Past Walks: Cumbria Way, May 2009

Day One: Ambleside to Honister Hause

Miles walked: 15
Highest point reached: Stake Pass, 480m above sea level

Our journey began at Huddersfield train station at some ungodly hour in the morning where Craig, Rich Bassinder, Rich Brook, Dave, my brother Sam, and I staggered onto the train groaning under the weight of our backpacks.

A couple of hours later we bundled off the train into a cold wet and miserable Windermere station. We were still undecided about how exactly we were going to get to Ambleside, the start of our heavily customized version of the Cumbria Way. Originally we’d planned to take a ferry across lake Windermere, but that involved a hour long wait at the landing dock and we were all a little nervous about arriving at that evenings accommodation before they stopped serving food. Fortunately Sam leapt to the rescue and, spotting a nearby bus, ascertained from the driver that he was going where we wanted to go. This act of heroism was rewarded by the rest of us unanimously deciding that whenever we had to ask anyone anything again, Sam would be the person to do it. That’ll teach him to be socially confident, the little bugger.

And so after a short bus ride we were finally in Ambleside and ready for the off. The weather was still pretty poor and so we all donned our waterproof coats and trousers. These ranged from high tech top of the range professional gear like Sam’s, to what can only be described as a series of different colored dustbin liners stuck together like Craig’s. Although to be fair, no matter how much is spent on them, everyone wearing walking clothing looks like a complete knob anyway so you might as well go for the cheaper option.

The first two or three miles were all along the road and pretty boring, but once we hit the Cumbria Way proper at Skelwith Bridge both the scenery and the weather improved dramatically and the day started shaping up to be a really pleasurable experience.

As the walk progressed we moved into even more beautiful countryside. Walking along the floor of the Great Langdale Valley with its imposing peaks towering either side of us Rich Bassinder was moved to state:

“The guide books are right you know. The Lake District completely pisses all over the Yorkshire Dales”

I’m not quite sure what guide books he’s been reading, but they are right. The views on the Cumbria Way were far more impressive than those on the Dales Way last year; although that may have something to do with the fact we got a lot higher this year and so got some really good vantage points.

Unfortunately to be high you first have to do some walking up hills. And we had two pretty significant climbs on day one. The first was up the extremely steep and rocky Stake Pass. We had known this climb was on the horizon all morning, and it had been lurking in the back of our minds like some sort of skulking wolf. As we approached the hill the weather started to become gloomier as if to reflect our mood and someone nervously pointed out:

“Hey, this valley looks like it’s a dead end. I guess we’ll just have to go back”.

But there was no going back, round, or under for us. The only way was over. But still, after a very unpleasant half an hour or so we managed to crest the hill. And I’m sure we all learned a lot about ourselves in the process. For example before climbing Stake Pass I didn’t know that your entire face could pulse with the ferocity of a jackhammer. Still it was all worth it for the sense of achievement.

In retrospect anyhow.

The second big hill was right at the end of the day, just as we were nearing exhaustion point from 15 miles of walking. It was a hard drag up to our Youth Hostel at the top of Honister Pass, but the euphoria finally taking the backpack off for the very last time that day just about made up for it. As did a rather nice home cooked meal of cumberland sausage and veg, apple pie and custard for pudding, and a couple of bottles of locally brewed beer.

Then it was bed by about 9:30. Sad but true.

At the end of day one I felt a bit wet and achy, but no where near as much as I did at the end of the first day of the Dales walk, and the going back then had been considerably easier. It’s really brought it home to me how much fitter I am now than I was last year. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way, shape of form an athlete or anything. I sweated, panted, and grumbled my way through the day’s walking as much as the next overweight slob. But it’s certainly given me motivation to try and push on and become even healthier. Or that’s the plan anyhow.

Day Two: Honsiter Hause to Keswick

Miles walked: 10
Highest point reached: 290m above sea level

At around four thirty in the morning of day two all six of us were rudely awoken by a cockerel crowing outside the youth hostel. Most of us managed to get back to sleep, but once I’m awake I tend to be awake for good, and so I spent the next couple of hours working my way through Family Guy episodes on my ipod. I don’t begrudge the cockerel it’s crowing however. Combined with the mountain rescue helicopter parked just outside the building it kept us amused for hours with endless innuendoes about cocks and choppers. Little things please little minds, and I’m afraid our minds are very little indeed.

