A Changing View

Derek A. Smithson

A weekend in the Lakes left me contented and relaxed from the bustle
of a busy life, if my log is to be believed.  My mind had been
distracted by the fairly straight forward task of completing the outward
journey and then had a couple of days with good friends and finally
there was a contemplative, short return in good weather.  Now I am
retired, I don’t have the bustle of a busy life, but I do have time to
repeat journeys and I have the time to go mid-week to miss the crowds.  
So, one Monday in June 1994, I arrived in Keswick by bus at lunch time
and set out.  I had in mind to check the fit of my plastic boots and I
fancied a solitary trip in the mountains.

I set off under a clear blue sky, with a hot June sun and a cooling
breeze.  My journey was to take me over Cat Bells and Maiden Moor to
camp at Black Beck Tarn.  Then across Haystacks to Red Pike, a descent
into Ennerdale and then up to camp at Scoat Tarn, as I had in 1985.  
The plan for the third day was to traverse Pillar, Kirkfell and Great
Gable to a comp at sprinkling Tarn.  Followed by a morning descent via
Glaramara to start the bus journey home.  In the event, the
deteriorating weather took away any pleasure in traversing the mountain
tops, so I traversed the Ennerdale side of Kirkfell and Gable, descended
Aaron Slack and traversed Glaramara so as to sleep in a club hut at
Rosthwaite.  Heavy rain the next morning put me off the walk to Keswick
which would have made a pleasant concluding outing.

The hoped for solitude was elusive.  On a fine day, even mid­week,
Cat Bells and Maiden Moor can be expected to draw a crowd, but not the
haystacks or Pillar Mountain before 9.00 am.  On these latter places it
seemed reasonable to expect solitude in the early morning particularly
mid-week.  The marks made on the ground by others were unacceptable for
most of the route and the major highways marked out between Esk Hause
and Styhead were thronged with people.  And these people were there on
a day when the cloud was down to 1200 ft and there was a strong cold
wind.  The path along Glaramara was not crowded but was clear to see
even in the misty conditions.  The gusty wind skewed the rucsac and
sometimes I had to brace myself to avoid being blown sideways.  It was
along here that I formed the view that mountaineering is finished in the
Lake District.  Gone is the need to see more than 10 m it is enough to
have the strength to follow the path.  It brought a great sadness to
me.  The beauty is still there.  The journey through the trees to the
foot of Cat Bells gave delightful scenes and the views across Borrowdale
and Buttermere are difficult to better.  There is still a joy in seeing
the sigh rise in the evening at Black Beck Tarn.

This journey did not lead to quiet contentment, but I don’t have a
stressful life.  And then it is well known that old people are
excessively critical of change.  The journey in May 1985 that did lead
to contentment was described as follows:

"There was a struggle to get disentangled from work and a family
problem, but finally I was on the road clear of normal daily life.  
However I was later than intended and drove towards the Lakes weighing
the chances of erecting a tent at Black Beck Tarn before dark, and
wishing I had packed a decent torch.  It was 8.20 pm when I left the
car at the top of Honister and 9.00 pm when I off loaded at the Tarn.  
Just enough light left to erect the tent.

The night was totally still and rather humid.  The absolute silence
was welcome.  With lambing in progress in the valleys there were few
sheep on the hills to disturb the silence.  It rained lightly in the
night and these conditions continued constant throughout the next day.  
There was hardly a breath of wind, a very humid atmosphere and
occasional showers.  The walk over High Crag and High Stile was taken
very steadily.  There were no views through the cloud and few people.  
A staggering lamb showed that some lambs are still born up here on the
hills.  I felt the only objective in this steamy, enclosed world was to
get to Gatesgarth, in Ennerdale, and sit’ without the rucsac eating
lunch.  The often spoke of ‘brew up’ was in my mind, but, as usual,
when the time came I drank cold water rather than unpack.  The rucsac
seemed unreasonably heavy as I was carrying climbing gear.

The path up to the pass between Haycock and Scoat Fell does not start
where the map indicates, but after the heather changed to grass there
was no need of one.  The steep boulder covered slope, camouflaged with
heather was exhausting and exasperating.  After a second total
collapse, I explored without the rucsac and found a good path and stile,
one hundred yards to my left.  It proved to be an attractive route to
Steeple and would have eased much of myjourney.  It did ease it for
about a mile, until it started to descend a small valley before the
north ridge of Steeple.  At this point, I turned south again across
fairly level short heather which became grass all the way to the pass.  
The traverse round to Scoat Tarn was comfortable even in the limited
visibility and the sight of the four tents very welcome.  No one was in
camp so I could concentrate on getting the tent up, a long hot drink and
a little lie down, before being sociable.

Two days later.

The cloud was clear of all the tops by morning.  The wind had eased
and the tents were nearly dry.  I roused myself at seven and was packed
and on my way shortly after eight o’clock.  Ron and I walked up from
the Tarn onto Coat Fell and across Pillar Mountain to Black Sail Pass.  
We met a mean on the top of Pillar who was as shocked as us to see
anyone else so early.  The cloud stayed high and the day seemed to be
improving.  In fact, by the time I reached Keswick there was blue sky
with only patches of cloud.  Ron and I parted at Black Sail.  He went
back to the camp via Wasdale.  As he was already retired, he could
remain in camp another day.  The route from Black Sail was a reminder
of weekends spent climbing on Pillar Rock and returning this way.  I
traversed the side of Kirkfell and round the head of Ennerdale to
Fleetwith, above Honister.  The path is fairly level and, if more
obvious than in the past, is still in good condition.  There was a
little hail and a little rain, but warm with walking, an anorak did not
seem necessary.

I reached the car at mid-day, glad to lower the rucsac but sorry to
have to leave the mountains.  I pondered.  Why were there only nine
members wanting to experience what is the essence of mountaineering.  
The solitude of the hills, with select company.  The possibility of
steep mountains and long distances or gentle walks to the pub for
lunch.