Wednesday 12 August.
A drizzle spattered and windy start had me navigating through a complicated landscape of bogs and rocky tors. One of the bigger tors is Green Crag. It looks enormous when its having a bit of a loom out of the mist. I managed to get a strong enough phone signal for intermittent texts and my erstwhile weather forecasters, Martin (the other hobo) Banfield and a chap called Genjii who posts on walkingforum, plus encouragers such as Brian the mudman and people who just wonder where I am sometimes, such as the wife. Anyway, the gist of all of it was that the weather would get better and that I should keep going. These contacts became increasingly useful as the weather began to play a more significant part in the progress of this walk. I also discovered that my phone had the LDNP weatherline number on it. I likes a bit of fiction at night, I does.
I found a way across country to the quaking mire at the foot of Harter Fell, and then on up to the summit. The weather was, as predicted, getting much better all the time.
No it wasn’t. It was drizzling and windy and foggy and a bit cold. It was, in fact, ‘orrible.
I plunged on over the bogs and vicious but lush tussocks to Hard Knott Pass, where there were people and cars that smelled like cars do just before their brakes fail.
I climbed hard Knott Fell very very slowly and surveyed the place where Crinkle Crags ought to be if it weren’t under a swirling grey blanket.
The plan called for a climb up to the Crinkles and a walk along the ridge to Three tarns. I didn’t fancy that driving drizzle again and the tortuous heave up on to the ridge , so I plumped for a walk up by Lincove Beck, meeting my first other hillwalkers of the trip – a chap and his son – off to Great Moss for a camp. Bless ‘em… sniff….. And some National Trust footpath workers and their small dog, descending, presumably for their tea.
The mist lifted as I climbed. I got three litres of beautiful fresh clean water from rest Gill and got myself up to Three Tarns where I put the tent up inside a small shelter out of the wind.
I slept well, completely missing an impressive display of shooting stars, apparently.
It was occasionally, and at random, and sometimes suddenly very windy.
8 Miles and 3700 feet of climbing
The score on zer door would now be 22 miles and 7600 feet of uphill. And just 2 other walkers met.
A drizzle spattered and windy start had me navigating through a complicated landscape of bogs and rocky tors. One of the bigger tors is Green Crag. It looks enormous when its having a bit of a loom out of the mist. I managed to get a strong enough phone signal for intermittent texts and my erstwhile weather forecasters, Martin (the other hobo) Banfield and a chap called Genjii who posts on walkingforum, plus encouragers such as Brian the mudman and people who just wonder where I am sometimes, such as the wife. Anyway, the gist of all of it was that the weather would get better and that I should keep going. These contacts became increasingly useful as the weather began to play a more significant part in the progress of this walk. I also discovered that my phone had the LDNP weatherline number on it. I likes a bit of fiction at night, I does.
I found a way across country to the quaking mire at the foot of Harter Fell, and then on up to the summit. The weather was, as predicted, getting much better all the time.
No it wasn’t. It was drizzling and windy and foggy and a bit cold. It was, in fact, ‘orrible.
I plunged on over the bogs and vicious but lush tussocks to Hard Knott Pass, where there were people and cars that smelled like cars do just before their brakes fail.
I climbed hard Knott Fell very very slowly and surveyed the place where Crinkle Crags ought to be if it weren’t under a swirling grey blanket.
The plan called for a climb up to the Crinkles and a walk along the ridge to Three tarns. I didn’t fancy that driving drizzle again and the tortuous heave up on to the ridge , so I plumped for a walk up by Lincove Beck, meeting my first other hillwalkers of the trip – a chap and his son – off to Great Moss for a camp. Bless ‘em… sniff….. And some National Trust footpath workers and their small dog, descending, presumably for their tea.
The mist lifted as I climbed. I got three litres of beautiful fresh clean water from rest Gill and got myself up to Three Tarns where I put the tent up inside a small shelter out of the wind.
I slept well, completely missing an impressive display of shooting stars, apparently.
It was occasionally, and at random, and sometimes suddenly very windy.
8 Miles and 3700 feet of climbing
The score on zer door would now be 22 miles and 7600 feet of uphill. And just 2 other walkers met.
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