My task, given to me by Charity Challenge, was to meet a small group of people from WS Smith who were doing the National Three Peaks 24-Hour Challenge, get them to the summit of Snowdon via the PYG Track by 2pm, then bring them down via the Llanberis Path and deliver them to the Victoria Hotel -- a simple task, one might think, but first I had to meet them, with an uncertain arrival time, and not knowing them from any of the other groups of people milling around at Pen-y-Pass that morning.
Early indications during the night were that my group would arrive at Pen-y-Pass at about eight o'clock, which meant that I could not go to Pete's Eats for breakfast, so I made my way to the Victoria Hotel, where I had a good but much more expensive breakfast (disturbed by piped radio -- ugh!) early enough for me to catch the bus which would deliver me to Pen-y-Pass before eight o'clock.
When I arrived I had a quick check round the car park to make sure none of the small groups already there were mine. One group that I approached turned out to be German hikers, and they invited me to join them, which was sweet of them. Then I took to checking each group of new arrivals, but none of them was mine, and I was getting colder and colder waiting around, so I had to layer up. Around this time, between about eight c'clock and about nine o'clock, visibility was poor, with the cloud obscuring the rising ground immediately behind the car park.
Eventually one of my colleagues, Andy Ross, turned up: he been able to delay his arrival based on updated information about the groups' likely arrival time, but I was already on my way when it had come through. We kept each other company until our groups arrived simultaneously.
The cloud base was lifting, and the wind was dropping, and there was the promise of fine day ahead.
Andy and his group headed off about three minutes ahead of me, and after the members of my group had nipped to the loo, adjusted their layers, and gulped something to drink, we headed off. Considering they had been up and down Ben Nevis, up and down Scafell Pike, stuffed into a minibus and driven hundreds of miles, and without of wink of proper sleep for the previous twenty one hours at least, they were in remarkably good shape. We made good progress along the PYG Track, with the group sticking together well without me having to remind them to do so, and the mood was light.
As we passed Bwlch y Moch and started along the great flank of Crib Goch and Garnedd Ugain, we were rewarded with rare, remarkable and inspiring views of the ridge to our right and of the valley, lakes, and mountains beyond to our left, for miles and miles, and in great clarity. The path ahead could be seen in great detail all the way to the standing stone at Blwych Glas except where it tucks out of sight above Glaslyn, which I had not experienced for at least ten years. It certainly made it easier telling the group where were going, what the terrain was like, and how long it was probably going to take -- much better than waving into the impenetrable fog and declaring gnomically "up there".
There was a steady stream of people making their way along Crib Goch high above us, including two people, one of them quite nervous, whom I had met on the bus.
We powered on at a good pace, working our way past the many hundreds of slower walkers and past the early birds already coming down, pausing infrequently to drink and eat but, it seemed, never to catch our breath, which was good. Our last pause was just before Blwych Glas, a chance to layer up for the expected strong winds on the ridge.
Just before the summit, the two people I had met on the bus who were doing Crib Goch passed me coming down: we had a quick chat and I congratulated the one who had been nervous on her achievement.
We reached the summit at 1-02 pm, which was 58 minutes before the 24-hour deadline, and that without me forcing the pace or anything grim like that. We queued for ages to climb onto the cairn to reach the summit marker, but fortunately it was not windy or cold there. I stayed down to take photographs. Then we repaired to the café, were I crammed down two cheese pasties, which was very satisfying, but had potentially very embarrassing consequences later, the details of which I will spare you, dear reader.
I had been hoping that the descent, for which we had bags of time, could be a leisurely affair, so that we could take advantage of the astonishing views and take time really to enjoy the surroundings. However, the accumulated tiredness of their adventure had finally caught up with the participants, and with their main objective achieved, there was a desire (particularly in one member of the group) to make a swift descent and reach the Victoria Hotel early.
The descent was uneventful: nobody had locking-up knees, and morale was good. I took them through Coed Victoria rather then along Victoria Terrace -- the woodland route is prettier, quicker, and gentle on tired feet and legs. We arrived at the Victoria Hotel well ahead of schedule, and I bade the group farewell. They had all done very well.