After a rather nice full English breakfast we checked out of the hostel, impeded only by the incompitance of Sam, Dave, and the two Richs; who in the space of 12 hours had somehow managed to loose one of the two room keys that the hostel possessed. Bloody idiots. I fully expected the Hostel manager to charge us £40 for a replacement, especially as he had been rather officious about our group youth hostel membership card when we first checked in. but surprisingly he just waved it off and told us to post it to him if we found it in or backpacks when we got home.

Day two’s walk was intended to be a very easy eight mile stroll with no hills or difficult terrain to trouble us. However as we meandered our way towards Borrowdale we saw a rugged looking peak jutting out of the landscape.

If we thought that the scenery before had been reminiscent of Lord of the Rings, then what we saw in front us was straight from the mountains of Gondor. A quick look at the map revealed that it was called Castle Crag, which basically settled it. We were going to take a detour and climb the bugger.

It wasn’t quite as hard as the photos above would indicate. But it was a bit of a scramble at times, especially up a steep slope of loose slate.

Still, as was the trend throughout the walk, the view from the top was definitely worth it.

The rest of the day was fairly straight forward, with a steep decent down the side of Castle Crag and a gentle eight miles or so along the side of Derwent water, funnily enough the only lake we really came across in out tour of the Lake District.

As we got closer to Keswick, our destination for the night, the footpaths became more and more busy with day trippers out for a relaxing stroll by the lakeside. As a consequence our massive backpacks, silly hats, and walking sticks started to look more and more out of place and ridiculous. By the time we reached the town center we looked like complete and utter pillocks, knocking over old ladies with our packs , and accidentally poking small children in the eye with our sticks.

I didn’t care for Keswick all that much. It probably didn’t help that it was a sunny bank holiday weekend, but it was completely bursting to the seams with thousands of tourists. And it had that underlying air of menace and resentment that many small tourist towns have at night. What upset me more however is that we arrived in the town just as the doors of the infamous Keswick pencil museum was closing. Damn you sunday closing hours. Damn you to hell.

Keswick Youth Hostel however was very nice, and after a few pints and a curry we all retired to bed and tried not to think about the big bloody hill we were due to climb tomorrow.

Day Three: Keswick to Caldbeck

Miles walked: 16
Highest point reached: 658m above sea level

The youth hostel we slept in on the second night was situated right next to a river. Which was very nice scenery wise, but unfortunately meant that, just like on that terrible third night of the Dales Way, we had to keep the window closed to keep the midges out. This resulted in us having to sleep in an environment highly reminiscent of a sauna. Well, a sauna that smelt strongly of sweaty socks anyhow.

Still, I managed to sleep relatively well considering and woke up nice and refreshed and eager to eat twice my own bodyweight at the buffet breakfast. Mmm… sausages.

Right from when I started planning this years walk I knew that day three was going to be one of the hardest. Any route that crosses the summit of a fell named “High Pike” is bound to contain a fair bit of uphill walking. There is an alternative route for the Cumbria Way which skirts round the base of the fell, but we’d pretty much agreed that we’d only go for that option if weather conditions meant that the higher paths would be hazardous. As it was shaping up to be a gloriously sunny day we resigned ourselves to dragging our panting carcasses up a bloody great big hill. Someone remind me why this is meant to be enjoyable again.

Oh yes, the views.

Although in truth the majority of the pleasant vistas were confined to the start and the end of the walk, most of the time we spent tramping through pretty nondescript fells and moorland. Very nice for the first half hour or so, but got a little boring after that.

Even when we set off at at 8:30am the weather was warm, and as the day progressed it got hotter and hotter. Despite me carrying three liters of water I completely ran out at around 2pm, Faced with the choice of having no water and dying on the spot of dehydration or filling my water sack from a stream and dying of botulism at some point the following week I chose to fill up with wonderfully cool water from a nearby brook. Yes it was probably contaminated with all sorts of horrific bacteria, and was most likely made up of 67% sheep urine, but it looked pretty clean and tasted alright so I thought I’d risk it.

We reached the top of High Peak at around 3pm and all took satisfaction that from that point on the Cumbria Way would be downhill all the way to it’s end at Carlisle. Plus from the top we could see all the way to Scotland. It’s always a thrill being able to see another country from the top of a hill, even if it is just a second rate pretend country like Scotland.

Pausing for a breather and a quick unflattering group photo we made our way down the other side of High Peak and into the rather picturesque village of Caldbeck. Craig’s partner Caroline was meeting us here as a prelude to them both heading up into scotland for a holiday after the walk had finished. She had done a marvelous job of scouting out the area before we arrived and pointed us towards both the pub we were staying in and the local ice cream shop.

