111, 112 High Pike and Carrock Fell.  

MOUNTAIN CRAFT PUT TO THE TEST

This was probably the worst weather day I have been out with the wheel. The mist was down and it was cold. I had intended to park at Mosedale, but Mark persuaded me to drive up to Carrock mine with the promise he would cut back and fetch the car. We were treated to the spectacle of hound trail dogs successfully or not so plotting a course across the fell side.

We discovered the MBA (Mountain Bothy Association) Lingy Hut, which is beautifully kept. As we came out, after sheltering from the wind, we were greeted by a group of ultra runners on the Cumbria Way (mile 20 of 38 for the day and that was before lunch!) to discover that Jenny Rice had stayed at our barn and another runner had already followed my spinning journey. Small mountain world!

The Mercer family who popped up on High Pike commented through the mist that, “it looks like a “KIWI”  – I was very impressed that the dad knew a Kiwi was a type of spinning wheel. Alas he was talking about the symbol on the Cairn. However, the wheel was signed (hands sanitised) by their Wainwright climbing children and we enjoyed their company on  the summit.

Descending from Carrock Fell turned into a true mountain adventure when the path contouring from Further Gill to Snail Shell Crag disappeared. To begin with I wanted to cry, but having Bheinn with me (Mark had left us at the top to double back for the car) I told myself not panic and that I did not need to call out the mountain rescue – yet!  I had a torch, map and compass. This was my money, where mouth is time for every occasion I had mentally berated foolish walkers for not carrying appropriate navigation equipment, or knowing how to use it.  As the cloud cleared I could take a back bearing from the farms and aim to a distinctive field pattern. When we met the path it was small and indistinct and I don’t think we had been that far off it at any point. Bheinn loved the adventure. I loved the nerve calming pint in The Mill inn. A great mountain day!

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The One That Just Would Not Go Away – 110 High Rigg

High Rigg is one of the smallest Wainwrights with the least amount of ascent from the car park and it is the 4th time I have attempted to get to the top (on this round).  Instead of walking from the Thirlmere end car park, we took the short route from the St Johns in the Vale church and finally got to the summit.

This is Skye and her mum on her first Wainwright.

Skye is the youngest person to sign the wheel. Her name is in pride of place right on the top.

We had a great chat about the history of textiles and drop spindles – (Skye’s mum is an Archaeologist)

Mark had a lovely conversation with a fellow photographer comparing cameras and the pros and cons of replacing the body but needing then to replace the lenses too.  The conclusion was possibly that they should both keep saving and enjoying using what they have.

He’s taking a picture of me taking a selfie of him and me taking a  picture of me

Time to sit and spin and relax

Blencathra and Mungrisedale Common

I have never walked Blencathra from The Blencathra Centre side, but what a delightful route.  We used to run it from The Packhorse pub, before work, many years ago, but now I realise we really missed a treat.  The assent is short and sharp – made easier by the drive to 300m for the start.  Once at the top there is an amazing ridge walk to the summit.  And who should we meet but Graham and his daughter (wife and son) finishing her round of Wainwrights.  A very dedicated and inspiring young lady, who was the first to sign my wheel.  I was thrilled to see her finish along with a “socially distanced” crowd of strangers. No organised party unfortunately due to the coronavirus rule of 6 having been introduced.  We could not wait to leave the summit.  Bundled up against the -10 windchill with all my clothes put on in the wrong order to look look like “Barbapapa” (google it if you are under 50), we descended to Mungrisedale Common in record time.

I love the way this photo makes the terrain look really steep

The top of Mungrisedale Common is the most disputed Wainwright out there, but if you are on it you can see a 360 degree view of mountain tops.  I get it. Great Mountain!

1/2 Way – number 107 – Where Did The Summer Go?

I was surprised to find that since I last wrote 3 months and 2o mountains have passed under my feet.  The summer holidays and opening up the Coronavirus social distancing restrictions have both added to my workload as guests started to return to the Bunkhouse, which means bookings and admin, as well as washing, ironing and lots of cleaning.

88-90 – Middle Fell, Seatallan, and Buckbarrow, a pleasant round, although the steep climb up to Seatallan freaked me out slightly and felt like I was on a vertical face.  Head down, don’t speak, don’t look up or down.  The distance was just right for legs that have enjoyed their lockdown break, a little too much.

