We, and everyone else who was staying, have survived the Quaker guest house we resided in last night. I point out that the others have survived too only because Mike and I were the youngest guests by a positively geographical interval, and I was reasonable sure that at least one would pass away overnight. Judging by the multiple colours on Mike's leg, however, I am concerned that he may have contracted Ebola. Worry not, though, if anything falls off I have a plastic bag to collect the bits, and will faithfully record the details in these pages. (Dont worry, Chloe, I've got my own binbag - your bivvy bag is quite safe!)
Tonight, in Patterdale, we're at a place we have seen on TV (in Ms Bradbury's walking programmes) as Wainwright himself (a man who would have made the Grumbler seem cheerful) stayed here back when it was Monroe's Lodging house. It's just how you'd imagine it to be, but as I've supplied a photo, you don't have to.
Our walk started with a fair climb alongside Tongue Gill, which tumbles down the hillside in a series of pretty waterfalls, while we stumbled to the top to Grisedale Tarn, which despite being fairly compact had white-topped wind-whipped breakers which would probably have tempted many a surfer. You can't see them in my picture, but I know that you know that I'm simply not prone to exaggeration for comic effect.
At this point and if it hadn't been blowing a seventy mile per hour headwind, we'd have had a choice of two high level routes; Helvellyn and the fearsome Striding Edge, or the slightly lower but no less impressive St Sunday Crag. Elf and Safety decreed that we take the valley route between the two, which still proved cold enough to freeze the nuts off a brass monkey, of which fact the supplied picture of the aforementioned safety Elf provides mute evidence. I've never before been quite so pleased not to be a brass monkey...
Despite the gusts we made good time, and arrived here in time for an early afternoon ale. Tomorrow threatens to be a little rougher than today, weather wise, so if it looks nasty we'll take a low level alternative route. Otherwise, it's a slog up Kidsty Pike to say goodbye to the lakes from a high point.
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