Mahinda’s Little World

Way way back in July, I went to the Lake District for Howell’s birthday, with the plan being to ascend Scafell Pike, the highest mountain in England. Howell had done Ben Nevis and Snowdon for his two previous birthdays, so this represented the hat-trick!

BTW, this is another entry to which I will be adding pictures in due course. Need to catch up a bit first, though!

Friday

Left work, did some food shopping, picked up Torkjel and Andrew, and headed up to the Lake District.

Even before we got to Nether Wasdale (where we were to camp), the weekend got interesting - we took a route straight through what is known as the Wrynose and Hardknott Pass. Absolutely stunning scenery, and a serious challenge to driving ability - in parts the second steepest road in Britain*, with many twists and turns.

* Although I still reckon Winnats Pass is steeper - and I think my little Honda may agree.

Fortunately, there was precious little by way of oncoming traffic, so I got a good blast at it, and pretty much spent the entire drive with a grin on my face. One day I might revisit it with a slightly sportier car!

Anyway, we eventually got to Church Stile Holiday Park, in Nether Wasdale, to find Henry waiting for us. None of the others had arrived, including Howell and Antony, who’d set off quite some time before us.

I gave Howell his present (a Jamie and the Magic Torch DVD), and squirted him with a water pistol.

The others turned up eventually, and much barbecuing was done. I ended up playing chef - it seems that, whenever I go to a barbecue, I’m doomed to spend time manning the grill. I don’t know why; I just do.

Chatted for a while, and headed to bed fairly early.

Saturday

Awoke at 10pm, unusually late for a day with a long walk planned. I found that I wasn’t even last up, and headed to the shower while someone (Howell? Antony?) cooked bacon for breakfast. Made some butties and packed them into my daysac, along with two litres of water and my water pistol.

Water pistol? Yes, Howell, being the birthday boy, had decreed that we should all be armed for the weekend. I ended up buying a pack of four assorted ones from Argos:

• Medium-sized one that could, if required, shoot sideways in both directions simultaneously! Packed on the walk and used to great effect - point it at one person and get two people, to either side of you, who really weren’t expecting it
• Medium-sized one with directional nozzle.
• Small traditional-style water pistol (pink).
• Small traditional-style water pistol (orange).

But I digress.

So, it was a little after 11am when we set off. Ant, Howell, Torkjel, Andy, Henry and I were to head up Scafell Pike via Sca Fell itself, with Steve (dodgy knee) and Gemma (didn’t fancy it anyway) consigned to a day basking in the sunshine and swimming in the lake.

The Screes

Now, our campsite was some five miles from the start of the ascent of Sca Fell - we’d decided to start off with a steep ascent up Greathall Gill, to the top of "the Screes" (big steep scree-laden slopes that border the southern edge of Wastwater). Now, this was nigh on 600m straight up, and we were doing it in the hot noonday sun. Ouch.

Halfway up, and Andy had already finished all his water. He was trying out a new 75-litre rucksack in preparation for a Norwegian excursion, and was overheating badly. He decided, sensibly, to head back, join Steve and Gemma, and possibly find a nice pub for lunch. I can’t say I wasn’t slightly jealous!

And then there were five. We got to the top of the Screes (or Whin Rigg to give it its proper title, I believe) and walked along on the almost-flat for a mile or so, before getting to the summit of Illgill Head. Which does sound like a rather unfortunate accident, if you ask me. From there, we could see, with some trepidation, a 400m descent before us, followed by 700m or so back up to the top of Sca Fell.

The sun beat down upon us like a demon, and we were all drinking much water. At one point, we pooled some of our supplies so that Howell could make up some dehydration stuff for himself. I lent him my hat, as he was starting to catch the sun rather badly, despite the liberal application of suncream serving to make his face look unnaturally ghoulish in its whiteness.

Sca Fell

Sca Fell was steep. Very steep. We sort of cut a route straight from Illgill Head to Sca Fell - shorter but steeper than the path, which would have necessitated quite a detour. We joined up with the path eventually, which I think meant that we were going up Sheepfold.

Eventually, very hot and extremely thirsty, we left the grass behind and hit the loose rock at the top of the mountain. I was all but out of energy - I really should have remembered to buy some chocolate!