After a very satisfying meal and few beers we all retired to bed. Despite the fact we still had 14 miles to walk the next day it somehow felt like the end of the walk. Perhaps because the most difficult bits were behind us, or perhaps because the arrival of Caroline echoed the last day of the Dales Way. Whatever the reason I awoke the next day a little reluctant to sling by backpack over my shoulders again. Still, when your train home leaves at 7:30pm from a station 14 miles away you don’t really have much choice other than hit the road.

Day four: Caldbeck to Carlisle

Miles walked: 14
Highest point reached: Not very high really.

Conscious that this walk was originally going to be a kick start to resuming my diet I chose to forgo a full English breakfast and went for scrambled egg instead. The pain and distress I felt watching everyone else stuffing sausage and bacon down their gullets however was almost unbearable. Why is all the nice food fattening dammit?

As my brother Sam pointed out in the comments of my last post, I had originally told everyone that the last day was going to be ten miles long. However more detailed research with my map and the wire from my headphones revealed it was more like fourteen.

Still, what’s four miles between friends.

The going was pretty easy, although there was a particularly muddy patch towards the beginning which required a fair bit of inventive clambering. There were also a couple of rather treacherous stiles, with Rich Bassinder getting wedged in one of them, and the other requiring mountaineering equipment like crampons and ice axes.

Due to the lack of hills the scenery was much less dramatic than on the previous three days. But never-the-less it was very pleasantly pastoral and rather reminiscent of some of the landscape we walked through in the Yorkshire Dales last year. Apart from the trains obviously.

According to the weather forecast we were due scattered showers, but on the whole we managed to escape it. There was a couple of periods of intense rain, but in concordance to Murphy’s law by the time we had all unpacked and donned our waterproofs it had pretty much passed.

I don’t know how the others were feeling on that last day, but I was pretty keen to get home. Day three had been the big challenge and therefore somehow felt like the end of the walk. In my mind that last fourteen miles to Carlisle was just a formality. Plus I was missing Kerry and the kids and had a big list in my head of things to do in the garden once I got back. As a group we started discussing whether we would be able to switch our train tickets to an earlier time and I must admit that the thought of getting home in time to put the kids to bed was extremely appealing.

As a result of this our pace began to quicken and the walk started to take on the tone of a endurance test rather than a leisurely stroll. This meant I didn’t take as many photos as I had done the previous days (although to be fair there wasn’t as much to take photos of; and anyway the others were getting a little tired of me sticking my lens in their faces every three seconds.)

Eventually however through various texts and messages we discovered that we’d be unable to change our tickets without paying a very hefty £40 admin fee, so we decided to slacken off the pace a bit and try to enjoy what remained of the walk.

The end of the Cumbria Way was a little more anticlimactic than last year’s Dales Way. Mainly because there were no crowds of cheering groupies to welcome us in (ok, so there were only four people and a couple of kids last time, but it did feel very nice).

Also by the end we had been walking for an hour through the streets of Carlisle, which did not have the same opportunities for al fresco urination as the previous 50 odd miles of countryside had done. As a result at least three of us were absolutely desperate for the toilet so as soon as we touched the walls of Carlisle Castle (the official end to the walk) we all dissipated in a frantic quest for a public loo. I didn’t even have time to take a proper group photo.

Craig left us at this point to go and find his partner Caroline who was standing in a mystery car park somewhere at the other end of the castle. So all that was left was for Rich, Rich, Dave, Sam, and myself to have a couple of pints of beer, stuff our faces with Mexican food, then finally drag ourselves onto the train for the two and a bit hour journey home.

Did I enjoy the walk? Yes I did. In fact it was bloody fantastic. I enjoyed the camaraderie and the laughter; particularly enjoying spending a bit of time with my brother Sam who, despite his obvious character flaws, is an alright chap really. I also enjoyed the fact that at no point during the walk did I feel that it was a struggle. Sure going up the hills wasn’t particularly pleasant, but I always felt I could manage it. The whole thing brought it home to me how much fitter I am now than I was last year; and to be honest, that feels pretty good.

But most of all I think I enjoyed the opportunity to get outside my life for a while. On the walk I wasn’t a dad and I wasn’t a nurse; I was Dan. Probably the same Dan that I was in my early twenties. And while I’d much prefer to be where I am now, it’s very refreshing to escape it for a while. The fresh air and the simple act of putting one foot in front of another has reinvigorated me; and that can never be a bad thing.