Middle-aged flash packers

The agenda today was slightly different to that planned previously due to the orienteering event. Basically it meant adding 2 extra miles to our hike instead of driving and parking. I felt very virtuous, a bit like an elderly Greta Thunberg, as I spurned the climate change travesty that is a car and used my own legs to get myself to the start of the walk. An extra advantage was we would have to walk past the pub on the way back and it would be unfriendly not to pop in and say hello.

What a day! A cloudless blue sky, sunshine all the way. The only downside was the hint of a chill wind. As we walked along, we bumped into two gentlemen doing a similar loop to us only clockwise as opposed to our anti clockwise route. I warmed to them as they complained about the orienteering event and how annoyed they were about not being informed of it. It reminded me of Tenerife when we drove up to an apparently rarely visited part of the island only to find some ultra running event taking place that followed the exact route we were going to walk. How dare they not seek us out and warn us about it?

Half way up our steep ascent towards our first Wainwright, we stopped for a quick snack. We’ve decided we should have a rest and a nibble every 1.5 hours when we are walking. There’s no particular science behind this -it’s just I’m lazy and Steve gets hungry.

Anyway, we sat down out of the wind next to a big pipe that in very wet weather would drain water away underneath the path and down the hill on the other side. As he got ready to set off, Steve’s water flask fell out of his rucksack and into the pipe. I took a photo of it and it looks like one of those pictures where someone is in a tunnel, surrounded by light, waiting to enter the afterlife. The flask rolled down the pipe and stopped at a particularly frustrating point: within eyesight but not quite close enough to put one’s arm in and pull it out.

S was most unimpressed with my idea of throwing stones at it until it rolled out the other end, but after much swearing and manoeuvring , he managed to hook said flask out with his walking poles.

By this time, the chilly breeze had become a full on gale and getting to Dow Crag looked in doubt as at one point, I actually couldn’t move, the wind was so powerful. But we made it and continued on our way to Great Carr and Greyfriar.

Halfway round, we met our lovely gentlemen again who this time complained about the number of people out on the fells. If you’ve ever watched Harry Enfield, they definitely had a bit of the Old Gits about them but they gave us some great advice as to the paths we should take so I’m not going to knock them. Besides I think I’m a bit of an old git myself, truth be told.

On the way home, we duly dropped into the pub and said hello. Two pints later, we headed for home, faces bright red from either windburn or sun- maybe both- and agreed it had been a perfect day. As Wainwright himself said: “Oh, how can I put into words the joys of a walk over country such as this?”

I can’t, so here are some photos that say it best.