A clear blue sky bodes well. Chatting with a National Trust chap over a breakfast pastry, he convinces me to take the less popular route up Scafell Pike via the River Esk. It means a longer hike and I’d rather not carry a full backpack, but I’m heading north to a new campsite.
There are only two vehicles in the small car park at Wha House Farm, so it looks like I’ll have the path to myself despite it being a sunny Saturday. There are probably hundreds ascending the main route from Wasdale, hidden on the other side of the mountains.
Despite the rapid ascent, hiking is easier than the bog-fest yesterday. Perhaps I should have worn a t-shirt in this fine weather.
As if to punish my lack of respect, the weather changes abruptly, icy rain sweeping in from the east. Grabbing my waterproofs, I hunker down in a gully, the slope shielding me from the worst of the freezing wind. Maybe today will be more challenging than I thought.
I’ve got a bad habit of not checking my map when there’s only one path and the route seems obvious. Why am I already so far away from the river and the valley floor?
Because I’m a fool. I’ve taken the wrong path, heading for Slight Side, which means climbing both Scafell and Scafell Pike, with a challenging section in between, making the day considerably longer and harder. Too late to turn back now.
Approaching the summit of Scafell, the cloud rolls in, so there are no views when I get to the top.
Deciding how to descend out of the cloud, a father and son appear, having scrambled up Lord’s Rake. We are heading in the same direction, although they are twice my speed, moving swiftly down the steep scree to Foxes Tarn. After the tarn, there’s a scramble down a gully, a stream flowing over the boulders. Packing away my hiking poles, I work my way down slowly, sliding down over the slippiest sections.
There’s a lovely view down the valley, before turning for the steep climb up to Mickledore.
Arriving at the top of the ridge, next to the rescue post, I’m flagging. The climb to the peak of Scafell Pike lies to my right and the path down to Wasdale to my left. It’s 3 pm and I’ve another five miles to the campsite after I complete the descent. The weather is not kind. I’ve come so close but reluctantly decide to head down. Then people start to appear, coming off the summit. I pause and check the map again. I’ll be joining the main path, energised by people around me and nothing can compare to the section from Scafell. My body feels fine. It’s all in the mind. I check the map for the third time. What the hell — onwards.
The rock-strewn summit at 3,209 feet is cloudy and busy. Feeling content, pleased to have overcome my wobble at Mickledore, I sit down behind the wall, sheltered from the wind, grab some food and watch the celebrations. One chap is drinking Guinness from a pint glass. A large group assembles before a camera on a tripod. I should have brought a miniature whisky to celebrate day 200 of my coastal walk. That will have to wait until the pub if I make it before closing time.
The descent takes longer than expected, stepping carefully over wet stones. Reaching the bottom, others are just starting their ascent, some under-prepared for the cold wind and rain at the top. One woman is clutching a transparent plastic umbrella, wearing only a fleecy. Good luck with that.
Two mountain rescue vehicles are parked in the valley, teams heading up. They’ll be busy.
The Screes of Wast Water, the deepest lake in England, are gorgeous in the setting sun. What a view for the wild campers pitched down by the water. Why did I book a campsite several miles away? Strangely, there’s a large tent with smoke coming out despite a National Trust van parked just down the road. A blind eye?
After a final look back to Wasdale Head, the light fades, passing into darkness under a canopy of trees, and my head torch comes out, with only the hooting of owls for company.
The owner of Church Stile Farm campsite in Nether Wasdale is friendly and welcoming despite my late arrival. I pitch quickly, chat to a Japanese guy in the only other tent and dash down to the nearby Strands Inn, who kindly allow me a main course even though the kitchens are closing. A beer has never tasted so good.
Walking back to my tent, the sky is so clear and the stars sparkle — so many. I stand and gaze for a while. It’s been a challenging day but a wonderful way to celebrate day 200 of my coastal walk.
Walk distance: 15 miles.
Total distance: 3,396 miles.
Congratulations on your milestone! Nowhere so beautiful as the Lakes.
Thanks Anabel. I never tire of them. There is always something new to see.
Well done Tony. I’ve walked to the summit of Snowdon and Ben Nevis but never Scafell. I must put that right!
Thanks Jon. Ben Nevis will feature on my Scotland journey, weather permitting!