Red Pike with Rye and some Thirlmere Birketts

First of all, after much prevaricating and cancelling and moving of dates around , I eventually managed to meet up with Martin Rye in Buttermere and after a brief rest in The Bridge Hotel, we strode off up the outrageously steep path up Red Pike.

Martin was on a mission to do a spot of wild camping and wandering about around Buttermere and Grasmoor and,there's a link to his account of his adventures at the foot of this post.

We achieved the top of Red Pike without too much fuss and very little in the way of cardiac emergencies and, such was the measure of our success that we went on to bag Starling Dodd, not too far away to the West.

It was here that I had to take my leave of Martin, so he went that way (towards Great Bourne) and I went this (towards Scale Force.  It was nice to walk with Martin for a while - its always good to meet other bloggers and backpeackers and TGO-er -types. put a face to a name and all that kinda stuff....  I expect he had a fab time wandering the Western Fells.

About a mile from Buttermere I got a message from Martin with a picture of his tent, saying that he was camping quite near the top of Great Bourne.

By the time I got back to my car it was fairly dark.

The next destination was Derwentwater YHA for the Annual general meeting of the Over the Hill Club, which although not entirely populated by TGO Challengers, was a child of the Challenge. The AGM was on Sunday morning, so we passed the time in some light boozing and watching the footy on TV…

On the Saturday an elite group went off to do the Coledale Round, yet an even more elite group assaulted Scafell Pike, some more relaxed individuals went for Barf, a few recalcitrants went shopping and I went off to bag three Birketts at the foot of Thirlmere.

The first was Raven crag, which I realised I’d already been up, so that would only be two new ticks. Next up was a Castle Crag which inevitably has an iron age fortification on the top, and the last was The Benn.

Each of these is a rocky tor sticking out of the spruce plantations and each has a fine view. I did quite a lot of sitting around drinking coffee. The Benn is slightly spooky for some reason. The whole walk was only three miles but with 1500 feet of ascent, so that gives quite a good idea of the slanted nature of this walk. I repaired to Keswick for a meat and tattie pie and a small custard.

After the AGM, I bagged Foulds Brow on the way home. This is a small and heathery flat moor overlooking Wigton. Its a Wainwright Outlier. Its times like this one when bagging things becomes an obvious obsessive bit of behaviour. It might have quite a good view in less hazy conditions.

It was snowing a  bit on the way home on the A66, and the general snow level on the North Pennines and the Lakes continues to creep gradually down the fellsides. Its a little bit earlier than last year. It might be a good idea to buy snow shoes.
Martin Rye's account of his stravaigs in and around Buttermere are at  http://summitandvalley.blogspot.com/2010/11/in-search-of-bloggers.html

The Bell(s) The Bell(s)

Friday 5 February – Leaving superdawg distraught and yapping at the front door, I drove off North, laughing manically at the cruelty of it all (mwhahahaha) and duly arrive, a couple of hours later extremely close to the Scottish Border at the foot of the Colledge Valley where I parked the magic bus and went off to bag the delectable little HuMP called – The Bell. Even the locals seem not to have heard of The Bell – but it’s there, sticking up in a bell- like manner for about 400 feet and covered in gorse and hawthorn scrub.

I met a goat with a limp on the path at the bottom – and we had a brief stand-off till the goat headed uphill to eat some gorse. (Prickly stuff to be eating I would have thought, but there you are – there’s no accounting either for taste or for MPs expenses.)

And so, by the advanced navigational technique of walking uphill, I soon arrived at the summit – in this case a slab of very old and partially frozen cow muck – but a vetenary sample with a fine view of a misty and slighty drippy Colledge Valley. (It was raining a bit)

I returned to the car and drove the four or five miles or whatever it is, passing the “No vehicles without a permit” sign and the “No vehicles beyond this point “ sign and the “ Wassermarra wi you, like, bernnny lad? Can yer nert read the signs, like?** " sign – till I got to Mounthooley YHA Bunkhouse, which on detailed investigation held several members of the Over the Hill club and a small and venerable dog called Beadle.

The night was passed in carousing and several bottles of whisky, wine and beer received very serious damage to their contents.

Apparently, the dormitory was the scene of violent snoring overnight, although, I must admit that I heard nothing. But there were dark hints as to the culprit in the morning.

Bruno, apparently, slept on the sofa back in Durham.

There will be more of this particular rice pudding of a tale shortly.

Just let me get some more coffee…….

** This is what a Northumbrian accent sounds like… – the “R’s” should sound a bit French, if you can manage that.

The walk up The Bell was about 4 miles and 500 feet of climbing