91-94 – Starling Dodd, Red Pike, High Stile, and High Crag, the ridge from our front door, made this feel really special. Even the cheeky dog on Starling Dodd stealing my sandwich and nearly impaling it’s owner on the rusty pile of old fence posts on the summit could not dampen my spirits.  Feeling my age and lack of fitness Mark and Bheinn had driven around to Buttermere and met me on top of Red Pike, after an hour’s wait, all the more frustrating as it was a lovely day and Mark’s camera battery was flat. Descending High Crag was as difficult as I remembered from many years ago, with loose scree in all directions. Bheinn and I bum-shuffled down and I vowed to buy some new, aggressive-soled Inov8 fell shoes.

95-99 Caw Fell, Haycock, Scoat Fell, Steeple, Red Pike.  I had aimed to reach the 100 tops mark today, but this was the day that conspired against me. The Forestry Commission had added a lock to the track down the valley as too many staycationers were driving down with camper vans and tents to wild camp. We had planned to use the road to take a 3 mile walk-in off the day.  It was also the hottest day of the year so far and despite 2 litre bottles of water I had started to feel dehydrated by Scoat Fell.  After hopping across to Steeple and meeting a friend of a friend who kindly took photos and a movie shot of me on the top, I weighed up my options for a hasty retreat .  My original plan was to sweep up Red Pike and finish the day over Pillar with a 5 mile walk back home. Leaving Red Pike unclimbed was really not an option as it stands in the middle of 2 groups of mountains that I would have to reascend to bag it in the end, but I had run out of energy to make the distance and height gain of Pillar. So my options were to walk straight back the way I came after bagging Red Pike, alternatively I could follow the ridge to Grike and descend to the Cold Fell Road, or the last but more obscure option was to head South over Red Pike and possibly also over Yewbarrow and descend into Wasdale and call on the goodwill of Mark to drive around to collect me.  He was not too impressed, but showed his love and dedication by making the 80 minute round trip. Reaching the summit of Red Pike I knew Yewbarrow was out of the question.  I think I had a touch of Heat Stroke, feeling dizzy and sick, I descended to the valley desperate to find water and thrilled to see Mark on the lower flanks of Yewbarrow at Dropping Crag. Thanks to the generous couple on Caw Fell who donated their pre-covid emergency rucksack fund to the Calvert Trust

100 Yewbarrow – Of all the people in all the places, I met Graham from the Head4theHills group on the summit. Mark had walked over from Ennerdale and caught up with us as we were just about to descend, having experienced my walk from last week with an equal amount of dehydration. 100 felt like a great milestone but the one I am looking forward to is 107 the half way point.  Thank you to the 2 lads who made a generous donation to the Calvert Trust.

101, 102, 103 High Spy, Maiden Moor, Catbells. It was rather a cheat but not to be knocked, to drive to the top of Honister and walk back down to Cat Bells.  The plan had been to park at the bottom of Cat Bells and get the bus up to Honister, but all roadside parking had been blocked by double Yellow Lines and the field car park was not open.  So we drove up Honister, walked the ridge in reverse, and then planned to get the bus back up the pass for the car. I had downloaded the bus timetable, so imagine my surprise/upset/annoyance, when we arrived at the Catbells bus stop to be greeted by the sign that said the nearest bus service was Seatoller – 7 miles away.  The bus helpline was no help denying that the 77 bus from Keswick and a bus stop called CatBells existed at all.  Keswick TI phone line was picked up by a call centre – not in Keswick, so was unsure if it was running or not.  The Ice Cream Van Man however confirmed that the bus was running. Having come equipped with pen to sign the wheel I was able to leave a note for other walkers who thought they were in a pickle and to help the bus company improve their fares for people who otherwise would think the bus was not running.

