Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara

On September 20, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 9th-10th September 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL4 – Lake District – North West
Start/finish point: NY 258148/NY 245137
Distance: 12km
Elevation Gain: 920m
Hills Climbed: Rosthwaite Fell (551m/612m), Dovenest Crag (632m), Glaramara (783m), Combe Door Top (676m), Combe Head (735m), Thornythwaite Fell (574m)

It was late in the day when I hopped off the 78 bus at Rosthwaite, and popped into the Scafell Hotel for a drink. Whistle wetted, it was off along the B5289 on one of those Lakeland roadside paths that are so narrow you walk on the road. It was a glorious, sunny evening, and for once it looked like I might make it to Glaramara in good conditions. I left the road a short while after Burthwaite Bridge, and took the signposted path straight up on to the lower hillside, took a right, and started the fairly steep and gradual climb up The Combe and eventually towards Rosthwaite Fell. It was slow going with my camping gear and a sun that wanted to linger for perhaps longer than Autumn would like, but then I was in no hurry.

Pausing frequently to admire the views across to the Western Fells, it was really a case of picking-out my own route up the ever-steepening Rosthwaite Fell, the right of way marked on the map makes for a satisfying straight line up the last few hundred metres, but I found myself following sheep trods here, stepping over boulders there, and zig-zagging everywhere. Eventually I arrived at the dramatic little viewpoint that is the good path above Rottenstone Gill, from where it was an easy, level, and quite squelchy stroll up to Tarn at Leaves.

The sunlight had lasted well, but when it disappeared over the (now out of sight) horizon, it disappeared suddenly, and suddenly the beautiful and silent scene before me was thrust into darkness. I pitched my trusty tent a little way up the hillside from the tarn to escape the wind that had suddenly whipped-up, and settled down to watch the most stunning of night skies unfold above me. Rested, fed and watered, I popped the head torch on and carefully made my way up to the summit of Bessyboot, which at 551m is Wainwright’s summit of Rosthwaite Fell. I fiddled around for a good hour or so with various ‘night cam’ apps on my iPhone, trying unsuccessfully to take reasonable pictures of the wonders above me. Eventually I gave up, and wandered back down to find my tent and settle down for the night.

Zip, zip, ziiiiiiiiiip. The familiar morning routine early the next day, and I’d managed to wake some time before sunrise. I toddled up the hillside again to try one more photo, then made quick work of packing-up and started the morning wander towards Glaramara. I imagine the ground between these fells would be quite hard to navigate in poor visibility. In fact, I didn’t find it too easy in excellent visibility. There was an obvious path leading off to the left which looked like it might take me too far from Rosthwaite Cam, and I couldn’t afford to miss any of the summits if I was to tick some Hewitts and Nuttalls off, too. And so the next hour or so seemed to involve scrambling around the place, finding my own way, then returning to bits and bobs of path.

Rosthwaite Cam, Dovenest Crag, Combe Door, Combe Head – and a lot of wonderful early morning views in between. Eventually, I found myself on the good path that runs up from Thornythwaite Fell to Glaramara, and made my way to the formidable looking northern face of the latter. I’d read about the stiff little scramble up onto the summit, and in fact it was not fancying the down scramble in atrocious weather that had prevented me reaching Glaramara from the other side on two previous occasions. Today was clear and dry, so it looked like a fun little adventure. Above about 700m, everything changed. Wind and rain appeared from nowhere, and mist rolled-in to give me the full Glaramara experience. I tutted, rolled my eyes, laughed, and probably tutted again. When I arrived at the base of the rocky ascent I deposited my backpack on the wet ground and toddled up to the summit. Glaramara, at last. I didn’t hang around, and descended on a clearer rocky path to find my backpack and rejoin the path to Thornythwaite Fell.

