St Bees Head to Shap

The Lake District National Park

Christina Rossetti, Up-Hill, verse 2

But is there for the night a resting-place?

   A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

   You cannot miss that inn.

It had not been possible to reserve a pitch every night but I felt assured I would find a resting-place and this turned out to be the case.

Travelling up by train the day before walking started I stayed over in St Bees close to the start of the route as it's a full day of walking to my first stop just beyond Ennerdale Bridge which gets you into the rhythm of the natural Cumbrian stop overs. I took the slow route changing at Lancaster for the coastal rail route towards Carlisle which has some great scenery and allows you to settle into what is to come in the weeks ahead.

The train to St Bees from Lancaster passes the film location for Brief Encounter

Heading out on Thursday 9 September I felt slightly unprepared as I had done my planning and preparation months before and had forgotten the details until close to departure day. So it was almost with a sense of surprise that I set out. It was also surprising that the blue skies had been replaced with an impenetrable and all consuming grey. After hacking through the grey for a good while it (luckily) co-coalesced into light rain drops which (unluckily) developed into heavy rain as the day drew on. Early in the day I met Steve and his son Josh who were walking for charity (#tinytickers) and we walked together for the rest of the day enjoying a beer at Ennerdale Bridge and parting when I cut off the main route for my campsite and they walked on to their planned wild camping experience. There was more than an element of role reversal and the son sat in the driving seat doing the navigation up front and dad in the rear alternatively asking "are we there yet?" and "is it much further?"

There is a small amount of ambiguity on the actual start as St Bees Head is often given as the start, and quite rightly as it is a grand piece of headland to commence a walk from, whereas in practice the walker would head out from the town of St Bees. 

My campsite is on a farm a little way off the route and as I get close a car heading away from the campsite stops and a window is wound down and the driver looks at me as if they were expecting me. It is the campsite owner who adopts a Bond villain style introduction - "I've been expecting you Mr Rickaby". I am instructed to look at the map posted on the front door of the farm house and make myself at home. Being a farm the front door is located discretely at the side of the house but even in my state of fatigue I find the map, work out where I am to pitch my tent among the various buildings, walls and patches of green. On that first night in a 2-person tent I resolve to take my 4-person tent if I go cycle-camping again. Lightweight tents are often referred to as coffins or body bags as you can't really sit up in them. Mine had slightly more head room than some and I was mildly surprised I could squeeze myself in and sleep. Having fallen into the trap of not putting on waterproof trousers before I'd got soaked, my first night was all about drying out my one real set of walking clothes. The choice is really one of wear it overnight to dry it out or put it on wet in the morning.

St Bees Head from St Bees town; luckily taken the night before walking commenced

Just beyond Ennerdale Bridge village near my first remote campsite

A taste of the low cloud that will follow me through Lakeland

Near Ennerdale Bridge looking to the Cumbrian hills

Friday 10 September and I wake to the soft patter of light rain on the tent. I pack as much as I can whilst still inside the tent including the tent inner leaving only the wet fly sheet and the ground sheet (the footprint as they are now called) to pack when the rain eases. As the tent inner come as a whole envelop with a built-in ground sheet and a mix of material and bug-proof gauze, the footprint is an optional extra groundsheet to help protect the thin groundsheet that you get as part of the the inner tent. Luckily there is a covered area for campers on this farm campsite and I take shelter and hang up my fly sheet to drip dry. Breakfast arrives in the form of a very large and hugely welcome mug of tea, bacon roll and sausage roll. Boots and socks are still wet and I pull them on just before heading out through forest tracks alongside Ennerdale Water.

Ennerdale valley with its plantations

The remote and iconic YHA Black Sail hostel

Once beyond Ennerdale Water I pass the YHA Black Sail hostel. I had tried to get a bed here but like many YHA hostels it appears to be mainly given over to group bookings as the old YHA business model does not work in an age where people don't want to rough it with strangers. I had stayed here in my youth and for £2:80 plus one chore received a bunk bed and learnt (the hard way) the rules of the game Old Elephants Trunk Umbrella Stand. DO NOT look up the rules as the whole point of the game is that you should not know the rules. If that sounds frustrating then try playing it with someone who has played it before, and who, you would hope, does actually know the rules. I arrived at YHA Black Sail at 11:30 am which makes it a 4-hour walk from the nearest village with only a track for access by a sturdy 4x4 vehicle.

