Captain's Log

Start Of The Rain

It was spitting with rain as I packed up my rucksack before setting off on my second day of my Cumbria Way Venture. Today's walk would take me from Caldbeck on the northeast edge of the Lake District, over the Lake District's northern fells to Keswick. I had a choice of routes today. The official route went over High Pike, at 658m the highest point on the Cumbria Way, or I could take an alternative, lower 'wet-weather' route that followed the bottoms of the valleys. Given the forecast, the obvious choice was to do the lower, alternative route.  I'd also been to the top of High Pike many, many times and so it wasn't like I'd be covering new ground up there. It nagged me though, that if I took the lower route, I'd miss out the highest point on the Cumbria Way. It wouldn't feel like I was doing the trail 'properly.' Despite the rain, despite the misty tops, and despite my diminishing enthusiasm, I decided to take the higher level route over High Pike. By the time I reached the outskirts of Caldbeck, the rain had started in earnest. By the time I reached the track up to High Pike, I was totally soaked. I'd talked to two farmers on the approach to the fell and they'd both told me that the forecast was for it to clear up after 4pm. They were wrong of course; the rain would actually continue for 48 hours and I'd never see any of the tops of the hills between Caldbeck and the Langdales due to the mist. I'd never walked in such continuously rainy conditions before. If you want to get a feeling for the conditions, stand in a bath with your waterproofs and rucksack on for 48 hours and then switch the power shower on. Make sure that there's also at least 3 inches of water in the bathtub so that your boots and feet are properly soaked. The one saving grace was that the rain wasn't cold. 

High Pike, Lingy Hut And The Bothyman

High Pike might be the highest point on the Cumbrian Way, but it is a gradual and easy climb from Caldbeck. It wasn't long before I reached the mist and not long after that I approached the summit trig. It always seems to be windy on the summit of High Pike and today was no exception. We had the added bonus of horizontal rain on this occasion. I took my photo of the trig and then leant into the wind as I dropped down the other side towards Lingy Hut.

It took me about 20 minutes or so to get to the bothy. I stumbled through the door like a lost polar explorer that had just found the only shelter on the continent. I shoulder heaved the door shut against the wind and managed to bolt it. It was only then that I noticed that somebody else was in the bothy. 'Do you mind if I join you for a while?' I asked, although I'm not sure what I'd have done if the man had declined. On reflection, I'd have probably thrown him out and bolted the door back shut. Bothyman seemed a curious character, both rather reserved and mysterious. I managed to coax out of him that he'd set off from Carlisle at 16:30 yesterday, got to the hut when it was dark, and then camped nearby. He had ideas of doing the Cumbrian Way '...or maybe Blencathra...' he added. It all seemed a bit vague. Our conversation wasn't helped by the fact that it was dark in the bothy and we couldn't really see each other. 'Are you going to watch the England football match?' Bothyman asked me, in a way that a University Professor might ask a lowbrow question to a thick student to establish some rapport. I told him that I'd started the Cumbrian Way to get away from the football, which was a bad move since my negative response made our subsequent conversations even more sporadic. In the end, I could endure the silences no more and so I heaved my rucksack on to my back, bade Bothyman farewell and lurched out of the door, into the maelstrom.

Skiddaw House

I dropped down towards Grainsgill Beck on the track from Lingy Hut. Halfway down I was surprised to see a woman ahead of me, making her way down the Arm o Grain beck. There wasn't a pathway alongside that beck and it looked heavy going. At one point she slipped and tumbled over on to her side. I wondered if she knew that there was a half decent track (that I was on) 50m to her right. I figured that when I past her she'd realise the track was there and make her way up to it. I did think about calling out and letting her know about the track, but people like doing their own thing  and maybe she just wanted to follow the beck. At the bottom of the valley near to the old mines, I looked back uphill and saw that she was now on the path.