The going was nice and easy on the way down, and it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen anyone at all so far. I remembered that after what felt like a full day’s walking already, it was only about 9am, so perhaps I shouldn’t expect Southern Fell crowds just yet. After enjoying the views from the pleasant little summit of Thornythwaite Fell, I spotted the expected trickle of little bodies snaking their way up the path below, and the day was well and truly in full swing. I’m not an antisocial walker, but do love the feeling of having a fell to myself now and then, and this little overnight excursion had delivered solitude and silence in bucketloads. Rosthwaite Fell is a new favourite of mine. A complex and quiet fell, which looked even more dramatic from the floor of Borrowdale later that morning than I ever recall it looking on previous trips. I feel like I’ve made a new friend here in Borrowdale, but as for Glaramara, that’s still a complex little relationship. I said I’d be back, and this time I found the summit. But I’ll keep coming back until Glaramara finally grants me a view.

A little later that morning I found myself on the 78 bus from Seatoller, and started the long journey home. Until next time.

Penrith to Threlkeld, by way of some Elusive Fells

On August 13, 2020August 13, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 24/25th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL5 – The English Lakes: North-Eastern Area
Start/finish point: NY 511 299/NY 322 254
Distance: 55km
Elevation Gain: 2500m
Hills Climbed: High Seat (802m), Kidsty Pike (780m), Rampsgill Head (792m), The Knott (739m), Rest Dodd (696m), Brock Crags (561m), Angletarn Pikes (567m), Sheffield Pike (675m), Hart Side (756m), Stybarrow Dodd (843m), Watson’s Dodd (789m), Great Dodd (857m), Clough Head (726m)

Lakes 1

I’m a fan of coming up with long (perhaps idiosyncratic) walks, joining up hills that I have either missed on previous trips, or would perhaps be a little awkward for me to get to generally. It also makes me feel like I’ve ‘had my money’s worth’ so to speak, given that it takes so long for me to get places on public transport.

And so it was that I set off from Penrith with a plan to walk some of the High Street Roman road (or at least as near to it as you can in the 21st century) and then head off somewhere near High Raise and do a few of the Far Eastern Fells. I strode out of Penrith with a spring in my step, following footpaths through farm fields, the fells teasing me on the horizon. After a while, it became road walking, and I half planned to walk up to Celleron then up on towards ‘The Cockpit’ and on to the fells, some of which I had walked before. In fact, I got to Celleron then suddenly had a change of heart – why not drop down into Pooley Bridge, then walk some of the Ullswater Way? I could always hit the fells somewhere above Howtown.

And so that is how I found myself wandering, one early summer evening, along the path above Ullswater, happy as a pig in muck.

Once past Howtown, I entered Fusedale for the first time – and what a glorious valley! The good path took me gradually along Fusedale Beck and then gradually climbed, and climbed, and climbed, emerging on Wether Hill – hey presto, I was back on the Roman Road. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and up a height the temperature dropped substantially. My mind turned to a bed for the night, but not before bagging Kidsty Pike, Rampsgill Head, and the rather shapely Knott.

Descending The Knott, I found a lovely little flat area overlooking Rest Dodd, and caught sight of several deer. Tent up, perfect spot. Throughout the night the deer came close to the tent and made the most terrifying noises – who’d have thought Bambi would sound like something from a horror film? Very early the next morning I breakfasted in the rain then tackled Rest Dodd head-on, before dropping down towards Brock Crags, along by Angle Tarn, then somewhat awkwardly up to Angletarn Pikes and its list of summits.

As a side note, I was delighted at my previous night’s pitch high up on Knott, and counted no fewer than 17 tents dotted around Angle Tarn. I also counted no fewer than 6 bum cheeks going about their morning movements by the tarn, and found myself feeling a little angry at my fellow man. Or perhaps just bitter that I have braved all manner of uncomfortable conditions in the hills, attending to business far away from my tent, far from paths, digging little holes. At Angletarn-by-the-sea they were only a burger van away from being a resort. Anyway, onwards.

I say onwards, I came across another pair of cheeks at the Boredale Hause ‘junction’, tutted as the cheeks retreated through the tent flaps, then made my way down to Glenridding. Time to adjust myself, attend to aching feet, get rid of rubbish (in a bin, fancy that), before making my way up to the Greenside Road and along the busy path we all know so well.

