Crinkle Crags

Much too good to be missed . . .  this is a climb deserving of high priority wrote Alfred Wainwright in his Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells. I'd been wanting to walk the Crinkles for ages, and this was finally my chance — my Great Langdale campsite lay on their very doorstep. But would they remain free from cloud? At 10 am last Saturday the weather was clear, but by 11 am the mist had rolled in. This was the view from Pike of Blisco (705 m) towards the Langdale Pikes . . . 

From the delightfully rocky summit of Pike of Blisco I descended a stone staircase to Red Tarn, then climbed up again to Great Knott (696 m). (Ah, 'twas ever thus in the Lake District — up and down, up and down . . . ) I enjoyed this wild panorama from my lunchtime picnic spot by the cairn on Great Knott . . .  

Mist still swirled in the gullies . . .

. . . but by the time I reached the Crinkles' serrated and complicated ridge, it had all but lifted.

The Crinkles' traverse is a highlight of Lake District fell walking. There are five distinct  peaks and depressions (the 'crinkles'), which are much more obvious from the valley below. While you're walking them — or should I say stumbling over them in intense bursts of bouldery ups and downs — they seem to go on for ever. But the experience is unforgettable, and the views are immense. 

How about this elevated prospect over Langdale?

Or this green gully between two towering cliff gates?

Here you can see about half the whole stupendous ridge in one shot . . . 

And here are the first three crinkles with a mountain backdrop behind . . .

Looking west there's the magnificent skyline of Sca Fell (964 m) and Scafell Pike (977 m)  — England's two highest mountains — separated by the notched ridge of Mickledore (the big depression centre left). 

One of the Three Tarns on the col between Crinkle Crags and Bowfell. Here I took the long path of descent over the Band and back down to Great Langdale, where I relished a pint of real ale in the Hikers' Bar at the Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel . . . The whole circular mountain trip had taken me six hours.  

The Langdale Pikes Revisited

At the weekend I camped for three nights in the mountainous heart of the English Lake District — in Great Langdale at the foot of the Langdale Pikes. The photo shows Great Langdale Beck, Lingmoor Fell and the knobbly protrusion of Side Pike.

I'd climbed the Pikes before in 2007, but just knew I had to do it again. The view downstream from the top of Stickle Ghyll was sublime — so wild, so savagely beautiful.

My first Pike was Harrison Stickle, the highest Pike of the group (736 m). I followed a clear path which curved its way up to the rocky summit. The climb looked intimidatingly steep from below, but proved easier than expected.

From the eastern slopes of Harrison Stickle one could appreciate the splendid isolation of Stickle Tarn. 

My next Pike was Pike of Stickle.

As I approached Loft Crag, my third and final Pike, this view of the Langdale and Mickleden valleys suddenly opened up. It was simply breathtaking. The patch of water cupped between the fells is Blea Tarn.

Loft Crag. In the distance you can see Lake Windermere, England's largest natural lake.

The glorious greenness of Langdale in the late afternoon sun.

I was almost back on the valley floor when I spotted this interesting alignment of Herdwick sheep.

Low Pike And Scandale Beck

A visit to my mother-in-law in the Lake District last week gave me the chance to spend a day on the fells. Years ago I'd set out from Ambleside to walk the Fairfield Horseshoe via Heron Pike and Great Rigg, but had taken the wrong path off Fairfield's misty summit and ended up in Patterdale after scrambling over Cofa Pike and reaching the lofty viewpoint of St Sunday Crag (a spectacular route, I might add). This time my vague plan was to complete the second half of the horseshoe by taking in Low Pike, High Pike, Dove Crag and Hart Crag, then return to Ambleside on a clear track along the eastern flank of Scandale. I really wasn't sure how much of this ambitious route I'd manage to do, as it was a raw winter's day and there was snow on the tops. But it didn't matter: plans should always be flexible and able to adjust to circumstance; and anyhow, I was delighted simply to be out in the hills and the fresh air. And the air was certainly fresh, though I felt quite comfortable wearing two fleeces, hat, gloves and neck warmer, and a body-hugging base layer. The photo of Scandale Beck was taken from Low Sweden Bridge.      