After what seemed like an age, we reached the craggy top, and had a break. The views were fantastic, it being such an unbelievably clear day! We could see clear past Sellafield, right to the sea. There, floating ghost-like in the sky over the cooling towers, was the Isle of Man - it really did look like a flying mountain.

Sca Fell itself really is a pretty impressive mountain. At the top it’s all a jumble of rock faces and sheer drops - proper "I coud imagine myself falling off and plunging to my doom" stuff, rather than your namby-pamby shallow gradients culminating in a smooth peak. Just gorgeous.

Even more impressive, perhaps, than the mountain itself, were the climbers clinging on to the sheer rock faces. Hundreds of metres up, with absolutely obstruction-free drops to their doom should they fall off. Of course, it’s all pretty safely done with ropes and technical stuff…but it’d still take balls the size of melons, IMHO.

While on the top, we got a call from Andrew, who was at that moment at the top of Illgill Head. it turns out that he’d gone back, loaded himself up with water, and gone for a second attempt. I think I’d have just gone to the pub! We were all running pretty short of water by this point, but the water pistols proved a very handy method of cooling down…and even provided some plasticky-flavoured emergency drinking water

Getting Down

So, the plan was to drop down a bit and head up Scafell Pike. I was to have no part of this anywhere, being pretty much knackered. First, of course, we had to get down.

Attempt 1. Led on by Ant, down we went, negotiating tricky boulders and steps. Tricky for us, anyway. Fortunately it was dry - many of the rocks sloped outwards, so slippery wetness would have made it a nightmare. Some climbers passed us, and told us that we were headed for a Grade III scramble…and we were going to go down it! This, I found out afterwards, was Broad Stand - basically, a route between Scafell Pike and Sca Fell that’s notorious for catching out unprepared walkers. It starts off tricky, but gets even worse - and by that time, people have gone far enough to make the risks seem worth it. Eeek!

Anyway, while the climbers did offer to help us out with a rope, we decided against it.

Attempt 2. Back up we went, a little, then downwards a little bit over. Not as far down as Foxes Tarn (the traditional safe route), but down more than the first attempt would have taken us. We encountered more climbers, and a seven/eight-foot drop. Ah. Ant, the most experienced of us, had a bit of trouble, which didn’t bode well. Fortunately, it was dry so the out-sloping rock wasn’t anywhere near as tricky as it could have been. We managed it with a bit of help from the others, to be faced with a narrow crevice. Fnirk.

I just managed to squeeze through the crevice - just as well I’m a bit slimmer than usual at the moment!

And Then There Were Three

So, there we were, finally, at Mickledore, the ridge linking Sca Fell and Scafell Pike.

At this point, with late evening fast approaching, Henry and I decided that we’d had enough, and were off down to the pub. So off we went, leaving Howell, Ant and Torkjel to complete the walk.

Little did we realise what the way down was like. Lord’s Rake, apparently. A big long scree slope - definitely easier to get up than down, I reckon, especially with Henry and my dodgy knees. Once I stopped sliding down on my arse, I actually had quite a lot of fun - if you’re confident, you can sort of scree-surf your way down, jumping around, arms out for balance, and descending in a miniature version of the pattern a snowboarder would use to get down a ski slope. If you see what I mean.

Once down the scree, there were still a few miles to go before we got to the Wasdale Head Inn…were we glad when we finally got in sight of it, complete with huge "INN" painted on its side!

No Food at the Inn

We were considerably less glad, however, when we got in and found that, it being about 9.20pm, we’d missed last food orders by almost an hour. Bugger. Still, they had some rather fine ales, which was nice.

The others caught us up in about 40-50 minutes’ time, having gotten up Scafell Pike reasonably easily and been able to descend by a much easier bridleway. We also bumped into two other MADwalkers in there, who’d seen the rest of our party earlier.

So, last orders approached, and we investigated the route back. Not one of us fancied the five-mile walk home, so we asked the bar staff about taxis. There were none. Instead, one of the bar staff would drop the five of us home for the princely sum of £30. Or was it £20? Either way, it was definitely daylight robbery!

We eventually climbed into a very clapped-out car. Can’t remember what it was exactly, but it might have been a Carina. We just about managed to wedge ourselves in, and off we went, on a very bumpy journey home.

