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It was late in the day when I hopped off the 78 bus at Rosthwaite, and popped into the Scafell Hotel for a drink. Whistle wetted, it was off along the B5289 on one of those Lakeland roadside paths that are so narrow you walk on the road. It was a glorious, sunny evening, and for once it looked like I might make it to Glaramara in good conditions. I left the road a short while after Burthwaite Bridge, and took the signposted path straight up on to the lower hillside, took a right, and started the fairly steep and gradual climb up The Combe and eventually towards Rosthwaite Fell. It was slow going with my camping gear and a sun that wanted to linger for perhaps longer than Autumn would like, but then I was in no hurry.
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Pausing frequently to admire the views across to the Western Fells, it was really a case of picking-out my own route up the ever-steepening Rosthwaite Fell, the right of way marked on the map makes for a satisfying straight line up the last few hundred metres, but I found myself following sheep trods here, stepping over boulders there, and zig-zagging everywhere. Eventually I arrived at the dramatic little viewpoint that is the good path above Rottenstone Gill, from where it was an easy, level, and quite squelchy stroll up to Tarn at Leaves.
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
The sunlight had lasted well, but when it disappeared over the (now out of sight) horizon, it disappeared suddenly, and suddenly the beautiful and silent scene before me was thrust into darkness. I pitched my trusty tent a little way up the hillside from the tarn to escape the wind that had suddenly whipped-up, and settled down to watch the most stunning of night skies unfold above me. Rested, fed and watered, I popped the head torch on and carefully made my way up to the summit of Bessyboot, which at 551m is Wainwright’s summit of Rosthwaite Fell. I fiddled around for a good hour or so with various ‘night cam’ apps on my iPhone, trying unsuccessfully to take reasonable pictures of the wonders above me. Eventually I gave up, and wandered back down to find my tent and settle down for the night.
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Zip, zip, ziiiiiiiiiip. The familiar morning routine early the next day, and I’d managed to wake some time before sunrise. I toddled up the hillside again to try one more photo, then made quick work of packing-up and started the morning wander towards Glaramara. I imagine the ground between these fells would be quite hard to navigate in poor visibility. In fact, I didn’t find it too easy in excellent visibility. There was an obvious path leading off to the left which looked like it might take me too far from Rosthwaite Cam, and I couldn’t afford to miss any of the summits if I was to tick some Hewitts and Nuttalls off, too. And so the next hour or so seemed to involve scrambling around the place, finding my own way, then returning to bits and bobs of path.
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
Rosthwaite Cam, Dovenest Crag, Combe Door, Combe Head - and a lot of wonderful early morning views in between. Eventually, I found myself on the good path that runs up from Thornythwaite Fell to Glaramara, and made my way to the formidable looking northern face of the latter. I’d read about the stiff little scramble up onto the summit, and in fact it was not fancying the
down scramble in atrocious weather that had prevented me reaching Glaramara from the other side on two previous occasions. Today was clear and dry, so it looked like a fun little adventure. Above about 700m, everything changed. Wind and rain appeared from nowhere, and mist rolled-in to give me the full Glaramara experience. I tutted, rolled my eyes, laughed, and probably tutted again. When I arrived at the base of the rocky ascent I deposited my backpack on the wet ground and toddled up to the summit. Glaramara, at last. I didn’t hang around, and descended on a clearer rocky path to find my backpack and rejoin the path to Thornythwaite Fell.
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
The going was nice and easy on the way down, and it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen anyone at all so far. I remembered that after what felt like a full day’s walking already, it was only about 9am, so perhaps I shouldn’t expect Southern Fell crowds just yet. After enjoying the views from the pleasant little summit of Thornythwaite Fell, I spotted the expected trickle of little bodies snaking their way up the path below, and the day was well and truly in full swing. I’m not an antisocial walker, but do love the feeling of having a fell to myself now and then, and this little overnight excursion had delivered solitude and silence in bucketloads. Rosthwaite Fell is a new favourite of mine. A complex and quiet fell, which looked even more dramatic from the floor of Borrowdale later that morning than I ever recall it looking on previous trips. I feel like I’ve made a new friend here in Borrowdale, but as for Glaramara, that’s still a complex little relationship. I said I’d be back, and this time I found the summit. But I’ll keep coming back until Glaramara finally grants me a view.
A little later that morning I found myself on the 78 bus from Seatoller, and started the long journey home. Until next time.
Rosthwaite Fell & Glaramara by
Christopher Watson, on Flickr
