we spent over 4 hours sliding around Dungeon Ghyll in the torrential rain and yet still returned to the car giggling about something or other.  And it crossed my mind again several times yesterday when we tackled Red Screes on a less than ideal day.  In short our route went something like this; we parked opposite the pub at the top of Kirkstone Pass in the mist.  We climbed up Red Screes via the Kilnshaw Chimney in the mist.  We waded through bogs to Scandale Pass in the mist before finally descending out of the mist as we walked down Calston Glen.  Our temporarily mist free route then took us around the end of Middle Dodd and back up Kirkstone Pass to the car, which was still exactly where we left it, in the mist.  Whatever we were doing it for yesterday, it clearly wasn't for the views.

We weren't alone either, on both days we bumped into many other hikers out doing exactly the same things we were (quite literally, it really was very misty), so why do we all do it?  Is it for all the guilt free goodies we can scoff as we burn off a couple of thousand calories skidding around the hillsides?  Or maybe we're all hooked on the endorphin rush we apparently get when we engage in exercise?

Speaking personally I enjoy the challenge of reading a map, I've always loved maps and am fascinated by how they were put together in the early days - mapping all of those contours? Amazing!  Set aside your misogynistic ideas of women map readers because on all of our walks I am in charge of the map and poor old Steve barely gets a look in.  For me map reading in the mist is like solving a giant puzzle where you're one of the pieces, and so rewarding when you hit the exact point you were aiming for.  (Quite surprising too on occasion, but don't tell Steve that!)

And how much better does a big frothy mug of hot coffee and some freshly toasted fruit loaf taste when you're warming up after a cold wet day on the fells?  Almost as good as a long cold beer tastes after a very hot and sticky day on the fells.  Whatever the weather nice treats taste so much better when they're hard earned.

I suppose we're all different and have our different reasons for enjoying pitting ourselves against the elements.  Whichever way I looked at it as I mulled it over this weekend I couldn't find a better way to put it than Mallory did, we climb the fells because they're there, and wouldn't it be an awful waste if we didn't?

Dear Weather...

Dear Weather,

I just wanted to drop you a quick note to thank you for your spectacular performance of late.  I'm sure many people all over the world take your offerings for granted, but not me, I want you to know how truly grateful I am for the many and varied conditions you are able to muster.

Dungeon Ghyll

Take yesterday for example, what a wonderful autumn day.  Clear blue skies and sun all day.  The trees and fells must have looked glorious.  I say "must have looked" because I was stuck indoors in Kirkham, all day, but never mind that eh?  I had wonderful views of a fabulously sunny car park and clear visibility of the red brick wall opposite my window which the wonderful weather conditions allowed me to admire in infinite detail as I sat gazing longingly outside.  Still, it allowed me time to dream about what adventures I could enjoy on the fells at the weekend.

So what little surprise did you have in store for me today?  More gorgeous sunshine?  Of course not, you're anything but predictable and that's what I love most about you.  Honest.  No, you decided today would be a great day to top up all those gorgeous lakes and waterfalls by unleashing hour after hour of torrential rain.  Undeterred we headed off to Langdale feeling sure that you'd let up a little during the afternoon.  Choc full of optimism we parked up at the bottom of Stickle Ghyll and began our climb upwards.

Top marks for filling the Ghyll up, it looked marvellous as it crashed downwards, though the continuous downpour did make it a little tricky for taking pictures.  Never mind, we managed to grab a bite to eat during a quick lull and scampered up to the tarn before you spotted us again.  Realising that we were now somewhat exposed and that the tops of the fells had been missing, presumed misted, for some time we opted to avoid the summits and instead head directly for Dungeon Ghyll.  At this point I'd particularly like to thank you for the strong blustery wind and hailstones, nice touch.

Stickle Ghyll

In a break from the norm you managed to remain remarkable consistent as we slithered downwards.  I think it's also only fair to thank whomever laid the 'steps' along the route, honestly using sheer flat rocks and angling them 45 degrees downwards was exactly what we needed to help us on our descent, it speeded things up considerably.

