Did I say today was a "short" day? Hah! Ok, the last two days we about sixteen miles each, and this one about ten, but ten short miles they most certainly were not.
Once again, it's been a fine day. We've been able to see rain in the distance, but it's never really come close enough to bother us, which is fantastic, lucky and, frankly, unbelievable. Having joked with the owner of the most excellent Royal Oak in Rossthwaite that we'd be in the pub in Grasmere by three pm, she supplied us with packed lunches after breakfast and off we went, along a gentle path next to Stonethwaite Beck. Well, it certainly started gentle, but the slope slowly and almost imperceptibly increased, as we reached a pretty flight of waterfalls until we found ourselves on a path with big stones set as steps. This continued, except for a short amusement where there was no path at all, requiring a scramble up a few metres of rocks, until we were at the top of the hill you can see in the picture on the right. A bit more that six hundred metres high, if I remember correctly. Now, this wasn't the easiest of walks, but it was ok, and I was basking in the glow of a job well done when Mike brought me back to earth (if not sea level) with a bump. We would soon, he informed me with evident glee, have to make a choice between the high level route, or the low level. Frankly, my dears, I would have thought after a 500 metre climb I was already on a high level route, but not so.
I needn't have worried, to be honest. The choice we faced was a ridge walk, or a descent into a valley and on into Grasmere. And we were already higher than the ridge, so that's the way we went. The views have been absolutely spectacular, Scotland across the Solway Firth in one direction, and Morecambe bay in the other, with hills, mountains and dales liberally sprinkled between them and us. Truly rewarding us for the effort in getting there. In fact, I'm pretty sure I actually got fitter during this walk. I certainly grew, as you can see from the not at all contrived picture of mike and me to the left.
After the lung busting climbs must, inevitably, come the knee knackering descents. Delivering us, on this occasion, into Grasmere for, you guessed it, an ice cream. This is becoming a habit. Suitably refuelled, we took a wander round the town, and found an outdoor gear shop. Since I have spent a goodly portion of the walk so far trying to hoik up my trousers before they fell to my ankles and tripped me over a sheer drop or, worse, made someone laugh, I decided that they - purchased as they were before my marathon loss of pounds - needed to be replaced. This led to the second high point of the day - I now officially have a 36 inch waist while only a year ago it was nudging 42.
I am quite clearly on a roll here and, if only I had a bottle of whisky, I'd try my luck at smuggling it in to dinner here at tonight's home from home - a Quaker lodging house. Remember, I didn't book these stops myself, and in a place like Grasmere beggars can't be choosers. In fact, the place and the people are fine, and my only fear was whether I would burst into flames on entry. However, since the building isn't actually consecrated, the risk of spontaneous combustion has been greatly reduced to the extent where my roll-up cigarettes still self extinguish after every three puffs. I have to give up again soon, I'm getting through four disposable lighters a day...
Patterdale tomorrow, will we attempt the terrifying Striding Edge on Helvellyn... We'll just have to wait and see.
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