Helvellyn, Lake District

[neillmaxwell]

I started through the fields behind the Kings Head Inn in Thirlspot, joining a path that meandered East towards Helvellyn. The path initially ascended swiftly, before levelling off and making its way along the mountainside. I looked down at the lake, now its superior in these wild lands. I felt like Bilbo Baggins, a humble man bending to the irresistible call of adventure.

I moved quickly, eager to reach the summit with lots of time to spare. I stopped a number of times along the first stretch, armed with my disposable camera, eager to capture nature free from the clumsy hand of mankind. The path felt familiar to me, similar to the paths of the Manx mountains I had grown up in the wake of.

The forest that I would later return through came up to greet me before sending me on my way, and I thanked her for all that she had done for me thus far. She responded with a wave of her branches, and I joined the main path to the mountain.
I could feel a shift happening inside of me as I ascended, and with each metre I rose my mind grew increasingly clear. I felt my rebirth taking place, and saw my soul reflected in the shimmering visage of Thirlmere’s clear waters. I was the wind upon a blade of grass in the morning. I was one with nature.

The path grew increasingly steep, and I felt a haze beginning to descend upon me as the altitude increased and the sun evaporated the moisture from my body. I didn’t let this slow me down though, and kept pace as the mountain curved upwards at seemingly exponential rate. I passed by many different people on my ascent, and felt us all bound together by our entwined threads of destiny. We were to be the ones who would knock upon the doors of fate, and almighty She would be the one to answer.

I soon began the final and most difficult stage of ascent, as the path grew ever steeper, forcing me to scramble up on my hands like a wild dog at times. I grew hazier still, and began to feel as though I might just collapse against the unforgiving terrain. I began to suspect that all the ancient scriptures had been mistaken, that rather than heaven residing atop the mountains, hell actually laid its homestead there.

I felt my spirit eroding away as I scrambled up the rocks of Mount Doom, and gave all I had in one final attempt at proving wrong the gods that set out to destroy me with their fiery blazes of hellfire and torrents of cannonballs raining down from above, for I would make it up this mountain even if my bones turned to ashes and my legs were reduced to lone stumps of abyss-

Clarity. There was no more hill to climb.

I saw a great plateau ahead of me, with the final peak atop a pedestal at its end. I breathed an unencumbered sigh of relief, for the worst was now behind me. I stopped a moment, looking down at all of creation splayed out before my eyes. I was a cloud floating atop a warm current, and my ears were filled with perfect silence. My mind was clearer than the day it was born, and the sweet song of the mountaintop revealed itself to me. I was the all-seeing eye, the breath of god, the sweet release of life. I had proven myself, and I was no longer the boy who toiled up the sides of the mountain, but the man who stood atop it, with power in his bones, and peace in his heart. I was awake. I was reborn.

As I continued on to the summit, I was completely overcome by the pervading sense of peace, and this carried me onwards as I floated along the plateau. I cast my eyes back, at all the people I had encountered on the journey, and wordlessly wished them well as they continued to climb. I was alone with the spirit of the mountain, and she carried my weary body up the final few floors of this almighty, divine skyscraper.

I looked out over the cliffs to my left, and saw a gigantic open space bordered by two sharp ridges. On its left stood the elevated path towards ‘the run with no name’, and on its right stood the Swirral Edge. The sight resounded deep within me, and I watched in admiration as the earth hastily sauntered out of my sights.

I made my way up to the summit, and now the Red Tarn stood before me in all its glory. It sat at the bottom of a deep crater, surrounded by the jagged ridgelines of Swirral and Striding edge. I was but a fraction of a fraction of a grain of sand against the immense size of all that stood around me, a blade of grass within meadows upon meadows of glorious creation.
I sat down at the edge of the summit plateau, looking out over Red Tarn and its twin protectors circled around it. In the distance the lake of Ullswater meandered towards the horizon, now thousands of feet below me, and not one barrier stood between me and the heavens.

I replenished my energy with the bread and cheese I had packed, while allowing the mountain uninhibited access to the deepest, most unfathomable reaches of my tranquil soul. Our rhythms aligned in perfect synchronicity, and I felt a beautiful harmony between my mind and all that lay before me.