Sunday, 18 September 2016
ridge walk to Clogwyn Station, 16th September 2016
I had spend the night before wild camping near the Afon Arddu, within sight of Hebron Station. I started out at about half past eight in the morning by heading to the Llanberis Path north east of Hebron Station, to follow a route I had wanted to investigate for several years: the ridge walk from Cwm Aelhir to Clogwyn Station.
This walk had intrigued me for many years, partly because of its promise of views down into the Vale of Llanberis to reciprocate the upwards views from the road, and partly because of the secretive way in which the route of the Snowdon Mountain Railway disappears from sight as one walks up the well-known Llanberis Path, only to re-appear stealthily from behind at Clogwyn Bridge: I wanted to visit those hidden sections of the railway route.
I walked up the Llanberis Path a short distance to 584586, where on the left (north east) there is a distinctive long crag running away to the north east, away from the Llanberis Path. This crag is shown on the 1:25,000 Ordnance Survey map by a sigmoidal inflection of the contours, and by a black line representing a field boundary, which is not as visible on the ground as the map suggests. I walked parallel to this crag until it petered out, and continued in the same general direction to the edge of the bowl centred at approximately 587598 which ends progress in that direction. I then made my way up to the right (south east), zig-zagging on the steep terrain as necessary, to Derlwyn (416m), my first objective of the day.
From Derlwyn I had fine views of the slope, the woodland, and the town beyond, and in the other direction, the next kilometre or so of my route. Although I can memorise a route by walking it, I am not good at memorising the next few minutes of an un-known route by studying the map, so I took advantage of being alone and not under pressure to practise that skill.
I also made use of some of the subtle details of the contouring to practice my micro-navigation. I was especially pleased to see the curve of the 390m contour at 59505840 marked on the ground by three sheep contentedly munching the tough mountain grass, enjoying perhaps some marginal advantage by being just a metre or so higher than the ground beyond their little low-rise promontory.
I continued on quite slowly, enjoying the views and enjoying just being there. At 595582 I felt sleepy and put my tent up for a cat nap, dodging a rainy squall while I slept, then I continued upwards towards Tryfan at 580m (the local "Little" Tryfan, not the mountain, obviously), where I enjoyed great views down into the valley.
I could hear a helicopter flying slowly about somewhere on the other side of the valley, and at first I assumed it was in the fog sitting on the Glyderau and perhaps carrying out a rescue, but when I looked more closely I saw that there was some kind of foot-path repairing activity going on, and the helicopter was actually lifting bags of stone from the roadside. Despite being shiny and not at all camouflaged, sometimes the helicopter disappeared against the background of the ground beyond it, leaving only the bag and its sling visible, apparently flying through the air as if by magic.
This walk had intrigued me for many years, partly because of its promise of views down into the Vale of Llanberis to reciprocate the upwards views from the road, and partly because of the secretive way in which the route of the Snowdon Mountain Railway disappears from sight as one walks up the well-known Llanberis Path, only to re-appear stealthily from behind at Clogwyn Bridge: I wanted to visit those hidden sections of the railway route.
I walked up the Llanberis Path a short distance to 584586, where on the left (north east) there is a distinctive long crag running away to the north east, away from the Llanberis Path. This crag is shown on the 1:25,000 Ordnance Survey map by a sigmoidal inflection of the contours, and by a black line representing a field boundary, which is not as visible on the ground as the map suggests. I walked parallel to this crag until it petered out, and continued in the same general direction to the edge of the bowl centred at approximately 587598 which ends progress in that direction. I then made my way up to the right (south east), zig-zagging on the steep terrain as necessary, to Derlwyn (416m), my first objective of the day.
From Derlwyn I had fine views of the slope, the woodland, and the town beyond, and in the other direction, the next kilometre or so of my route. Although I can memorise a route by walking it, I am not good at memorising the next few minutes of an un-known route by studying the map, so I took advantage of being alone and not under pressure to practise that skill.
I also made use of some of the subtle details of the contouring to practice my micro-navigation. I was especially pleased to see the curve of the 390m contour at 59505840 marked on the ground by three sheep contentedly munching the tough mountain grass, enjoying perhaps some marginal advantage by being just a metre or so higher than the ground beyond their little low-rise promontory.
I continued on quite slowly, enjoying the views and enjoying just being there. At 595582 I felt sleepy and put my tent up for a cat nap, dodging a rainy squall while I slept, then I continued upwards towards Tryfan at 580m (the local "Little" Tryfan, not the mountain, obviously), where I enjoyed great views down into the valley.
I could hear a helicopter flying slowly about somewhere on the other side of the valley, and at first I assumed it was in the fog sitting on the Glyderau and perhaps carrying out a rescue, but when I looked more closely I saw that there was some kind of foot-path repairing activity going on, and the helicopter was actually lifting bags of stone from the roadside. Despite being shiny and not at all camouflaged, sometimes the helicopter disappeared against the background of the ground beyond it, leaving only the bag and its sling visible, apparently flying through the air as if by magic.
I strolled on past Tryvan to my next objective, the elongated mound at 601574, represented by the 610-metre ring contour on the map, then to the hidden lands where the railway makes its secret way between Half Way station and Clogwyn Station. At the bend at Llechog a train went past while I was standing close to the rails, so I waved enthusiastically to the passengers, hoping to look like a mysterious hiker in the remote foggy reaches of their journey. I walked slowly along the ridge, stopping every few yards to look down the steep drop into the valley below, to the outcrop at 606572 (718m), then to Rocky Valley Station, at which trains no longer stop.
My last bit of micro-navigation practice was to find the feature on the ground at 607564 represented by the curving out of the contours. It proved easy to find and quite distinctive, and possible spot for wild camping on a windless night.
I walked on to Clogwyn Station (just over 770m), my final out-bound objective for the day, had a good look round, and headed to the campsite via the Llanberis Path and the route across the valley floor past Hebron Station. On the way down I stopped for a late lunch at the junction of the Llanberis Path and the less used path that leads to Llyn Du'r Arddu, putting up my tent just because I could, but having done so, enjoying the shelter from the breeze.
I was very pleased that my new rucksack could take all my stuff without being close to bursting and without becoming uncomfortable. It felt good to have spent the night out instead of making use of the comforts of a campsite, and I resolved to do more wild camping.
My last bit of micro-navigation practice was to find the feature on the ground at 607564 represented by the curving out of the contours. It proved easy to find and quite distinctive, and possible spot for wild camping on a windless night.
I walked on to Clogwyn Station (just over 770m), my final out-bound objective for the day, had a good look round, and headed to the campsite via the Llanberis Path and the route across the valley floor past Hebron Station. On the way down I stopped for a late lunch at the junction of the Llanberis Path and the less used path that leads to Llyn Du'r Arddu, putting up my tent just because I could, but having done so, enjoying the shelter from the breeze.
I was very pleased that my new rucksack could take all my stuff without being close to bursting and without becoming uncomfortable. It felt good to have spent the night out instead of making use of the comforts of a campsite, and I resolved to do more wild camping.
wild camping, night of 15th-16th September 2016
I had two days to myself in mid September before a piece of work on Snowdon, so I decided to go wild camping for one night and then do a day hike on a route that has intrigued me for many years, not a wildly adventurous route, but one that was interesting and often ignored.
This would be my first mini expedition with my shiny new Lowe Alpine AirZone Pro 35:45 rucksack, which had bought not for this kind of use, but for single-day (or single night) ML work. Because of this, I did a careful test loading at home, to make sure it would take everything without being full to bursting, which it did; the alternative would have been to use my 75-litre expedition rucksack, but it too big for single-day ML work, and I did not want to take too rucksacks with me in the car.
I parked at a friendly location in Llanberis where |I could leave my car for a few days, and made an estimate pf how much usable daylight there was left -- I wanted to have all my camping tasks finished without using my head torch to give away my position. I selected the nearest of a set of sites I had identified a few days earlier (by examining the map), all of them in Open Access land, and headed off in a jaunty mood on a fine late summer's evening up the valley of the Afon Arddu.
I arrived at the site, checked that it was actually suitable, and quickly put up my tent. It is the tent-putting-up phase in which one is most vulnerable to discovery, I think, and even though I was doing nothing unlawful or wrong, I wanted to be discovered as little as possible. With the tent in place and providing a low-profile dark-green cover for my and my kit, I was then able to get on with the rest of the tasks of the evening, and spend some time just enjoying being there.
The spot I had chosen was magical. The air was clear and clean, and there were pin-sharp views of Clogwyn Du'r Arddu and the ridge which was my objective for the hike the next day, picked out in rich red tones from the setting sun against the crisp blue sky, and Moel Cynghorion in near silhouette to the right. I could see great lengths of the Snowdon mountain railway on the flanks of the ridge, and the lights of the signals at Hebron Station and Half Way Station, especially after sunset. In the background was the splash and murmur, and the occasional deep glug, of the rushing waters of the Afon Arddu.
