Wordsworth once wrote that rain in the Lake District was commonplace. Seems he was right. But he also wrote that nowhere else could compare with the vibrant colours, textures and breathtaking scenery of the mountain peaks and fells – seems he was right about this too. On Thursday of last week I took my first ever trip to Cumbria and planned to take my first steps upon the rugged landscape – two days walking, with a foray to the Mountain Festival at Kendal to keep me out of trouble in the evenings. So, on Friday morning I jumped on the bus to Ambleside and headed off towards the summit of Red Screes, just above the Kirkstone Pass. At first all seemed well – it was overcast with a threat of rain but generally O.K. Thing is, I wasn’t. It was one of those mornings when you just know you’re not on top form. Could have been the beer the night before, lack of sleep or anything but I knew I wasn’t 100%. Still, I had set my heart on walking to my highest point so far, challenging myself, improving my skills and experience and enjoying the scenery – after all, I’d travelled a long way to get there and didn’t want to waste the journey. As I struggled along the road the rain began to fall, and kept falling. Pulling on the waterproofs I pushed on and finally found the path that lead to the ridge – the ascent route I’d planned to take. Painfully and slowly I picked my way along the path. To be honest, I was exhausted when I shouldn’t have been. Still I continued convinced I’d be O.K and determined to get to the top. As I walked higher, the rain continued, then the sleet, then the wind began to build and by the time I’d reached just over 550m the hill fog came in and I was leaning against a boundary wall, being pelted with sleet, wind whipping at the waterproofs and visibility decreasing rapidly. The sheep stood staring at me as if to say, “Well, lass, what’s it to be?” I could push on to the summit but what would be the point? The chances of the weather improving nearer the top was minimal, I’d be exhausted by the time I got there and probably wouldn’t make it back down to get the bus home. I had nothing to prove to anybody but myself and, as I was rapidly learning, on the hills, there is little room for ego. So I called it and turned round. On the way down, across the valley the cloud cleared and the views were stunning. I wondered if I’d given up too soon, but looking behind me I could see that little had improved on my hilltop. Picking my way back down the water soaked paths, where mini-waterfalls cascaded across the rocks the wind eased, the rain became bearable and I decided to continue my walk along the valley, taking in Sweden Bridge and ending up at Scandale Fell. All along the route I seemed to find myself uttering words like “awesome” and “magnificent” as I savoured each new view. On the way I passed a small group who had reached the trig point on Red Screes and had an awful time – they advised not to try it and I was happy to take their advice and enjoyed the lower landscape instead. Tired, wet but happy, I took the bus back to Kendal after a spending an educational 5 hours walking.

I was staying at the beautiful Bridge House B&B in Kendal and my hosts were wonderful and between them had a wealth of experience as walkers, climbers and skiers and I felt better about myself when they agreed that I’d made a good judgement call by turning back and changing my route, after all, I was up there on my own, in the worst conditions I’d walked in so far and in an area I didn’t really know.

The next morning I rang the weather line for an up-to-date forecast to learn that strong to gale force winds were predicted with snow/sleet showers, low visibility, hill fog and a wind chill of between –4 and –15 depending upon height. I’d spent most of the previous day with soaking wet feet as I discovered that my new boots are not up to harsh winter walking conditions and offered little grip on wet rocks (yes, I did slip over once – nothing injured but pride!) I decided to spend the day taking in the lectures and films at the festival instead. Was feeling good about the decision until a fellow house guest seemed to imply that I was being a bit feeble as enduring the bad weather and “..having wet feet are part and parcel of walking around here – you just put up with it and get on with it.” I felt duly ashamed of myself until his friend quipped, “Yes, but you spent all day yesterday moaning about your wet feet!” I smiled quietly to myself behind my coffee mug as ice-cold eyes glared across the table. Like I said, no room for egos on the hills!

At the festival, not only did I manage to catch some great films, meet some outstanding authors and buy lots of books, I also met some wonderful fellow walkers who were happy to share their local knowledge and walking experiences with me and some of whom I hope to walk with in the near future.

All in all, it was an enlightening weekend. Although I didn’t get in the walks I had hoped to do, I had learnt a lot, had fun and widened my experience. After all, hill walking isn’t about reaching summits….is it? I’d love to know your thoughts on this – feel free to comment.

All for now.

SG

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