I stopped to watch the lines of people snake their way up towards Helvellyn, and then left the path to head up to my own private fells, up Stang End and through the interesting remnants of mining works, to make my way to Sheffield Pike. Back down to the path, and then steeply up Glencoyne Head, I was off across to the rather inconveniently situated Hart Side, when the mist suddenly rolled-in and the landscape looked more like it usually does when I’m in the hills.

Next on to the Dodds. The mist cleared every now and then to give me little glimpses of Thirlmere, and by the time I arrived at Watson’s Dodd (an underrated fell in my humble opinion…) the conditions were excellent. I lingered at Watson’s Dodd, and not just because of the name.

The rest of the walk was straightforward, gentle walking – Great Dodd, Calfhow Pike, then straight up the (wet) side of Clough Head. This latter fell has teased me so many times when I’ve travelled by bus into Keswick, it felt great to have conquered it at long last. But it soon conquered me, because the steep descent down the screes made the ending to the walk rather more dramatic and telling on the knees than I would have liked. Great views, though.

And so I snaked my way down to Threlkeld, and had a pint while waiting for my bus, chuffed that I could now tick off a whole bunch of beautiful fells. Fells that have been teasing me for months. Cheers!

Seathwaite Fell & Allen Crags

On July 24, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 5th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL4 – The Lake District: North-Western Area/OL5 – The Lake District: South-Western Area
Start/finish point: NY 235 121
Distance: 14.5km
Elevation Gain: 743m
Hills Climbed: Seathwaite Fell (632m), Allen Crags (785m)

Seathwaite Fell

This was intended to be walk 5.4 in my Nuttall guide, with Glaramara being the main event, but there was a question mark over the whole walk from the moment we left Gateshead on a wet Sunday morning. Forecasts were ‘interesting’ and we knew the wettest place in England would be, well, pretty wet, but we thought it was worth a look anyway.

How very wet it was. And windy. And pretty cold. And grey. We were drowned rats before we even left Seathwaite Farm. But we plodded onwards. As did several other parties, one of them a pair of young walkers who were planning to climb Scafell Pike. We pointed them in the right direction (or at least a direction) and started the walk up to the very pretty Stockley Bridge. We were chatting about Wainwright bagging as we walked in the driving rain, and the conversation turned to one Paul Tierney, the guy who ran all 214 Wainwrights last year in a record six days or other. Just then, a group of damp fell runners passed us at a little ford. “That’s only Paul Tierney!” I exclaimed. Mr Tierney didn’t hear me, but did say hello as he jogged on by. I felt oddly chuffed to have seen him, a celebrity of the fells, and laughed at what our reaction might have been if AW himself had been around today, and we had bumped into him! Anyway, we crossed the bridge and headed up towards Taylor Force waterfall, all the while scanning Aaron Crags – my guide said to strike out onto the pathless slopes about 300 yards along the path after the plantation ends, but no matter which way I looked at Aaron Crags it seemed like a pretty tough slog up to Wainwright’s summit at 601m. We decided that my (non-peak-obsessed) friend needn’t go through the steep slog, so we arranged to meet at Sprinkling Tarn – she carried on along the path, I headed up to the summit.

The summit plateau of Seathwaite Fell, with its three tops, reminded me a little of Tarn Crag, and I felt oddly at home already among the knobbly mounds and pretty little bodies of water. The weather conditions were pretty rough, and cloud cover meant the views form the true summit cairn were limited, but I decided I like this fell and it was a shame that an inability to stand up in the wind mean I couldn’t hang around. Soon I dropped down to Sprinkling Tarn, and once reacquainted with my pal, we headed on up the path.

