Susan Donnelly

Rob and I flew in to Manchester, England, for the West Highland Way race so we spent the week before in England’s Lake District enjoying the trails.  The area’s worth visiting for the scenery alone but it impossible for me to be content just sitting and gazing.  I have to get out and go.  And besides, you gotta make the most of your time while you’re there!

So here’s how we recovered from jet lag and tapered for the race…

Scafell Pike (3210′)

While we were in Wasdale Head to meet Jon and Steve on their Bob Graham Round, it would have been crazy to pass up the chance to hike up to Scafell Pike. We’d done neighboring Sca Fell last year but didn’t have enough time that day after I’d worked out the tricky navigation to add the out-of-the-way side trip over to Scafell Pike proper.

This day’s sky was blue with puffy white clouds, so we loaded our packs and headed up.  Wasdale Head is a quiet, dead-end trail head area at the head of long, scenic Wast Water, one of the many lakes that gives the Lake District it’s name.  It’s a peaceful starting point with a wild feeling to it.  Even when two military jets streaked low over a pass overhead, far ahead of their lagging sound waves, they seemed more a part of the wildness, like trail runners enjoying the mountains in their own way.

I should mention that we often get disapproving looks for wearing and carrying so little on the trails here, but we’re actually carrying a fair amount of extra gear – often rain jackets, water, gloves, hats, maps – for a run.  I’m used to the Smoky Mountains, where the weather can change at the drop of a hat (and where I’ve had hypothermia in July) and I don’t know the Lake District hills well enough to be comfortable assuming too much risk.  The sign at the bottom of the hill is a good reminder that people, even well-prepared people, get in trouble at times.

That said, it’s always fun to greet others sharing the trail.  A “hello” here is usually rewarded with an enthusiastic recommendation about what’s ahead, a wry quip about the shared experience, and sometimes a short conversation.  The people we meet are delightful and thankfully never reluctant to share their British humor.

Where last year’s route up the other side of the ridge to Sca Fell had me constantly referring to the OS map landforms to find our route, this one was almost paved and marked with neon signs.  Once we’d both eyed the general route of the climb, neither one of us felt the need to refer to the map again.

On this particular trail, Where grass and dirt gave over to slate, there were cairns and the rocks were scuffed by hundreds of boots that had come before us, so wayfinding was still easy.  We sweated up the side but once at the top got hit with a noticeable windchill.  Jackets on.  We took advantage of the shelter to get out of the wind and look around for a moment.  It’s an awesome view where we could see other mountains we’ve climbed here and our adopted base town of Keswick.

Sigh.  Leaving is always but cold is cold and we had a bit of a drive back to town afterward.

Later at dinner, Rob mentioned that Scafell Pike is England’s highest peak.  That means that unintentionally, I’ve now done the highest peaks in Ireland, Scotland and England.  Maybe we can add Wales to the list next time.  It’s a good life.

Blencathra, First Try (2847′)

This day we chose to do a nearby peak that we’ve bypassed on previous trips and it was another sunny day.  Rob picked a route from one of his many guidebooks and we were off.

Unfortunately, I misnavigated an easy part at the beginning and we wasted a chunk of time getting to know one fern-covered shoulder of the mountain more than necessary.

Once navigation was back on track and we were on the correct shoulder, we started up only to see the shoulder narrow down to an exposed rocky spine that, looking up at the peak, wasn’t going to get any better (in fact, probably worse).  Rob wasn’t comfortable with the combined rocks and narrowness and if either of us ever feels that way, we do what you don’t like to do but what’s smart, and bail.  Another day…

Blencathra, Another Try

Another day turned out to be the next day.  This time, we were back with a new, epic-free route in mind.

Today, the summit was easy and the view glorious.  Even better, we met some local fell runners and talked to them for quite a while, trading notes and finding plenty of common ground.  To my chagrin, they were carrying a fraction of our gear and instead of feeling the need to justify a light load, I felt like a wimp.

Instead of taking the same route back, we took the runners’ recommendations and descended the opposite side of the hill to make it a loop.  It was worth it.  The trail ran past a deep blue tarn (mountain lake) hidden on the other side and we got to see some new trail.  The trail took us back past some of the sheep and cow fields we’d passed yesterday.

Back at the parking lot, we stowed gear, cleaned up and changed for dinner in town, and took one look back up at the summit.  The whole hill was basking peacefully in the long, late-day sun, telling us it was nice to finally meet and wishing us a relaxing summer evening.

Helvellyn (3118′)

For our last day in the peaks, we chose nearby Helvellyn.  It would be a quick summit with a great view and we could at least look at the other connecting trails, Striding Edge and Swirral Edge that I wanted badly to do but that would admittedly be more than we should probably do the day before the race.  Maybe next time.

Like Scafell Pike, the route up was easy to find and almost paved with rock that’s used to preserve fragile areas of trail from erosion.  As usual, fellow hikers were fun to talk with and everyone assured us the views were worth it, even the guy lugging the mountain bike with the broken derailleur.

The top of Helvellyn is broad and the mountain itself is massive.  Several groups were already there when we arrived, taking photos, eating lunch, and generally trying to take in the unbelievable 360-degree view before having to leave.

We spent our own fair time there, taking our own photos, picking out familiar mountains and features, watching the sheep graze by.  If you’re ever too cocky about climbing a hill around here, there’s always a grazing, totally unimpressed sheep (or twenty) present to keep you humble.

This being our last “vacation” day before the “work” of the race, we stalled for time against the deadlines and demands of the impending race and the rest of the world.  Somehow, time seems to suspend at the top of a mountain.  It’s so peaceful and timeless and it’s tempting to think that if you can just stay there, the deadlines and worries (and the end of your vacation) will stay at bay.

But of course we love the race and certainly weren’t going to be staying up top overnight so by necessity, it was back down to the car.  En route, we talked to a guy, already talking to another fellow hiker, who was checking out the track because he was going to be leading a group of rugby players on a 50-mile route over a handful of the peaks.  With a wry smile, he admitted to some doubt on whether they’d finish and we shared some laughs over his predicament, but he was giving it an honest shot and we parted wishing him good luck.

Back at the car and all cleaned up, we walked over to the tiny Wythburn church next to the trailhead.  It’s parish is long since gone and though it still houses services, it’s open all the time in welcome to those who stop by.  Small, quiet, and timeless…I spent a few welcome minutes meditating and grounding to carry me through tomorrow’s travel and race nerves.

We left the Lake District the next day, refreshed and ready for the race.

Posted: Sunday, June 27, 2010, 6:36 pm | Tags: Blog | Respond | Trackback