The route to Rosthwaite via Honister Hause (Pass)

After the YHA Black Sail hostel it is a climb up and over into the next valley via the Honister Slate mine. I make use of the slate mine for a coffee and a brief catch up with a couple I met the previous day - Max and Tessa. At the café there is excited talk of Tom Cruise who is filming nearby and it was quiet possibly his helicopter I saw buzzing overhead earlier in the day. The BBC made some small mention of this filming of the latest installment to Mission: Impossible. 

The old train/tram line down to Honister Hause and the slate mine

Getting on with my own impossible mission the campsite at Seatoller is good and their model is to book in advance and pay when someone comes round looking for you. Every night you need to tune into the local campsite protocol which is often driven by the farmer's desire - or not - for the extra administration - or not - of advance bookings, payments, cancellations and refunds as the campsite is usually part of their diversification or survival strategy. Seatoller is in Borrowdale with Seathwaite, Stonethwaite and Rosthwaite in walking distance and Seathwaite being the wettest place in England which I can well believe. Walking out for food, one pub is now closed and being turned over to tourist accommodation and another fully booked so dinner is a packet of crisps and I am grateful for today's packed lunch.

It is Saturday 11 September and stupidly I had made provisional plans to get a taxi to nearby Keswick to do their parkrun. Fortunately sense prevailed and I packed up and walked on, though early enough that the two tea shops I pass in Borrowdale are not yet open for breakfast. Darn. Today is a simple 5-hour up and over to Grasmere which is my favourite Lakeland village as it is small yet hosts many eateries and an excellent out-and-back walk to Easedale Tarn if the short walk was not enough for you.

Walking up-hill out of Borrowdale I feel a fresh breeze on my back and turn round see that the breeze is pushing a bank of low cloud my way. I push on hoping to get over the top before being engulfed in cloud as the pass needs a bit of navigational care. Dropping down a couple ask if "this is the right way to Rosthwaite". This is not uncommon and I always find it odd but it is usually the very fit and active people who ask and I expect they are just wanting to be extra sure; any problems they know they can retrace their steps. The cloud then clears enough to take some photos.

Looking back up towards Greenup Edge as I make my descent to Grasmere

On easier ground on the descent to Grasmere

Walking up-hill or down-hill is usually a solitary affair and you will often meet people at the top as you eat your sandwiches (in my dreams) or cross paths. As you get within 3 miles of settlements you will also encounter many more day walkers. You get used to it but it is strange switching between remote fells and busy tourist centers. It was a good day and the only challenge was following a string of cairns over the top and navigating some hand over hand climbing over rocks, grass and sheep dung. A fact I happily forget as I am licking my lips (and fingers) whilst devouring various baked goods from Lucia's take-away as I sit on the green at Grasmere. The only appalling thing about this is that I wasn't appalled as I had lived off Kendal mint cake (basically sugar) and a few penguin biscuits for the last 24 hours. What is appalling is the smell emanating from my boots after 3 days walking in the wet with no spare socks. But I have a plan.

YHA Grasmere

Camping in the grounds of YHA Grasmere

My plan involved YHA Grasmere which I knew had a drying room. On checking in I was asked if I'd been there before. I am too embarrassed to confess I had stayed when I was 10, so about 46 years ago and mumble something about staying some time ago behind my face mask. As is the way when you visit childhood haunts it seemed smaller than I remembered (I hadn't reached 6'3" at age 10) but the feel of the place was the same. Pitch tent, attend to sock washing and drying room then time for a sit down in the sumptuous lounge with its tall ceilings, comfy sofas and small library. I buy two beers and two snicker bars from reception and settle down with a copy of Stephen Fry's "The Ode Less Travelled" which does an excellent job of demystifying the writing (and reading) of poetry. It's not all book work however and I chat to the other person in the room. Leila is an opera student going into her second year of a masters course and talks about her Portuguese camino, opera and poetry.

