I ran down from the summit of Lochnagar, somehow avoiding catastrophe on the slippery and jagged terrain. Hurrying in those conditions is not like me at all! Changing at Edinburgh Haymarket station, somehow I managed to find the right platform, and seeing a train zooming in that was not my train, just before the correct one southbound. I’d been a bee’s whisker from having to backpack to Glasgow again!
I’m back home, settling into what Mum likes to call ‘ordinarium.’ But the UK trip is taking some getting over because the mountains made such an impression on me. It was a buzz to spend time with dear family and friends half way around the world, and now I’m especially pleased to share my hillwalking shenanigans of the trip.
I met up with my good friend Les in Aberdeen, and my
favourite Champ and fellow Aussie Chris joined us just before starting his new
job in Inverness. On our big Cairngorms
day we hiked up the Munro called Lochnagar, a granite massif with an elevation
of 1155 metres. Munro is the term for a
Scottish mountain over 3,000 feet and the local peaks are Les’s stomping
ground!
A scenic drive brought us to the trailhead. I thought the
wind coming off the loch was a bit nippy, but I had no idea what was coming. We emerged from a little forest and started
climbing a wide path. There were folks
with dogs throughout the day – to say they were hardy walking dogs is an
understatement! As the track narrowed,
Les regaled us with the story of his friend’s encounter with an outdoorsy ghost
in a nearby bothy (hut). The apparition arrived and unpacked his gear in the
middle of the night - fabulous! We put
on raincoats for the low-lying cloud up the slope. It was definitely under 10°C and soon we
arrived at the pass with a smaller mountain 'Meikle Pap' to our right. Chris played in snow for the first time since
school camp, delighting in the way his boots gripped into it. Life was good. Jacob’s Ladder was a steep rocky staircase but
nothing too hard. It took us to the
plateau where the weather promptly began to poop itself!
Starting up towards Lochnagar
With Chris on the edge of the corrie
There were cairns on the plateau but with the poor visibility
I didn’t always see them. It was a relief to have Les striding out in
front. The wind whipped the rain
sideways onto us causing my windward left eye to ache. We were getting spanked by at least 60 km/h
winds! The rain came in earlier than
forecast and there were a number of fellow walkers and long-suffering dogs caught
out near the summit.
The distinctive rim of the corrie (cirque) was interesting to see from different angles. The drop away faded to a white nothing. Les pointed out that extreme skiers have headed down the terrifying slope (search Jacob’s Ladder head cam on YouTube!) Just as I was swearing and thinking it’s not possible for the wind to get any wilder, the summit boulder mound loomed. Les had a big crazy smile. ‘Your first Munro!’ he laughed as I touched the cairn, swore some more and then clambered to shelter for our sandwiches. Hello weather!
Lochnagar summit with a lot of weather!
My first Munro! With Les
Shivering is not good.
The Icebreaker was the deal maker keeping my torso warm. My gloves were soaked through and the wind
chilled my fingers sore. I can’t recall
my gloves ever being inadequate, but Les kindly lent me his thicker ones to go
over the top. What a sweetie. Running down the summit helped to warm us up,
but then of course you have to watch your footing. Eventually the stream of rain running down my
new trekking trousers got into my boots and it was squelch time for the
remaining hours. But the big waterfall coming
off the mountain was worth getting my camera wet. I took in the rugged sight of the multi-tiered
waterfall and the patchwork of purples, greens, greys and yellows of the heath poking
through the weather. I still can’t
believe there were two workers improving the trail at that place and time. Hardcore.
The waterfall
Eventually we gained the wide trail that follows Loch Muich,
a path that has seen royalty because Balmoral Castle is close by. Walking three abreast, we chattered away and
finally the wind eased. The seven-hour
wild weather adventure finished back at the car at 5:30pm.
Lochnagar now takes its place among my top three craziest
hiking weather experiences alongside a Falls Creek cross-country skiing
blizzard a long time ago, and the Vulkathunha Gammon Ranges wind and dust
storms of ’09. Congratulations Lochnagar!
Chris and I were grateful to Les for his
navigational smarts in the white-out.
Tired but happy, we returned to the cosy warm Invercauld Arms for celebratory
eating and drinking then pub-crawled to the Fife Arms for whisky
nightcaps. The day was a reminder of how
resilient our bodies can be (right down to my bloated fingers) when tested
towards the limits of what we think we can handle.
The Lake District, aka Blighty with mountains
The little train from Carlisle took me to Seascale where I
caught a taxi inland to Wasdale Head. I
treated myself to an orientation hike for a couple of hours, up hill and down
dale. I sat on the stones at the shore
of the massive Wast Water, England’s deepest lake, with The Screes on one side
and Yewbarrow on the other. It was a
moment of perfection feeling the mild breeze on my face, taking in the scent of
spring grasses where the lambs frolic. Mountain
weather is changeable and I was soon hoofing it back to the Wasdale Head Inn with
rolling black clouds chasing after me. The
Inn was my home for the next three days.
I became infatuated with the old worldy pub atmosphere, friendly staff
and fellow punters, and the hundred-year-old climbing pictures on the walls.
The Wasdale Head Inn
The weather gods were kind the next morning when I hiked up
Scafell Pike. At 978 metres it’s the
highest mountain in England, popular as part of the National 3 Peaks Challenge
along with Ben Nevis and Snowdon in as many days. Keen people.