Some runners went past on the footpath just 50m away, and I hid inside my tent, hoping not to be seen. A few minutes later, some mountain bikers rode past, and similarly, I ducked inside my tent so as not to be found.
As the dark was stealing over the land and the last train had made its way back to the engine shed, the signals at Hebron Station and Half Way Station went out, and I was left with the sounds of the river and of the leaves in the trees in the light wind. The river has seemed fairly quiet when it was still daylight, but now that it was nearly night and my hearing had become more acute, the gentle murmur seemed more like a sustained roar, and the and the occasional glug sounded as if someone were throwing large stones rocks into the pools just upstream of me.
Surrounded by all this beauty, and with my lovely tent, my cosy sleeping bag, and with a good meal inside me, I felt blissfully happy. I stayed awake a few more minutes looking around me, then slipped into my sleeping bag and slept well until just after dawn.
In the morning I had a freshen up, followed by a brew and a good hiking breakfast, then I packed up quickly and headed away from the river to complete my morning tasks. Unfortunately, the resin trowel I had bought (as part of a programme in the late Spring to lighten my kit) snapped as I was digging a cathole, which was inconvenient but could have been worse. I did manage to do what I had to do properly and hygienically, but it was a close call.
This would be my first mini expedition with my shiny new Lowe Alpine AirZone Pro 35:45 rucksack, which had bought not for this kind of use, but for single-day (or single night) ML work. Because of this, I did a careful test loading at home, to make sure it would take everything without being full to bursting, which it did; the alternative would have been to use my 75-litre expedition rucksack, but it too big for single-day ML work, and I did not want to take too rucksacks with me in the car.
I parked at a friendly location in Llanberis where |I could leave my car for a few days, and made an estimate pf how much usable daylight there was left -- I wanted to have all my camping tasks finished without using my head torch to give away my position. I selected the nearest of a set of sites I had identified a few days earlier (by examining the map), all of them in Open Access land, and headed off in a jaunty mood on a fine late summer's evening up the valley of the Afon Arddu.
I arrived at the site, checked that it was actually suitable, and quickly put up my tent. It is the tent-putting-up phase in which one is most vulnerable to discovery, I think, and even though I was doing nothing unlawful or wrong, I wanted to be discovered as little as possible. With the tent in place and providing a low-profile dark-green cover for my and my kit, I was then able to get on with the rest of the tasks of the evening, and spend some time just enjoying being there.
The spot I had chosen was magical. The air was clear and clean, and there were pin-sharp views of Clogwyn Du'r Arddu and the ridge which was my objective for the hike the next day, picked out in rich red tones from the setting sun against the crisp blue sky, and Moel Cynghorion in near silhouette to the right. I could see great lengths of the Snowdon mountain railway on the flanks of the ridge, and the lights of the signals at Hebron Station and Half Way Station, especially after sunset. In the background was the splash and murmur, and the occasional deep glug, of the rushing waters of the Afon Arddu.
Some runners went past on the footpath just 50m away, and I hid inside my tent, hoping not to be seen. A few minutes later, some mountain bikers rode past, and similarly, I ducked inside my tent so as not to be found.
As the dark was stealing over the land and the last train had made its way back to the engine shed, the signals at Hebron Station and Half Way Station went out, and I was left with the sounds of the river and of the leaves in the trees in the light wind. The river has seemed fairly quiet when it was still daylight, but now that it was nearly night and my hearing had become more acute, the gentle murmur seemed more like a sustained roar, and the and the occasional glug sounded as if someone were throwing large stones rocks into the pools just upstream of me.
Surrounded by all this beauty, and with my lovely tent, my cosy sleeping bag, and with a good meal inside me, I felt blissfully happy. I stayed awake a few more minutes looking around me, then slipped into my sleeping bag and slept well until just after dawn.
In the morning I had a freshen up, followed by a brew and a good hiking breakfast, then I packed up quickly and headed away from the river to complete my morning tasks. Unfortunately, the resin trowel I had bought (as part of a programme in the late Spring to lighten my kit) snapped as I was digging a cathole, which was inconvenient but could have been worse. I did manage to do what I had to do properly and hygienically, but it was a close call.
