Across Cumbria day 6 Threlkeld to Lingy Hut

Saturday 15 August.

The LDNP forecast had arrived half a day late and continued in a blustery, spatterry kind of way all night. The little beck by the campsite started raging (something about Chelsea beating man United recently or something. Apparently they wuz robbed…) Anyway, it got very deep and brown.

I determined not to set off anywhere just yet, and brewed and dozed, eventually abandoning all hope of dry socks and packing up and leaving – about elevenish, I think.

The traffic levels on the A66 indicated a general evacuation of Cumbria was going on. It took me ages before I could dash across the road…

I took the path past the Blencathra centre – an old mine road that leads up to the Cumbria Way coming out of Keswick and then to Skiddaw House. I lost the strap of my walking pole at one point.

And then, whilst crossing a footbridge, the clip on my platypus tube caught on something and the mouth-bitey thing fell off into the raging waters and was carried away. I swear I heard it scream in despair. The pressurized contents of the bag formed a beautiful and slightly oirnate fountain, most of which went down the back on my neck. I could tell, somehow, that perhaps it was going to be one of thoise days.

The staff at Skiddaw house were hiding behind the sofas and had locked the doors. They were pretending not to be in, but there was a giveaway smell of woodsmoke.
I could see their boots and there was giggling, I think.

I splashed on, along the Cumbria Way. The becks were surrounding the footbridges. My waterproof socks had each gathered a couple of pints.

I though I might camp at the point where the CW hurtles off up the hill to Lingy Hut but the warning signs said that if I tried that trick (“sunshine”) they’d be sure to call the cops and have me struck off or strung up or otherwise dealt with harshly.

I set off towards Lingy Hut. On the way down, coming towards me, that is (cos I was going up…!) came Mike and Annette who, during the subsequent interrogation, revealed that they had been up on the tops and had suddenly formed an opinion that they weren’t in the right place at all and they’d better give it up for a safer route to Caldbeck around the bottom.

For some reason, they then formed the opinion that I had persuaded them to have another go. So we all struggled off through the squishy bogs and heather and emerged damply on the plateau around about the same time as it stopped raining.

Annette, who turned out to be in charge, then declared that they would have an adventure and spend the night in Lingy Hut.

Which is what we all did.

It was very breezy and my whisky supply evaporated somehow.

Its not a bad spot, but it does have plenty of “ventilation”

I did point out to Mike at one point that his pet name for Annette was also the term for an outside loo in North-east England. Netty, as he called her, and Mike were devastatingly over-equipped. This resulted in a comfier night for this pair than you would normally expect.

Various visitors called during the evening. It got quite busy.

9 Miles and 2200 feet

Across Cumbria day 5 Dunmail to Threlkeld

Friday 14 August.

As I said just now, it did not rain overnight, nor, in the morning did it pour. It was very cloudy, though, and in view of the90% chance of rain, I put on the waterproofs and stomped off over Dunmail Raise and down the paths and forest roads high above Thirlmere, and, later, in increasingly unrainy weather, during which the tops cleared of cloud, along by the lake itself.
I visited a tea garden, the signs of which declared it to be “Open” to walkers and cyclists. Promising arrows lead me through their collection of turkeys, geese and ducks. But it wasn;t open. The place was deserted, except for the turkeys geese and ducks. None of these were in the mood to serve tea, though, so I continued along the rather attractive and enjoyable bridleway leading to the Church at st Johns, but not specialy happy that the LDNP weatherline had caused me to abandon my high-level tramp over Helvellyn and the Dodds. I could have done most of it by now, and with clear views. It wasn;t even windy. The forecast was for 55mph gusts.

Bugger.


Then, at last, at 2:15 pm, it started raining. I had the tent up and was brewing up on a campsite near Threlkeld by 2:45. By 3:00 I was, once again, tussling with Kylie Minogue’s troublesome lingerie. I was happy about the rain. See? I could have got wet, there.

Another 12 miles and 850 feet of climbing done.

The Omens (Genjii, Martin, LDNP, local farmer and the scouse couple in the next tent) were all darkly prophet about the prospects for dry socks for the morrow, though. I went to the pub and had some strange brown and frothy liquid which nevertheless had soothing effects on me till about half past two when I had to step out into the storm for a wee.

Across Cumbria day 4 Three tarns to Dunmail raise

Thursday 13 August.

