Ramblings
Saunterings
Ramblings: about North-West England
Ramblings is a set of articles about North-West England, of unknown authorship and
indeterminate date, believed to have been written for amusement on rainy days,
which are not unknown in North-West England.
17. Misadventures on the Fells: Great Gable
... Buttermere ...
We departed from the Fish Hotel in good spirits, all of which
belonged to me. As we peered across
the choppy lake towards the steep slope of Fleetwith Pike,
it was apparent that this was a day for which the word
changeable would be an understatement.
Patches of cloud were being whipped across the tops,
with the gaps between the clouds enabling the sun to highlight
islands of bright green, which likewise tore across the hill-sides.
The clouds themselves released whirling rain-storms enlivened
by temporary rainbow colours.
We strode along the well-worn path through Burtness
Wood towards Bleaberry Tarn. In the sun the ridge up to Red
Pike did indeed look red. In the cloud, it didn’t. As we crested
the top of Red Pike we were engulfed in what I suspected
would be the first of many rain clouds. We hurriedly donned
our wet-weather gear and continued briskly along the broad
ridge to High Stile and High Crag.
Every few minutes the clouds parted to give us tantalising
glimpses down the excitingly precipitous crags towards the
village and the lake of Buttermere. In the other direction, Pillar and Scafell made fleeting appearances.
Somehow, the ephemeral nature of the view enhanced its
appeal. We knew that if we didn’t appreciate it whilst we had
the chance we might not get another one.
We scrambled down the unpleasant scree to Scarth Gap
and on towards Ennerdale Forest, which was, at last, being
allowed to revert to natural woodland. Arriving at the
Black Sail Hut, we found large numbers of people gathered,
preparing to set off on their hike, obviously after a more
leisurely start to the day than my well-trained team had
managed.
Many of them seemed to know Harry, who was
soon acknowledging their best wishes and shaking hands
with all and sundry. With a nod towards me, one of them
shouted “Ist dat mein führer?”, or something similar, to the
merriment of everybody. It was rather perplexing but it
seemed good-natured enough, so I waved, rather stiffly, in
acknowledgement, which provoked further gales of laughter.
... Great Gable ...
Eventually, I was able to drag Harry away. We needed to focus
on what I knew would be one of our most challenging climbs
- that up Great Gable from Beckhead Tarn. I had intended
to take us up Kirk Fell en route to Beck Head but, after our
long delay at the hut, I decided to be less demanding of my
colleagues. Instead, I took us along the contour below Boat
How Crags.
There was, however, no way to avoid the rough, steep
slope of great boulders on the northwest flank of Great Gable.
Here, unfortunately, the cloud settled in, making it difficult to
determine the way ahead. I kept the team closely together. This was not terrain in
which to let anyone get lost, or to have to search for them.
We paused at the top of Great Gable to pay our respects
to those named on the plaque as having died in the 1914-18 war. A ceremony every November does likewise. It felt
incumbent upon me to lead a small service and, taking Genesis
22 as my text, I extemporised a sermon about Abraham taking
his son up a mountain in Moriah for a burnt offering.
Other hardy souls arrived at the top and they too
gathered around. As the fate of Abraham’s son seemed
to depress them, I moved on to Exodus 3, where Moses is
entreated by God to climb the mountain over and over. This
prospect did not enthrall the assembled throng much either.
So, with the congregation now nearing a hundred or so, I
turned to Luke 9, where Jesus and his disciples take to the
mountain. “While he thus spake, there came a cloud, and
overshadowed them: and they feared as they entered the
cloud.” This, at last, they could relate to, and thus uplifted the
multitude dispersed.
... Green Gable ...
We solemnly made our way down the remains of the path
towards Windy Gap and up Green Gable, the insignificant
sibling of Great Gable. Again, the top was in cloud and as we
wandered about trying to locate the topmost point, a strange
vision appeared before us.
A young couple, clad only in sandals, shorts and tee-shirts, emerged
from the mist. They seemed in high spirits,
oblivious of the wet clouds scuttling past them. I couldn’t at
first understand a word they said but with Harry’s careful
interpretation it turned out that they were asking if this was
Great Gable.
I do despair, sometimes. I have no time for those who set
out to walk in the Lake District completely unprepared for
the difficulties that they may face. And when they don’t even
know where they are, I give up.
Harry, however, took them under his wing. He asked to
see their map, presumably so that he could point out where
they actually were. I was no longer taking any interest but I
saw that they produced from a pocket a scrappy piece of paper
with only a few tops marked and some dotted lines between
them, with no indication of contours, cliffs or anything else.
They did not know what a compass was, let alone possess one.
With great solicitude, Harry explained where they had
arrived and elucidated from them where they hoped to go -
on up to Great Gable, down the treacherous ridge that we had
struggled up, and then along Moses Trod back to Honister.
He also discovered that they were from Holland, which
may explain their limited knowledge of mountain walking.
And that they were on honeymoon, which may explain their
limited interest in anything except one another.
Harry, fearful that their marriage, or even themselves,
might not survive an expedition up Great Gable in these
conditions, wearing so little, began to describe the fearsome,
dangerous mountain ahead of them. They couldn’t see the
mountain, of course, but could only listen in astonishment at
the alarming ordeal ahead of them, as described in the most
vivid, eloquent fashion by Harry.
After several minutes of this, they began to think, as
Harry intended, that perhaps it would be better if they
returned safely the way that they had come. Once they had
persuaded themselves, Harry gallantly volunteered to escort
them back.
The others were also, by this stage, becoming quite fond of
these foolish Dutch youngsters. Richard said that he’d go along
with them too, ostensibly to keep Harry company. Thomas
seemed about to join them but he thought better of it once I
made it clear that the maps stayed with me.
If others chose to depart from my ordained route without
permission that is up to them. It is not my responsibility to
look after all the waifs and strays that one encounters on the
Lake District hills. I’d feel like the Pied Piper of Hamelin if that
were the case.
Thomas and I walked down to Seathwaite in silence,
entranced by the transitory glimpses of sun in the valley.
Predictably, the others were late to meet us in Seatoller,
having become lost on Brandreth.
Photos:
Buttermere.
The Great Gable memorial service.
Comments:
• While I do understand your despair at the foolhardiness of
some fell-walkers I think we need to remember that we were all, I believe, young once.
Who didn't in their youth walk up the Old Man in sandals and shorts or become stuck through being too
bold on Helm Crag? Young folk don't have the money for proper boots and
walking gear. They can't spend a fortune when they might find they don't even like fell-walking.
Harry has the right approach. Try to encourage the youngsters onto a sensible path.
• That was a most uplifting sermon. I had forgotten that
Jesus and his disciples were mountain-walkers. I have re-read Luke 9 to see if Jesus has
any useful advice for us fell-walkers. He writes "Take nothing for your journey, neither staves,
nor scrip, neither bread, neither money; neither have two coats apiece".
Perhaps the Dutch youngsters were following this advice.
Ramblings
Saunterings
© John Self, Drakkar Press, 2024-
Top photo: Rainbow over Kisdon in Swaledale;
Bottom photo: Ullswater