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I had booked a week in Ambleside, and on the evidence of previous weeks was glad that my sister decided to come and join me. After all, we hadn’t seen each other except on zoom since before Covid, and if this year’s experience has taught me anything it is that, much as I would like to be able to, I simply can’t walk hills every day any more.
On Thursday, July 7th I decided that I would experience the B & B’s breakfast, even though, like many outfits in The Lakes the earliest it would produce one was 8 am. I didn’t anticipate not being able to find a parking space near the church in Troutbeck. I walked through the holiday village , along a path and then steeply upwards through grass to meet the bridle path.
Below, looking back down towards Troutbeck
Kentmere Reservoir below me on the right reflected an almost cobalt blue sky
I had picked these hills as being a nice shallow ascent after my leg collapsed under me after Kidsty Pike, and the plan seemed to be working. The path continued to the summit where a couple and a dog overtook me
Then on to Ill Bell. Here a nice guy took my photo
A couple of guys arrived later and one asked him “Could you take a photo of me and my husband?”. Times have really changed in my life time. We had two friends in the sixties when it was illegal to take part in “homosexual acts” and they were so good at disguising what they felt for each other that we actually invited my younger sister too when we shared a holiday cottage. My match-making was, of course, a total failure.
I stupidly didn’t go on to Froswick, as I thought I had done it, and only when I got back did I check, and found I hadn’t. I shall just have to do it from the other end. The cairn looking towards it was the nearest I got
Coming back, I contoured round below the summit of Yoke. Then I came down too early on a bracken filled path. It was just about possible to tell where the bracken had closed over path, but my knees really didn’t like it.
July 8th saw me at the lovely Holehird Gardens. Below a lace-cap hydrangea, part of their hydrangea collection.
Then I went to the wonderful Townend, the farmhouse preserved just as its owner left it. My sister arrived in the late afternoon after having been messed around both by whoever runs the trains and the buses. She is a more enthusiastic texter than me, so my phone became red hot.
On July 9th We revisited Holehird Gardens and discovered a whole section that I hadn’t noticed the previous day including the National Collection of Astilbe (see below).
Next a mini cruise on Windermere.
July 10th, I decided to risk the 8 a.m. breakfast again and found nearly the last space in the new field car-park at Hartsop before setting off on the path which paralleled the road
Then climbing steeply up towards the base of Place Fell. Here I stopped to chat to a guy who had multiple sclerosis. On a good day he could just about get up this far, but on a bad could hardly drag himself out of bed. He had been manager of one of the big credit reference agencies, and had thought they were a good firm to work for until it came to early retirement. He said “My Mum couldn’t do what you’re doing.” Which I took as a compliment, until I discovered his Mum was 91 and began to wonder if I looked that old.
I continued along an easy path
Then I reached Angletarn Crags. A young couple followed me up and took my photo, and I took theirs for them.
I was rather alarmed to be shown what they were using for navigation: a watch with just an arrow and a track and no mapping at all. I have resorted to using my Maverick system which is the O/S large scale on my phone, but I have a back up map and compass which I often get out as I am more used to them. Angle tarn looked lovely, and I bumped into a party I had met on the ascent, grandad (79) son (dentist) daughter-in-law (optician with VERY fetching sun-glasses) and two boys. Whenever adult backs were turned they shot off up the nearest vertical crag and had to be shouted down. They were going to stay here and swim,
I headed off to Brock Crag. People had been walking up it ahead of me, but had vanished when I got to the top.
Below, view from the top
The selfies all have my thumb on,which I couldn’t check in the reflecting sun.
I returned more or less the same way.
Below, a family posing on a bridge at the waterfall
July 11th, to my surprise, since she is not a walker, my sister suggested Tarn Hows, and we had a nice morning there .
Many trees had been blown down in the recent gales. We had a cup of tea and wander round the outdoors shop in Hawkshead.
Then we had a shot at crazy golf. My sister hadn’t packed anything long sleeved yet cool, so had to resort to attempting to cover her arms with her scarf, which gave me a distinct sporting advantage
My last day, July 13th, I had said goodbye to my sister the previous day. We really get on quite well if neither of us mentions politics or religion. I parked again at Hartsop and made for Hartsop Dodd. The first photo is taken from the road later on.
I met only two people, one was doing a huge round and doubtless climbed it in the usual time of an hour. My knees were by then protesting so much that it took 3.5 hours to get back to the car.
I crossed the bridge below the second car park and made my way up the "side" of the hill. I stopped when I met a wall and the path turned along the ridge, to take a view below
Looking up
The steepness eased off after a whikle and I came to a wall running along the ridge
I visited both the cairn and the post (or its descendant) that Wainwright had identified as the summit,
and even took a selfie. The problem with selfies is that you can’t get far enough away to iron out the wrinkles, so it may be a short-lived experiment, though really, we octogenarians should give up on vanity (I haven't, I am just vain about climbing the hills, and I also notice that holding up my trousers which are now too large with a bootlace doesn't really work).
I felt that I needed to go back home to let the knees recover, but at least they didn’t crumble this time. It was hard to stop taking the photos, though BBC Weather Watchers hadn’t used one since I drove past the Devils Beef tub north of Moffat on the way down, and the one below, alas, has no sky.
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