Rather than writing the usual trip report, I want to give focus to the thoughts and feelings I typically engage with on walks. I have a propensity to fall over usually once a day, mostly because my attention is held by something else than where I'm next placing my feet. That something could be a huge view or tiny detail, birdsong or internal musings about something. I often am absorbed into another state of mind, usually stimulated by the environment I find myself in; being connected to nature in some form is a very spiritual experience for me.
This weekend was a source of great stimulation, with a mix of deciduous and then forestry plantation, challenges of route finding (I took us the wrong way twice at the start but it was interesting to sort that out), overnight camping on the hill and great company. One of my favourite quotations is from the film 'Into the Wild' where Chris McCandless realises, when near death, that 'Happiness (is) only real when shared'. While I greatly enjoy my solitary wanderings, I have also greatly enjoyed walking with
Steve Horner in the past few months. Instead of experiencing nature in a very private, singular way, recently I have been able to express my sense of wonder and connection with someone who has surprised me. Steve is a fit young man, capable of walking many miles with a lot of ascent in all sorts of conditions. I often compare this with me, being a fair bit older, less fit, less experienced. But for me the value I can add is to share my experiences of nature and the landscape with him; showing him a different way to experience connecting to nature and the environment; absorbing and being present at the time and not necessarily in a serious way. Often I am gleeful, moved or exhilarated in what I experience when I'm outdoors. Sometimes I feel like whooping with delight (I usually manage not to in company!); at other times I am taken by a sense of wonder. Sometimes I want to paint what I see; at other times I just want to sit, breathe it in, try to understand.
The initial part of the walk from Braithwaite took us along a footpath on the cusp of meadows and woodland.
This is proper, deciduous, English woodland with ivy and bracken and fungus and decay, blackberries and elderberries still clinging on. The smells of the woodland are so different to that of meadow where grasses and freshness predominates. Woodland is damper and mustier and unsurprisingly, 'woody'. This is in stark contrast to my memories of back in the summer, emerging out of woodland towards banks of bracken and being hit by both the particular smell of bracken and the warmth it holds, almost oppressive.
Steve pointed out the way the moss grew around some of the trees, almost enveloping them in the darkness of the shadow of the tree canopy, and mentioning different wives tales and country lore that he had learned as he grew up in a rural community.
Following the path took us alongside a beck, dried up now, but from the look of it once carrying a mass of water. Bordering the track were huge conifer trees which seemed unusual in their girth compared to the immature telegraph pole specimens abound in Forestry Commission land. Stopping to pay attention to this allowed thoughts and questions and answers to form in our minds. What sort of tree was it? How old was it? How come it had been allowed to grow so large? We had noticed an old Oak tree earlier which was gnarly and twisted and bent with age whereas this was sturdy, upright, processional, dignified.
As I noticed waterfalls, Steve noticed blackberries; it was interesting to wonder why different things hold different peoples' attention. Further on as we headed through plantation areas up towards Black Crag, I enjoyed the deep pine needle beds, dark and mysterious and unwilling to be entered. They receded under the lowest branches, away out of sight. Finding the path and using the map was a case of having a bit of faith, and features on the map weren't as obliging on the ground. It was great to emerge into the open and have the landscape confirm where we were, and to turn the tables when Steve traced routes across the opposite fells, in a sense fleetingly owning that Landscape as he identified it.
I did my usual stop, start routine of being out of breath, but didn't feel as badly about it as I had done on previous walks. With the emphasis on this weekend being mine to plan and 'be in charge of' (!), while I felt the responsibility of making it a decent walk for someone else, it also meant that I felt more comfortable to say I wanted to stop. In fact I'd forewarned him that there would be more brew stops and I'd brought my sketching kit with me. Maybe that's just getting used to walking with Steve instead of being on my own. Maybe it's being more comfortable in myself and relaxing in the knowledge that Steve doesn't walk with me because of how extremely fast I go!
