free to be able to rate and comment on reports (as well as access 1:25000 mapping).
High Cup Nick is one of those places I kept on reading about, hearing about, tapping with my finger on the OS map and wondering about. The three red pins marking the fells which sit within the Warcop firing ranges have also been teasing me. They don't look exciting, they seem dangerous, they need doing - even if only the once. Lots of plotting, more optimistic forecasts, and the prospect of another walk with my good pal Laura, led to a decision to climb Murton Pike, Murton Fell, head around to High Cup Nick, then either descend the boulders into the valley, or else return via one of the high paths.
And while we're on, let's try a bit more of this trail running lark.
We arrived at Murton late morning, after driving through the ranges and passing bits and bobs of millitary paraphernalia. There's parking for a good few cars, and as soon as you leave the car you're on the good track that leads steadily up towards Murton Pike. The wind was picking up, and by the time we arrived at the trig point after a steep little climb, it was actually difficult to stand up. After admiring the brooding sky, we did an about turn and ran back down the hill until we rejoined the track that would lead us in the direction of Murton Fell, the Hewitt we'd decided to bag today.
Murton Pike by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
I say we, actually it was just me. Laura stayed with the main track and we agreed to meet in a little while at the head of Trundale Gill. Unless you're in the business of bagging summits, I've learned that not all hills appeal to all people. Murton Pike looked and felt like a dramatic little hill, it appeals to anybody out on a walk. The prospect of striking out across the pathless moor, going 'just as far as the danger signs then turning left' on a mission to locate a somewhat featureless summit strikes some as lunacy.
The loneliness of the Hewitt bagger.
Danger ❗️ by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Summit plateau of Murton Fell by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
I will say that I actually found the summit plateau of Murton Fell attractive, and with a spring in my step I set about jogging again, making light work of the boggy ground and skipping my way down to the rendezvous point. Reacquainted with my pal, we followed the path up the hillside and emerged above Middle Tongue. We caught glimpses of the huge valley beneath us, and of the escarpment opposite, but the jaw-dropping spectacle of High Cup Nick really did save itself until we were actually at the, well, Nick. Words failed me. I'd been missing out, and could have sat there all day admiring the view.
High Cup Nick by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
High Cup Nick by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
We explored the steep boulder field that takes you from the Nick to the valley floor, but decided it might be slow going, when today was all about travelling light and trotting around in tights. And so we decided to take the path above the same side of the escarpment we had arrived on, stopping frequently to admire the views, watch streams disappear over the edge, and get slightly nervous that we might do the same.
High Cup Nick by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
High Cup Nick by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
High Cup Nick by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Boulder field, High Cup Nick by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Descending Middle Tongue made for easy walking/jogging, and we were surrounded by bog cotton as almost as far as the eye could see. Murton Pike looked still more dramatic from this side, and eventually we dropped down to the farm at Harbour Flatt. We somehow missed the footpath marked on the map, and so just continued to the minor road and followed it back to the car park at Murton. High Cup Nick was spectacular, this part of the Northern Pennines was spectacular, trying some running instead of walking was, if not spectacular, fun.
The sight of me in leggings was neither spectacular nor pleasant. And for that, and to those walkers also enjoying the stunning landscape that day, I apologise most sincerely.
Bog Cotton by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr