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.
8. Misadventures on the Fells: Blencathra
... Threlkeld ...
Over breakfast, I informed the team that today’s walk would
be to Keswick, only four miles away. I then added that we would not
be walking direct to Keswick but would take a detour over
Blencathra and Skiddaw, adding about ten miles and plenty of
hills.
These comments led to a minor mutiny in the ranks as
we set off from Threlkeld. I had assumed that they would
relish the opportunity to walk carefree on the fells, safe in the
knowledge that they were under expert guidance. But no,
they wanted to study the maps themselves to see where they
were going and to help make decisions about the route. Well, if
that was their attitude, I would leave it to them. I handed the
map to Richard, muttering only “Blencathra and Skiddaw”.
... Saddleback or Blencathra ...
Richard walked along studying the map intently. He suddenly
stopped and said “The Ordnance Survey has got this wrong”.
The Ordnance Survey never gets anything wrong but I
thought that I had better humour him, as he was such a novice
at map-reading. “Where?” I asked.
“Here” he said, pointing at Blencathra.
I looked. “Seems fine to me” I said. “What’s the
problem?”
“Well, it says ‘Saddleback or Blencathra’” he said.
“Yes, I know. It is Saddleback or Blencathra. Some people
call it Saddleback, others call it Blencathra. Perhaps some
people call it Saddleback one day and Blencathra another.
Or maybe it’s called Saddleback if viewed from the east and
Blencathra from the west. A bit like the ‘morning star’ and
the ‘evening star’ - same thing, different names”.
“No, you’ve missed the point. The map says it’s called
‘Saddleback or Blencathra’”.
I was beginning to feel rather exasperated. “It is
Saddleback or Blencathra” I sighed.
“Look” said Richard “the book I am reading is called ‘Hell
or High Water’. Don’t you see?”
“No, I’m afraid not”.
“Well, what’s the name of the book I’m reading?”
“Hell or High Water. You just said so”.
“There are you then. You didn’t say Hell. And you didn’t
say High Water. You didn’t think that the name was one or the other”.
“That’s different” I said, uncertainly.
“No, it isn’t” said Richard. “Look at the map. It says
‘Saddleback or Blencathra’.
Here, see, the font of the ‘or’ is exactly the same as that of the
‘Saddleback’ and the ‘Blencathra’. If the ‘or’ is not part of the
name and it is supposed to indicate alternative names they
should have used a different font for the ‘or’”.
I was greatly relieved that we had sorted that out. I could
see that Richard was quite agitated by the whole business,
because he so likes things to be exactly right. I teased him a
little by asking “In that case is the question ‘to be?’ or ‘not to
be?’ or ‘to be or not to be?’?”. He couldn’t see my punctuation
and was flummoxed. But I didn’t want to let it rest. After all,
he had taken my map.
“Does a name matter that much, anyway?” I asked.
“Harry here doesn’t mind everybody not using his real name.
Do you, Harry?”
“Actually, I mind that one person, my mother, does use
my real name. I was named Harold at a time when everyone
with that name became Prime Minister. I think she still hopes
that if she keeps calling me Harold then I am bound to become
Prime Minister too”.
“There you are. Names are no big deal, Dick”.
“I am not and never will be a Dick” said Richard. And he
stormed off towards Sharp Edge.
... Sharp Edge ...
Sharp Edge is not a place to be tackled in a temper. So we
called him back to have a snack break, to let equilibrium be
restored. When our balance had been regained, we set out for
the fearsome ridge. We were just about on it when Thomas
mumbled “Nobody has ever called me Tom”.
I could have pushed him off the edge for bringing all that
up again. People ‘fall’ off Sharp Edge all the time, for much
less. “Even Tommy would do” he added. “But I’ve always
been Thomas. Even at school. I suppose people think I’m too
serious to be a Tom. Tom is always a frivolous fellow: Tom and
Jerry, Tom Thumb, Tom Tiddler, and so on. But Thomas is a
man of importance: Jefferson, Edison, More, Becket, Hardy,
Mann. You wouldn’t call any of those Tom. I suppose it’s a
compliment really that people call me Thomas”.
“What about Thomas the Tank Engine?” I said. “But
you’re quite right. From now on I will call you Tom”. He didn’t
know what to make of that and went on in silence.
We focussed on Sharp Edge, as you need to do, and at the
end of the nerve-wracking ridge swung left to the Blencathra
summit. There was a fine view in all directions, with patches
of sunlight picking out highlights through a few dark clouds.
Far distant to the west was our next objective, Skiddaw,
to which we boldly set off across Mungrisdale Common, as
unappealing as its name.
We walked in determined silence for about an hour and
then, without warning, a few large drops of rain fell. Within
seconds, many large drops of rain were falling. We were soon
in a deluge that simulated the conditions of a test laboratory
for a manufacturer of waterproof gear. My outfit soon failed
the test, as did that of the others, judging by the oaths.
Actually, I don’t mind being wet while I’m walking. It’s
the process of becoming wet that I don’t like - that stage
when my optimism that the rain will be keep out begins to
feel misplaced; when patches of dampness creep in around the
neck, the arms, the back, soon turning into little rivulets. Once
the battle is lost, I can splash along regardless in deep puddles
and, as the water trapped within begins to warm up, it even
becomes a little pleasurable.
... Skiddaw House ...
The slightly soggy peat of Mungrisdale Common soon turned
into deep boggy pools, submerging all traces of a path. We
floundered along, in the downpour, heading for Skiddaw
House, which was dimly perceivable ahead, where we hoped to
find shelter from the cloudburst.
As we at last squelched towards the house I noticed (as I
imagine those facing execution notice incongruous, irrelevant
details) what a strange building it was to come across in such
a location, miles from anywhere: four chimneys, three doors
and eleven odd windows, the walls rendered like a suburban
terrace, the whole thing semi-circled by conifers. But no
porch to shelter in. We peered in the windows. Nobody about.
Skiddaw House is run by a trust as a youth hostel and perhaps
it is run in the old-fashioned way, with everybody turfed out
after the morning jobs.
We wandered around the back. Here we found a sort of
shelter and, with some relief, piled in. We fell upon about a
dozen other walkers already taking shelter. Harry soon knew
who they all were.
Steaming wet walking gear has a most unpleasant smell.
Overcome with nauseous claustrophobia, I had to escape. I
persuaded the others that there was no advantage in staying
there. Even though it was still pelting down, we could not get
any wetter. All that would be achieved by staying was that
the quagmires would become even quaggier.
... Keswick ...
So Harry said his farewells and we trudged off up Sale
How. The walk up Skiddaw and down to Keswick was a
silent nightmare, silent, that is, apart from the rattling rain.
Inevitably, they got lost a few times.
Photos:
Saddleback or Blencathra.
Skiddaw House.
Comments:
• Was it wise to let your novice friends decide
the way up Blencathra? Would you have taken them up Sharp Edge? Surely, the
path up Scales Fell would have been safer. Still, no harm done, it seems.
• I think Richard has a point about Saddleback or Blencathra.
The Ordnance Survey should be more careful with its alternatives.
Between Garsdale and Dentdale there's a hill that is marked
‘Will's Hill or Peggy's Hill’. What are we supposed to make of that?
Is it either or both? At the least we are led to wonder about
Will and Peggy. Were they husband and wife? Did they have an
argument over this hill? It's hardly a hill to squabble over.
In fact, it's more of a bog than a hill.
Ramblings
Saunterings
© John Self, Drakkar Press, 2024-
Top photo: Rainbow over Kisdon in Swaledale;
Bottom photo: Ullswater