Thursday, June 7, 2012

25th-27th May: HWGE Summiteering in 2012

The Expedition

Organised once more by our own Cumbrian Wild Man,  this was HWGE Lakes Walk No.2, last year's having been declared a major success despite Glen's disastrous cock-up, which allowed a classic Lakes downpour to start exactly as we reached the summit of Pillar, which never stopped for the next 15 hours.

His planning started in August 2011, and continued through the winter. This time the target was a modest "8 miles with 3000' of climb" -- a loop out of Buttermere up to High Crag via Sheepbone Buttress, then along the High Stile ridge, via High Stile, Red Pike, down to Scale Force, and back to Buttermere.

The Chosen Nine  were regularly briefed through the Spring by Our Leader, who as always did a fantastic job of planning. He booked us into "the best camping barn in the Lakes": Cragg Farm, Buttermere, see below.

Weather
Quite apart from Mr Graham's habitual understatement about how easy his walks are, the thing that filled us with dread was that – here at the end of May – the whole country (never mind the crappy North East) was still suffering the miserable, heavy grey skies, downpours and low, low (8º) temperatures of March, or even February.  At least one of us was prepared to pay up and ditch, before setting off if the weather looked like it would be too bad.

But that one week in May, the weather lifted to Mediterranean highs, and we set off on Friday 25th into what proved to be unbroken sun and blue sky, and temperatures of 25-26º. As stated elsewhere, Glen seems to have reserved the entire British Summer for 2012, for this one weekend, and instead of packing foul weather gear, the boys were packing Factor 50!

Note on the pics: if you click on one of the pics, in order to see it bigger, a new layer (called "Lightbox") opens up over your screen, which allows you to see all the pics in sequence by clicking on the index at the bottom, or using your right-left arrow keys. To return to the blog (and thereby see the narrative), click the Close box "X", top right of the black viewing screen.

This isn't quite what we walked but it's almost exactly right
(we didn't go yon side of Buttermere, and we went
in the opposite direction to these arrows)
Nine men went to walk... 0920, 26/5/12

The place

The camping barn run by the Temples at Cragg Farm, Buttermere, is just great. Accommodates 8, but we squeezed in 9, having negotiated permission with the owners. See http://www.buttermerecottage.co.uk/

This is what it looks like (looking North, Grisedale Pike behind): 

Mediterranean weather not guaranteed.
Barn is the greystone to the right of the white farm buildings.


Views from the farmyard:




And this is Early Morning on the day of the walk, looking south-west towards Red Pike -- taken by that restless bugger, Mr Kevan at about 0500:
Another immaculate day!
That's Dodd we're looking at, Red Pike just peeping over the top.

Friday evening
Arriving on schedule, and settling into the barn (below), we then went off to the fabulous Kirkstile Inn in Loweswater, 4-5 miles round the lanes from Buttermere.

This place is miles from anywhere ... but the world and his wife know about it, and it was rammed: sweat dripping off the walls, and Mine Host's beer-pulling arm going like a fiddler's elbow.  Fortunately our noble leader knows all about Lakeland nooks and crannies, and he'd booked us a table.

The food explained why the place was packed: fantastic home-cooked meals, even though they must have been serving hundreds that evening. The wonderful clear local beers matched the food.

Sad to say, nobody got plastered, and there was no gurning competition to match last year's shenanigans.  Nonetheless it didn't take long for the conversation to spiral  downwards, from Wordsworth's aims and inspirations in The Prelude, to Gerbils (to the aghast disbelief of some). So within about five minutes of our sitting down, the nine rowdy gadgies in the corner were getting amused, or un-amused, looks from all the other diners who were forced to rub elbows with us.

Then we went back to Buttermere and had a couple in The Bridge hotel, one of two large pubs in this tiny, tiny village.

The nights this weekend were perfect: pure clear skies, and – for goodness' sake! – warm!!!!  Some of us sat out for an hour or two, just looking ....

... at these...
You might be able to see billions of stars,
and the fact that one of the two big ones is yellow, and the other blue
.
There was no [serial] Moon on this expedition.
 The Walk

You can imagine the pure joy (no irony there) we all felt as we emerged, one by reluctant one, from the communal sleeping pit into a morning that started off  as below: here's Caley and Harrison, having their first cuppa, barefoot, seeking the shade at 7.30 in the morning, and ...

0730, Saturday
 ... basking in the glorious, limpid morning, warm and already getting hot, the birds singing choruses, the fields and the woods sparkling Spring Green, and the fells spectacular against a glorious blue sky (oh, purple stuff Dook, ey?!)

The view that Paul is admiring, above.

And so off we set ... down the perfect English lane...




 ...on a perfect English Summer's day...
 ...past the Fish in Buttermere, sparkling in the sun...


 ...and alongside Buttermere itself, the fells basking ...

