The Derwent dash about.

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The Derwent dash about.

After a busy few weeks with Wiltshire and Charmouth behind me, it’s time to take it easy, well easier. This time myself and a couple of friends are heading up to the Lake District. I had been planning a fun long weekend which included, hiking, Kayaking and a sprinkle of wild camping thrown in for good measure.

I spent the usual few months researching car parks, accommodation and the best Lake to Kayak around and places of interest to hike to.

Well with all this in mind and the unquestionable trust my friends have put into my organisational skills we set off bright and early, fresh faced and full of excitement; or should I say tired and full of coffee.

My plan was to get the best parking spot at Derwent water which was the main reason for setting off at this ungodly hour on a Friday morning, or should I say night, 2am to be precise and just so we didn’t hit any traffic.

The Journey up as expected was almost flawless except for the odd 20 miles of road works but when you are travelling 215 miles for a walk in the hills you can’t complain. Plus, also stopping for a coffee, emergency shopping trip for the provisions we had all forgotten to bring, like wine, bacon, eggs, sausages and disposable BBQ’s and lastly a case of bottled water. Just to be on the safe side with the weather being so hot.

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Once at the car park I was pleased to find out it was a National trust carpark so that was a saving for me making this budget weekend even cheaper, but the weather wasn’t looking too promising as it had gone overcast, and torrential rain had been forecast within the next couple of hours.

Joe’s first idea was to head to Mary Mount Hotel and drink the place dry whilst waiting for the rain to pass, but I was saving that experience for another time and place, so after an emergency conference we decided to hike first, then Kayak after the rain had stopped. With our new itinerary we had donned our hiking gear and this time I placed my trusty map in the new map case so we wouldn’t have a repeat of Kinder scout.

The route I had organised would be taking us from Kettlewell carpark and along a path running parallel to the B5289 until we reached the Lodore Falls Hotel. Then crossing the road, following the signs to Castle Crag.

This at first is a well signed footpath leading to a footbridge over the river Derwent, this then meets up with the Cumbrian way trail which we will be taking part of the way, this meanders down lovely quiet lanes until you get to the village of Grange. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find either the school, or Samo, so we carried on walking until we got to the bridge that crosses the river and the tearooms.

I came up with the idea of coffee and cake here when it rains but that idea was vetoed. By the side of the Tearooms you turn right and down another country lane hoping to find the river and the campsite we would be staying at later tonight. After a few minutes’ walk we came across what we had hoped would be the wild campsite but was in fact a little more organised than I had planned. The campsite appeared to have no facilities and you had to pay for the privilege of camping in what basically was a field.

We then went to look at the river that flowed past by the campsite but realised we couldn’t get near enough to the campsite, so we would have to put plan B into action.

With Joe and his keen eye, he soon scouted out a perfect spot that had previous been used for camping

“Little did we realise later that it would be almost impossible to camp here either.

With all the plans falling apart around us, like a house off cards it had now decided to rain earlier than planned, and our thoughts of taking shelter in the caves was becoming quite appealing but was going to be impossible, due to the distance we still had to hike.

We thought if we hasten our pace we could soon reach the caves, but after a quick study off the map we found out we were still about 35 minutes away so hoped it would remain a slight drizzle. That 35 minutes grew to about an hour after we climbed the wrong hill looking for the cave at Castle Crag, only to discover our mistake or as the others like to point out “My mistake” once we had got to the top and looked over the other side of the hills.

There nestled in the side of the hills was a large opening, large enough to be called a cave, but was it the cave we’ve been looking for. So, after a stroll around the hill that was mainly covered in slate and shale and waded across soggy, peaty moorland we traversed the other hill and headed for the cave. This was no ordinary cave, this cave had history. It’s the place the renown <a name="_Hlk521672100"></a>Millican Dalton a self-styled "Professor of Adventure", had lived.

Born on 20 April 1867, he became an insurance clerk in London, living in Loughton where he had a cottage, but at the age of 36, he gave up this existence and went to live under canvas, in a rough wooden shack, and in a cave (which he dubbed "The Cave Hotel"), from where he offered camping and adventure holidays referred to by the BBC Countryfile programme broadcast on 20 September 2015. He spent his summers in the cave in Borrowdale, moving south to the wooden shed in Buckinghamshire during the colder months.

An alternative lifestyle long before the term was created, Dalton – vegetarian, pacifist and teetotaller – lived off his wits, surviving on a small income as a climbing guide.

Millican Dalton's cave, as it is locally known, is on the eastern flank of Castle Crag and consists of two inter-connected split-levelled caves formed by the slate quarrying process. This cave was inhabited for nigh-on fifty years by Dalton. To this day, Dalton's legacy can be seen in the upper chamber of the cave, where he carved his own epitaph into the wall above where he slept. It reads: "Don't Waste Words, Jump to Conclusions".

During the winter of 1946-47, Dalton's hut burned down, so he moved into a tent. This was too much for his 79-year-old frame, however, and he contracted pneumonia, of which he died in Amersham Hospital on 5 February 1947.

With the knowledge of what Millican Dalton went through for many years , we thought we could “once we found them;” spend an hour in them exploring whilst the rain passed.

