Hillwombles and the highest dragon in England
Posted: Wed Oct 30, 2019 3:02 pmI don't know where I first came across the Real Three Peaks project, but I've had my eye on it for a few years without the date ever quite working out. I really expected to find myself on Ben Lomond some year, which is a hill I'd have no objection to climbing again, but instead I ended up with a Sunday-Monday trip to the lakes, which meant I might as well offer myself for Scafell Pike on the Saturday.
I hadn't realised how much it was (originally) a leaders thing - I just hate to see litter on the hills and since I can't be bothered listening to people moaning about things they don't plan to do anything about, I had to do something about it to earn my right to moan! But they seemed happy to have me along, and I enjoyed the chance to walk with people much more experience than me.
It was also a good thing for my tiny dragon Dot, who was once the highest dragon in Wales but had never really expected to be the highest dragon in England - I really didn't think enough of Scafell Pike the first time to imagine that I would ever go back.
I was late to the start, as the group was starting out from Seathwaite around the time the first bus reached Seatoller, but they'd said I would catch up quite soon as they would be wombling along slowly, and I managed to collect a few extra odds and ends from the verges of the road on the way!
The path past Stockley bridge is familiar enough, although I've more often run down it than toiled up it - it turned out that they'd been right about the slow wombling, and I caught up with the rest of the group, six people and one dog, just below the wood.
I didn't stop to take many pictures, but although it wasn't the brightest of days, the view out of the valley towards the northern hills was lovely in the autumn colours.
I was supplied with gloves and a bin bag and could then wander where I liked - my favourite find of the day was an antique drinks can (which had once had a separate ringpull) in a tree trunk on the other side of the fence, but after that I was mostly down at - and sometimes in - the edge of the burn, well below the path for a while, while others covered the ground higher up.
I was surprised how easy it was to reach Styhead Tarn - after the first climb, just a fairly short wander. It was a good place for wombling, since it's a regular camping spot, but I went too far round and found too much - the remains of a campsite buried in the rocks of an old fold or shelter, so that I was struggling to move the rocks myself and went off for help.
After a snack break at the stretcher box two of the guys came back down to help me move the rocks - it was good to get it cleared out, but some of it was barbecue remains that I didn't want to get too close to, and I felt a bit guilty for slowing the group down even more with the detour, because we were already running behind our planned meeting-at-the-summit time (although the Langdale team were running a bit behind too).
I'd left my bag at the stretcher box, not realising that you could take a shortcut up to the path from where we were, and had to run back for it and then join up again, and I realised on the way that although I knew roughly where the Corridor route *was*, I had no idea what it looked like, and had to stop to get the map out. I caught up with the other two before too long, though, and we went on to catch up with the rest of the group, getting a good view down into Wasdale on the way - I love the green of the fields against the brown of the bracken.
I'd never been on the Corridor route before except briefly by accident in the mist (losing the valley route to Sty Head), and it was a nice place, dramatic surroundings and a solid path underfoot.
The stretch from where it turns up to the summit, though, was the kind of loose stuff that I hate so much that I could only go over it quickly and get it done with - some of the others had stopped to talk to someone they knew, and although I started off parallel to one guy, I ended up ahead on even him on the last stretch to the summit, meeting the Langdale people on their way down.
One benefit to being slow was that the first group had done quite a bit of the cleaning at the summit - there was still plenty to be found, though, including a cotton bud which some of the others seemed to consider the oddest find of the day, although I was still quite proud of my antique can.
The cloud was only sitting around the summit, and it looked bright enough that it might break, but it didn't while we were there, and Dot got about as much view as England as she had of Wales.
It was cold up in the cloud - I'd taken the rubber gloves off because I preferred dirty hands to the feel of them, but I put them back on now to see if they would make my fingers any warmer!
Our way down was by the other pikes and Esk Hause - since both teams had been over the first stretch already we were going along talking rather than hunting around, and on the rocky staircase down to the Broad Crag col I stopped paying attention for a second, caught my toe and went flying.
