The Lake District
1st September 1973 to 8th September 1973
After a very exciting week in Wales earlier in the year we wanted to visit more mountainous countryside and, having heard and read a lot about it, we chose the Lake District for a circular tour from Carlisle to include a day to climb to the summit of Scafell Pike, following the earlier pattern of Wales that we had enjoyed so much. We were again carrying our camping gear and were free to stop at will although we wanted to see as much as possible.
Saturday 1st September 1973
Quite a long and tiring day to begin our trip. The train from Waltham Cross was cancelled so that we had to go really fast through the city to make Euston in time. We made the train okay but there were no seats left except for some reserved carriages and we sat in these to Crewe and then had to move to the buffet. Shortly after we left we had an argument with a petty minded train guard who was upset because we hadn't put labels on the bikes. The train was held up several times but finally we were passing through the fells and we arrived at Carlisle three quarters of an hour late. We had thought it would take only a couple of hours to reach Keswick but there was a strong wind and the bikes felt really heavy. We followed the B road through Dalston and stopped for a while at Buckabank buying some fruit to eat for lunch. Further along we turned off onto minor roads and followed the National Park boundary for several miles before turning to Mungrisedale and down to the main road. It was exciting to be amongst the fells although we were very tired as there was a strong headwind. There was a steep 1 in 7 hill to climb before the long run down to Keswick and we finally arrived at 5:30 p.m. just in time to buy some provisions. We didn't want to camp in Keswick and chose a site at Lanefoot Farm about 3 miles away. It turned out to be a good farm site with a splendid view of Skiddaw with grey clouds right across its top. It had been much more strenuous than we thought it would be but the reward was worth the effort as we settled down with the fine view.
Day 36 miles - Trip 36 miles
Sunday 2nd September 1973
We left the tent and equipment at the site and set off on a circular tour thinking that the riding would be easy without the equipment. We soon found out how wrong we were as we climbed high above the valley towards the Whinlatter Pass, Our legs were really straining as we climbed a long 1 in 7 hill. As the road levelled out there was a superb view northwards to Bassenthwaite and we stopped for a while to recover our strength. After that climb it was fairly easy riding along the Whinlatter Pass with the mountains climbing high on either side. A very steep drop down brought us to High Lorton which was a complete contrast to the open fellsides and mountain roads. This was a sparse, but picturesque, village and we weaved through its streets to follow the road towards Crummock Water. The mountains ahead were getting nearer as we crossed a surprising little green with a large house on the right and a huge barking Old English Sheepdog which was, luckily, behind a cattle grid. We stopped nearby and looked at the map to try and identify some of the mountains around us. A short ride on and we saw Cinderdale Beck gurgling and splashing down the hillside to our left. Its many waterfalls enticed us from the road and we left the bikes beside the road, hoping they'd still be there when we returned, and climbed up beside the beck. It was really beautiful with white water splashing down in a hundred different ways and as we climbed higher the surroundings became more wild as the beck narrowed making it harder and harder to stay by the water. We finally decided to turn back and retraced our steps to the road and the bikes.
On now into Buttermere, a tiny village with Sour Milk Gill splashing its way down the hillside opposite. We stopped here for some tea and then climbed up the steep hill to the road which led to the far end of Buttermere where we found a place on the shore to stop for lunch. The wind blew towards us and the waves were surprisingly large making it almost like a coastal setting. As we left and made our way towards Honister Pass, Denise spotted a heron by the beck on our left and we watched as it winged its way up the valley. We thought that we had been doing quite well up the hills until ahead we saw Honister Pass, just about the steepest road we had ever seen. As we didn't have the panniers we were determined to ride the whole way but the road was so steep that I could just not turn the pedals. With Denise giving push starts and stopping every few yards we finally made it to the top and collapsed on the grass exhausted. We had ridden all the way though not in one go. Going down would surely be easy but in many ways it was far worse. The descent was so steep that without brakes we would have lost complete control and with every muscle tensed against the bike and brakes almost full on we made our way as fast as we dared to the valley. There was now a pleasant ride through the beautiful Borrowdale Valley stopping on the way to climb up beside the Lodore Falls which I had attempted to find many years earlier. As there was still some time left we took a look round the shops in Keswick. A couple of bookshops had the Wainwright guides and some Beatrix Potter books and we then discovered Fishers camping and climbing shop, a really superb large store. That was about it for today and we returned to the site well pleased with our ride but after Honister Pass how on earth are we going to manage the Wrynose and Hardknott passes later in the week?
