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.
26. Misadventures on the Fells: Scafell Pike
... Seatoller ...
This, we knew, would be a day to savour! - the kind of Lake
District day that we dream about. Not only would we climb to
the highest point of England but, as we set off from Seatoller,
we could see that we would be blessed with one of those bright,
perfectly clear days that we always hope for but are rarely
given.
Rather than tramp along the familiar valley through
Seathwaite, I led the team up through the wood and on to
Thornythwaite Fell. Seathwaite is the wettest inhabited place
in England (140 inches a year) but I had no fear of rain on
such a day. I just felt that the sooner we were on the tops and
able to enjoy the fabulous views the happier we would be. And
so it proved.
... Glaramara ...
Glaramara is described as a long, sprawling,
heavy, plum-coloured hump in the Herries Chronicles of Hugh Walpole. But
the name is irresistible. It is a mountain that just has to be
climbed.
We paused at the higher of the two summits of Glaramara
to take in the view, perhaps the best from any Lake District
top, with its central position and relatively modest height
providing a 360-degree panorama of higher fells: to the east,
the Helvellyn ridge, with High Street in the distance; to the
north, Derwentwater with Skiddaw and Blencathra beyond;
to the west, a fine prospect of Green Gable and Great Gable.
Then our eyes turned south to
Coniston Old Man, Crinkle Crags, Bowfell. But could we see
our main target for today, Scafell Pike? We didn’t argue - but
we couldn’t agree. It seemed to me that the great buttresses
of Ill Crag and Great End obscured the very top of Scafell Pike
but it was hard to be sure.
So, although it would have been very pleasant to stay
a few hours debating the matter and absorbing the multi-faceted view in all its glory,
we set off to investigate. We
walked south along one of the most delightful ridges in the
Lake District, with a succession of neat little tarns tucked
into grassy depressions below minor stony peaks, all the while
surrounded by the evolving panorama.
We paused again when we reached the summit of Allen
Crags, still entranced by the views. Helvellyn, Skiddaw and
Great Gable could still be seen, the last boldly portrayed behind
the most attractively-named Lakeland tarn, Sprinkling Tarn.
The visibility was so good that it was easy to pick out on the
flank of Great Gable the silhouette of the famous Napes Needle.
To the south and west the forbidding prospects of Great
End and Ill Crag confronted us, now undoubtedly obscuring the
Scafell Pike peak. We lingered for quite a while at the Allen
Crags haven as we surveyed below us a series of walkers toiling
up the thoroughfare towards Esk Hause and on to Scafell Pike.
... Scafell Pike ...
Eventually, we accepted that it was time for us to do the same.
We scrambled down the southern slope and up to Esk Hause,
one of the busiest crossroads in the Lake District. Following the
multitude heading south-west, we skirted Ill Crag, where at
last the summit of Scafell Pike came definitely into view, still
some distance away but, on a day such as this, presenting little
difficulty.
I briefly delayed the exhilaration of conquering England’s
highest summit by leading the team off the standard route to
cross the rough jumble of rocks on Broad Crag in order to take
in the view, which could never be better than it was today,
from a northern perch, looking across to Great Gable.
Now, the climactic moment could be postponed no longer.
We jubilantly reached the huge circular cairn that makes the
highest point of England yet higher. Needless to say, the view
was all-encompassing. We looked down upon previously-majestic heights.
So, this unforgettable day was all but over. It was all
downhill from here. We headed towards Lingmell and down
by Lingmell Gill to Wasdale, content that, whatever adventures
the days ahead held, the walk to Scafell Pike had been
perfection.
... Wasdale Head ...
After a convivial repast at Wasdale Head I expected to sleep
the sleep of the fully contented. But it was not to be. I was
tormented by a dreadful nightmare. I dreamt that I was
awoken by a fearful wailing and shouting outside.
In my dream, I gave up trying to sleep through this
terrible noise and peered out of the window. It was a clear,
cloudless, moonlit night but I could see nothing, at first. But
then I made out a light moving on the slopes of Scafell Pike,
and then several of them, some moving up, some down. And
over on Lingmell I could see yet more lights moving about, all
to the accompaniment of diabolical yelling.
What was going on? Why were so many people up on the
hills at night? Was it a search party? Had there been some
catastrophe on the fells? Had a plane crashed perhaps?
In the dream I felt compelled to awaken my colleagues.
We surely needed to do something to help. My team could
make no sense of it either but, on balance, preferred to
return to bed. I would not let them, however, and dragged
them along to awaken the hotel owner to call the emergency
services.
He had the briefest glance out of the window, and said
“*!!*%£!* three-peakers”. Harry realised what he meant. It
seems that every night of summer people attempt to raise
money for charity by climbing the three peaks (Ben Nevis,
Scafell Pike, Snowdon) within 24 hours. Being the middle of
the three, Scafell Pike is usually tackled at night.
“It shouldn’t be allowed” I said “making such a racket in
the middle of the night. Selfish buggers.”
“But it’s in a good cause” Harry replied. “They’re doing
nobody any harm. It’s a tough challenge they’ve taken on.”
I tossed and turned in my bed as I argued this out with
Harry. During this nightmare Harry made the startling
revelation that he himself was, in fact, using our
Lake District expeditions as sponsored walks.
What a liberty! How could Harry let me put all the work
into arranging these walks and then secretly support a charity
that I might not even approve of. Richard and Thomas were
none too happy either.
It is strange how a dream can make sense of odd events
during the day. It explained why Harry ‘hopped behind a rock’
every few hundred yards. He was not responding to excessively
frequent calls of nature. He was creating calls of his own,
‘tweets’ I believe they’re called, to his many ‘followers’.
He had thousands of them, he said. They were tracking
his progress on the fells, literally in many cases, it seemed,
judging from all the apparent friends we met. So that’s why
he wore such a uniquely colourful outfit - in order to be easily
recognisable. He even admitted that in his tweets he refers to
me as ‘mein führer’.
In real life I am, of course, a man of the most equable
temperament. I cannot understand those people who, at the
mildest - or even the severest - provocation, resort to violence.
There is no disagreement that cannot be resolved by reasonable
discussion, I always say. But in a dream our inhibitions are
loosened. Mine are, at least. I punched Harry. Hard. On the
nose. Twice.
At all events, that is how I remembered the dream when I
awoke too early after an unpleasantly fitful night’s sleep.
...
We were surprisingly quiet at breakfast, considering that we
had just enjoyed a mountain walking day that could not be
surpassed. Perhaps that was the problem.
Harry was late joining us for breakfast, and when he did
so he was strangely taciturn. He averted his gaze from us.
When, at last, I managed to catch his eye I saw that his nose
was badly bruised.
I looked at Richard; Richard looked at Thomas; Thomas
looked at me. We all looked at Harry. Nobody said anything.
Could it be? Surely not. But things were beginning to make
sense. As the realisation sank in, I felt the urge to punch
his nose again but this was no longer a dream. Instead, I
continued not to speak to him.
Photos:
Scafell Pike cairn. The rest of the crowd there did not admire the
view but spent their time consulting their technology to check that
they were indeed on the top of Scafell Pike.
Wasdale Head Inn.
Ramblings
Saunterings
© John Self, Drakkar Press, 2024-
Top photo: Rainbow over Kisdon in Swaledale;
Bottom photo: Ullswater