I had time to swear on the way down, but once I had landed on my shoulder rather than my head I knew I was ok - I was just slightly folded up with my feet about two feet higher than my head and the weight of my rucksack up around my ears, so that I couldn't move at first and was lying there saying 'I'm perfectly fine, but I'm UPSIDE DOWN!'.
I got the right way up again, and the rest of the descent was less eventful, although the bruises lasted a while. And the guys straightened out the litter picker I'd fallen on and bent, although it was never quite the same...
We had a good view ahead as we walked along, but the cloud came sweeping in and reduced it to a glimpse through a window.
Further on Derwent Water and the northern hills came back into view - I kept being surprised back in the southern hills by how suddenly that tipping point would come where you were looking north again.
I was saying to someone as we walked down from the hause that it was a very odd feeling to walk without knowing where I was. He told me that of course I knew where I was, and I did, roughly - I could have got myself back to the valley, as well as back to the summit - but since I always walk alone I'm not used to not having an eye on the map and matching it up to what I'm seeing around me.
The way we took down was a path I think I've genuinely never been on before, by the side of Ruddy Gill - a dramatic little place with trees growing where the sheep couldn't reach.
It was a slow descent, although downhill nearly always does feel slow, especially with a valley that you see ahead of you long before you reach it.
But I speed up when I scent the end, as long as the path is decent - enough that a friend I was walking with another time blew a whistle at me to make me come back, when I thought I was walking at a nice normal speed - and some of the others seemed to be slowing down as they got tireder. So it was a bit fast and slow and fast and slow again, down into the valley.
We got back to the farm just as the light was fading, too late to have our photos taken holding binbags - we hadn't collected any kind of record breaking amount, either, but I think that might be because the hill really is tidier for the group's (and other's) efforts - the old accumulated stuff that the first few times cleaned out is gone, and there's not enough lying to encourage anyone except the real incorrigibles.
I hadn't been able to get a bed at Keswick again, so I was staying in the Borrowdale hostel - a nice extra treat, as it's one of my favourites. I got a lift up that far, and then walked up to the pub by the slightly muddy shortcut path, in sandals in the dark! A good day out, even with the bruises.
I hadn't realised how much it was (originally) a leaders thing - I just hate to see litter on the hills and since I can't be bothered listening to people moaning about things they don't plan to do anything about, I had to do something about it to earn my right to moan! But they seemed happy to have me along, and I enjoyed the chance to walk with people much more experience than me.
It was also a good thing for my tiny dragon Dot, who was once the highest dragon in Wales but had never really expected to be the highest dragon in England - I really didn't think enough of Scafell Pike the first time to imagine that I would ever go back.
I was late to the start, as the group was starting out from Seathwaite around the time the first bus reached Seatoller, but they'd said I would catch up quite soon as they would be wombling along slowly, and I managed to collect a few extra odds and ends from the verges of the road on the way!
The path past Stockley bridge is familiar enough, although I've more often run down it than toiled up it - it turned out that they'd been right about the slow wombling, and I caught up with the rest of the group, six people and one dog, just below the wood.
I didn't stop to take many pictures, but although it wasn't the brightest of days, the view out of the valley towards the northern hills was lovely in the autumn colours.
- Northern view
I was supplied with gloves and a bin bag and could then wander where I liked - my favourite find of the day was an antique drinks can (which had once had a separate ringpull) in a tree trunk on the other side of the fence, but after that I was mostly down at - and sometimes in - the edge of the burn, well below the path for a while, while others covered the ground higher up.
- Styhead Gill
I was surprised how easy it was to reach Styhead Tarn - after the first climb, just a fairly short wander. It was a good place for wombling, since it's a regular camping spot, but I went too far round and found too much - the remains of a campsite buried in the rocks of an old fold or shelter, so that I was struggling to move the rocks myself and went off for help.
- Wombling at Styhead Tarn
After a snack break at the stretcher box two of the guys came back down to help me move the rocks - it was good to get it cleared out, but some of it was barbecue remains that I didn't want to get too close to, and I felt a bit guilty for slowing the group down even more with the detour, because we were already running behind our planned meeting-at-the-summit time (although the Langdale team were running a bit behind too).
