Lake District

Last weekend I ventured back into the Lake District with Richard and Mike to celebrate 15 years of climbing together. Sadly, mother nature didn't get the invite to our party and she decided to rain on our parade -- a lot.


It was a pretty wild Saturday, so we decided to do a short walk from Elterwater, over the ridge and down into the village of Grasmere, returning along the edge of the lake and over Loughrigg fell. Despite the lashing rain, it was uncharacteristically warm, which made for rather grim and sweaty conditions for stomping up these little hills. However, we were rewarded with quite dramatic winter scenes down the valleys.


Three men never looked so good in Gortex. Yeah, right.


We enjoyed an afternoon of drying off in the local pub, catching up on the various house renovations we all had planned or recently completed and exchanged stories about our fast growing brood of boys. This was in stark contrast to our first post-climb drink 15 years ago when we drank and sang for England, slept in a random field and then dined on a breakfast of pie and chips before summiting numerous 3000+ft peaks. Those days have long gone!

We spent the evening in Windermere, staying at a "world famous" B&B carefully chosen by Richard. We soon deduced that it was "world famous" for being freezing cold and decidedly grotty, made tolerable only by its proximity to the village. Sadly, the village of Windermere is also, in my opinion, the least attractive Lakeland has to offer, with only a couple of very rough pubs and a limited number of places to eat.

We spent a toasty night under every duvet and blanket the B&B had to offer (hard core climbers we are not) and survived the desperately sad life story of the proprietor, which was revealed over breakfast after subtle questioning by Mike.


Sunday was a very different day. Colder but brighter, the weather promised good views and the route guaranteed a hard, rewarding day of walking. We parked at Little Langdale and climbed Wetherlam, a somewhat isolated peak in the Langdale valley that stands 2,500ft high.


We had a day of clear views across to the Langdale Pikes and Pavey Ark, the Fairfield Horshoe, Swirlhow, a glimpse of Bow Fell and, 30 miles in the distance, the Yorkshire peaks should have been visible.


Unusually, trees lined the valleys and there was a sprinkling of tortured specimins around 1,500ft high. I don't know how they survive the high winds and hold onto the mountain in the thin, infertile soil, but they accentuate the rugged, glacial landscape.



The view from the summit of Wetherlam was great.



We chose our own descent, which proved hairy enough to keep our attention focused on the rocks tumbling beneath us into the gorge.



It was a magnificent anniversary of our 15 years in the mountains together. In all, the weekend had small reminders of the many, many glorious adventures we have enjoyed together in the mountains over the years; hard toil that earns spectacular views, dreadful weather that questions our intentions, fresh air and silence that can not be bought, eccentric local folk accentuated as the warm beer flows and, most importantly, the sense that for just a few fleeting moments we are free from our obligations, reliant only on each other and masters of our own journey.