Day 29 miles - Trip 65 miles
Monday 3rd September 1973
A misty and wet day which started with the tent absolutely soaked from the mist outside and condensation inside. The mountains all around Keswick were capped with clouds and the morning was very damp. We passed through Keswick and struggled a little on a hill outside. Not a very steep hill but not good first thing in the morning. Progress seemed very slow but we were soon among some splendid mountain scenery as we passed alongside Thirlmere and over Dunmail Raise into Grasmere. The long run down to Grasmere from the top of Dunmail Raise was quite exciting and we were still going without pedalling as we turned off into Grasmere village to stop at a cafe. Outside the village we passed alongside the lake of Grasmere which was by far the prettiest we had seen with a mirror calm surface reflecting the brilliant green fields behind. Rydal Water, a little further on, was also very pretty as we passed by on our way to Ambleside. The rain began to fall as we stood in Ambleside looking at the Old Bridge House, a tiny stone house built on a bridge with just two tiny rooms, one up, one down. Perhaps someone once lived there but now it was a National Trust Information Centre. We pressed on in the rain towards Windermere and stopped on the way at the National Park Centre at Brockhole. This had one of the best exhibitions we had seen with slides of rock climbing and fellwalking projected onto stone walls, a display of local birds with slides that lit up as the birds' calls or songs were heard and many other slides with commentaries. Also there was a corner devoted to the writers and poets of the Lakes with extracts from their works and other exhibits such as dry stone walling. A very interesting place.
Windermere itself was fairly dull, with nothing of note, and we took the ferry across Windermere to visit Beatrix Potter's house past Far Sawrey. This part of the countryside was more gentle and wooded than the north and we stopped at Near Sawrey to go into the house which was a very beautiful old house. Large dark rooms with dark timber beams and panelling, wooden seats in the window bays and solid wood furniture and mantelshelves all looked splendid. One room contained the original drawings of the characters and some of the original manuscripts and letters. The gatehouse at the entrance sold all of her books and if we had had some spare money we might have had some extra weight to carry up the hills. It was still raining as we went through the charming village of Hawkshead to the National Trust campsite at Wray. It finally stopped raining as we pitched the tent and when we looked out sometime later there was actually blue sky above although the black clouds were not far away. Let's hope that it pours down tonight to give us a clear day tomorrow.
Day 34 miles - Trip 99 miles
Tuesday 4 September 1973
What a day! The day for storming up the passes, or rather crawling! Another wet morning and a very grey day as we packed the tent and set off for Skelwith Bridge and a visit to Skelwith Force. We left the bikes by the road and went down to the river which gushed in an angry white spout between two enormous boulders. This was probably the best time to see a waterfall - after the overnight rain.
After following the main road for a short distance we turned off for Little Langdale dropping steeply down into a valley and climbing out again. The road was becoming very hilly and after a little walking on the steep parts we came upon a little Post Office shop where we bought our provisions. We stopped a few hundred yards further on and sat just off the road overlooking Little Langdale Tarn which, with its tall grasses, looked strangely empty. After passing through Fell Foot Farm we could see the road ahead stretching up into the clouds to the Wrynose Pass. As the clouds were low there was no way to judge the height and distance of the pass and we just pressed on and on with the road becoming so steep that we were forced to walk. Even that was difficult. We passed three magnificent waterfalls, one dropping suddenly beside the road after passing beneath. All around water was trickling and gurgling down the hillsides and down the roads. When we had climbed quite high we were able to view the valley of Little Langdale laid out before us but the breezes were moving the mists and the scene vanished. At last we reached the top and after all the hard work we expected an exhilarating drop to the valley but the descent itself was rather tame. What was magnificent was the scene that greeted us as we came through the clouds. Wrynose Bottom. Quite the most wild and empty landscape, superbly beautiful in its solitude. A million miles away from humanity. We stopped alongside the level bottom and climbed a short way from the road to make tea from the gushing waters of the stream and just sat and looked at the high fells enclosing a wild and rugged valley.