I'd left my bag at the stretcher box, not realising that you could take a shortcut up to the path from where we were, and had to run back for it and then join up again, and I realised on the way that although I knew roughly where the Corridor route *was*, I had no idea what it looked like, and had to stop to get the map out. I caught up with the other two before too long, though, and we went on to catch up with the rest of the group, getting a good view down into Wasdale on the way - I love the green of the fields against the brown of the bracken.
- Green and brown Wasdale
I'd never been on the Corridor route before except briefly by accident in the mist (losing the valley route to Sty Head), and it was a nice place, dramatic surroundings and a solid path underfoot.
- Rocky places in the sunshine
The stretch from where it turns up to the summit, though, was the kind of loose stuff that I hate so much that I could only go over it quickly and get it done with - some of the others had stopped to talk to someone they knew, and although I started off parallel to one guy, I ended up ahead on even him on the last stretch to the summit, meeting the Langdale people on their way down.
One benefit to being slow was that the first group had done quite a bit of the cleaning at the summit - there was still plenty to be found, though, including a cotton bud which some of the others seemed to consider the oddest find of the day, although I was still quite proud of my antique can.
The cloud was only sitting around the summit, and it looked bright enough that it might break, but it didn't while we were there, and Dot got about as much view as England as she had of Wales.
- The highest dragon in England
It was cold up in the cloud - I'd taken the rubber gloves off because I preferred dirty hands to the feel of them, but I put them back on now to see if they would make my fingers any warmer!
Our way down was by the other pikes and Esk Hause - since both teams had been over the first stretch already we were going along talking rather than hunting around, and on the rocky staircase down to the Broad Crag col I stopped paying attention for a second, caught my toe and went flying.
I had time to swear on the way down, but once I had landed on my shoulder rather than my head I knew I was ok - I was just slightly folded up with my feet about two feet higher than my head and the weight of my rucksack up around my ears, so that I couldn't move at first and was lying there saying 'I'm perfectly fine, but I'm UPSIDE DOWN!'.
I got the right way up again, and the rest of the descent was less eventful, although the bruises lasted a while. And the guys straightened out the litter picker I'd fallen on and bent, although it was never quite the same...
We had a good view ahead as we walked along, but the cloud came sweeping in and reduced it to a glimpse through a window.
- Window in the cloud
Further on Derwent Water and the northern hills came back into view - I kept being surprised back in the southern hills by how suddenly that tipping point would come where you were looking north again.
- Derwent Water
I was saying to someone as we walked down from the hause that it was a very odd feeling to walk without knowing where I was. He told me that of course I knew where I was, and I did, roughly - I could have got myself back to the valley, as well as back to the summit - but since I always walk alone I'm not used to not having an eye on the map and matching it up to what I'm seeing around me.
The way we took down was a path I think I've genuinely never been on before, by the side of Ruddy Gill - a dramatic little place with trees growing where the sheep couldn't reach.
- Ruddy Gill
It was a slow descent, although downhill nearly always does feel slow, especially with a valley that you see ahead of you long before you reach it.
But I speed up when I scent the end, as long as the path is decent - enough that a friend I was walking with another time blew a whistle at me to make me come back, when I thought I was walking at a nice normal speed - and some of the others seemed to be slowing down as they got tireder. So it was a bit fast and slow and fast and slow again, down into the valley.
- Nearing the valley floor
We got back to the farm just as the light was fading, too late to have our photos taken holding binbags - we hadn't collected any kind of record breaking amount, either, but I think that might be because the hill really is tidier for the group's (and other's) efforts - the old accumulated stuff that the first few times cleaned out is gone, and there's not enough lying to encourage anyone except the real incorrigibles.
I hadn't been able to get a bed at Keswick again, so I was staying in the Borrowdale hostel - a nice extra treat, as it's one of my favourites. I got a lift up that far, and then walked up to the pub by the slightly muddy shortcut path, in sandals in the dark! A good day out, even with the bruises.
