Humble pie in the Lake District Fells
I'm so glad I visited the Lake District in the off season. The fells and lakes form one of the most beautiful post-glacial landscapes I have encountered to date. I travelled this weekend with Judy (the art historian I went to Malta with), with a three-train itinerary to Windermere, where we planned to split: me to walk to Ambleside and she to use the very good bus service.
En route, we were informed that our final train was cancelled due to a sinkhole under the track which had derailed a previous train (no injuries). This made the rest of the trip a little interesting as we weighed our options. Following the advice of other passengers, we boarded a train to Kendall which got us part way to Windermere, at least in the right direction, then grabbed a bus that took us straight to Ambleside . I missed my walk, but we arrived in time to explore the town (check out the bridge house!!! – all local shale/slate), discovering that there are three ways locals make a living: BnBs, outdoor shops, or pubs/restaurants. After a great dinner at the local Italian place we had an early night.
The next morning, I was up early for a full English breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, black pudding, fried tomato, mushrooms, toast, and tea, then I checked the mountain weather forecast in prep for my hike round the Fairfield horseshoe that day. It did not look good: 40mph winds, hail, snow, fog and even lightning was in the forecast above 800m. I had planned a “horseshoe” route up an arête (glacially carved ridge), then around the bend and back down the other side. Of course, the summit was at 873m (2863 ft) so I’d be in the thick of it. You can see the arete and view back to Ambleside in the photo, with the cirque (glacially carved valley head) and U-shaped valley on the left and the descending ridge also on the left, just out of the picture.
After carefully packing extra layers and food, a headlamp, first aid kit, paper map, and power bank, and purchasing extra mitts in the only outdoor store open that early, I set off with a bit of trepidation.
I really wanted to do this particular hike as I had done it twice before, once with my dad at 13 years old and once with Rob on our honeymoon, and the views ate stupendous. Of course, both previous walks were in lovely and warm weather. Still, I rationalized that I would begin the walk and could turn back at any point if conditions got too dangerous. I came across several groups of walkers on their way up and asked what they thought of the snow and fog I could see at the highest point of the trail. No one was fazed by it so I continued on. There were only two occasions when I thought I was being foolish. The first was as I crossed a col (saddle) between two high points and the wind picked up so I decided to stop and put on my rain jacket for wind protection. As I took off my pack, the wind gusted so fiercely that had I not had a good grip on my pack it would have been torn from my hands. It was quite an adventure putting on my raincoat with all that wind. At about that point I was passed by two fell runners and their dog, dressed in shorts and light jackets, wearing running vests. Now that was a little humbling as I had packed for an expedition!
The next humbling incident was at the top in the fog. Along the route, cairns (rock piles) are visible, and are used to mark the trail -- very useful in fog and you can see two of them in the photo (one is a shadow in the distance). Somehow, I lost the trail and got turned around in the fog. I’m going to blame the snow and poor visibility, and the fact that I hunkered down behind a cairn to get out of the wind for a minute, and that the summit was all rock and snow, with no visible path nor footprints. But I should know better. Luckily, I had satellite reception and a map on my phone, plus the paper map and compass as a backup, but I had a few moments of concern while wandering about the summit.
The wind conditions were interesting, as a little farther along the summit it was eerily calm but then it would pick up again and buffet me about. I chose one of these protected areas to have a quick snack. Gosh I love British crisps!
The summit was very rocky with frost shattered shale covering most of the surface with a few isolated outcrops. Climbing down the other side of the horseshoe was muddy and boggy but calm as the trail hugged the lee side of a beautiful stone wall. By the time I made it back to Ambleside, I recognized my hiking shoes were pretty much shot. But I had about twenty outfitters at my disposal and easily found a lightweight and waterproof new pair of boots. I was really happy for the added height the next day as I tromped through deep mud and saturated ground on a ramble back to Windermere.
The next morning My ramble took me up and over two ridges, the second of which was Orests Nest (yes, I took a panorama – who wouldn’t?) Local lore is that this is the spot where Wainwright sat and contemplated the vista, identifying 214 prominent peaks now known as the Wainwrights. Similar to section-hiking the Appalachian Trail, or climbing the 14-ers is a thing in the U.S., bagging Wainwrights is a thing in the Lake District. I have unknowingly bagged ten of them (3X over!) while hiking the Fairfield Horseshoe over the years as there are many ups and downs along that trail.
As you know from prior blogs, public footpaths go through fields and even farmyards on occasion. It was lambing time, so there was lots of joy and wonderment looking at the lambs, tails whiling round while they fed. Today I experienced my third humbling moment of the weekend. The path led me through a very muddy field with a cow and calf. Trying not to spook them, and also trying to avoid the mud, I looped around, approaching the gate from the side along the wall. I could see the farmer watching me and when I got close, he said gruffly “Oi! The paths that way”, pointing me away to my right. I followed his direction, trudging through still deeper mud even though it didn’t match my map. Once out of sight, I clambered over a broken-down section of wall into a new field, noting there was only one more fence in between me and the path (according to my map). Along came the farmer again, slightly less friendly than before: “OI!” He says loudly “t’path’s that way!” Embarrassed, I walked in the direction he was pointing and finally found the stile over the fence and I was back on my way. I did not relish trying to clamber over the hedgerow and fence and I could understand the farmer’s ann-“oi”-ance .
I met up with Judy again in Windermere at a tea shop near the train station where I scarfed down yet another scone with jam and cream, very satisfied with my weekend.