We knew Hardknott Pass was the steepest in the district but what greeted us as we crossed the bridge over the River Duddon was surely impossible! No road, not even in imagination, could be this steep. 1 in 3 on paper is difficult to conceive but in reality was almost as difficult to accept. There was no question of riding and at the first incline we started to push, straining almost horizontally to gain forward progress. The road stretched up and up higher into the hills and as we stopped to rest on frequent occasions, the backwards view was breathtaking. There are not many places like this that can be seen from a road. Several times we thought we had reached the top until, finally, a huge cairn told us that we could go no higher and we set about the descent, a frightening plunge way down into the lovely green Eskdale Valley. Brakes fully on, and occasionally with feet on the floor, it was difficult to avoid catapulting over the handlebars and a double bend at 1 in 3 within about 100 yards had every muscle tensed. Denise walked. Twisting round corners and plunging ever downwards we at last came to level ground and slowly uncurled our stiff fingers from the brake levers. The valley was green and beautiful and we rode on to visit Boot and to stop at Dalegarth Station the terminus of the Ravenglass and Eskdale railway. We sat in the buffet to await the arrival of the miniature train and watched as it turned on the turntable to begin the return journey. It had grown late and we forced tired legs on through level wooded country that was such a contrast to the fells we had left behind that it could be in another part of the country. We weaved our way through the woodlands and descended speedily to Santon Bridge when we turned for Wasdale. After a few miles Wastwater stretched out before us and the Screes across the lake rose in sheer and rugged majesty into the clouds. This was a splendid wild place but we were unable to pay much heed as all our thoughts and energy were channelled towards making tired and leaden limbs turn the pedals to take us ever nearer Wasdale. We were at last able to turn to the National Trust campsite which was large and practically deserted and we chose a pitch close by the river so that we could hear its chattering voice as we lay warm and snug in the tent. The day had, in the main, been grey and damp but as we camped and the evening wore on blue skies burst through the clouds for the first time. Perhaps tomorrow will bring sunshine.
Day 27 miles - Trip 126 miles
Wednesday 5th September 1973
Yes, the sun was shining as we woke and the mists had cleared. Today we would climb Scafell Pike, the highest mountain in England. We set off picking our way across the boulders of Lingmell Gill and started to ascend the path up Brown Tongue which was quite easy at first but became steep before levelling out to the huge amphitheatre of Hollow Stones. Scafell Crag towered massively above us on the right and two people with a small child carried in a papoose set off up Lords Rake. We could hardly believe it. Looking back we could see the valley but patches of mist were now drifting across Hollow Stones and soon the scene was blotted out. The mist was patchy, but at times clearing completely, so we continued to Mickledore up a scree slope so frighteningly steep that Denise had to be cajoled and bullied to the top. As we reached the ridge of Mickledore the ground plummeted away below us into the mists. As we rested the mist cleared suddenly so that, for a few seconds, we caught a glimpse of the valley far below. The path was easy to follow and we picked our way over huge boulders more suited to the seashore than a mountain top and in the still drifting, patchy, mist we came to the summit cairn. We were surprised that there were so many people here for the day was now very grey and it was easy to forget that these people had probably also started in the sunshine.
We sat and had lunch and memorised the plaque on the cairn showing the direction to Lingmell Col in case the mist could worsen. It was becoming colder now and there was no view so we set off for the descent. We found the path but very soon a thick wet blanket of mist rolled over us and in seconds the landscape had all but disappeared. The path was well cairned but even so it was difficult to pick out the next cairn. We made our way slowly down from cairn to cairn and were passed after a while by two people moving quickly and as we were becoming a little panicky we tried to follow. Very soon we were hopelessly lost. The path was gone and the ground was dipping steeply ahead. We had no idea what lay in the mist ahead. We were beginning to get frightened and the only course seemed to be to head slowly and carefully downwards. Then Denise heard voices. I heard nothing. We listened again and argued but Denise was so convinced that we headed carefully in the direction of the 'voices'. Suddenly there was a cairn and to its right another and a clear path. We did not recognise the path, although it seemed well used, and we followed it downwards until we walked straight out of the mist into the clear air and discovered we were on Brown Tongue. Stretching for miles ahead of us beneath the angry grey clouds lay Wastwater gleaming like a path of beaten silver leading onward to the sun. We were very relieved and, although weary, we trudged thankfully down the pathway back to the camp site. It had been quite an experience.