We bumped into our two young friends from the start of the walk, who had climbed Ruddy Gill and got as far as the shelter under Broad End, before calling it a day because of weather and visibility. They also thought they were at Sty Head, and were rather confused, so we spent a while chatting in the rain and sent them back off the way we had come (or at least the way my friend had come) and said our goodbyes. Lovely lads, on their first lakeland walk, and it reminded me of my own baptism(s) of fire in Scotland, soaked to the skin, and wondering what on earth I was doing. I hoped today didn’t put them off, and suggested a few walks and small fells they might consider on the way back home.

But soon, we found ourselves in a similar position to the lads. It had gone rather dark, other walkers seemed to have evaporated, and as we plodded up to Allen Crags, we were treated to hail and stinging faces. Do we continue to Glaramara? Or do we drop down Ruddy Gill and agree that discretion is the better part of valour? We opted for the latter, and reluctantly retraced our steps and dropped down to follow the Ruddy Gill path all the way back to Seathwaite.

This was to be just the second time in 135 Wainwrights that I had been defeated (or sternly discouraged…) by weather conditions, and I also knew it wasn’t right to force my pal to plod on when they had come for a walk rather than an expedition. I found I had to have a word with myself on the way down Ruddy Gill, what on earth was I feeling bad about? A glorious walk in dramatic weather, in one of the most beautiful areas of the country, and somehow not managing to tick all the planned summit boxes made me feel disappointed?! We laughed at the delicious futility of peak bagging, made a few remarks about not seeing the wood for the trees, and the rest of today’s walk was one of two soaked pals, in good spirits, taking what felt like the longest path in Lakeland, admiring views and celebrating that we couldn’t get any more wet.

It was something of a relief when we reached the car at Seathwaite, but it had been a cracking walk. Just not quite walk 5.4.

Oh, and despite what I said above, Glaramara – I’m coming for you…

A Taste of the Far East

On July 13, 2020July 13, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 20th June 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL5 – The Lake District: North-Eastern Area
Start/finish point: NY 468 106
Distance: 13km
Elevation Gain: 807m
Hills Climbed: Rough Crag (628m), High Street (828m), Mardale Ill Bell (760m), Harter Fell (778m)

High Street & Harter Fell

With lockdown restrictions continuing to ease in England, my friend Laura and I decided to go that little bit further afield, that extra half hour, to The Lake District. After a few months away from these hills, I was beyond excited as we chugged our way along the A66, poring over the map of what was to be a new area of the LD for me – the Far Eastern Fells around Haweswater. I naively thought it might be quiet in this area of the lakes, but how wrong I was. Mardale Head was certainly the busiest I have ever seen a car park in the area – but thankfully there are so many walking routes, we didn’t see many other people once we left the car park. There was a large tent pitched not far from the car park, and a collection of nature’s finest doing their best to turn one of the most gorgeous starts to a walk anywhere into a holiday camp. Fortunately, it seems they were moved on. But the posts on social media the following day from people clearing up litter in this very spot made me sick.

However, the weather was gorgeous, the conditions crystal clear, and we strode towards The Rigg with smiles on our faces, before doubling back and straight up the Riggindale ridge towards the first objective of the day – Rough Crag. The beginning of the ridge reminded me very much of the Low Pike/High Pike stretch of the Fairfield Horseshoe, and the view back to Haweswater was glorious.

The path that winds its way to Rough Crag is just exposed enough to be exhilarating, which I don’t think I’d quite expected – it was a wonderful little scrambly journey to the summit, from which the view down to Blea Water and ahead to the Long Stile ridge were quite stunning. Long Stile is a wonderful way up to High Street, it makes for a real mountain adventure on a fell that, once attained, is flat as a pancake.

Once on the famous fell that is High Street, it was easy walking along the Roman route that is High Street, and I was tempted to continue to the beacon on Thornthwaite Crag, given that when I last climbed that hill the weather was poor and the views non-existent. We did enjoy the view cross to Windermere from the Roman road, but decided to stick with the planned route and swung round towards the next summit, Mardale Ill Bell.