104,105, 106, 107 – and half way. Wetherlam, Swirl Howe, Great Carrs and Grey Friar  I have been looking forward to climbing the Conistons for a long time.  They sound and look dramatic, and I always feel I am in a Swiss village in Consiton itself. We had planned to climb all 7 but despite a very early Sunday Morning alarm at 6 and leaving the house by 7:30 the journey is long and my pace was slow. On Wetherlam we learned of James Forrest who is attempting an unsupported round of the Wainwrights in 18 days.  I commented that it will be the 6th fastest of all time, Alan Heaton, Joss Naylor, Steve Birkinshaw, Simon  Barnett, Paul Tierney (chronological). The reason I knew this information as I had met Simon Barnett when he completed his 14 day walking round and discovered at the time he was the 4th fastest completion, but the record keepers at The FRA/LDWA and Wainwright Society did not seem interested, so as I write there is no official record of the fastest Wainwright rounds.  Mark and Bheinn were with me on the round and we had great fun as they distracted themselves bidding on Warhammer figures on Ebay.  Coming off Grey Friar, time and space and a very tired 13yo (and mummy) suggested that it was time to beat a retreat to dinner in the pub.  The pasta bake at home would serve a meal another day.  Surprise of the day.  Who should we bump into again but Graham Davies, from Head4thehils who we met on Yewbarrow.

Ling Fell

The depths of winter and the red dots of “Bagged Fells” are filling up the map. Ling Fell is the last one on the left as you drive towards Cockermouth and is yet another one that feels small and insignificant and just for “off-days”.  This was truly an off day.  Huff Puff, sweat and suffer, who would have thought number 84 at just 373m and 205 on the list would lay me low, not just on the bum-sliding steep descent but a 3 hours sleep when I got home.

Barf

For 6 months, a very long time ago (pre child birth), we lived in a caravan at the foot of Barf, and considered The Bishop our own personal guardian angel. We ran up and down most days and I considered the ascent on this day would be a hands-in-pocket walk in the park. It was steeper than I remembered and the bad step not even a consideration back then.  The 2 meter scramble up over a small rocky stream had me clinging on for fear of slipping on the way up and bathed me in worry for the descent.  I looked out for an alternative way down.  I was sure there was a forest ride along to the East in the Whinlatter Forest, but my memory was hazy, as were my photos as I had left my phone in my trouser pocket and the lens steamed up.  I am not as flexible and confident in the hills as I used to be, it is truly a good many years since we lived below Barf, and on the way down today the bad step became my nemesis.  Maybe I had built it up in my mind to be more difficult than it should have been and I became crag fast.

Mark tried to support my foot as I lay spread-eagled across what was really a very small boulder with only a few feet between me and solid ground, and then I froze. I could see no way out I could not go up and I could not go down and a sense of dread came over me that the only way down would involve pain, falling or the mountain rescue and tears.  The tears came and the panic subsided and inch by inch, like some macabre Hokey Kokey, I put my left leg down, my left leg up, down, up, down, up,  and then the left hand, and then the right and eventually I manoeuvered the 3ft to the floor.  I don’t think I will ever go that way up or down Barf again and when my back pack is not full of wood and wool I will include a 3m rope and body harness. I understood that panic is not a sign to flee, it is a state where you can neither fight nor flee.  There is no way out.

Sale Fell

Sale Fell was a long time coming for my friend Christine who actually wanted to do Catbells, like everybody, for it’s super name. After many false promises to deflower her boots we finally chose the worst day of the year on a very different peak.

We chose the winding route  along Wythop Beck past Kelswick farm. The gorse was thick and our trousers were thin against the spikes and against the biting wind.  The top was marvellous. It reminded me of the ski/board-cross slopes in the winter Olympics and having been up here in the snow a year or two ago I once again logged Sale Fell as my go-to place for winter sports.  Despite the silencing howl, and the hood-stealing strength of the wind, we headed in good visibility straight for the wall and the car park and slightly stale cheese rolls.

Every Fell has surprised me as being the giver of great views and unexpexcted emotions.  Easy Peasy Ling Fell, Panic on Barf and Freezy Friendships on Sale Fell.  All new experiences, all new emotions, all different, all shared.

81 – 83 Graystones, Broom Fell and Lord’s Seat – Wear and Tear

The bag I carry the wheel in was never designed to be taken up mountains. It is not waterproof and the padding it came with was not deep enough to protect my back from the hardness of the wooden structure of the wheel.  So in the early days I created a cocoon-like layer of upholstery foam to cushion my torso and the wheel. I also bought a waterproof rucksack cover for the times when I might be caught out in a shower – with the intention not to walk out in driving rain. Both have been invaluable.

