Nice walk that becomes (yet another!) Epic!

I really don’t know how I seem to manage this, but practically every walk I do in the fells, ends up as a ‘madmicky adventure’.

Yesterday was Fell walk Tuesday. A day when, as the title suggests, I aim to get a weekly fell walk under the belt. I had also decided to have a no-screens detox for 36 hours from Monday night. So this meant, no phone or laptop. Not even for a single minute.

Sometimes, I’ll take an old phone that has maps on it, so I can GPS lock if need be. But not today. No – this was NO screens! Even to the extent of wearing my Swiss Army watch instead of the digital, Casio one!

My usual lazy option is to just head for Clough Head or Belncathra, two fells that wave at each other from across opposing sides of the A66 to Keswick. Standing at 726m and 868m in height, you may well question my description of ‘a lazy option’ But, at barely 20 mins or so from the house, the ease of access is sublime. An even easier/lazier choice, is a Pennine walk 4 miles from the front door.

However, I have noticed that I’m a little ignorant to many beautiful areas of the Lakes, fells that I’ve yet to visit and the Buttermere area is one such pocket of lovely Lakeland. The ‘Wainwrights’ are of little interest to me and I’ve zero intention of ever completing them. That being said, I must have done around 100 or so over the last 30 years and its nice to add some new ones to my non-existent ‘list’.

Buttermere was the destination. No plan. I decided to skip breakfast and instead, enjoy a bacon and sausage sandwich and a cuppa, rustled up on my trusty Trangia on a fell somewhere. After I left Cranstons with my top quality bangers and bacon, I scoffed down the Dinky pork pie (that’s its name and its size is as it sounds) and the two cakes I had bought never survived the journey to Keswick!

Taking with me, the Wainwright guide book for the area (Hey! Just because I said I’d no interest in COMPLETING them, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the guide books lovingly written and illustrated by old Alfred) I decided upon Whiteless Pike, Wandope and maybe leave it at that. With the obligatory Breakfast butty of course.
Parking at the foot of Newlands Pass, I tied the laces on my Scarpa boots and headed off at around 3pm. Now, When I said – I’d skipped breakfast, I had literally fasted several hours before that Dinky pie made its mark!
I always prefer setting off later in the day, especially in offseason and you invariably get the entire fells to yourself. In recent times I’ve had a 3 hour solo walk on Christmas day across the tops, crunched over snowy summits and witnessed picture postcard sunsets without seeing a single other person on my hikes.

Today was of no exception. Filling up my bottles from the first stream I passed, I realised just how thirsty I was and in fact, didn’t feel too great. A bit of a throat and a little achey in the jointy’s.
No matter. A pretty quick ascent of Whiteless Pike ensued, with fine views to Crummock Water and beyond to the west coast. The slightly higher summit of Wandope stood 100m higher in elevation at 772m. By the time I reached the top I was in the mist.

Then it started.

Unlike the last ‘adventure’ that neither my friend Les, nor I will care to forget, I had remembered the map this time. That other occasion I relied upon my phone mapping…. then it died. Permanently – Due to moisture ingress. I know how to read a map and use my compass, so I knew I’d be reet. My intention was to walk further along the summit range and ridges then pick a path off to my right and descend down to a path that runs parallel to Sail Beck. Stove out, tea and sandwiches ahoy! By this stage the westerly wind had really picked up and there was no sign of the mist lifting at all. Reaching a summit trig point I quickly established that I was at Eel Crag (Crag Hill on ordnance maps) a height of 839m. A little further than I’d intended for the day, but not to worry – I’d commence my descent soon.

Goodness knows where my furthest most point was, but my guestimation was Scar Crags and almost as far afield as Causey Pike but I’m damned if I could spot ANYTHING that looked even remotely like a path down to the valley bottom. Maybe I’ll spot the path down from the other direction I thought. This often happens. A different angle of view can reveal things that appeared to be previously hidden from sight. Nahhhh. Nothing. Ah well. Crag Hill AGAIN then. Back to the trig point and dusk is well and truly upon me. But I can see just fine.