My daypack felt good and snug on my back. I hadn't done anything like this for a few months, and I glowed in the familiar feelings you experience at the start of a walk: excitement, anticipation and a strong sense of release from the usual bonds of habit and routine which fetter so much of our life. These feelings can sometimes border on ecstasy. As I climbed, the views opened up; here I'm looking west towards the Langdale Pikes . . . 

. . . and to Loughrigg across the valley of the river Rothay.

Ambleside . . .

. . . and Lake Windermere . . .

. . . receded behind me as I hit the snow line.

Eating lunch on the summit cairn of Low Pike (508m, 1667 ft), I considered my options. Half the day had gone and I was only a quarter-way round my route. It was turning colder and the weather was deteriorating. The snow was getting deeper and the path increasingly harder to trace; in some places my boots were sinking in up to six inches of snow. Off the path the wet and grassy slopes — patchily blanketed with an unstable covering of snow — were treacherous. For me it would have been foolish, and physically and mentally challenging, to go on, although a well-equipped couple — the only hillwalkers I saw all day — did pass me, intending to complete the whole horseshoe. This is the view of High Pike from Low Pike . . .    

. . . and this is the bleak trough of Scandale. Scandale Beck has its source on Bakestones Moss high up at the valley head.

I turned back the way I'd come and quickly regained the easier slopes. Halfway down I branched off along a slabbed path which led to the valley bottom, where I found this beautiful packhorse bridge spanning the beck. A well-made track followed the tumbling stream through woodland and back to Ambleside.

Longsleddale

I'd long wanted to hike the secretive Cumbrian valley of Longsleddale, and last weekend's visit to my mother-in-law, who lives in the Lake District, gave me the opportunity.

The curvaceous river Sprint . . .

. . .  seduced both eye and heart.

The walk began in the tiny settlement of Sadgill.

A clear and easy track led up the valley . . . 

. . . through an exquisite autumn landscape.

These old stone walls were a constant and sinuous delight. 

On my left rose the lower slopes of Kentmere Pike . . .

. . . while on my right towered the precipitous rocks of Buckbarrow Crag.

A meeting of two mountain streams.

I climbed effortlessly up a gently forgiving path . . .

. . . towards Gatesgarth Pass.

In this eastern area of Lakeland, peat meets rock to create a lonely but sublime desolation. 

Entrance to a sheepfold in Longsleddale.

Scout Scar

You may have noticed that the Solitary Walker has not done much solitary walking this year — being involved in matters more literary, culinary and horticultural. I aim to put that right. This is a walk I did a few weeks ago on a visit to my mother-in-law in the Lake District. It's a walk I devised myself, with a little help from the Ordnance Survey's Outdoor Leisure Map No 7: The English Lakes: South Eastern Area: Windermere, Kendal & Silverdale. I took the map with me and worked out the route en route, so to speak. It's nice to do that sometimes, rather than planning everything beforehand — there's a happy freedom in it. The walk was exactly 5 miles long.  

There's a handy car park at the col between Cunswick Scar and Scout Scar on the Underbarrow road just west of Kendal. From here I set off southwards up the limestone scar. It wasn't long before the landscape opened up: scattered woods, lumpy hills, tiny settlements and a patchwork of green fields full of sheep and buttercups.

A clear path followed the edge of the escarpment. The view west across the Lyth Valley towards Morecambe Bay was tremendous.

Although I wasn't that high, it felt very airy up there, and I bowled along as if I were on top of the world.

This shelter, known as 'The Mushroom', stands on the summit of Scout Scar (764 ft). It was built in 1912 as a memorial to King George V, and has twice been restored.

The path descended gently to the Brigsteer road. Just before the village a track led northwards through woods to Barrowfield Farm. And from the farm another path struck through more woodland . . . 

. . . which was deciduous, but with isolated pockets of pine.

After passing this remote smallholding I lost the way for a while, but soon found it again — eventually emerging on a quiet minor road called Garth Row Lane. This took me to Scar Foot, and a slightly scary trek uphill along a bendy, busier road back to the car park.