 ... into the shade of the woods...
 ...sun-dappled and silent but for birdsong and the happy murmuring of us walkers...
 ... and out of the woods, up the fellside, the sound of a cuckoo distinct and clear on our right, in the woods, as we start what seemed to be a near-vertical climb ...
... and we pause, checking pulses, to look where we're heading...
High Crag, via Sheepbone Buttress:
 ...like this...
 A little later: we're about at the third arrow from the top, above, and Wellsy is lost for words.
Is it the shortness of breath?   Or is it ...
 ... the view? Buttermere with Crummock Water beyond:
 And here comes Ron....   See?????  It's bloody steep!!!  (There are three others behind Ron, lost in the fold of the hill.)
 Here they come ...
 Same view; or rather: better view...
 See?  It's bloody steep!!!!  But not as steep as where we chose to sit... being Team Wuss, the cameraman was not happy to sit here....  

(That's Adrian down there, by the way, who had been taking up the Back Stop (Safety Officer) position on this stretch).
We're higher up: Buttermere and Crummock Water again ... and the Solway Firth:
 Top of High Crag!  The sun was hot as ever ... but a very stiff breeze, which caused Dook to put his trousers back on, thank god.  The only complete Team Photo On The Hill
And off we set along the ridge towards High Stile, sloping up on the right below:
 Crummock Water again -- and Scotland:
 Team photo, Top of High Stile, Scrap behind the camera:

Especially for Skinny: these are the sort of people you meet, on the Fells...
 Mmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!!!  Let's have a closer look at those legs!

 Crikey, that's close enough thanks mate.

Further over the top of High Stile: lunch break.
Ennerdale, and on the horizon the Isle of Man:
 Yet another view of Scotland, from the top of High Stile ...
Next, we needed to walk across and down to Red Pike:

Ron was Safety Officer on this stretch: it was bloody steep
Notice how he's jogging: this was not voluntary:


For some reason the photographs run out here, for about 2 miles, downhill from the top of Red Pike, right the way down to Scale Beck at the foot of the mountain.  Oh: I remember why: the descent was so bloody steep, and so bloody painful over the rocks, no two steps the same, that this particular photographer had to save all his energy for swearing.

But we got down eventually, if not easily, for a man of our ages, and then went to admire Scale Force, where the Scale Beck tips itself over  a crag: Leigh showed us the way....

Unfortunately we failed to get a pic of Adrian basking bollock-naked in Scale Beck, to the horror, amusement and disbelief of passing walkers.
However, having dressed him again, we got an  untraumatised tourist to take a final picture, on the bridge over the beck....


And so we wended our weary way back over the boggy fields beside Crummock Water,  that drains the hills we had walked...
... through bluebell-dappled  meadows, the sun still, as ever on this day, beating down ...
... and finally staggering into Buttermere, to grab some of the most delicious, and expensive, and most welcome ice-cream that money can buy...
... and in answer to Dook's plaintive and indignant "well oo's gunna wash my feet then?", as always, Uncle Adrian came to the fore and quietened the petulant whinger ...

... who was then magnaminous enough to allow his benefactor to have his used water...
Then for the bliss of a shower....
Duke thinks again about the air-drying technique
as Scrap plonks his chair down in front of him
Scrap has to content himself with admiring Wee John's legs

Saturday evening

(Harrison had to leave us after the walk: he muttered something about family commitments the next day.  However it was pathetically obvious that he wanted to watch the whole of the Eurovision Song Contest in peace.  Poor choice, Harrison! As the next pictures show.)

Footsore and exhausted, we strolled the 300 yards into Buttermere, and found space in The Fish Inn (which we passed when we'd set off in the morning). Here the food was cheap and cheerful, plentiful, and very, very welcome. The beers were the same high quality as the Kirkstile Inn, the night before.

As the pub emptied of the day's walkers and other trippers, we wondered what jolly, manly antics we might get up to, this night.  Whoa!  Nine blokes away together?  A few beers inside us? Wives and families a world away?  Eh?  Eh?!?!

When Ron suggested that he get his game of Donkey! out, we whooped at the chance! Cor bloody hell! There was no stopping us!  (Eat yer heart out Harrison!) We played at least two games, the first Donkey ending up as Adrian, the second Duke. Such larks!  The barman was peeing himself at the untrammelled, ribald antics of this bunch of wild men .... 
Game One: Adrian tries to off-load the donkey:
no chance: the man's a Pro.
Game Two: Michelle ups the ante, tension is palpable,
beer is temporarily forgotten as we wait for Adrian's reaction,
writ large across his non-poker face.
(What do you mean "Who is Michelle?")
Farewells

Although the next day was as brilliant as the first and second (we are happy to say that we spent the whole of Summer, 2012,  in the Lakes) we couldn't manage another walk, and so we had our splendid breakfasts, cooked by Adrian, Glen, Wellsy, and Michelle, and bid farewell to the Beautiful Barn in Buttermere...
By popular vote: best chef

"Kitchen Goddess"

Loading up...

... for a full Team Photo
(What do you mean "Who's Michelle?")

The last pic: that's our lovely landlady,
Vicki making sure we leave the premises.
Bye Bye for now, Cragg Farm!