Fairfield first timer

Saturday morning and I was on the train to Windermere. The plan: to spend 24 hours (or so) in Lakeland and camp up high.

I’d no idea where to go. It would be busy, but if I could avoid the nine to five of most hill-going folk, I might experience some solitude even on a busy weekend.


So, location… I’m not consumed by bagging peaks, but scanning my eyes over the map, I realized there was an obvious objective. Despite spending many days in the Ambleside area, I’d never climbed Fairfield.

Come to think of it, I’ve never climbed Great Gable, either, but will be rectifying that one later in the year.

Fairfield it was to be, then, via a horseshoe and a wild camp.

Ambleside was hot, sticky and packed with folk… just as you’d expect. I ambled, wasting time waiting for the temperature to drop.

I grew impatient, though, and headed off to the slopes of Low Pike. Amazingly, they were deserted. Perhaps the heat was too oppressive?

I was in no rush so could climb slowly, stopping frequently to take in views and mark off familiar summits to the east.

I entertained myself further clambering over the numerous rocky outcrops of High Pike and was greeted with a refreshing breeze the further I climbed… a sign of what was to come perhaps.

It was only on the approach to Dove Crag that I met my first walkers of the day, all going down. I crossed Hart Crag and my objective came into view.

Pressing on, I scouted Rydal Head for possible camping spots. It was early but the broad grassy tops provided plenty of options, even if water was sparse.

I made a note of a few areas and carried onward to Fairfield’s similarly flat top, if a little more boulder strewn. Unseen crags to the north give the hill a more sinister edge, although everything felt rather sedate on this approach.

The weather then bit back.

A strengthening wind was accompanied by rain, and lots of it. I had to get down. But the only obvious option was Grizedale Tarn where many surely would be spending the night.


Negotiating a perilous path off Fairfield, I dropped down to Grizedale Hause and, peering through cloud, spotted four tents along the tarn’s shores. I found a perch on the lakeside and made a brew.

The heavens opened in earnest again and forced my hand. I would try to find a secluded, sheltered spot in this natural bowl, out of site and out of the wind.

I located a rough, but flat, plateau on the eastern slopes. Small streams bubbled and gurgled around me but their waters were hard to reach.

Despite the proximity of others, I was out of the line of sight. The changeable weather brought a brief interlude of sunshine and I took photos and dried out my kit on a steaming rock.

Indeed, such was the power of the sun, I stripped to my boxers to dry them too!

Later, the rain and wind returned but I was snug in the bag. Heavy showers and wind persisted through the night and I awoke early to more rain and thick cloud.

Eight Herdwick’s sat in a circle around the tent and blankly watched me brew up and break fast.

I got moving quickly. The rain stopped again and I took the opportunity to finish drying my clothes while wearing them. To regain the horseshoe route, I climbed Fairfield again, this time via Deepdale Hause and Cofa Pike… a far more pleasant ascent.

It was early, and I had the hills to myself.

Great Rigg was remained cloudy, but the views opened up as I reached Rydal Fell and met my first walkers of the day just after Heron Pike.

Rydal Water looked stunning from the vantage of Nab Scar, now under blue sky, and I made my way back to Ambleside via the Rydal Hall path.

Feeling a bit wild

So, I'm wondering whether these balmy conditions are going to hold for the weekend... I haven't wild camped for over a year and am desperate to find some seclusion in the Lakeland fells (if that's possible).

Interested to see exactly how long it has been, I note that the last time I 'roughed it' was in May in the bivvy bag.

Time flies when you're juggling bad backs and other distractions.

I'm thinking I will get the train on Saturday to Windermere... wend my way gently to Grasmere and find somewhere up high to watch the sky.

Avoiding other folk is going to be important so if you happen to see and lanky fella giving you a wide berth, you'll know why. It's nothing personal!

Day dreaming

I'm working at home today and my office is filled with the smells of summer.

The ground is damp, and the air heavy. Bees are busy in the garden, birdsong drowns out a distant commuter train and, occasionally, I hear a sheep bleating from the valley side.

I'm only seven miles from the city, but the urban mess feels very distant.

Thoughts inevitably turn to getting away...

This time last year I was in Scotland, travelling at 45mph in an old camper van. The weather was wild - typically Scottish - and it allowed me to get this atmospheric, if technically sketchy, shot of Glencoe.

Next month, I'll be camped on the wild coast of North Wales. This summer fug will be replaced by an excitable Westerly wind.

We'll batten down the hatches, and hope for a still evening when we can get a fire going and cook fresh mackerel caught from the rocky shoreline.

Fun in the sun

Mad dogs and Englishman go out in the midday sun and I paid due heed to NoelCoward's song on Saturday.

I needed to test my recovering back so I loaded up my GoLite Pinnacle with tent, sleeping bag and the usual backpacking paraphernalia and headed off.

I thought I would try to squeeze in at the Crowden campsite, although didn’t hold much hope. The pack weighed 20lbs-plus (hardly lightweight) and it felt good to be able to move fluidly under this load.

I took my poles to help my posture and I was glad of the decision.

I walked past Walkerwood reservoir on my usual beat and headed to kinder countryside. A trout reservoir this may be, but I watched a large common carp bask in the clear waters.

Ogden Brook bubbled excitedly en route to Arnfield and Tintwistle, and foxgloves lined the banks.

I skirted the reservoirs of Longdendale via the Trans Pennine Trail and then the Pennine Way. The waters had receded, exposing a parched moonscape in the valley bottom.

I reached Crowden and it was a mini refuge camp… with cheek-by-jowl tents separated by pub brollies and tatty awnings shading smoking barbecues. The owners were not benefiting from the shade, though: tattooed skin sizzled in the sunshine.

I sat under a tree, had lunch and considered my options. I would press on along the Pennine Way and cut across to Chew Reservoir and then Dove Stones before working my way home.

It was frustrating not to camp out, but the site would have been purgatory even if I’d managed to squeeze on.

I climbed along the ‘Way to Laddow Rocks. The familiar ground allowed me to concentrate on my posture and technique. Up high it felt good to be on the moor again… and alone.

Here, a bit of drama… I ran out of water. I considered my options. Good water is hard to find on the tops so I would to press on.

It was a bit touch and go by the time I reached Dove Stones and the lovely woman who runs the ‘green monster’ - an old Ford refreshment van – was there. Two bottles of water vanished quickly.

I trudged home long the canal, feet sore and back a bit stiff but no real hardship.

The real marker would be how I felt the following morning… surprisingly sprightly.
Consequently, I went for a ride!

Northern Walker... gone!

So, I've screwed up.

I've not been tracking my gmail account and I've just discovered that Northernwalker.com has expired and it would appear that someone else has nabbed it.

I'll try to rectify this, but for now you can find me at http://awalkupnorth.blogspot.com

Darn!