And so to the end of the walk.  We noticed that you'd eased up slightly as we headed for the car park so we decided to double back and try and get a few shots of the bottom of Dungeon Ghyll, but there's no sneaking past you is there buddy?  Oh no.  Within 5 minutes you'd redoubled your efforts, though I'm sure you only meant to fill the Ghyll and make it that little bit more spectacular for us, didn't you?

Anyway, we're home and dry now and were particularly pleased to see the rain easing by the minute as we neared home, it made sitting in the warm dry car just that little bit easier.

So, thank you again for all your recent efforts, we both feel you've really surpassed yourself so far this weekend.  Now please don't think I'm being ungrateful but is it at all possible to ease up on the monsoon a little tomorrow?  I think the Lakes and Ghylls are quite full now and we'd rather like to go out and take some pictures of them, prefereably in sunshine.

Many thanks.

Warm regards

Beth

New or Old?

So we started a new life. So what?  It's not really new is it?  It's the same life, just in a different place, but which is better and what are the differences?  Are they as different as chalk and cheese? Or as similar as Ant and Dec (still no clue which is which I'm afraid.)  In an effort to settle the argument I shall compare the two in a number of key categories.

1.  Scenery

Fleet Pond Nature Reserve

Not as much of a foregone conclusion as you'd think.  Yes we have the Lake District right on our doorstep and some of the most jaw dropping views in England are but a stones throw away.  Well maybe a bit further 'cos I throw like a girl.  But in Fleet we were lucky enough to live right next to Fleet Pond, the largest freshwater lake in Hampshire and an SSSI site.  I thoroughly enjoyed working with Fleet Pond Society and still try and do my bit to promote the work they do - please check out the link to their blog in the column on the left.  We'd often see deer around the Pond and, on occasion, in our street and there are a wide variety of rare birds, insects and invertebrates to be found there.  There are also wide expanses of heath which, on a global scale, is rarer than rain forest.  However I do have to give this round to the Lake District, mainly because it's more lumpy and I like walking up hills. 

2. Convenience

Having lived in the South East for 22 years this was always going to be a bit of a shock to the system.  Walk to Sainsbury's now?  Only if you fancy a fulls day's hike.  Order pizza to be delivered?  You must be kidding!  Order anything to be delivered?  Well you can give it a go, but even ParcelForce can't find us.  Not that we're that far out in the sticks, but we have a house name not a number and that confuses the pants off people.  I suppose it all depends on whether convenience is important to you or not.  We're only 5 mins from the station and London is just over 3 hours away so is that convenient enough?  Let's pick an arbitrary measure "Can you get a Dominos Pizza delivered to your door?"  If that were the measure then the winner would have to be Fleet, but only because I can't be bothered to cook on Fridays.

3.  The locals

True, our neighbours in Fleet were lovely, but for the friendliness of strangers Grange has to win.  Just down the road from us lives Doris (not her real name) and Doris knows *everything* about what's going on in Grange.  Her family have lived here for years and anyone who's not been local for at least 2 generations is considered new to the area.  But she's incredibly friendly and what she doesn't know about Grange isn't worth knowing.  She's shown us amazing pictures going back to the early 1900's and she helped put the word out when Monty did a runner.  In fact when Monty took off it helped us get to know lots of our neighbours and they are all truly delightful.  Even the slightly odd bloke who cut down all his real trees and made new fakes ones and stuck them to his fence.  It takes all sorts.

Morecambe Bay from Hampsfell

4.  The shops

Within 5 minutes walk we have 2 bakeries, Britain's

Best Butcher (Higginson's), Fishers Fruit and Veg and no Tesco, and for that reason alone Grange should win.  However Fleet does have Bakers, a hardware store that has been there for over 100 years and is an absolute Aladdin's cave of all things DIY.  If they don't sell it then it's not worth having.  However I'm still going to give this round to Grange because up here the people in the shops take the time to chat and get to know you.  Tourists stand in queues frustrated and bemused as we catch up on life and talk about the weather.  If you want to rush, rush, rush then don't rush to Grange, we're quite happy taking it a little more slowly.

