Captain's Log

Wake Up Call

A loud roar woke me up. I looked at my watch: 05:30. 'Crikey! The jets are flying early today' was my initial thought. My brain then started sparking into life; no way would the jets be out this early. There was a blinding light that illuminated the tent and a few seconds later a rumble so loud that I could feel the vibrations of the ground, even through my inflated mattress. Oh my giddy aunt, a thunderstorm! I'd never been in a tent in such conditions and I wasn't sure what to do. I was painfully aware that my tent poles provided handy lightening conductors and that the campsite was also on the top of a hill. It was raining hard and so I couldn't get to the facilities block without getting all my dry clothes wet. I settled for slumping down into my sleeping bag and pretending it wasn't happening. Even with my sleeping bag liner totally covering my head, I could still see the flashes of light. The next half an hour was very tense as I counted the time between the flashes of lightening and the accompanying, terrifying brass section. After 15 minutes, I judged that the storm was directly above me and so I crossed my fingers as well as my legs. Gradually, the time between the lightening and thunder became longer and longer, until they finished altogether. I was just left with the rain hammering my tent. It had only just gone past 06:00 and already my nerves were in shreds.  I considered that today might be a very long day, in more sense than one.

In fact, some say that the Cumbria Way between Keswick and the Langdales is the hardest stretch of the whole trail. 95% of today's route was already familiar to me and so I knew that it wouldn't hold any surprises. Adrenalin was still pumping around my body and it was pointless having a lie-in, and so I started making a move.

The Best Bin Lorry In The Lake District

It continued to rain as I set off from Castlerigg Farm campsite. The Reindeer was still making good progress on its surfboard at the campsite entrance (see Typhoon Traverse Of The Northern Fells for an explanation). The official Cumbria Way route goes along the west side of Derwent Water. This would have necessitated me going back to Keswick and would be a bit of a waste of time. My Cicerone Cumbria Way guide indicated that there was an alternative mountain route that went over Walla Crag, Falcon Crag and then dropped down into the valley at the Borrowdale Hotel. It then crossed over the River Derwent to meet up with the official Cumbria Way path again, to the south of Derwent Water. Another big advantage of this mountain route was that I'd already carried out a significant amount of the height gain during my climb to the campsite, yesterday evening.

It was still a stiff climb up to Walla Crag from the campsite. The crag offers classic views over Derwent Water to Catbells, Skiddaw and Keswick, but all I could see when I got there was a blanket of mist. Oh well. The streams that ran into Cats Gill were in spate and I had to go upstream quite a distance to cross them. Falcon Crag with its dramatic views, arrived and departed in the fog. It was only when I descended towards Ashness Bridge that I dropped below the cloud ceiling and at last got a view of Derwent Water.

Barrow Beck that ran under Ashness Bridge was a foaming mass of angry white water. The view northwards over Ashness Bridge has adorned many postcards and shortbread biscuit tins. Today's view wouldn't though. Just as I took a photo of this classic Lakeland scene a bin lorry crossed the bridge. It was just going to be one of those days.

Borrowdale Valley

As I followed the road up to Surprise View the rain reached a new level of intensity such that the tarmac became a waterfall. My view of the world was obscured by a continuous pouring of water over the rim of my hat. Surprise View when I got there, wasn't that much of a surprise: it consisted of mist. I continued following the road and then branched off on to a footpath that would take me down into the valley. It had been four decades since I'd walked this footpath and I'd forgotten about the impressive Lodore Falls. Maybe it hadn't rained as much when I'd been here previously. They were certainly spectacular today with all that water tumbling down. 

I eventually reached the valley bottom and started making my way across the fields to the Chinese Bridge that crosses the River Derwent. I'm not sure why they call it the Chinese Bridge since there doesn't appear to be anything oriental about it. This part of the trail was unfamiliar to me and I was having to resort to consulting the OS map on my phone. Unfortunately, I didn't have a waterproof casing for it, and with the constant pouring of water from my hat and coat, it was dripping on to the screen of the phone and making it unusable. I gave up in the end and decided to use my infamous, innate sense of direction. This turned out to be a very bad move since I missed my turnoff to Grange and unknowingly started heading back northwards along the official Cumbria Way path. By the time I realised my mistake, I'd gone a mile in the wrong direction. Oh dear, what a day! I found a path through the Manesty Park plantation to the road to Grange and started following it southwards. I had intended stopping at the café in Grange for lunch, but due to the delay caused by my mistake, I decided to press on to Rosthwaite.