A sparkling morning with a hint of a cloud inversion saw me standing on top of Bowfell with the rare privilege of having the hill all to myself.
Shortly after I reached the top, though, a Dad on half a day’s leave was spending his GBP’s by having a round of the Crinkles and Bowfell. I left him alone to be the only person on Bowfell
I descended to Angle tarn by Ore Gap and traversed the boggy backside of Rossett Pike to Stake Pass where I had a nice chat with a bloke from Guisborough and his two well trained and friendly collies. Another chap turned up and asked for directions to the Langdale Pikes. We pointed out the top of Pike o’ Stickle and sent him on his way. I followed on and the chap followed me from in front, waiting for me to catch up a bit every now and then.
The last I saw of him, he was spreadeagled on an unnecessarily difficult scramble up the Pike. I stashed my pack in a peat hag and scramble up and down again, getting a text from Martin Banfield on the top.
We met a few minutes later and went over Thunacar Knott and Sergeant man before lunching by a beck above Easedale. Martin fed me somewhat on butties and lasagne.
I have no pictures of this encounter as all of my supply of recharged batteries were useless and they all failed to spark up any response from the camera after that little red battery started flashing.
I bought more batterries, plus whisky and beer in Grasmere.
The forecast both from Martin and the LDNP weatherline and from my cloud-predicting text pal Genjii reported 90% chance of showers the next day, so, after Martin had departed back to the temperate climes of Timperley, I implemented a Foul Weather Alternative plan, which involved visiting the Travellers Rest for another think and some minor boozing, and wandered up the road till I spotted a camping spot just short of the dual carriageway by Raise Beck. A good spot with good water and slightly surprised sheep who were under the impression that this kind of thing wasn’t allowed. It was also a really good camping spot if traffic noise soothes you to sleep. (If this is the case, don’t go in for a career as a coach driver, by the way. Just a tip, there.)
This was just a bit below the big cairn on Dunmail Raise which marks the site of the defeat of King Dunmail (brown mail) at the hands of the naughty Anglians in 5 echty – blob. Just goes to prove that if you let your armour go rusty, you just can’t expect any respect from the Anglians.
The position was exquisitely strategic for an assault on the Hellvellyn ridge if the weather proved fair, or a walk down by Thirlmere if it didn’t.
I was in smug mode, unlike King Dunmail, who wasn’t.


Today, I covered 13 miles and 2500 feet of climbing.

A good day with good company, and, in retrospect, probably the best day of the lot.

Just like the path to Threlkeld, it was mostly downhill from here……

Across Cumbria day 3 Gt Worm to 3 Tarns

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.

Across Cumbria Day 2 Black Combe to Gt Worm Crag

Tuesday 11 August.

A warm and foggy morning with no visibility at all saw me, or, rather, assumed I was somewhere climbing up to the summit shelter on Black Combe.
As I came down the other side, the mist started to lift a bit and it all became a bit more green and cheerful.
And so I pressed on over Wainwright Outlier country, and a right boggy do it was, in places. In turn, I passed over Whitecombe Moss ( a boggy lump), a swampy pass at Charity Chair ( a very boggy, unstable, wobbly and damp place) then some rocky Tors at Stoneside Hill, Great paddy Crag and Kinmount Buckbarrow, where the drizzle started again and the mist blanked out any view.
Then on to Whit Fell, just under the cloud base. More bogs to Stainton Pike preceded a soggy boggy semi-descending traverse to the road at Brown Rigg, at which point it really started chucking it down.
I traversed the depressing wet grey slopes of Great Worm Crag till I found a flat spot near a gushing stream of what appeared to be cold tea, put up the akto and retreated inside for a bit of a shiver and to get everything on the inside of the tent as wet as it was on the outside.

But despite the weather, this part of the route is just smashing. I saw no other walkers at all. In fact, apart from a couple of cars on the roads, I saw nobody else all day and, it being very late summer, there was no bird song either. So it was a silent walk. Apart from my renditions of a KT Tunstall album that I couldn’t get out of my head.
There were elements of wildness. It wouldn’t have seemed so wild and empty on a sunny day with skylarks and plover. The weather was, perhaps, just right for this kind of thing.

12 Miles and 2700 feet of climbing. Happiness and some episodes of pleasure.

Big black horse…. And a cherry tree…. Dum de dum…