KYQ4: Wainwrights Again?

Having finally completed the 214 Wainwright Hills last year, I was struggling for excuses to get out on the Lakeland Fells. Fortunately, Gregor came to the rescue, he had asked me to help him list all the Wainwright Hills that he had climbed during our annual trips to the Lake District. After establishing that it amounted to 130 or so, he decided that he would climb the rest. We had planned three or four outings over groups of hills - they never take more than four or five hours in the Lakes but the diabolical weather made most of these walks less than appealing, they deserved better days.

We have both spent too many days on the Scottish hills with the waterlogged ground, low cloud, high winds and in rain, sleet or snow. The Lakes were supposed to be for gentler easier episodes in the hills. We watched the weather all week, trying to anticipate an odd couple of hours when the rain stopped and we could go out and play, a bit like tennis really but without a retractable roof. We got off the mark on Sunday evening when, an hour or so before the Euro Final between Spain and Italy, the rain abated. The nearest hill was Black Fell, one of the smallest Wainwright hills nestling above Tarn Hows. We only managed two more outings but I suppose that I am now doing another Wainwright round. Like last time I will not let the list obsession prevent lots of repeat visits to favourite hills, the Lakeland hills are not just for bagging.

Sunday 1 July 2012

Ascent: 285m,

Distance: 3km,

Time: 1hr 5mins

w Black Fell 322m 0: 42mins

I parked about a mile from the Drunken Duck on the narrow single-track road from Skelwith Bridge and we followed a track for about 50 metres until it petered out and then just turned to climb the slope to the east. It was the perfect cocktail of shoe-deep leaf mould and bog, fallen branches, and rock outcrops. Impenetrable except with patience and a high capacity for dreary ascents. I should have read Wainwright, he advised approaching from the west on a good path. We eventually emerged from the tree cover and into a large boggy area which also hosted a bracken fest. But the cairn was visible and we were pleased to find it such a good viewpoint. The horizon was 360 degrees grey and not a hill was to be seen, this could have been Essex but without the traffic noise and we weren't going to get a tan in this.

Our descent had to be less miserable so we headed south-east and, after traversing another bog, faced two stone walls surfaced with lichen and laced with barbed wire. After that, it was plain descending to the path that runs back from Sunny Brow to where we had parked the car. We had revved ourselves up for the football but Spain would have done that anyway creating intricate patterns that the pasta boys could not unravel.

From the summit of Black Fell

Tuesday, 3 July 2012

Ascent: 955m,

Distance: 15km,

Time 4hrs 9mins

w Sour Howes 483m 0:43
w Sallows 516m 1:05
w Yoke 706m 1:51
w Ill Bell 757m 2:07
w Froswick 720m 2:32
w Troutbeck Tongue 363m 3:19

Tuesday morning arrived at the sound of more rain so we decided to get out and climb the hills to the east of Troutbeck. We parked by Limefitt Park caravan site, where wooden chalets were selling from 'only £99,000', you could buy 5 houses in Burnley for that sort of cash. We walked through the site and zig-zagged our way to the Garburn track below Sour Howes. We found a stile and climbed to the ridge above and meandered along it until we reached the summit. It was clear and the rain had stopped although the rest of the day's hills were still lost in the cloud. We followed a faint path round to Sallows and whilst on this summit the cloud began to lift and the long ridge to Yoke became visible. The last time I came up this way, I was still a teenager and I seem to remember that grass skiing was popular on the slopes down to Troutbeck. It looked about as graceful and tempting as running in ski boots.

Yoke and then Ill Bell were reached quickly and the massive cairn at Ill Bell reminded me of Wainwright's wry observation that it has 'an imposing array of fine cairns that would do credit to a Matterhorn'. It could have been because the clag was still surrounding us and any view was in the imagination. I briefly imagined that I was skiing down to Zermatt but then the clouds began to lift and the prospect of a grass ski down to Limefitt Park soon deflated my adrenaline rush.

We had a snack instead and dropped down the initial steep path en route for Froswick, a mini Ill Bell. From here we dropped to the path leading down Blue Gill and then Hagg Gill. There was a lot of Herdwick sheep grazing and Gregor stopped for more photos of them. Once we found the path it was a quick descent, lubricated by the surface water to the boggy col below Troutbeck Tongue. We skipped across the bog and soon made the summit where we met the first other walkers of the day who were sweating their way up in the high humidity of a wet Lakeland week.

Troutbeck Tongue is a fine small hill that overlooks Windermere and Troutbeck. The path down brought us to Troutbeck Park and after negotiating a field with bulls we arrived at above Ing Lane and from here there was a right of way skirting Town End and back to the A592 and then to Limefitt Park. We had escaped most of the rain and surprisingly it had been a walk to stir the spirits.

Sallows and Sour Howe from Yoke

Ill Bell

Troutbeck Tongue from Froswick

Thursday, 5 July 2012

Ascent: 650m,

Distance: 8km,

Time: 2 2 hrs 32mins

w Red Screes 777m 0:25
w Middle Dodd 653m 0:42
w Little Hart Crag 637m 1:20
w High Hartsop Dodd 519m 1:32

After another wet day, we decided to make an early start and climb the four hills around Red Scree first thing the next day, come what may. To our surprise, we happened upon the only two hours of blue sky all week. The ascent of Red Scree from Kirkstone Inn is by a stone staircase and in the humid warm air, it was like exercising in a sauna. My sunglasses steamed up but we reached the summit of Red Scree in no time and the views were good although another weather front was approaching from the south. We took photos and decided to walk over to Middle Dodd first. Like a number of Wainwright hills, this is like a ski jump, a longish descent followed by a short slightly upward tilt.

We looked for the best route back to Kirkstone and decided to drop down to the valley after the last hill, High Hartsop Dodd rather than reverse the walk to Red Screes. On the traverse round to Scandale Pass, I found a meadow pipit chick and we spent some time trying to get photographs. There were cattle grazing in the pass and a helium party balloon was tied to the stile. I retrieved it and tied it to my rucksack to lighten my weight for the next ascent to Little Hart Crag. An alternative would have been to fill Gregor's rucksack with stones as my brother had once done on a day when we climbed 4 Munros on the Skye ridge including the Inn Pin. It worked and I was first to the top of Little Hart Crag. I must patent the hillwalker's helium balloon, it would have to be set free at the summit, you wouldn't want it to slow you up on the descents!

Then another easy descent to High Hartsop Dodd where I released the prototype Helium balloon and watched it soar towards Helvellyn, I just hoped that it didn't tangle with one of the low-flying Tornados that use the Lakes as their playground. Last time I was here I had descended down the end of High Hartsop Dodd to Brothers Water but this time we elected to go off the side to the Caiston Beck. What we had not expected was a Juniper forest. Instead of retreating and finding an easier descent, we continued and were scratched and covered in Juniper leaves as we wriggled our way through the dense tangle of branches. As a tonic, I chewed on the berries but they were not yet ripe. We vowed never to repeat the experience.

Once down we negotiated the swollen beck and found the path leading back up the Kirkstone Pass. It was an easy saunter up the 220 metres ascent to the Kirkstone Inn. The last kilometre was on the busy road with holiday traffic, a group of teenage girls on outdoor activity weeks languishing at the roadside and the odd lycra-clad cyclist pretending to be Bradley Wiggins. We were back at Langdale for midday for a swim and then resorted to the ultimate antidote to holiday bad weather - the scrabble board.