5.  Health & wellbeing

True, since we moved up here I have developed a spectacular allergy to one of the local bitey insects, done my dodgy back in on several occasions up on the fells and nearly come a cropper hiking over the 31st highest mountain in England in the dark, and rain, and mist, plus I got a shocking case of shin splints that even impressed the doctor, BUT it has all been worth it.  Maybe better add "gone slightly loopy" to that list too.  That was all just acclimatization.  Sorry Fleet.

So 4 - 1 to Grange, which makes Fleet look bad I wouldn't want that.  I always struggled in the South East but Fleet was the nicest place I lived down there, lovely neighbours, lovely friends and the gorgeous Fleet Pond.  In any other contest it would have come out on top, but Fleet shouldn't feel too bad, I've been lucky enough to travel across most of the UK and, to be perfectly honest, I can't imagine anywhere that could beat Cumbria.  All we need to do now is persuade Domino's to increase their delivery radius.

Big up for Barrow!

Walney Island

Each year Cumbria receives in excess of 8 million visitors which should be fine as it's the third largest county in England (behind North Yorkshire and Lincolnshire), but most of these 8 million or so people head for the same few places; Windermere, Ambleside, Keswick and Kendal.  True, a few hardier souls will brave the peaks, but even then they all aim for the same peaks; Scafell Pike, Helvellyn and Skiddaw.  With 6768 Km2 to play with you'd think a few people might be a little more curious as to what else Cumbria has to offer.

I can't imagine Barrow is high on many people's “must do” list but it dates back to the 12th century and boasts the beautiful Furness Abbey which is perched high on the edge of the town. The Abbey provided inspiration to Wordsworth and Turner and was visited by a young Theodore Roosevelt in 1869.  Although only the ruins remain it does lay claim to several ghostly visitors, including one regular sighting of a monk brutally murdered during the reformation.

Inside Barrow Dock Museum

If you prefer your history a little more recent and a little less bloody then head across to The Dock Museum.  With free car parking, a fab little cafè and housed in an old dry dock, the museum is tucked away on the industrial side of town.  However once inside you'll find a detailed history of Barrow's proud ship building past, a fascinating insight into the evolution of the town from small farming community to major industrial centre and amazing scale models of some of the most famous ships built there.

Beyond Barrow lies Walney Island which has two major things going for it.  Firstly it's largely comprised of protected nature reserves meaning that there are miles of unspoilt dune and marsh habitats providing safe havens for many of the UK's most endangered species, including the very rare Natterjack Toad and secondly, and perhaps more importantly for the weary legged visitor, it's flat.  Just off the coast of Walney Island is tiny Piel Island which, although small in size, boasts it's own castle and pub, the landlord of which is crowned King of the island in a ceremony that dates back to the 1400's.

I might be a massive fan of the fells, but Cumbria isn't just about hills and lakes.  Barrow may not be the prettiest place in Cumbria but it's still worth a visit.

Peel Island from Walney Island

Blown away by the Great Gable

Well, here I am, back in the land of the living after a couple of nights away on Delores with zero phone signal.  It's amazing how out of touch you can feel after only 48 hours of living as we did 10 years ago.  Looking at the BBC website it doesn't seem we missed much...

Sour Milk Gyhll during a downpour

Although we were only camped in Troutbeck, just north of Ullswater, it meant we only had a 20 minute drive at the start and end of the big hike rather than an hour and 20 mins and when you're tired and cold it's comforting to know the gin and biscuits are only just down the road.  After we arrived on Friday we took a quick jaunt around to Sour Milk Ghyll during a torrential downpour and found it surprisingly easy to park at Seathwaite Farm, proof were it needed that the Cumbrian rain really does sort the men from the boys.  Or the sane from the mildly unhinged.  After an hour or so poking around and taking pics we headed back to the van to dry off and ready ourselves an assault on the Great Dodd on Saturday.