At that point I regarded the wild camping as over, and the day hike as starting, so the story continues in the subsequent entry of this blog.
Tuesday, 13 September 2016
Lakes Eight Peaks Challenge, 3rd September 2016
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| That's me on the left, in the woolly hat. |
The day started horribly early, as I needed time to cook and eat a hearty breakfast, drive from the youth hostel at Coniston Holly How to the Sticklebarn Inn in Great Langdale, and pick up my radio and lunch before meeting the participants.
The night before I had taken two veggie sausages out of the freezer and put them in the fridge to defrost, to reduce cooking time in the morning, but as I made my way to the kitchen, I remembered that frozen food must be cooked directly from frozen and not thawed first, so I had to consign the sausages to the bin rather than risk food poisoning on the mountains. Then I found that I had left all the other sausages out of the deep freeze overnight, so they had to be binned too. I hate wasting food, and I do not take kindly to having an emasculated breakfast. Grr!
The weather was worse than the day before, but after a group photograph we all set off from the car park behind the inn, separately in our groups a minute or two apart and not en masse. I led my group through the pasture beside the river, rather than ascending out of the car park to the Cumbria Way -- it is only a few meters up, but I wanted a gentle start for a long day.
Langdale was beautiful, with the vegetation dripping with the rain of the night before, and a fine display of clouds obscuring Bow Fell and Esk Pike, placing them in mysterious isolation high above us. The moraine at the end of the valley felt rather magical.
We ascended Rossett Gill, then continued straight on to Rossett Pike, the first of the eight peaks of the challenge. It wasn't quite as windy there as I had expected, but even so everyone was keen to get off the summit and press on with the walk. We made our way past Angle Tarn and through the moraine terrain at the top of Tongue Head, then up onto the col, to put us in sight of the check point at the cruciform shelter, but we pressed on to Allen Crags to bag the second of the eight peaks.
Back at the shelter we stopped for a break, to adjust layers and to eat, and to be counted by the event co-ordinator.
We left the shelter and made our way up to Esk Hause, then on through Calf Cove, the junction with the path to Great End, and then across the first boulder field, which I had not been looking forward to negotiating my way across. This was not because of navigation, as the route is well marked with cairns and in any case not too tricky, but because of the significant risk of someone (me or a participant) slipping and breaking an ankle or a leg, especially as the weather was wet and blustery, both of which make walking on boulder fields even more hazardous.
We negotiated the boulder field safely, but some of the participants really struggled, and by now some people were beginning to suffer from the wind and the rain.
As we headed down towards the col which lies between Broad Crag and Ill Crag, I felt the need to check our heading and rate of descent against the map, to make sure we were in the right place and going the right way. I got out my map and compass and started my checks, but while my face was buried in the map, the fog cleared and everyone else except me could see exactly where we were. A teasing yell from the ex-Army mountain expedition instructor at the back of my group (a participant, but a very handy person to have along) made me look up and saved me having to navigate the hard way.
We negotiated the second boulder field safely but with more difficulty than the first, then started on the ascent to Scafell Pike. In the cross wind as we left the little col and started to scramble up the shaly ridge, I suddenly felt that all was not well. I huddled the group into what shelter I could find and told them that I would not take the group up any higher. I made it clear that almost everyone was capable of reaching the summit, (which was only about 300m horizontal meters and 100 vertical meters away), but that about half the group would find the descent very difficult and really should be heading back to the warmth and shelter of Sticklebarn Inn. I didn't like saying this, especially as we were less than 20 minutes from bagging the third, and main, peak of the day, but about half of the group said that the agreed and wanted to be taken back straight away.
I felt bad for the other half of my group, but just at that moment another group from the same event came alongside: I had a quick word with one of their Mountain Leaders, who then took half my group to the summit and gave me half his group to take back. Between us, he and I had made the right decision for all involved, which was a huge relief for me, as I really did not want to disappoint the participants in my group who were up for carrying on, but I had to take the others off the mountain as a priority.
With my newly constituted group I headed back, offering them the opportunity to visit Ill Crag and then Broad Crag, but some of them were soaking wet, and almost all of them were getting cold, so there was no urge to leave the direct route back to Sticklebarn Inn.