Thursday 6th September 1973
The only way to leave Wasdale by road is to follow Wastwater and then to go over the Hardknott Pass or, alternatively, across Birker Fell. We chose the latter, not wishing to retrace our steps, and we set off early. We were already tired from yesterday's walk and the miles accumulated over the previous days so that we had to walk up most of the hills. The road across Birker Fell was on open plateau and was very interesting but we were making slow progress. By the time we reached Ulpha it was past 12 o'clock and we thought that the chances of reaching Langdale - our day's objective - were very slim. Still we pressed on after stopping for some food and tea, climbing high and dropping down only to climb again. Each part of the Lake District seems to have a different character and this was like a combination of the rugged fells and the gentler aspects of Eskdale. After a steady climb to a ridge with superb views down to the valley we were able to find a road dropping down to the main road and, passing through two gates, we joined the main road which led to Coniston. Remarkably, considering how tired we were, the seven and a quarter miles into Coniston were accomplished in three quarters of an hour so that by the time we had had some tea in Coniston we were optimistic about reaching Langdale. The day had brightened about noon but as we left Coniston it closed in again and worsened as the day wore on. We passed through Skelwith Bridge and on into Langdale but as we rode the mountains ahead grew greyer and greyer and drizzle began to fall. The drizzle turned to rain and we were pleased to pitch the tent. This was a National Trust site also but, unlike the previous two, we were allowed to camp free due to the colour of the tent which was approved by the National Trust. In the evening we tried to identify the jagged peaks above us as we peered out in the grey evening. Loft Crag or Harrison Stickle? We weren't sure.
Day 39 miles trip 165 miles
Friday 7th September 1973
As we woke the rain was still falling and we lay for a while not wanting to set off in the rain. At last we knew that we had to get up and rushed out to wash. By the time we began to pack the rain eased off so that riding was not too bad. We headed for Ambleside but after a few miles our journey and holiday nearly came to an end. We were travelling quite fast along the road when there was a fairly sharp left-hand corner. A single deck bus was coming towards us. Denise applied the brakes to take the corner and the front cable snapped sending her straight on almost into the side of the bus. Luckily the back brake provided enough grip to save her and we pulled over to the side of the road, slightly shaken, to inspect the damage to cable. We were not sure that we would get replacement but ventured carefully into Ambleside to try and find a shop. Luckily we found one almost straightaway and acquired a new cable and spare. We fitted the cable and then stopped for tea before heading out of Ambleside towards the Kirkstone Pass. The road went steeply uphill for three miles into mist that grew thicker and thicker. We try to ride but tired limbs forced us off towards the top and we struggled wearily to the top of the pass by the Kirkstone Inn. The mist spoilt the descent as we had to go very carefully not knowing how steep the road was until after a while we broke through the mist and could see Patterdale below bathed in sunshine. We released the brakes and enjoyed a fast run down to Brothers Water and into Patterdale. By the time we reached Ullswater the sun was shining strongly and we stopped by the lake for some tea. We had one more place to stop alongside Ullswater at Aira Force and we left the bikes by the cafe at the beginning of the path and walked across fields to reach the fall. We found a spectacular fall with bridges spanning the top and bottom and the water crashing for about 70 feet between. We crossed the lower bridge and climbed to the top to look down before following the bank of the stream back to the cafe. Sadly it was now time to be thinking of getting back to Carlisle and as we sat and had some more tea we decided to camp at Pooley Bridge. The day was now bright and clear and for the first time in days we could see for miles. The only trouble was that the mountains were now left behind and the evening was spoilt by the noise of happy campers on a dreary caravan site.
Day 25 miles trip 190 miles
Saturday 8th September 1973
Why does it seem that the best things are always just out of grasp? Today the sun is shining and the skies are blue. We can see for miles but what is there to see? The mountains and the memories are fading as we head to Carlisle to pick up the train to London. Not much to remember about the ride today, the disappointment at leaving overshadows all.