I crossed over the bridge to the other side of Grainsgill Beck and started making my way south-eastwards towards Skiddaw House. Initially, the route was a wide stone track, but halfway down the valley it turned into a muddy footpath. It was a bleak place on a rainy day like this. There was a significant river flowing down the bottom of the valley. This was actually the source of the River Caldew (at least further upstream was the source), the river that I'd been following since Carlisle. At the head of the valley, I could just make out a building; that would be Skiddaw House, a rather remote Youth Hostel. Gradually it became larger as I made slow progress towards it. There was a bit of a climb up to the house and as I approached I saw two people sheltered on the leeward side of the stone wall enclosure around the building. I was surprised to find that one of them was Bothyman, whom I'd recently met at Lingy Hut. 'How did you get here so quick?' I asked. 'Did you come over Coomb Height?' He shrugged his shoulders and wouldn't commit to any specific route despite me pressing. 'That seems a bit odd' I thought. 'What's his secret? Was it some kind of competition to him?' A few moments later he put on his rucksack, waved goodbye and headed off towards Keswick. The other fellow was doing the Cumbria Way too, but in a northerly direction. He headed off towards the valley I'd just come along. A moment later, a fellow popped his head over the stone wall to ask if I was coming in for a coffee. Skiddaw House has a bit of a café and I think he was touting for a business. Time was pressing though and I wanted to reach Keswick before the cafés shut and so I had to decline. He said he was the temporary warden for the week. 'Do they keep you busy here?' I asked, having never actually seen anybody go in. 'Oh yes! I'm busy deep cleaning at the moment. I have to keep making sure that I don't get distracted by the visitors though.' I was about to say that he'd just distracted me, rather than me distracting him, but I didn't. I apologised for not calling in and heaved my rucksack on to my shoulders for the stretch towards Keswick.

Keswick

My route to Skiddaw House had been protected from the wind and rain, but now that I hurled myself southwards between Blencathra and Lonscale Fell I took quite a battering from the storm. I was grateful when I turned westwards around Lonscale Fell since the wind eased a bit. It was still raining heavily though. Grey cloud hovered menacingly above. I dropped down the flank of Latrigg and into Keswick. Despite the weather, there were plenty of  tourists milling about. I ordered a vegeburger at the Relish café and sat outside under a parasol that should have been protecting me from the mid-July sun rather than the rain. I chatted to a  cheery couple from Barrow who, when I told them I was doing the Cumbria Way, asked me if I was doing it in 3 days. 'Well, its only about 70 miles isn't it?' said the man. I told him that I would do it in that time normally, but the weather had slowed me down a bit and so I'd have to do it in five. The vegeburger didn't really hit the spot and so I topped it up with a Cornish Bakery vege cornish pasty. A quick shop at Booths and then I started making my way to the Castlerigg Farm campsite where I wanted to stay for the night.

Castlerigg Farm Campsite

It was a lot further to the campsite than I'd envisaged (over 1.5 miles from Booths). It was also quite a climb too (140m ascent) and quite exhausting after my tough day at the office. I was therefore very relieved when I reached the entrance to the campsite. I was also quite puzzled to be greeted by a Reindeer on a surfboard. It seemed a bit surreal, but maybe not given the weather conditions. A man with a South African greeted me at reception. He said it was £14 for the night; it seemed extortionate, but I'd have paid anything to get out of the rain. There was quite a bureaucratic process to getting booked in during which he unfurled a paper scroll, that looked a bit like a mini Magna Carta, on which were inscribed the rules of the campsite. For one awful moment, I thought he was going to go through every item on the list, but instead he just handed me the scroll. I felt duty bound to put my readers on have a peruse. They misted up instantly and so I couldn't see what I was looking at, but I made some reassuring agreement noises as I dragged a wet finger down the scroll. I'm not sure what transgressions he expected a 60+ year old, exhausted, totally soaked fellow to make, but I assured him that I was fine with everything that was listed.

To be fair, it was a good campsite with great facilities and was probably worth paying the £14. I got my tent pitched in a light shower, between two heavy ones and collapsed into the tent. I just hoped tomorrow would have at least some moments of dryness.

I couldn't have been more wrong.