Lakes heaven (and Hel)
As the sun began to set we realised there was no way we would reach Keswick before nightfall. Headtorches on, we began the climb up Barrow. An owl hooted in the distance and a full moon cast shadows over the fells. It was the last climb of many. One more push and we would have completed the George Fisher Tea Round.
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Day one.
I had been longing to return to the Lake District. It holds fond memories and is a wonderful place to run and take photographs. Matt S was already up there on volunteer duties for the Northern Traverse ultra event and had finished early. He asked if I wanted to join him for a couple of days to run some hills. I'd booked my train ticket before he had finished his sentence.
My train arrived in Penrith at 12:30pm and an hour later we were setting off for the third highest mountain in England - Helvellyn. A clear sky with bright sunshine made a welcome change to the gloomy, cloudy wet days that had preceded it. We arrived in Patterdale where the kindness of strangers gifted us a parking ticket, and began our ascent straight away.
The burnished bronze of the bracken was paired with bright green mosses to produce a natural palette augmented by the sunshine yellow lichens and black and white Herdwick sheep grazing the fell sides. Skeletal trees, yet to bud, provided frames of reference in the otherwise open landscape. Contrails from high flying planes scored the cloudless blue sky. The songs of blackbirds, chaffinches, robins and great tits pierced the stillness. The warmth of the sun could be felt on our faces, hands and knees as we puffed our way west.
Striding Edge is the most famous scramble in the Lakes. Piles of igneous rock have formed crags that rise and fall along a narrow ridge leading up to Helvellyn. There have been fatalities here, although it is much more dangerous in the winter when snow and ice make the risk of slipping much greater. We picked our way along and up the rough grade one scramble until we reached The Chimney which requires a 7m ascent before descending and hiking up to the summit. On either side rocks littered the steep vertigo inducing drop.
Once back on grass and scree we proceeded up to the trig point and cairn. We had covered over 2400ft elevation over a parkrun distance. An astonishing view lay before us. Red Tarn directly below appeared uncharacteristically blue as it reflected the azure sky. The rugged spine of Striding Edge stretched down the way we had come to our right like the spinal plates of a Stegosaurus. To our left Swirral Edge curved off into the distance.
We ate a sausage roll each and pushed on. It was chilly on top and there was a stiff breeze, yet when it died down, or we were sheltered, we could feel the warmth of the spring sunshine. An easy run down Helvellyn and back up to the summit of Whiteside provided yet more scenic views. It was now time for a seriously steep descent on 'Pony Path', a tricky, narrow route of quarried siltstone.
The landscape turned lunar as we descended through Keppel Cove. In 1927 the dam here burst sending a torrent of water, mud and debris down Glenridding Beck and into the Glenridding village. We passed through the abandoned quarry and began another exhausting climb. This time over 1000ft in under two miles. The Beck beside us tumbled and splashed down rocky steps creating multiple waterfalls and cascades.
We crossed another Beck and arrived at the shore of Red Tarn, which still didn't reflect its name, just the open skies above and the charcoal black crows circling overhead. A woman was drying her hair after emerging from the still, chilled water. I hopped over a few stones for a photo opportunity (not with her), but there was no way I was going for a dip.
It wasn't far to the Hole-in-the-Wall with Helvellyn now behind us. The tiny figures on its summit looked like the few remaining stubbly hairs on my otherwise bald head. Once over the stile, we retraced our steps back down Grisedale Brow and into Patterdale.
The half marathon distance had taken us just under five hours, but the 5000ft elevation provided the explanation for that. And this was just a warm up for the long day...
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Day two.
The following day we had the opportunity to go long and bag some serious summits. Our goal was to complete the George Fisher Tea Round. This 30 mile / 12000ft challenge was hatched by two staff members at the George Fisher shop in Keswick. Alan Porthouse and Jacob Tompkinn were contemplating the visible peaks from the shop, over a cup of tea when Alan exclaimed, “that would be a grand day out”, an idea that Jacob couldn’t shake, so much so that he went on to turn it into a reality.
The round is now sponsored by Montane and has been completed by over 500 people with times ranging from five to forty nine hours. We decided to aim for around twelve. Was that realistic?
Another stunning day greeted us when we awoke at the campsite. Spring had arrived and what perfect timing. A short drive to Keswick and we were all set. Our bags were filled with the usual clothing layers, first aid kits, head torches (just in case) and provisions including fruit, cereal bars, cheese, pork pies, crisps and chocolate.
The round starts at the door of George Fisher. The shop doesn't open until 10am and we were ninety minutes early. A quick photo and off we went. We ran along the quiet streets of Keswick, past closed outdoorsy shops, pubs and restaurants until we reached the Pencil Museum and the River Greta. The Cumbria Way led us to a suspension bridge crossing the River Derwent and into Portinscale where we left the streets behind.
The trails began and we climbed up through birch forest past Galmire and Copperhead Bays before emerging onto the base of Skelgill Bank. This was the first of four big climbs and would eventually take us to the top of Catbells at 1500ft. From there we had an awe inspiring view across Derwent Water with Otterbield Island, St. Herbert's Island, Scarf Stones and Rapsholme Island breaking the surface.