Rosthwaite

The trees alongside the River Derwent offered a little protection from the rain. I was so wet now though, it didn't really matter how hard the rain fell. I walked the familiar path that follows the River Derwent upstream. I was surprised at the number of people that were actually out walking today. I suppose you have to make the most of your holidays. When I dragged my sodden feet into Rosthwaite I decided that enough was enough and that I needed a break. I stepped into The Flock In Tearoom café and shop. A couple of women had just been served and were taking away a drink in impressive pint mugs. 'I'll have whatever they had' I told the man behind the counter. This turned out to be tea, with the teabag personally squished in the mug by the man. I also bought a slab of 'Ma's Cake' that I'd thought was flapjack, but turned out to be a chocolate rice crispy affair. I took my treats on a tray to some outside tables at the back of the cafe, that were protected from the rain by a roof. It had a great view down the Borrowdale valley towards Castle Crag. I watched another wave of heavy rain approaching and I was glad that I was undercover. A Robin joined me and watched my cake with some interest. I would have give him a few crumbs, but the cake turned out to be rather salty, and judging by the colour of the Robin's breast, I didn't want to bump up his blood pressure. The pint mug of tea was nice though and set me up for the next section over to the Langdales.

Langstrath Valley

I seem to have walked the Langstrath Valley quite a lot recently. The Cumbria Way goes along it and then up and over Stake Pass to get to the Langdales Valley. It was surprisingly busy today. I met a group of female Duke Of Edinburghers coming the other way. They didn't look a happy troop. The rain had returned with a vengeance and I was finding it increasingly difficult to take a photo without drops of water being on the lens. As soon as I wiped the lens clear of drips, it would instantly be covered again. Langstrath Beck runs along the bottom of the valley and water roared through the narrow gorge at Black Pot. Halfway up the Langstrath Valley the path ascended in a series of zig-zags, making the climb up to Stakes Pass easier than it looked from afar. I soon reached the clouds and I was back into a world of mist again. I crossed the broad pass and gradually the path started heading back down into the Langdale Valley. As the descent got steeper, the path turned into a staircase of stone steps. These were slippery in the wet conditions and I had to take my time getting down. The mist had nearly reached the valley floor in the Langdales. 

Langdales

It was a soggy tramp down from the head of the valley to the Old Dungeon Ghyll hotel. Parts of the stone track had flooded and I had to make small diversions. Amazingly I found one guy walking the other way and judging by the size of his rucksack, he was going to wildcamp. The Spaniel that accompanied him looked bedraggled and unimpressed. I did think about dropping into the ODG for a pint but England was playing in the semi-finals of the Euros and I'd guessed it would be packed. Anyway, I wanted to get to the campsite, have a hot shower and go to bed.

I followed the road to the National Trust campsite and who should I meet at the roadside, but Bothyman, the mysterious fellow I'd met up at Lingy Hut and Skiddaw House, on the previous day. He was now at the side of the road totally engrossed in picking blackberries from the hedgerow. So engrossed in fact that he didn't recognise me. It seemed an odd activity to be doing in heavy rain, especially when he'd shown so much interest in football at the bothy. I left Bothyman to gather his berries and headed down the track to the campsite's reception. They'd closed about 15 minutes earlier, but a sign said that I could pitch in a designated 'first-come, first-served' area and settle up in the morning. Everywhere was wet, with some parts flooded, but I managed to find a spot where it would be unlikely I'd get washed away during the night. I pitched my tent, flung my stuff in and headed off for the showers. It did seem a little odd to crave yet more water after all I'd experienced today.

Today's walk should have been a classic walking day since it doesn't get much better than Borrowdale and the Langdales in the Lake District. I didn't even even see one summit though. Even so, it was a memorable day's walking, and isn't that what it's all about?