Saturday morning was glorious, but sadly I wasn't.  Hit by an annoying migraine I was doing battle with my stomach and head in a bid to remain vertical, but it takes more than that to keep me of the fells.  Not much more though, I really was feeling pretty rough.  I'd noticed during my frequent visits to the loo block (don't ask) that the fresh air was helping me feel somewhat more perky so I decided to crack on and make the sarnies.  It took me 3 attempts to get the sarnies made and packed with lots of lying down inbetween times.  Eventually I plonked myself in the car just after midday and demanded to be taken to a fell.  Given the lateness of our start and the state of my head we opted to return to Sour Milk Ghyll as we knew the path was an easy one and we could shoot back to the car at any time should the need arise.

As the weather was rather more lovely than it had been 24 hours earlier the nearest parking space we could find was right back at Seathwaite Bridge.  I have to confess I still wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea, but I'd shovelled in the painkillers and figured that migraines only get better and anyway, having something to take my mind off feeling rotten was bound to help no end.  I took it really slowly as we crossed the beck and headed up towards the falls and gradually the pills started to work their magic and soon with each step I was feeling brighter and brighter.  Hallelujah!  Buoyed by my rapidly returning faculties we decided to press onwards to Great Gable.  If you're bonkers enough to have read my blog from last year you'll know I have a great fondness of Great Gable and have been itching to climb it.

Our route took us up and over the top of Sour Milk Ghyll, up and over the top of Green Gable, down through Windy Gap and up to the summit of Great Gable before dropping back into Windy Gap, then down to Styhead Tarn then back past Taylorgill Force before crossing Stockley Bridge and heading back to the car.  It was an absolutely wonderful route with much to see and take pics of along the way.  One of the benefits of climbing a central fell is that you can see all of the other fells laid out around you, it's hard to imagine a more stunning view than the one from the top of Great Gable, as you look around you can see Wast Water, Haystacks, Buttermere, the Borrowdale Fells, Glaramara and of course Scafell Pike with Esk Pike & Bow Fell peeking out behind.

View down from Windy Gap

But we were blown away by more than the view, or at least we nearly were.  Windy Gap is called that for a very good reason and we'd been joking on the way up that if it was quite breezy down in the valley then what on earth would it be like there?  Windy.  The clue was in the name.  As we dropped down from Green Gable towards Windy Gap we were both blown off our feet twice and had to crouch low until the gust subsided, as soon as we crossed the gap and headed up Great Gable things calmed down a little, there's clearly something about the geology there that funnels the wind and anyone smaller and lighter than us would be well advised to remain tethered at all times to someone of a rather more sturdy build.  Pausing only to take some pics of Taylorgill Force we made it back to the car without incident and, thankfully, without a migraine.

Today (Sunday) we wanted to check out one last waterfall up at Caldbeck so we left Delores & a happily snoozing Monty in a suitable parking spot and headed even further north.  It all started off rather well when I found a £20 note on the grass verge.  If you cast your mind back to the blog a couple of weeks back you'll remember that I only had £1.02 to last me until the end of the month, so this is riches beyond my wildest dreams. Well, almost. 

It's a very different landscape up there as you skirt around the back of Blencathra and Skiddaw and I finally saw my very first red squirrels, cheekily sitting on a wall at the side of the road and watching the world go by.  I've waded through bogs, fought through forests and slogged up fells and I finally see my first red squirrels sat on a wall next to a B road. Typical.

The Howk at Caldbeck is only a 1/2 mile easy walk from the centre of the village and if you're unsure of the route then the very nice man in the Old Smithy Tea Room & Shop will give you a sheet with directions on for free.  To thank him for his kindness I blew some of my new found wealth on a bag of liquorice, you never know what emergency supplies you'll need on a 1/2 mile walk and maybe I could use them to lure more red squirrels out of hiding...

After that we wound our way back home and immediately plugged ourselves back into the hive/ internet.  I'm beginning to think The Matrix wasn't that wide of the mark afterall.  A few days away and it seems nothing much has changed in the world at large, same old doom and gloom glaring out of all the news websites.  Maybe if people took the time to get out into the fells it might blow away some of their angst and ill will?  Well it worked for my migraine anyway.