I asked some people to take my photo, and grinned enthusiastically at the camera. I would remember this moment until the day reality ceased, I thought to myself, as time laid down its hat upon the hook of all my remembering. I knew not worry or fear, and my journey had reached its point of eclipse between the celestial bodies of experience and understanding.

My body had now taken its moment of rest, and I felt my muscle fibres joining together once again as I sauntered over to the beginning of the Swirral Edge. It snaked its way down, and I followed, scrambling down the rocks, utterly free and unafraid. I launched myself down the steep gradient, caring not for the threatening slopes that surrounded me, and in no time at all I was gazing up at the neighbouring peak of Catstye Cam. The climb up to this second summit was steep, but I had let go of the concept of exhaustion, and so I raced up it with the swiftness of a gazelle.

I stopped to take in the view, and the simple thought presented itself to me, ‘I was here, and it was beautiful.’ I repeated this to myself as a mantra as I made my way down to the Red Tarn, where I sat upon a rock just beyond the shoreline. I thought to myself of the many miles that lay before me, and the many more that lay ahead.

As I turned to leave, an apparition presented himself to me. He was a photographer, a soul purer than the very streams that find their homes on the sides of mountaintops. He spoke softly and quietly, and said in an unsteady, Scandinavian voice “Can you sit back down on the rocks? You are very beautiful.” He motioned towards his camera, and I understood that he wanted to take a photograph of me. I gleefully agreed, sitting back down upon the rock, and allowed him to capture the moment. The picture was divine, and I saw perfectly contained within it the magic that both of our souls were absorbing atop that mountain. His words resounded in my mind as I walked away, feeling as if I had just met the spirit of all that is beautiful and pure in this world.

With my sights now set upon the Striding Edge, I jumped through the hole in the wall, and looked out over the glorious valley that lay beneath me. I felt like a god looking down from the lands of the divine, and I breathed deeply as my almighty companions stood firmly above the domain of all that is known.

I was now surrounded on either side by thousand foot drops, but I cared not, and proceeded to make death-defying leaps from rock to rock, feeling every fibre of my unshakeable mortality. I raced along the edge, and by the time I reached the other side I once again felt the haze of the altitude.

My minutes were numbered now, and so I began my journey back down the mountain. I wanted to make my route circular, and so I began towards my third peak of the day, Nethermost Pike. I bounded haphazardly down the mountainside, using the technique of the mountain goat to control my descent. I could see the entirety of Thirlmere lake from my pedestal, and I carried on down towards it, waving goodbye to the beloved Helvellyn.

After quickly reaching the foot of the mountain, I entered the forest. My water bottle was now empty, and the walking began to feel perilous as dehydration set in. The forest remained ever gracious, and so she guided me towards my salvation. The trees were high and thick, and the environment reminded me strongly of the forests of Ballinastoe and Glendalough, where I had such fond childhood memories.

An hour ticked by in the enchanting woodland, and I came across a bridge with beautifully fresh water running below it. The water had made its way down the mountain, as I had done, and I drank it gratefully. It was the purest water I had ever seen, far clearer than anything a tap could produce. It was completely natural, without any chemicals or adulterants, and as I drank it I knew the forest was still looking out for me. The water rejuvenated me, and I was now able to easily make my way out of the forest and back to civilisation.

As I walked the final stretch to the King’s Head Inn, I thought of how far I had travelled, and how thankful I was for all the Earth had shown me. I cast my mind back to my thoughts at the beginning of the journey, of how I had felt like Bilbo Baggins at the start of his grand adventure. This led to me thinking about the ending of the book, of how he had returned to find all his belongings auctioned off amongst the townspeople. I pictured my flatmates auctioning my own belongings, and the image made me burst out laughing on the side of the road. I continued to chuckle about this as I turned in to the pub, marking the end of the journey.

I got a glass of water and a Rekorderlig cider, and took my final resting place of the journey in the sun-filled beer garden. I thought of the music I would listen to on the bus home, and sipped my fruity cider in perfect silence.

It was the best drink I have ever tasted.