the real stuff – 17 sep, 2018
Day 40 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Grange to High Pike
Distance: 25km
Cumulative distance: 1010km
I farewelled Sam and Tiff in Grange after a great weekend’s walking. They had to get back to their car in Windermere, while I was to push on further north and over another mountain pass in the Lake District. First stop was Keswick where I was going to stop for a late breakfast, and it proved a bit further away than I had thought. This was possibly the most beautiful stretch in the Lakes so far and that’s saying something given the day we had yesterday. Once I turned off the road out of Grange I ended up in another green forest which bordered Derwent Water. This was another spectacular lake in the heart of this beautiful part of the UK, and better still I had a long stretch of it to myself. I walked past a few jetties which seemed to go straight into the water, but then I saw a ferry heading down the lake and they made a bit more sense. A bit further along I ran into a chap from Manchester at a sensational wooden sculpture of two open hands.
He told me about his recent hike up Cats Bell, one of the more popular walks in these parts. He thought he had the hill to himself until he made it to the top and bumped into about 100 other enthusiastic hikers who had popped down from Keswick. Such is the way for these more popular walks in the Lake District. On my way into Keswick I passed countless day hikers with their walking poles and laminated maps all heading towards Cats Bell. Let me just say for those who don’t like to walk the busy trails, there are clearly countless of options that will cater for you in the Lakes, you just need to get yourself away from the main tourist centres which seem to be Windermere and Keswick. I still enjoyed my stroll into Keswick, the birds were chirping and there were more colourful mountains in every direction. The town is at the northern edge of Derwent Water and clearly a very popular stop for travellers. Walking into town I was shocked to stumble across the Derwent Pencil Museum. Remember all of those coloured pencils you used to have in your pencil case in primary school? Well you’ll be happy to know there’s a museum dedicated to their history. Well I presume that’s the case, I didn’t actually venture inside. I had hunger pangs to tend to and I found a café which did incredible pancakes to solve that problem.
After speaking to Mum and Dad on the phone I headed north out of town and for what I was later told was the most remote part of the Lake District. There were far less hikers on this side of town, especially after I hauled myself up a hill and went past a car park that allowed for easy access to Skiddaw, one of the area’s finest mountains. As the crowds thinned out, a feeling of euphoria set in. This was a Monday afternoon and I was outside surrounded by hills of orange and yellow and purple and all manner of colour. It was my office and my playground, and I was walking right into the heart of it all. I filled up my bottle at a little stream then headed further uphill with the path overlooking a meandering river far below. That sense of euphoria remained for about half an hour before the next wave of rain blew over and decided to settle in for the afternoon. I powered along setting a pretty decent pace along the Cumbria Way, which was a decent and well constructed path. Off in the distance I spied a building standing on its own high above the valley, and this turned out to be the youth hostel Skiddaw House.
Up ahead of me two fellas had just past Skiddaw House, and one of them yelled out:
‘Stop inside and get a brew.’
‘Cheers mate, I reckon I might just carry on,’ I replied in an Aussie drawl to which he became quite animated.
Pointing to the youth hostel he said again ‘Get in there and grab yourself a brew.’
Righto, I thought, at least I can sit inside for 15 minutes and try and dry out a little. A cuppa would actually go down really well right now come to think of it. I walked up to the building and it appeared to be completely locked up. There were clearly people staying there, but none of the doors would budge and there was even a sign saying the place wasn’t opened today for non residents. I strode back down to the path and kept going, trying to resume the pace I’d set over the last few miles. Maybe if I walked quickly enough I could get through this rain, I figured. After about five minutes the two fellas were back in sight and soon enough only a little river crossing separated us. In my efforts to catch up and overtake them I took my eye off the ball. Before I knew it the ground I stepped on gave way beneath me and I was up to my thighs in a muddy bog. About two milliseconds later I tumbled over off balance and my arms were shoulder deep in the same bog.
‘Not good’, I thought, as the bog started to suck me further down. Fortunately I was able to stand upright and regain control of my arms, lean forward and haul myself out of the thing. I was covered in mud except for my head and my backpack which had survived, and my OS map was caked in mud and incredibly soggy. I adjusted my priorities slightly with washing myself off in a stream surging to the top of the list. A few minutes later I caught up with the two fellas, who I worked out were a father aged about 70 years and his son. The old fella took one look at my mud soaked frame and said:
‘Did you get yourself a brew?’
I told him that I couldn’t get in and he was genuinely shocked, before telling me how back in the day he’d had a party in that hostel and it was absolutely fantastic. It would be, come to think of it, what a sensational spot I thought. I had a quick chat to them and started to accelerate away from before the old fella asked if I had a stove and a gas bottle. I told him I did, and he said:
‘Ahh you could make yourself a brew.’
For the record, at this point in time I wasn’t so much interested in a brew, rather than washing some of this mud off me and then getting myself dry somehow. Let me also point out this bloke was incredibly friendly and an absolute gentleman, he just seemed to enjoy hot beverages.
A minute later he called out again with:
‘You know there are a few ruined stone buildings up ahead?’
I didn’t, and told him so, and he excitedly returned with
‘Ahh there you go, stop there and make yourself a brew.’
I quickened my pace slightly and 20 minutes later, after passing a few old stone ruins, came to a stream which I used to wash the worst of the mud off my arms. About 3.5 miles more fairly flat walking followed roughly parallel to another river, before the path turned in a hairpin to the left and started up towards the mountain pass. Now the track wasn’t so good, and followed a stream on a very muddy, rocky and uneven surface. I could barely see a thing with the rain and fog on my glasses, and every third step seemed to be a bad one. I carried on, required to cross a few more mountain streams as they snaked their way down the bare yellow hill. The weather wasn’t improving and the path was getting worse, so I decided to tear myself away from the river before I fell into it, and head uphill for some higher ground and hopefully a better view. This was boggy ground again, and I was extra careful to avoid a repeat of what had happened earlier in the afternoon. It was slow going, and my legs were sore as I tried to haul myself up a hill. I was still at least two hours away from where I planned to camp that night, and it was already about 4.30pm in the afternoon. The sun wasn’t too far off thinking about coming down for the day. So I plowed on, the euphoria from earlier in the day just a distant memory.
I looked up and saw the top of the hill coming nearer, and what appeared to be another stone building. Mirage, I thought, as I put my head down again and kept slogging my way up the hill. When I looked up again the stone building had come much closer and a spark of excitement flickered inside. When I arrived at the building, it was unlocked and I realised what it was. A bothy! I knew these mountain shelters were scattered throughout Scotland to keep hikers safe from the weather on particularly rough nights, but I didn’t realise they were in the Lake District too. Within about 10 minutes of sitting inside and trying to warm up I told myself I would need an incredibly good reason not to just sleep here tonight. I needed water to boil up for dinner, so I grabbed my bottle and headed way back down the hill to fill up. When I made it back to the bothy about 20 minuets later I unloaded my pack, changed out of my wet clothes and started hanging everything up to dry. I then spent two hours reading the paper and was quite content, before finally starting to pack up for bed. And then, incredibly, two more people turned up! Two ladies from a youth hostel I’d walked past with Tiff and Sam yesterday had read about this particular bothy and decided to come up for a night. We were both just as surprised to see each other but they were great fun and we all managed to squeeze in. It was super windy again outside, and definitely a good night to be underneath a roof. What a day!