Back at the campsite, we of course had no proper food. Still, we managed to feast on Howell’s impressive range of snack food - that man is truly the King Of Snacks! Jalapeno crisps, wasabi nuts, random other stuff. Excellent. Beer, Aquavit (Swedish firewater, basically) and Vana Tallinn was consumed, and we eventually retired to our tents, knackered.

The Poetic Version

As an interesting footnote, Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s travels in Eskdale, led the great man himself to descend Sca Fell by a route not too far off our own experience…

There is one sort of Gambling, to which I am much addicted; and that is not of the least criminal kind for a man who has children and a Concern. It is this. When I find it convenient to descend from a mountain, I am too confident and too indolent to look round about and wind about ’till I find a track or other symptom of safety; but I wander on, and where it is first possible to descend, there I go - relying upon fortune for how far down this possibility will continue. So it was yesterday afternoon…. the first place I came to, that was not direct Rock, I slipped down, and went on for a while with tolerable ease - but now I came (it was midway down) to a smooth perpendicular rock about 7 feet high - this was nothing - I put my hands on the ledge and dropped down - in a few yards came just such another - I dropped that too, and yet another, seemed not higher - I would not stand for a trifle so I dropped that too - but the stretching of the muscles of my hands and arms, and the jolt of the Fall on my Feet, put my whole Limbs in a Tremble, and I paused, and looking down, saw that I had little else to encounter but a succession of these little Precipices - it was in truth a Path that in a very hard Rain is, no doubt, the channel of a most splendid Waterfall. So I began to suspect that I ought not to go on, but then unfortunately tho’ I could with ease drop down a smooth Rock 7 feet high, I could not climb it, so go on I must and on I went…

…the next 3 drops were not half a Foot, at least not a foot more than my own height, but every Drop increased the Palsy of my Limbs - I shook all over, Heaven knows without the least influence of Fear, and now I had only two more to drop down, to return was impossible - but of these two the first was tremendous, it  was  twice  my  own  height,  and  the  Ledge  at  the bottom was so exceedingly narrow, that if I dropt down upon it I must of necessity have fallen backwards and of course killed myself. My Limbs were all in a tremble - I lay upon my Back to rest myself, and was beginning according to my Custom to laugh at myself for a Madman, when the sight of the Crags above me on each side, and the impetuous Clouds just over them, posting so luridly and so rapidly northward, overawed me. I lay in a state of almost prophetic Trance and Delight - and blessed God aloud, for the powers of Reason and the Will, which remaining no Danger can overpower us!

O God, I exclaimed aloud - how calm, how blessed am I now - I know not how to proceed, how to return, but I am calm and fearless and confident - if this Reality were a dream, if I were asleep, what agonies had I suffered! What screams! When the Reason and the Will are away, what remain to us but Darkness and Dimness and a bewildering Shame and Pain that is utterly Lord over us, or fantastic Pleasure, that draws the soul along swimming through the air in many shapes, even as a Flight of Starlings in a Wind.

I arose, and looking down saw at the bottom a heap of Stones - which had fallen abroad - and rendered the narrow Ledge on which they had been piled, doubly dangerous - at the bottom of the third Rock that I dropt from, I met a dead Sheep quite rotten - This heap of Stones, I guessed, and have since found that I guessed aright, had been piled up by the Shepherd to enable him to climb up and free the poor creature whom he had observed to be crag-fast - but seeing nothing but rock over rock, he had desisted and gone for help - and in the meantime the poor creature had fallen down and killed itself. As I was looking at these I glanced my eye to the left, and observed that the Rock was rent from top to bottom - I measured the breadth of the rent, and found that there was no danger of my being wedged in, so I put my Knapsack round to my side, and slipped down as between two walls, without any danger or difficulty…

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, letter to Sara Hutchinson
August 1802

Sunday

I’ve dithered far too long to write about Sunday in any great detail. Suffice to say that, once we were up and packed, and moderately fed*, we headed to the pub for lunch. The Screes Inn obliged us with fantastic ale and superb food - filling, tasty and reasonably-priced. Bonzer!

* I sampled one of Antony’s "Fakon" rashers - vegetarian bacon, which looks a bit like a child’s drawing of bacon…and tastes pretty much like it too!

After lunch, we went our separate ways in the sunshine. The sun was still beating down like a demon, to round off a weekend that I will never forget.

And there I shall stop. For now