Lonscale Fell and Great Calva

Friday 4th January 2008

The weather for this walk was not as cold as the day before but more snow had fallen during the night which gave me a glorious day out on snow covered fells. I had never been walking in these sort of conditions before so it was a big learning curve for me and I often wisely erred on the side of caution. I didn't start very well as I missed the bus to Bassenthwaite so I elected to do the intended walk in reverse. Retracing my steps of the previous night I walked up around Latrigg and relished walking through deep snow, but when the ground steepened for the ascent of Skiddaw I started to worry. Seeing others on the climb had made me consider going all the way up myself but as things got steep I started slipping on the rocky path, so I guess I was at the stage where crampons would have been an advantage, but since I don't have any or have ever used these I veered off the path and followed the wall beside Whit Beck. With hindsight it would appear from the map that I left the main path just at the point where the gradient eased, so would an ascent all the way up Skiddaw have been possible? The people ahead of me certainly didn't appear to have crampons or an ice axe, but that is no comfort if you all fall to your death.

Although I was still following a path, this one was not manufactured and so it was easier, except that drifts had produced some very deep sections that were a nightmare to wade through. The increasing wind chill also meant I was getting a very real lesson in what winter weather is like. Turning right at the top of the path I battled against the drifts all the way up to the summit of Lonscale Fell, which I had prudently avoided the day before. The views from the top were limited as a mist was enveloping the hills, but the wind chill was still severe and ensured that I was now completely covered up against the elements, wearing something I had never before worn on a walk: a scarf. That's right, this was now serious. Descending from a junction of fences near the top I made my own way through the heather down the long northern slopes, across the Salehow Beck and up to Skiddaw House. It's surprising how much easier it is to descend through snow covered heather. You just take the plunge and hope that under the canopy of snow is something solid to stand on. Usually there was.

On finally reaching the bridlepath beside the former youth hostel I turned left to head towards Bassenthwaite where ultimately I would be catching a bus. Evaluating my plan ahead at this point I realised that going over Great Calva, Knott, Great Sca Fell, Meal Fell and Great Cockup (wonderful name) in the next three hours may have been expecting too much, especially with these conditions under foot. I could have just stayed on the bridlepath but I wanted to go up at least one more Wainwright, so the first on the list would have to suffice. When I reached the Dead Beck (another wonderful name) I ventured right up the fellside along what I thought was a path, and was even marked by a line of wooden posts. My path initially was very good as I easily climbed the fell beside and sometimes on top of a stream. It's possible I was following an actual stream but this was not a problem as it was frozen solid until I gained higher ground where the posts vanished and the stream became very narrow and deep. From this point I had no choice  but to make my own course up through the heather, but the toil was beginning to show on me. With the top still a long way off in the mist I ran out of energy and the will to go on.

Eventually I summoned reserves of stamina from some unimaginable depth and battled on, later rejoining what once again appeared to be a path but I still had to stop every couple of steps to regain my breath and summon the strength for next couple of steps. Near the summit I met someone who I'd passed the day before and this gave me the incentive to battle up the last little bit up to the cairn by a turn in the fence. The summit was only a short distance away, and once there I climbed over the fence by the summit cairn, sat down in a shelter and had my lunch. Throughout lunch the views east appeared intermittently through the mist, though never long enough to take a picture; after lunch the view suddenly opened up and I was able to take a picture of the snow-covered scene. 

With most of the climbing now over I followed the fence over Little Calva (cutting the corner enormously) and descended the steep fellside down to the bridlepath (and cut the corner so much I couldn't even see the fence). Dropping downhill beside Dry Gill wasn't as difficult as I feared it was going to be. I just kept one hand pointing towards the ground and the other holding my pole pointing down the slope as I descended diagonally down the fell ready to drop to the ground and arrest my slide if my footing should become uneven. As it happened my precaution was probably unnecessary as the terrain was quite stable and the dense heather ensured that if I did slip over I wouldn't slide far.

Once back on the bridlepath I had a leisurely walk along the wide, easy track descending past Whitewater Dash (a waterfall) and through fields to Bassenthwaite, or I would have if the weather and my own stupidity hadn't intervened. Half way to Bassenthwaite it started raining heavily so I got my cagoule on and carried on walking and got completely lost in the fields. I was blaming everyone, the farmer, the map, the mud, the rain; I was screaming and cursing, using the foulest sort of language that I have never been heard using. Eventually I reached a road, where there shouldn't have been a road so still cursing I got out my compass and realised this was the road I had been on earlier. Still cursing I walked along the road all the way, in the pouring rain, into Bassenthwaite.

One comment I made to myself at this time, in between the curses, was that I prefer being out in open country and I find walking in fields inherently frustrating. I like the freedom to explore and decide on a whim which way to go and whether or not to use a path. There is a great freedom in the open country, but going through fields you have to stick to the path and it can be difficult to know exactly where that path is. In open country you can decide for yourself what route to take and you don't have to do what someone else says you've got to do, or where to go. You see, there is so much more to hill walking than the exercise or stunning views.

Arriving in Bassenthwaite I was perplexed to not be able to find a bus stop even though the timetable says the bus stops in Bassenthwaite. Fearing I was going to miss the bus I rushed off to the main road less than ½ mile away, but of course I hadn't actually checked when the bus was due. I'd just assumed it would be just after 4.30, and I hadn't checked the time recently. When I reached the bus stop on the main road I discovered the bus wasn't due until 4.54 and it was only 4.15. I shouldn't have rushed so much along the road, but that's life and it was annoying. So, what can I say about this walk? It wasn't a classic, but it was fun walking in the snow and it had been highly educational in that regard. It was very challenging in places and really tested my stamina. I probably should have stopped climbing Great Calva and just had something to eat, after all it was almost lunchtime, so maybe I was just hungry.