Then came the mistake. By following the large stacks of cairns I was taking the more central path across the plateau rather than the smaller path that had hugged the edge of the steep sided drop to whatever lay below. Thus, when I got to an unfamiliar crossroads of paths, I took the path which I THOUGHT led to the top of Wandope. No – this wasn’t correct. I climbed and climbed with no sight of of the top. Then its inky outline finally loomed into view through the mist. Grasmoor! The loftiest summit in this part of the Lakes and at 852m, the 20th highest peak in the Lakes. But no, wait, there’s a stone shelter. I recognised this from the summit of Wandope. I WAS right after all. My navigating is genius. It didn’t take long before I realised this was utter nonsense. I was definitely on top of the long plateu’d Grasmoor but by continuing in a westerly direction I ran out of visible paths to descend it and it was now what most would describe as ‘Dark’

Sod it – I need off here. NOW.

I picked a steep route down which quickly became what must be one of the longest scree descents Ive ever taken. I could find no better alternative. Now mercifully below mist level and dancing my way down the loose scree, with a little ounce of caution to my step I could spot a bigger slope to my left – looking at the map today, I have established that it was most likely ‘Red Gill’

 Described by Wainwright in his guide book – “Red Gill is a quick and safe way down to Crummock Water….Grasmoor End leads only to trouble”
I was nearer to the ‘troubling’ descent than a ‘quick and safe way down’ in darkness too. But hey – I could still see just fine, and it wasn’t cold, nor was it raining. Just windy and I felt rotten.

Fed up of my boots being stone collectors I stopped and emptied them and switched tact to cut across country. This would make for a quicker route down to the road as I could see the headlights of the odd car below. Beyond the road it was easy to make out the black shape of Buttermere or Crummock Water and in other direction, the distant lights of Whitehaven or Workington. At least I was descending in the right direction and not into some unknown valley.

By Switching from scree to the steep, craggy, slopes of heather and bracken, my descent became painfully slow. It reminded me of when my daughter and me did Ben Hope a few years ago. The most northerly of the Munro’s. We descended a cliff in darkness that summers day, holding on to whatever foliage we could get a grip of. We agreed to never speak of that day.

Thoughts crossed my mind. The usual ones. What if I have an accident? What if I twist an ankle or plummet off something? How embarrassing would it be if Mountain Rescue need called out? Etc etc.
Rubbish! I knew I’d be fine. I had spare clothes, first aid kit, a bivvy bag and, most importantly – the most amazing ingredients for a sandwich EVER. I was getting tired now. I relented, the headtorch came out. Yes folks, all this time, I HAD a headtorch, I had just declined it as an option.

Onwards. Every single step down is a step closer to getting back to the car. I stumble upon a rocky gulley. Dry, but with a couple of low growing trees blocking a clear path. Removing my bag I clambered under them and the steepness of the gulley made for a quicker path down.

Finally, my feet touched tarmac again. Headtorch turned off and a silent march back commenced. I observed a couple of wheezing divers emerge out of the depths of the lake. Lit up like Christmas trees, they looked like something from the film The Abyss. But nothing else kept my mind occupied other than – where the hell IS Buttermere?? Nearly 2 and a half miles later I finally got back to the car. Shattered. Ten miles of walking. Upon reaching home, I lit the fire, put the heating on and…. made the most amazing sausage and bacon butty EVER!

Boy did I suffer today. This ranks amongst one of the toughest days since that 177 mile, Day 4 ride on Lands End – John O groats last year. When all you are focused on is – Just getting home!

Asides from emptying my stone ridden boots, I never stopped once. No pauses, no panicky moments or complaints. Every single step – gets you to your goal. And this is life. As long as you know where you want to end up in life – you’ll get there, one step after another. Its not meant to be easy. And the journey toughens you for it. The self belief that you are on the right track or thereabouts, the strength of your convictions – pulls you through. We keep marching on. One step at a time.

That was a bloody good sandwich by the way!