For a Saturday late morning we had been extremely lucky; all the way through, past Hobcarton End and for most of the way up Grisedale Pike, we hadn't seen a soul close up. Only when we were making our way towards the top were we passed by a couple on their way down. Of course there were people on the tops and ridges but it was pleasantly surprising for a weekend day in the Lakes. I mandated that I was going to have a coffee on the top, which I think Steve thought was just an excuse to play with meths. It wasn't the whole reason, but I do experience more than a small amount of delight in playing with different stoves and fire. I had brought a stove that
Robin had given me, a MiniBull Designs Bios#2, that Steve and I had tried out in his kitchen a couple of weeks before. It is incredibly satisfying seeing the jets of blue flame emerge from around the stove as it reaches temperature...
Leaving the top we'd only gone a couple of metres when figure lower down waved at us. Full of childlike delight we recognised Steve's work colleague and friend,
Jonathan Craddock. I felt like a big kid meeting someone I hadn't seen for an age. As it happened I'd only met JC two weeks before, but it was such great fun! Even more so as Steve had left a present for him under his windscreen and I was bursting, trying not to give the game away while Steve engaged in a relatively serious way with Jonathan.
The views of the hills had really opened up by now, Steve telling me which were which. I was entranced by the views we had. I'm not alone in this; Steve stopped frequently to take pictures too; this weekend around 340 of them, compared to my 80 odd. I guess his enjoyment of the hills manifests in this way. I will notice things on the hill and point them out; he usually takes a photo and the mick, usually out of me!
After a caffeinated approach to Hopegill Head, which showed sheep clinging goat like to the crag sides, we replenished with water up from Coledale Hause and followed the shallow, grassy valley up towards Grassmoor. I enjoyed the change in scenery; it didn't feel like the Lake District at all; instead it reminded me of the wide open spaces of the bleak moorland of Derbyshire, Yorkshire and the North. I like a sense of expanse, of bleakness, and appreciate that almost as much as the more mountainous terrain that calls me.
A last ascent of the day to the top of Grasmoor heralded stunning views. I had excitedly seen Scotland throughout the walk, thinking of my friend
David Bunten and The Merrick and the history the landscape holds. It doesn't necessarily have to be 'old' history; even the shining giants of the wind turbines have their place.
Steve's decision to pitch just before the summit of Grasmoor was well called (yes, he'd pretty much taken over by now). As the seasons have turned and the daylight hours got shorter we weren't left with an awful lot of time before darkness fell. I'd pitched the Trailstar just once in my back garden so expected to not execute perfection this time around. Hey, I had Mr Trailstar himself next to me, pitching his, so I was happy to pitch, get feedback and learn. A bit of adjustment was needed but I wasn't going to hang myself out to dry over it. Steve was very factual and encouraging and gave me pointers for improving in future.
The tranquility of camping on the top of a decent hill is hard to convey. All around us were the tops of big hills and out to sea the Isle of Man was levitating in the sunset. Far below us Lakes and homesteads glinted.
It is a very different feeling, camping and cooking on the hill, to having to hurry back to the car at the end of the day. The experience feels more complete to me and effectively removes me from a sense of society and expectation there, to truly being alive and myself in a real environment. It's not necessarily plain sailing; the night was getting chilly with little high cloud cover and even after having something warm to eat (after almost setting fire to the moor - yes, thanks Steve for tweeting that ;o) and then getting into my sleeping bag I still felt cold. It was dark, chilly, I couldn't hear any noise at all from next door and assumed Steve had fallen asleep, so I got up and went for a wander on the top of the hill in an effort to get the blood moving again. It was starkly beautiful in the bright moonlight, and again when later in the night when I got up another time, the sound of the crunch frosty ground underfoot was a pleasure I wouldn't have had if I'd descended the hill earlier. I felt very connected to a human, primeval part of me. All my senses were engaged and stretched and I felt very much alive.
A pragmatic streak kicked in and I made some hot chocolate and had something to eat again once I was back under cover in the bag. The Bios #2 had guzzled a lot of meths so I knew that if I woke to be cold again I'd struggle to be able to have a brew. But it seemed to do the trick and the walk and the hot drink seemed to warm me more.