The UK loves a poster nearly as much as toilet humour

Being of a certain age I am up early on Sunday 12 September and it seems too much trouble to go back to the tent so I enjoy a relaxed coffee and another chapter of last night's book before leaving. Learning the lesson on food availability I join a fellow camper for breakfast before heading out. Today is dry and brings another up and over from Grasmere to Patterdale via Grisedale Tarn. There are two higher-level route options but I stay with the regular route which has climbing aplenty. It is a fine walk and at Grisedale Tarn I see four women below are just wading into the tarn for a swim. It was the poet Jenny Joseph who wrote the poem "Warning" in which she warns us how she plans to grow old disgracefully. It starts innocently enough:

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

There is a growing band of women who will form small groups, wear purple with a red hat and will - I believe - go out and have a jolly good time. The UK branch of this international movement have their own website, which I haven't explored. Honest guv. I guess that the four bathers are the same four purple-clad red-hatted women I noticed earlier in Grasmere. In any event, the ice-age formed bowl that holds the tarn acts as an amphitheater so the audience which is 300 meters away gets to hear the usual comments "iiits n-not as c-cold as you thhhink...ahhh". Good on them.

Walking up out of Grasmere

It never takes long before you feel the remoteness

Grisedale Tarn with swimmers just out of view and clear path ahead; I spare their bluish blushes

Grisedale Tarn

The sheep get a soft, flat field; the campers get the fell-side 

Today's campsite doesn't take bookings so I arrive as early as I can, get pitched then head back to Patterdale then to nearby Glenridding for food. Extra miles but being flat and with no pack it is not a problem. Like my recent cycle trip its the extra weight and the hills that wear you down. In Glenridding I bump into Max and Tessa and I take some re-assurance from the fact that like me they found today tiring despite it being modest in mileage. It cheered me to talk to them and to compare notes on a mutual acquaintance; my breakfast companion from this morning who was doing a circular route round Lakeland following a Cicerone guide book. Like a camino, the coast to coast walkers chatted and sometimes you got to know of people before you had met them.

Monday 13 September and an early start as camping has shifted my body clock to sleep when dark and coffin tents aren't really designed for lie-ins. Egg and cress sandwich for breakfast and I am off. Today I have a medical appointment (by phone as the covid pandemic lingers) so I keep the phone handy.

Morning view of campsite with Ullswater and the fells behind

Angle Tarn with its jigsaw piece angular outline

Today I climb up past Angle Tarn and then behind The Knott to Kidsty Pike which at 780 meters above sea level is the highest point of the regular route. My phone loses signal and regains it behind The Knott. I have my glasses in my hand when my phone beeps to signal its got signal again and I put my glasses down on the ground and scramble for my phone to pick-up the call. Missed call. Darn. I walk on one kilometer, remember my glasses and re-trace my steps. I figure I know the 100 meter stretch where they might be. After 90 meters downhill on my 100 meter stretch I am close to giving up when my attention is diverted by another walker coming uphill. We chat, I mention the lost glasses and he says he'll keep his eyes open. Kind, but optimistic in my opinion. I continue downhill for the last 10 meters. After two seconds my new companion asks "are these yours?" whilst holding up a pair of glasses. Phew! We walk on up together until our paths part. He is on a Wainwright peak bagging mission which he uses as an arbitrary goal to explore the English Lakes. The climb up had been gradual, well defined and delightful. The descent was brutal and I pause when I get to the bottom where Haweswater Reservoir awaits and I pause to chat to Michael and Ally who had been joined by Hilary for navigational safety over Kidsty Pike.

Haweswater Reservoir

There then follows an acceptable though somewhat anti-climatic 4-mile walk along a reservoir which tells us we are leaving the real hills of Cumbria.

An ancient grassy footbridge with a more 'modern' road bridge just to the right

Into rolling countryside and out of Lakeland

Hilary catches up with me as we approach Shap and we navigate the last stretch together. I have a dormitory room tonight and I have it and its dedicated bathroom to myself so luxury and privacy. Tonight I meet family for a pub meal in what turns out to be a 1970s style pub with a menu to match though the food is good even if it isn't contemporary. Michael and Ally are in and we compare notes. Shap is just half a mile west of the M6 motorway and used to be very busy when its main high street, the A6, was the dominant road in the area. From my research Shap didn't seem to have much going for it, though my observation is that it is a tidy small town with lots on offer and for me at least, great accommodation. Tomorrow I head for the dales.

The Yorkshire Dales National Park