The padding is going strong and only showing minor signs of scuffing and compression.  It will probably see me up  another 70 Wainwrights before it needs renewing.

The more significant wear and tear has been to the zip on the front pocket.  It is not the stitching between the zip and the fabric of the bag that has parted company, but the teeth of the zip from the tape it is sewn onto.  I fear this will be a very delicate operation to stitch between each tooth, but possible.

So here’s to my bag and wheel (which has had a good dose of oil) and to the battle scars it has accumulated together with a heck of a lot of mud, Oh and a little redecoration in the freezing wind on Graystones!

79 80 Walla Crag and Bleaberry Fell

The views from the top of Bleaberry Fell were spectacular. It is always a surprise when you are treated to a 360 panorama from a small and insignificant mountain.

I had spent the first part of the day with friends at the Spinning and Weaving Guild, sharing the work we had spun woven knitted and felted for the annual “challenge” entitled Seaside.  A wonderful summery feel for a cold wintery day.  As well as sharing handicraft skills, we share life stories, tragedies, joys and a lot of stories about grandchildren.  The guild is made up, mostly of women, and mostly of a certain age.  At the moment and for a rare time in my life my hobby has not rendered me the youngest in the group, but only just (by age and dint of years I have been attending), consequently I am surrounded by a warm group of life experience and incomparable spinning weaving and dyeing experience.  I came away inspired and energised and certainly did not “need” a walk to get away from life.  Meeting with a group of homely, creative types comes also with delights such as great baking and left over Christmas Ferror Rocher to eat up.

This is probably why I bounded up Walla Crag with the good luck fairy on my shoulder to discover my pack had been open and my phone and purse were hanging out by a thread.  I had started out at 14:15 quite an early start for a guild day but pushed up the day’s agenda due to it still being January and very much in winter.

As I found the top of Walla Crag I was reminded that it was one of the first mountains in the Lake District my husband had taken me up.  After which he bought me a book of how to use a map and compass (along the the Essex Girl Joke Book)

I had found the top and the couple who came and talked to me commented that they could never tire of the view.  The opposite side of the classic chocolate box scene I had enjoyed from Barrow. We chatted about loving living here and as an employee of George Fisher in Keswick a large outdoor gear retailer they suggested their marketing department may be interested in hearing about my challenge.

On departing the top I discovered the good fairy had not reminded me to check my compass was in the map case but alas I was without it.  Despite my previous assertion that one should never venture into the mountains without map AND COMPASS visibility was good to the point I could see a motorway sized footpath to the top so decided I was sage to proceed.

Looking back I could not believe the height gained, at power walking speed.  I was pushing hard for light was fading.  I had reached the top at the same time as sun-down last week, so despite time being tight I spun long enough for my hands to feel cold but also to enjoy the burning sky as the sun set behind the Buttermere fells covered in snow.  My phone camera was useless. Truly and totally, no camera could do justice to the 20 minutes of sun-down splendour I witnessed.

Racing against the twighlight I made a beeline for the wall surrounding the top of Walla crag, phoned Mark to confirm I had not walked off a cliff, and made it to the car just as my night sight failed. 3 hrs – the time of a good marathon (or half for me).

Low Fell is a small mountain overlooking the Kirkstile Inn on Loweswater – the clue is in the name as they say It’s not too big.  As you may have gathered from previous posts Mark is recovering from Pneumonia and is struggling to walk for very far and certainly not up hill.  However, every week we have a go and try and stretch out the distance and elevation so this time Low Fell at 423m and number 200 on the Wainwright list seemed like an achievable target, especially as anything above this height was dusted in snow.

We reminisced about how we had, possibly in a moment of madness, driven the Mosser Road when we first moved in 20 years ago.  Now very much “Not suitable for Motor vehicles”rutted with water damage.

Arriving at the first fence on open countryside Mark beat a retreat to read a book in the warmth of his car and wait for me in Thackthwaite. If I put a shift on I thought I might be able to nab Fellbarrow as well, but the splendour of the reddening sky on the summit of Low Fell the wonders of modern technology told me that I had less than 40 minutes until sunset so it lived to fight another day and tea was an hour earlier than expected.