Sunday October 25
Blowy, wild and wet doesn't begin to describe the conditions heading up toward Hart Crag from Grasmere. The weather is relentless. Visibility is poor. That's OK. We've got GPS. Good clothing. And we've got plenty to eat and drink. Trouble is, it seems I've left one crucial piece of kit at home. My brain.
So I've planned a circular route from the cottage door of around 8 miles. And failed to deduce from the appalling conditions that Rydal Beck, around the 6 mile mark, might be a bit more swollen than usual. But worse still, I've failed to notice that the steep contours down at the very end of the walk are actually preceded by some equally steep contours up.
And so it is that drama very nearly turns into crisis. It begins to turn tricky around 4pm. There's an hour of daylight left....but only in theory. It's actually almost dark already. That'll be something to do with clouds so dark and thick you feel they might squash you if they come any lower. And suddenly we're confronted by a beck more suited to white water rafting than fording on foot. And - worse - a horribly steep ascent beyond. And no way around either obstacle.
We lose precious daylight minutes trudging up and down to find the least treacherous crossing place. Then it's just a case of stepping in, right up to our thighs, fighting the current and ploughing through to the opposite bank. That's the end of dry feet. Then it's the final ascent, in rapidly failing light. And half way up I feel like someone kicked me hard in the thighs. But there's worse to come.
Scary dramas like this feel multi-layered. One moment it's bad. Then it's worse as another layer descends. Each stage brings its own fears. And each of those pales into nothing as the situation deteriorates. Remembering to drink is a revelation. Dehydration creeps up on you and addles your brain. I literally cannot think straight until we've rehydrated and eaten the remaining sandwiches, remaining on our feet because we're too scared to sit for fear of being unable to stand again.
We reach the top, utterly wiped out, but it's not the cause for celebration I'd imagined. Scrambling down the steep other side, continually tripping and slipping in the tangle of dead bracken and rocks, is an even worse ordeal. My head torch is a life saver at this point but even so, some parts of the descent are most safely accomplished by doing a kind of 'backwards spider' crawl using feet, bum and hands. Jacquie twists her knee and her cruciate ligament is shot.
The lights of Grasmere in the distance at first hold out hope. My energy is momentarily lifted but they never seem to get closer. We seriously consider our options. They include calling out help and facing the indignity of becoming one of those statistics - ill-prepared fools who underestimated the intensity of this landscape in harsh weather. Stopping on the hill overnight is no longer a realistic option now we're so wet from wading through the beck. We press on down the hill. Without my GPS we would be forced to call out help, no question. I fall at one point and the GPS screen goes blank. That is a real moment of fear. It switches back on OK though.
We're literally forcing ourselves onward now. I need a cigarette but such an unhealthy nerve-stabilising luxury is out of bounds since my rizlas were soaked long ago. Too bad I put them in the wrong pocket. The thought of the 70's timewarp cottage we rented, with its unfeasibly narrow kitchen and old-folks' furniture is of the safest, loveliest haven on earth.
And quite suddenly the ground is smooth and grassy. The jarring steepness is turning into a gentle slope. We've joined a wide footpath and the GPS tells me it's exactly where we need to be. We're down. We're safe. I could sing with the sheer joy of being able to walk upright again.
Back at the cottage the Garmin says we covered 10.3 miles. The Snickers bar I eat takes away the shaking and tastes amazing. Everything tastes amazing all evening and nothing takes away the hunger. The leg cramps later are proof positive of how close to running out of 'fuel' my body came.
Auditing the factors that influenced our day, on the positive side we had plenty of food and water, a good headtorch, working GPS, spare batteries, good clothing. My recently waterproofed Paramo jacket has held up and only my legs are wet.
But I recognise that I screwed up. On the negative side we had no real overnight survival kit and carried no spare dry clothing. And I seriously misjudged on route plan. Even now, that fact scares me. It's a good lesson to learn.
