the lake district – 15 Sep, 2019
Day 38 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Crook to Chapel Stile
Distance: 23km
Cumulative distance: 964km
I had become obsessed with weather on this walk. Every day I checked the app on my phone at least twice (if I had internet) – in the morning to see what was in store for the day ahead, and before bed so I had an idea what lies in wait tomorrow. Given this is the United Kingdom, and I was spending so much time in the west of Britain, I knew the weather would likely be inclement for lengthy periods. Initially I caught the back end of the UK summer which folk were saying was their best in half a century, so most of my time down south and up along the Welsh border had been spent in sunshine or at least without too much rain. I noticed as I crept further north that the weather app suggested it would rain almost every day, almost as the default starting point, and that any time without precipitation was a bonus.
I quickly learned not to take too much notice of the weather app, because quite often there’d be no rain in sight even though it was saying there was a 50 per cent chance it was going to be wet. Despite all of this, there was a constant niggle in the back of my mind that I couldn’t shake. I’d been incredibly lucky with the weather – at this point I could still count the rainy days on one hand – but I knew it was due to turn at some point. It was inevitable really. Just across the Atlantic Hurricane Florence was slamming into the Carolinas on America’s east coast and the word on the street was the UK was likely to feel some of that storm’s aftermath. There’d been rain on my day off in Arnside, and rain yesterday morning but nothing too substantial. I woke up with a wet tent again at Pound Farm – it had rained at some point during the night or the early morning – but my luck held out enough so that by the time I woke up I could pack up in relatively dry air. The funny thing is there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the weather and if it turns rotten, I just have to put up with it. I just about have the gear to handle it, my pants and jacket which are (fairly) waterproof and an in-built cover for my backpack which actually doesn’t do a great deal because it has a hole in it (probably should do something about that actually). I also have a big waterproof plastic bag in my backpack which I can use to protect everything I don’t want to get wet like my sleeping bag and clothes.
All this was irrelevant on this particular morning with the sun poking through as I left Pound Farm and retraced my steps from last night past the pub and towards the Lake District. I was due to meet Sam and Tiff in Windermere for a late breakfast, but that was still two-and-a-half hours of brisk walking away so I tried to get a wriggle on after a slightly late start. Soon enough I veered off the main road and picked up the Dales Way. This was convenient on two fronts – it was fairly well waymarked, and would take me all the way to Windermere. But not before taking me across more sublime farmland replete with well-fed sheep and cattle, and more dry stone walls. And the views! I saw the deep blue of Lake Windermere for the first time underneath the stunning mountains further afield and instantly understood why Alfred Wainwright had been so enamored with the place. I took some photos and a few moments to soak it all in before continuing on my way, through some more farmland and then down through the residential outskirts of Windermere and eventually to the train station where Sam and Tiff had parked their car and were waiting to join me for two days’ hiking.
First things first we went and had a late breakfast to fuel us up for the day ahead, then we left town via the main road which we had to stay with for a couple of miles before turning off it when we could bear it no longer. The map appeared to have a few public footpaths high above the main road which would take us a bit longer to navigate, but spare us from the incessant traffic. We trudged off up a hill and followed a road which turned into a complete dead end, taking us into someone’s backyard and no further. We turned around and took another road, despite a sign saying ‘no public access to something or other’, and soon enough were being sternly questioned as to what we were doing on such precious estate land. I told the fella we were trying to walk up to a nearby hill to avoid the traffic, and was told again this was private land and that there was no access to said hill. They’re always such fun these discussions. I went again, telling him there was quite clearly a path marked on my map taking us up into the hills. After a few back and forths he finally relented and said:
‘Okay I’m going to let you go through the gate up there, just MAKE SURE you close it. This is private land, and no one is meant to be on it unless they’re parents are billionaires and they attended the fanciest school in the land and they’re senior members of the conservative government.’
‘Cheers bud, we’ll be on our way then,’ and we continued on up to the gate which just opened back out onto the road anyway. I even remembered to shut it just in case the riff raff started nosing about.
The road led further up the hill and to some more beautiful walking among the green farmland. The weather was just about holding on for us too, and we stopped at a delightful lunch spot overlooking the northern half of Lake Windermere. Sam and Tiff had made up a stack of rolls and we had quite a feast. Afterwards we walked back down the hill and into Ambleside, crossing the river via a beautiful bridge and finding a country road which took us west towards the hills. It was all so colourful, and the jagged hills ahead loomed ever larger. We’d be heading right into the heart of those tomorrow.
More immediately we had to navigate a sharp hill via another quiet road which took us up to a delightful little area of gorgeous stone houses, each with an unobscured view towards some of England’s finest hills. Then it was back down the hill to Skelwith Bridge where we picked up the Cumbria Way. We walked past a waterfall and into Elterwater then we continued along the river for another few kilometres and came to the village of Chapel Stile, tucked away in a typical Lake District valley. A little further along we found a huge campground where we pitched up before heading back down to the bustling village pub. The weather was still holding when we returned to our tents, but there was something in the air suggesting it was about to turn.