I plodded up towards Hollow Stones, doing leave calculations
in my head for future trips and getting views of Wast Water from a high
point. This pile of stones and boulders
gave way to zigzagging and cairns. Threatening
clouds appeared towards the coast but blew off in another direction so it was
cloudy but fine and not cold. It didn’t
take as long as Lochnagar to summit Scafell Pike and be making the most of the
360 degree views. The Lakeland is undoubtedly big and dramatic and I was pretty
chuffed with what I saw.
Lingmell Gill (creek), Looking back
towards Wast Water
On the summit of Scafell Pike, England's highest mountain
I checked out Lingmell Col where among the grassy green I
found grey boulders to wrap my hands around and feel the grippy rhyolite stone.
It is part of the Borrowdale Volcanic Group in geology-speak. I clambered over the easy ones and imagined climbers
debating whether to go on or retreat in a downpour mid-route, but at least the
rock is rough and frictiony. On the way
down the mountain it was bliss to put on my sunhat and sunscreen and to sit and
stare awhile with my sandwich, making faces out of the rocks. Climber Craig works at the Inn and kindly lent
me one of his guidebooks. I checked out
the topos but must confess I gave the long scramble to the cliffs a miss. Soon I was luxuriating in a hot bath, then to
the bar for a quenching Boondoggle blonde ale.
Looking down towards Lingmell Col
Over the evening meal Yvonne and Phil from Suffolk showed me
a volume of the much-loved Wainwright guidebooks with meticulous illustrations
by hand. Mr Wainwright described the
scree slope of Great Gable on the Wasdale Side as something very unpleasant. But then Craig said you could slide down the
scree quite cruisey although you’d want to avoid going up it. I was about to
find out who was correct!
Great Gable was covered in cloud on the Wednesday morning,
but surely it would clear. There were moments
of eye contact with Lakeland sheep and cute lambs as I clomped uphill on an
excellent track leading to Sty Head. On
the ‘Tubular Fells’ map à la London Tube, Sty Head is quite the mountain
junction, complete with stretcher box. There,
the best path up Great Gable became apparent.
After another 15 minutes of uphill I had an awesome view of several
tracks dotted with fellow walkers and the beautiful Styhead tarn. I sat cross-legged on a perfect rock and bit into
a historic Quiggins Kendal Mint Cake.
Yes, a local traditional energy bar of pure rectangular minty sugar and not
cake-like at all. Flippin’ heck!
The excellent track leading to Sty Head
The way became steeper but there were reassuring
cairns. Eventually I was at the top of
Great Gable (899 metres) reading the Fell & Rock Climbing Club memorial
plaque of World War I. The cool of the Kendal
mintiness matched the cold hilltop air.
Oh well, couldn’t see anything with our heads in the clouds. No, wait - in seconds the cloud moved away
like a curtain to reveal the blues and greens of Wast Water and its companion
valleys to the northwest. Another WOW
moment! The cloud moved so quickly I’d
never experienced anything like it other than from a plane window. And then the view closed down once more.
The wonderful view of the valleys below Great Gable
Geez! Before me were
a good four-or-so lines of cairns in different directions. White-out wasn’t an issue because the air was
clear a little down the slope, and I wanted to complete the more challenging
loop. Honestly, how hard could the scree
be? So I took the cairns closest to Wast
Water and made a start.
Scree!
It was do-able, and it was encouraging
to see a couple of chaps some distance ahead of me on the same slope. Whoops, then they were out of view. Thoughts of several descent gullies at
Moonarie and Arapiles were in my mind as I nudged towards a gap between two
crag tops. I had a sickening feeling
because I could easily mis-steer close to the cliff edge in all the moving
scree. Later I discovered this descent
is called ‘Little Hell Gate.’ I
backtracked up the slope and spotted the chaps at the end of their scree time
on the other side of White Napes. It was
really steep. From Wasdale Head it looked
like 45 degrees, but it was bloody scree and it provided an epic adventure for
perhaps 90 minutes and 300 metres. There
was no Bear Grylls running action, just me getting a little scared of the angle
and momentum or doing the splits and landing on my bum when my boots got
stuck. Then I got a sideways rhythm thing
happening - digging one boot in, sliding to a stop and repeating with the other
boot. With rapidly tiring quads, eventually
persistence won out. Just as I was imagining scree tumbling down into my plush
room at the Inn, I gained the path between Great Gable and Kirk Fell. The sky was blue and when I hit the grassy
footpads I had a little run, going ‘now I’m a fell runner!’ I looked back to
see the crags and just made out Napes Needle, the spire that saw the first
recorded climb for the sake of rockclimbing, as distinct from summiting a
mountain, by Walter Parry Haskett Smith in 1886 (Fell & Rock Climbing Club Archive).
The real path :)
The beer and wine tasted all the better for my exertions while
Yvonne, Phil and I exchanged larger-than-life stories of the day and had a few
laughs. I handed the climbing guidebook
back to Craig and chatted with him over the bar about his climbing, both in the
local area and in Spain. He also spoke
of how the busy summer season goes in this corner of Lakeland. The slow veil of twilight was descending so I
stood out the front to breathe it in.
Bulging treeless mountains and purple hues, no phone coverage or car
noise – really very still and with the gentle sound of baas.
Dreaming of gorgeous Craig and the fells would later be a
side-perk of my psychedelic jet lag in KL (ooh, the Cumbrian accent!) Singing in my hotel room, I wondered if big jet
lag would open up new areas of consciousness like a new drug. I guess all this travel, nature and fresh air
is something of a drug, a remedy. Bring
it.
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