Strangely I heard a couple of laughs emanating from the Trailstar next to me which still makes me chuckle now. Steve had been listening to music and then just read a blog post from Jonathan where he'd discovered the present, though hadn't yet attributed it to Steve (or had he?). Now I knew he was awake and we just chatted from the Trailstars. I was concerned that the route I'd wanted to do just wasn't going to be achievable the following day and we remotely discussed and agreed the alternative which would basically be to cut it short, go over Crag Hill and onto Causey Pike and from there down to Braithwaite via a road underneath Barrow. Steve suggested Castle Crag for the afternoon which I was keen on too. Surprisingly to me, he had enjoyed walking through the woodland, as I did, and it would give a mix of that and of hills and crags too, in a relatively small area.
The conversation dwindled and I fell asleep at some point, waking through the night as I surfed on my NeoAir off my polycro groundsheet and being halted by the walking pole at the front. After a couple of goes at riding the waves I did away with the polycro and had a better sleep, especially towards dawn when later I found that Steve had got up to take yet more photos!
Quite late on I was woken by him, asking if I was ever going to get up, which I did, but enjoying the feeling of already being on the hill and wondering what the day would bring. Steve had brought me grey clag to wake up with, in contrast to the beautiful clear (cold) night, but it soon cleared and the views over the tops were staggering. I just felt great to be up there, thoroughly alive, connected, in awe, and part of it all. Watching two hawks hover over heather further down the hill made me stand in my tracks and I just wanted to watch and wait. Luckily Steve seems to enjoy this as much as I do and seemed happy enough to wait. As long as he can get to place his Kuksa on a Wainwright cairn I think he's happy!
The patterns of shifting cloud shapes on the surrounding hillsides was stunning. The sun would hit a peak, highlighting different ridges or making an entire side shine. The valleys below would glow emerald green with the darker shapes of trees outlining fields. The colours of the bracken emphasised the seasons change firmly as Autumn, compared to some areas in the Peaks which are still green. The heather had taken on the darker mantle as all but a few of the flowers had gone. No bees were to be found this weekend. Time has definitely marched on.
I enjoyed the walk along The Scar to Sail. Then with obvious delight, Steve beetled off at a half run on the new zigzag paths downhill, engaging with his inner child and telling me you have to 'lean into the bends'! I caught him up and was rewarded on the top of a hill with an 'Oi' and instruction to perch on top of a rock for a photo. He just makes me laugh and I obliged him on this occasion with not giving him two fingers!
And then just before the final knobbly bit of Causey Pike I did my usual trick and fell down. I think I was distracted by a view or something, but unusually I actually did hurt myself this time so I sat there for a few seconds feeling my knee out before finally getting up with an 'Owowowow!' Well it was bound to happen at some point and thankfully we didn't have too much further to go. A great benefit of walking poles was that I could use them to take the weight off my knee a bit and apart from descending some rocks on my bum (that Steve managed in his usual graceful manner) the rest of the walk down was alright. With him in quiet agreement I made the call to take the smaller footpath at Sleet Hause, rather than follow my heart towards the craggier Rowling End. I was glad I did!
Walking back along the road, dodging the odd car and spotting the Holly berries (abundant this year and as he says, hopefully sign of a cold winter to come) wasn't too arduous as we were both in mickey taking mode, and I'd waved a tenner in front of his face with a promise of a pint in the pub as a way of reintegrating with society. With my knee giving my gyp I was disappointed not to get to go up Castle Crag.
Overall we did the Coledale Horseshoe with one or two extras in a day and a half! Way longer than most people would take, but I'm trying to balance my own expectations of achieving x distance with the quality of experience and what adds to my experience of walking. I would like to be a lot fitter to achieve greater distance more easily and quickly, but how much would that potentially detract from my indulgent pondering wanderings where I feel so utterly connected. I wonder, are the two mutually exclusive or can they be married in some way?
After watching watched BPL's Tarp DVD (extremely useful and informative) I had a go pitching the tarp in different configurations in my back garden, until I trampled my grass well enough that I don't think it'll recover til next spring...best get out and do it properly!
I know these have been out for ages and a lot of readers have probably moved on to other things, but for me, after hankering after one for months now, to be given this and it fitting my Kettle and, and, oh, I could go on. Believe me I was and still am excited about it. I'd actually had to get some more meths off my Dad because I'd run out, messing about with it at home. That's how excited I was. I had a cup of coffee and heated up some chicken soup I'd made earlier and then watched the flame dance the meths away (I need to sort out measuring it out).