At the end of the second (more northerly) boulder field we paused for food and to adjust layers. As we were leaving we met my colleague Verity and her group, who were doing the same as we were, so we formed one large group, with Verity at the front and me at the back, and the new double-size group between us.
We stayed together until the descent of Rossett Gill, but then it became painfully clear that the knees one of the participants were locking up, so I did what I do in such circumstances, and walked her down, at her own pace and in her own time. She was in a fair amount of pain and more distress, so I gave her plenty of support, reassurance, and encouragement, and eventually we reached the valley floor, where her condition eased substantially. We arrived at Sticklebarn Inn almost exactly twelve hours after we had started, which is a long time for anyone to be out in such conditions.
The participants who had set out with me and returned with Verity had reached only two of the eight peaks that day, but the weather conditions had been pretty vile, and under the circumstances, they had done well. The mountains won't go away, and they can walk the route another day. At least one group did complete the whole figure-of-eight circuit and descend via the Band, and I envied their Mountain Leaders for that, but I was content with the decision I had made. As one of my colleagues put it, "Some good decisions were made today."
I was offered a vegetarian curry, but it was all carbohydrate and I was craving some fat and protein, so I drove back to the hostel and scoffed a huge amount of egg and cheese on a plateful of potato waffles, which made me feel great.
After a blissful night's sleep, I headed home the next day.
For the record, the peaks to which I took participants were:
- Rossett Pike (650m)
- Allen Crags (785m)
and the point in which we turned around on Scafell Pike was at about 880m, on the approach from the north west.
Great End and Bow Fell, near Great Langdale, 2nd September 2016
This was the second of two reconnaissance trips for the Lakes Eight Peak Challenge the following day. In May, with my friend Emily, I had reconnoitred the section which includes Oxendale, Brown How, Crinkle Crags, Three Tarns and the Band, but I had still not walked the middle section, from Esk Hause to the Band.
I decided to include a quick reconnaissance of Great End, even though I had been there before, to be sure of being comfortable in fog, and to see if there is a safe route directly from the summit to Esk Hause without walking all the way back to the col to the south west.
After a deliberately slow start and a hearty cooked breakfast at the youth hostel at Coniston Holly How, I parked in the National Trust car park behind the Sticklebarn Inn, and headed out along the Cumbria Way, past the hummocks of moraine at the head of the valley, and up via Rossett Gill past Rossett Pike and Angle Tarn. I noticed again the extensive moraine where the stream drains Angel Tarn. For the first time the even more extensive moraine where the path crosses the fairly level ground north-east of the tarn. This moraine is why there is a marsh between the path and the side of Esk Pike: it impedes drainage.
I decided to include a quick reconnaissance of Great End, even though I had been there before, to be sure of being comfortable in fog, and to see if there is a safe route directly from the summit to Esk Hause without walking all the way back to the col to the south west.
After a deliberately slow start and a hearty cooked breakfast at the youth hostel at Coniston Holly How, I parked in the National Trust car park behind the Sticklebarn Inn, and headed out along the Cumbria Way, past the hummocks of moraine at the head of the valley, and up via Rossett Gill past Rossett Pike and Angle Tarn. I noticed again the extensive moraine where the stream drains Angel Tarn. For the first time the even more extensive moraine where the path crosses the fairly level ground north-east of the tarn. This moraine is why there is a marsh between the path and the side of Esk Pike: it impedes drainage.
I followed the path that leads to Scafell Pike up side of the little corrie called Calf Cove, then turned right onto the path leading to Great End. This path starts out easy to see, but gradually peters out nearing the summit. I explored both the actual 910-metre summit, and the rock promontory about one hundred meters to the north east, then attempted to find a safe route back to Esk Hause without going back past Calf Cove, but I could not, so I returned the way I had come.
It was bleak, windy, and foggy at Esk Hause. It was actually foggy everywhere above about 600m, but it seemed to matter more, and be more eerie, where the ground was more level and less loaded with obvious features.
Making absolutely certain I was on the rising path leading south-west towards Esk Pike and not the descending path leading south towards certain doom, I set out on the main part of the reconnaissance. Finding Esk Pike was easy, but the going was very slippery where algal slime had collected on wet rocks in shady nooks. The route down was straight forward, with fine views through the patchy cloud of Angle Tarn, first at the little un-named col about 130m south west of the peak, then at Ore Gap.