Mardale Ill Bell offers stunning views back towards Haweswater Reservoir, and we had ourselves a lunch break in a sheltered spot shy of the summit. More easy walking on a good path took us down to the head of the Nan Bield Pass, before we plodded straight back up the ‘other side’ to climb Harter Fell, my 126th Wainwright. This really is a glorious horseshoe walk, and I felt I had underestimated the rocky, dramatic beauty of some of these Far Eastern Fells.

From Harter Fell it was an easy descent on the more grassy slopes (and good path) to Gatesgarth Pass, from which a new-looking but rough (and long) track took us all the way back to the car park at Mardale Head. A glorious walk on a glorious day, and it was wonderful to be back in the Lake District.

Murton Pike, Murton Fell & High Cup Nick

On June 21, 2020June 22, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 6th June 2020
OS Map: OL19 – Howgill Fells & Upper Eden Valley
Start/finish point: NY 729 219
Distance: 17km
Elevation Gain: 619m
Hills climbed: Murton Pike (594m), Murton Fell (675m)

Murton Fell & High Cup Nick

High Cup Nick is one of those places I kept on reading about, hearing about, tapping with my finger on the OS map and wondering about. The three red pins marking the fells which sit within the Warcop firing ranges have also been teasing me. They don’t look exciting, they seem dangerous, they need doing – even if only the once. Lots of plotting, more optimistic forecasts, and the prospect of another walk with my good pal Laura, led to a decision to climb Murton Pike, Murton Fell, head around to High Cup Nick, then either descend the boulders into the valley, or else return via one of the high paths.

And while we’re on, let’s try a bit more of this trail running lark.

We arrived at Murton late morning, after driving through the ranges and passing bits and bobs of millitary paraphernalia. There’s parking for a good few cars, and as soon as you leave the car you’re on the good track that leads steadily up towards Murton Pike. The wind was picking up, and by the time we arrived at the trig point after a steep little climb, it was actually difficult to stand up. After admiring the brooding sky, we did an about turn and ran back down the hill until we rejoined the track that would lead us in the direction of Murton Fell, the Hewitt we’d decided to bag today.

I say we, actually it was just me. Laura stayed with the main track and we agreed to meet in a little while at the head of Trundale Gill. Unless you’re in the business of bagging summits, I’ve learned that not all hills appeal to all people. Murton Pike looked and felt like a dramatic little hill, it appeals to anybody out on a walk. The prospect of striking out across the pathless moor, going ‘just as far as the danger signs then turning left’ on a mission to locate a somewhat featureless summit strikes some as lunacy.

The loneliness of the Hewitt bagger.

I will say that I actually found the summit plateau of Murton Fell attractive, and with a spring in my step I set about jogging again, making light work of the boggy ground and skipping my way down to the rendezvous point. Reacquainted with my pal, we followed the path up the hillside and emerged above Middle Tongue. We caught glimpses of the huge valley beneath us, and of the escarpment opposite, but the jaw-dropping spectacle of High Cup Nick really did save itself until we were actually at the, well, Nick. Words failed me. I’d been missing out, and could have sat there all day admiring the view.

We explored the steep boulder field that takes you from the Nick to the valley floor, but decided it might be slow going, when today was all about travelling light and trotting around in tights. And so we decided to take the path above the same side of the escarpment we had arrived on, stopping frequently to admire the views, watch streams disappear over the edge, and get slightly nervous that we might do the same.

Descending Middle Tongue made for easy walking/jogging, and we were surrounded by bog cotton as almost as far as the eye could see. Murton Pike looked still more dramatic from this side, and eventually we dropped down to the farm at Harbour Flatt. We somehow missed the footpath marked on the map, and so just continued to the minor road and followed it back to the car park at Murton. High Cup Nick was spectacular, this part of the Northern Pennines was spectacular, trying some running instead of walking was, if not spectacular, fun.

The sight of me in leggings was neither spectacular nor pleasant. And for that, and to those walkers also enjoying the stunning landscape that day, I apologise most sincerely.

The Man in the Buff

Tag: cumbria