Robinson was a brute. Named after a local land owner it lacks the romance and creativity of other fell names, but don't be under the illusion that this means it doesn't command respect. 2000ft in under two and a half miles. The first section was 40% gradient up the grass slope of High Snab Bank to the summit ridge. The last was a hands and feet climb up Blea Crags. Thankfully the stone was dry and we were able to get good grip with fingers and toes.
Once on the top we were rewarded, as you always are in this part of the world, with a panorama that takes away the little breath you have left. Buttermere, Derwent Water and Crummock Water pooled below us with Loweswater in the far distance. Matt admired the stone fences which I explained were known as walls in this part of the world. Oblong Woodsia ferns sprouted from gaps in the giant boulder heaps, clubmoss, liverwort and cinquefoil were everywhere. A butterfly, the first I had seen this spring, took off and fluttered away on the breeze before I could identify it.
Now we had to descend, and it wasn't going to be easy. Our watches showed over 30% gradient on the way down with scree covered paths, rock overhangs and a sheer drop beside us into the cascading waters that fell gracefully under gravities pull. Thankfully a fence had been constructed to offer some protection. I clung on as my legs sought for grip and we undertook controlled skidding to slowly lower ourselves off the fell.
It was a physical and psychological relief to reach the bottom. Both of us were low on water and filled up from a nearby stream in Kirk Close Wood as the sunlight filtered through the branches overhead. Robins, chaffinches, and meadow pipits made themselves known as rooks busily snapped twigs for use in building their nests.
It was comforting to have a mile of flat road to run on. A farm in Gatesgarth on the shore of Buttermere was selling refreshments so we ditched the water from the stream and refilled our bottles. Matt grabbed an ice cream and I had a coffee. Families out for the day were gathering ready to walk around the lakeside. Some were boating on the lake, while others walked their dogs. It felt strange to be back among 'normal' people, but we would soon be the odd ones again, heading up our third peak of the day - High Stile.
The two mile climb lifted us up 2200ft and took almost two hours. Once again there were section at 40% gradient. The flocks of Herdwick sheep watched us pass with bemused looks on their cute faces. The children and parents were now mere specks in the far distance and we were alone on the fell. We consoled ourselves that three climbs were done and there was only one significant peak left to summit.
Our descent took us down to Bleaberry Tarn. My quads were screaming as I tried not to lose my footing on the rocky path down. Twisting and turning along the zig zag route we finally had a break by the water where a family were having a swim. From there stone steps led back to the shore of Buttermere and a cafe we had been looking forward to for many hours. Matt skipped down in his element while I toiled and complained to myself as hunger and tiredness began to bite.
Just in time we arrived at the cafe, where we ordered half their remaining stock and stuffed our faces and restocked our packs. This was our longest stop of the day, roughly twenty minutes. Feeling brighter and rested we decided to crack on and tackle the next big one.
Mill Beck accompanied us through Ghyll Wood and up over an elaborate stile into open fields. Hands on knees again we slowly dragged our now tired legs ever upward past the onlooking ovine spectators. 500ft, 1000ft, 1500ft, 2000ft Whiteless Pike, Saddle Gate, Thirdgill Head Man, Hobcarton Crag, we ticked off the summits. That was the four big climbs done, there were a few spikes on the elevation map, but otherwise it was all downhill. We hoped to be back in Keswick close to our predicted time.
First there was an out and back to Grisedale Pike. A fierce wind had blown up out of nowhere. Both of us had our long sleeved tops on, hoods up and were taking a battering. It made treading the narrow paths a little dicey, but we pressed on. Once on top of Grisedale Pike we headed back over Hobcarton, and then swung around to climb Eel Crag and Crag Hill. This was a different story. The quickest way to the top was a hands and feet rock climb in the wind. Anxiety was high, but we managed to safely scale its 2700ft, the high point of the day (physically, not emotionally.)
Time for the second out and back which looked like a relatively simple couple of up and downs. Unfortunately we hadn't realised that the tops in front of us were hiding the final one much further on. The wind almost lifted us off our feet as we sought to keep our balance and trudge on and on to the seemingly constantly receding end point. After scaling Sail, Scar Crags and Causey Pike we finally reached Rowling End. Moods were low and I was getting to Pope's End. It was starting to get darker. We had massively underestimated this last section.
A decision needed to be made. Were we going to push on and complete the round in the dark or take the route straight down into Keswick without climbing the final summit of Barrow? Being the stubborn, obsessive runners we are, we opted to keep going. To be fair we had fuel, some water and head torches. We did make the sensible (I know!) decision not to descend straight down the steep north face, but to take a longer winding path down to the east and then back up to the west before ascending Barrow.
The final climb was relatively straight forward and we were soon laughing and smiling again as we looked down on the street lights and cosy glows emanating from houses in Braithwaite and Keswick. The last two miles was a nice flat road section into Keswick centre where we finished at George Fisher thirteen hours and five minutes after we left.