Ore Gap is quite an interesting place. Some of the rocks there are vivid dark red and purple, and there is a little low footbridge carrying the main east-west path over the marshy ground. Also, it was much less windy than I had expected. It would be a great place to have a picnic on a fine, clear day.
On the eastern flank of Ore Gap the path just disappears. It is exactly because of things like this that I spend so much time on reconnaissance: better to work out what to do on reconnaissance, than on the event with a bunch of cold wet participants getting colder and wetter by the minute. There is a line of cairns which accurately marks the way to Bow Fell, but my concern was that conditions might be so bad "on the day" that I would not be able to see one cairn from the next -- fortunately, there are plenty of other clues to navigate by.
At the peak of Bow Fell I tried to find a safe way down without turning back, but could not, even though a path leading south is marked on the map, so I retraced my steps to the junction of paths about 120m north of the peak, and turned right for Three Tarns -- this section is also marked by cairns.
In the fog, the three tarns were not visible from the footpath, which makes a sudden left turn without properly landing on the col, so I nipped over to see them, or at least, the nearest one, then started my long descent past Earing Crag and down the Band. A little warning: this route saves most of its descent until the end, so there is plenty of difficult terrain ahead for tired knees and tried feet (though no difficult navigation), even with the gentle pasture of Stool End in sight.
The reminder of the walk was pleasant and easy, but my feet were beginning to get tired by the time I reached Old Dungeon Inn, with still more than a mile to go.
The section from Esk Hause to Sticklebarn Inn took me three and a half hours walking, including breaks, but excluding time spend on exploring.
Immediately I reached Stickebarn Inn, I was into the friendly milieu of my Mountain Leader colleagues as we gathered for the evening briefing for the Lakes Eight Peaks Challenge the next day, and a huge meal.
Back at the hostel, I refreshed my kit for the next day, slipped into my tent without having a shower (yes, dear reader, I'm afraid so), went out like a light, and slept very soundly.
Making absolutely certain I was on the rising path leading south-west towards Esk Pike and not the descending path leading south towards certain doom, I set out on the main part of the reconnaissance. Finding Esk Pike was easy, but the going was very slippery where algal slime had collected on wet rocks in shady nooks. The route down was straight forward, with fine views through the patchy cloud of Angle Tarn, first at the little un-named col about 130m south west of the peak, then at Ore Gap.
Ore Gap is quite an interesting place. Some of the rocks there are vivid dark red and purple, and there is a little low footbridge carrying the main east-west path over the marshy ground. Also, it was much less windy than I had expected. It would be a great place to have a picnic on a fine, clear day.
On the eastern flank of Ore Gap the path just disappears. It is exactly because of things like this that I spend so much time on reconnaissance: better to work out what to do on reconnaissance, than on the event with a bunch of cold wet participants getting colder and wetter by the minute. There is a line of cairns which accurately marks the way to Bow Fell, but my concern was that conditions might be so bad "on the day" that I would not be able to see one cairn from the next -- fortunately, there are plenty of other clues to navigate by.
At the peak of Bow Fell I tried to find a safe way down without turning back, but could not, even though a path leading south is marked on the map, so I retraced my steps to the junction of paths about 120m north of the peak, and turned right for Three Tarns -- this section is also marked by cairns.
In the fog, the three tarns were not visible from the footpath, which makes a sudden left turn without properly landing on the col, so I nipped over to see them, or at least, the nearest one, then started my long descent past Earing Crag and down the Band. A little warning: this route saves most of its descent until the end, so there is plenty of difficult terrain ahead for tired knees and tried feet (though no difficult navigation), even with the gentle pasture of Stool End in sight.
The reminder of the walk was pleasant and easy, but my feet were beginning to get tired by the time I reached Old Dungeon Inn, with still more than a mile to go.
The section from Esk Hause to Sticklebarn Inn took me three and a half hours walking, including breaks, but excluding time spend on exploring.
Immediately I reached Stickebarn Inn, I was into the friendly milieu of my Mountain Leader colleagues as we gathered for the evening briefing for the Lakes Eight Peaks Challenge the next day, and a huge meal.
Back at the hostel, I refreshed my kit for the next day, slipped into my tent without having a shower (yes, dear reader, I'm afraid so), went out like a light, and slept very soundly.
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