Once we had got to the entrance of the cave I was unsure if we had got to the correct caves, but undaunted we entered, expecting never to be seen again. From my research I didn’t recognise anything, I still wasn’t 100 percent sure this was the correct cave, but it was still very interesting with 2 levels that I thought the upper level might have been the attic, but on looking around there wasn’t anywhere for him to sleep and it was so dark you would need some form of lighting 24 hours a day.

After a little look round, we decided to head back via an area that looked like it might have another cave network. This cave was smaller and wasn’t habitable as it was around a foot deep in water with a few stepping stones leading to the back, and a nice little waterfall flowing down the side.

After our little escapade at hunting down caves but unfortunately not the correct cave we decided to head back down but as soon as shelter was out of our reach the heavens opened and we had to make the decision on what to do. Joe remembered a nice hotel we had passed earlier and after a vote we all decided to head for Mary Mount Hotel.

Dripping wet we tentatively entered the hotel and asked if they minded us coming in, luckily for us they said it was not a problem, so we found ourselves a corner, made camp and ordered food and of course a couple of fine pints of the local ales and ciders.

The beef and ale pie was most inviting, especially watching the rain pour down outside and the service we received whilst watching the rain was most welcoming.

Around two hours later and with a full tummy we ventured outside to a slightly clearing sky and rays of the sun poking through. Great we thought its Kayaking time.

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Joe had managed to borrow a top of the range kayak from a friend so we helped him get it off the car and down to the shoreline, as we watched him paddle off into the distance we set to work inflating ours and loading them up with food, tents and all the other supplies needed for a two day excursion on the lakes.

After half an hour Rob and myself set sail, or paddled off to catch up with Joe who had already done two laps of the lakes and paddled to Bassenthwaite lake about 6 miles away. So, Joe got the unofficial job of reconnaissance, as his Kayak was like a speedboat to our kayaks which could be likened to a couple of slow lorries.

Once joe had slowed down and the wake behind him had dispersed, we paddled off south bound on the lake, but only after being questioned by a group of canoeist asking about our kayaks and warning us of low points out in the waters, so off we paddled out and around the southern edge of Derwent water then headed to the inlet river, Derwent river, to our home for the night.

The troubles soon started once we had past the bridge we had walked over earlier that morning. Due to all the heavy rain that gentle river was now a relatively fast flowing torrent going the opposite direction to the way we wanted to. Speedboat Willy, I mean Joe, loved it with a little white water under the bridge for him to burn off his excess energy, but with mine and Robs overladen trucks is was like rowing up a steep hill. After about 30 minutes of paddling and only travelling about 200 meters up the river, our planned journey was about 3 miles and should have taken us an hour.

I decided I was going to abandon the planned campsite and make fresh plans. Joe didn’t mind as long as he had his craft of wine with him, (sleeping in his kayak would’ve been fine). We tried to tell Rob, but he was determined to get to the campsite and had set himself his own personal mission; and wasn’t going to be beaten by a fast-flowing river and pursued further up. Joe and I headed back to the bridge as there was a little landing space and had a break and waited for Rob to give in and turn back.

After about 30 minutes we decided to up anchor and head to our newly planned accommodation, the place we had planned for our second night of wild camping.

The Island

With all the rain we had had rowing out to the centre of the lake had become challenging. Instead of a quite gentle millpond it had become a choppy slewing torrent, and in my juggernaut of a kayak it was quite hard to move, and with hunger and fatigue settling in I just wanted to get to the island and rest up for the night. Joe headed to Saint Herbert’s Island whilst I check out Rampsholme Island, the one I had done all the research on one.

My research hadn’t brought up anything about kamikaze divebombing seagulls with a determination to sink me and my mighty vessel, so with the squawks of anger, I decided it was nigh on impossible to land, so left without exploring the island, and was followed by still determined seagulls swooping over my head. I half expected them to start circling me and poo.

I started to head over to Saint Herbert’s Island leaving the seagulls to gloat in their victory in preventing me from landing on their beloved island

Joe was completely oblivious as to my predicament with the seagulls and was cheerfully bombing around the lake like a speedboat fuelled by nitrous oxide. Eventually I got myself over to Saint Herbert’s Island and we found an ideal and secluded place to land, we scoured the island for a place to pitch up for the night and soon covered the small island noticing that there had been a spree off camp fires so felt quite safe in having our own little fire.

I sent a text message and the location to the determined Rob who surprisingly got right back saying he’d be with us shortly.

Once our camp was established, Joe perched himself on a rock and sat there happily drinking red wine whilst I tried to cook dinner on a disposable BBQ, it would have been easier cooking on a disposable nappy. Without success I then transferred my efforts to my trusty little stove and managed to rustle up a nice sausage, bacon and egg bap each.

I settled down with mine and a beer whilst Rob had got a nice little campfire going. Joe went back to his contemplation rock and chilled before he went on a hunt for wood to burn and wildlife to cook.

Luckily plenty of wood was found and no wildlife was killed in the making of our trip. (I’m sure Joe wouldn’t have killed anything, but I think he was just getting back to nature). With the fire now big enough to be seen from the International space station we could have cooked a whole hog roast but settled for the leftover sausages instead and chilled.

The only problem with camping is once it gets dark the only thing left to do is sleep.

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