Day 4 – Keswick to Elterwater

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I woke early in the morning. The heating in the Youth Hostel, following the 2 freezing tent-bound nights previous, had made for a clammy sleep. I moved quietly, trying not to disturb John in the bunk opposite. He awoke as I was finishing my packing and we went down together to get breakfast.

Often I find the food at Youth Hostels to be fairly unappetising, but once again the Keswick cooked breakfast impressed. As started on my second plate of fried bread, egg and beans I glanced out of the window at the grey drizzle outside, eternally grateful I was not making my breakfast myself outside. I chatted idly to John, the topics ranging from his raging endorsement for a certain camp-stove (an MSR JetBoil for the interested) to my predicament lost in the fells the day before and round to his experiences of climbing Mont Blanc as part of an organised group the year previously.

As I began the familiar walk through the fields towards the northern edge of Derwentwater, pack sitting easily upon my back, I reflected on the benefits of being a lone traveller and how it causes such wonderful meetings to happen with people. The drizzle had become a light rain but my spirits were still high as I reached the foot of Catbells. The wet weather had left a low mist hanging in the woodland here, the feeling of the place mysterious without being eerie. I followed the route down the side of the lake, watching light gusts of wind pull strands of mist around the lake.

It was as I reached the bottom of the lake and saw the old bench which waits there that I first really appreciated the difference the lightweight equipment I had shelled out for makes. Last time I had come this way with a full pack I had stopped for 2 rests on the way and had to stop here as well, now I was quite happy to carry on until Grange where I could stop off at a lovely café for a warm drink and a relax. This was for the best, as by the time I reached the village it was raining hard and I was grateful for the protection of the awning above the tables while I drank tea and ate homemade flapjack.

Two cars pulled up outside the café as I was starting my second cup and 20 seconds later I was surrounded by 3 damp and inquisitive dogs. Four people had also exited the vehicles and a young blonde woman began ineffectually attempting to herd the dogs under the awning and get them sat down. I tried not to laugh, and failed. The other 3 were deep in conversation about camp-stoves and one was loudly lauding the benefits of the same stove John had enthused on that very morning. Often I think life can’t possibly contain so many little coincidences, on this trip alone I was almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of them, but as to weather they are a clue to some greater story or an indication of our power to create our own reality I remain open - one can often gain more knowledge from mystery than hard answers, not to mention wonder!

Soon I was underway once more and the rain was really coming down. I started up the path down the side of the café, grateful again that I was trekking familiar ground; the entrance to this path has eluded me before leading to a couple of hours wandering in circles. This path which I have not walked for over half a decade brings back memory after memory of that first fundamental trip and the way in which it captured my soul for this beautiful county. The path snakes idly through a campsite and on alongside a river which was swelled to bursting. There were endless pools formed in the gaps between tree roots and it was around this time that I realised my new boots were not in fact as waterproof as I’d hoped. Or as it turns out, as waterproof as the boots I had replaced the day before. This meant a re-evaluation of the situation and I considered as I continued. I could stop at my intended campsite in Stonethwaite, the last site before the 8 mile trek over Stake Pass to Dungeon Gill. But at this rate I would be arriving there by midday, and with the weather so wet I would be forced to spend the afternoon in my stupidly cramped tent, while drying my feet would be impossible.

I continued on and reached Stonethwaite village to find the path to the campsite actually underwater. By this time my feet were sodden and I simply walked through the water, submerged to just above the toes. I soon reached the turnoff to the campsite. The weather was now a light drizzle once more and as I looked down the valley towards the pass I saw a patch of exposed blue sky.

I made the decision pretty quickly to continue on. To stay where I was would at best be a dull afternoon in wet boots followed by an unpleasant night and most likely much worse problems with my feet the following day, at worst a horrible experience if the weather turned and I became stuck in the tent the whole afternoon as well. Continuing on would allow me to make for the Youth Hostel at Elterwater where I could properly dry off and get a decent nights sleep. I was worried about the weather, with the winds and rain it would be dangerous up on the pass and I knew from experience how difficult the crossing can be even in good weather. I reasoned that I had my tent and the worst case scenario was a broken leg and an awful night on the fell awaiting rescue. The spirit of adventure was also screaming at me not to take the simple way out. I continued.

I was prepared for a long walk along the bottom of a fell range followed by an unforgiving assent through the weather on the pass, but one thing I had overlooked was the waterfalls. Last time I came this way the path was crossed by innumerable tiny streamlets making their way down the fells to join the river below. But when I came to the first I was met by a 15 foot wide torrent. I remembered this fall being one of the worst however and there was a wooden handrail and 5 big stepping stones to aid the crossing. Unfortunately these stones were below 6 inch of fast water. I started to cross, gripping the handrail and gingerly balancing on the tips of spiked rocks protruding out of the force. Two thirds of the way across, I slipped. One leg went in the water up to the knee and I was left hanging by my armpits from the handrail. I quickly got my other leg secure and levered myself back to a balance point. Now I forgot altogether about keeping dry and plunged my feet in above the ankles in order to swiftly make the opposite bank.

As I stood shaking again on the path I considered turning back. I hadn’t planned for this. But when I looked back at the force I had just crossed I realised that nothing could persuade me to attempt it again, at least not yet. I could, however, do something to protect myself. I decided to turn on my phone and call Andi, with a description of my route and instructions to inform mountain rescue if I didn’t contact him again in 3 hours. This is something you should do as you leave your campsite or Youth Hostel but as I was not sure where I was headed I hadn’t done so. (Sorry Mum!) My phone came to life and showed no signal, none, nada. Suddenly I was much more scared. The safety net had gone, and I’d removed my line of retreat.

There was large part of me however that was screaming out in joy. “This is what you came for!” it called to me, that primal part of my existence that yearned for this excitement, this single track of mind. I was no longer walking and dreaming, remembering or even hoping. All I thought was about making the pass. As I set out once more, the rain began.

It rained and rained, and I leapt or balanced my way across more waterfalls than I could count, though none as terrifying as the first. There was still a good amount of light despite the cloud and I estimated it to be around half one, leaving me 3 hours of light. I crossed another fall and came round a rock, and below me I saw 2 people leaning against a large stone down towards the river. I went over to them and instantly felt stupid. They were a couple, probably in their 50s, enjoying a cup of coffee from a flask in this place where I felt so threatened by the landscape. I chatted to them for a few minutes and found that they had approached the same route as me and would soon head for a bridge across the river and make their return to their car on the opposite bank. They pointed me to a grass hummock down towards the river and instructed me to take a look before I continued. I walked over and realised that at this point the river was forced between two large rocks and all the fury of the many tributaries flowing down the fells was concentrated in one intense blast of water. I stopped and gazed for a good 5 minutes before I made my goodbyes to the couple and continued on.

The clouds had parted somewhat now and by that and the sight of the couple on the trail my confidence was buoyed, despite my soaking feet and tired legs. It wasn’t long however before I came upon the largest waterfall I had yet seen. Easily 30ft across at some points, in others it had been squeezed to just 5, but the force of the water leaping up above the level at either bank made me nervous. I spent 10 minutes walking up and down the bank looking for a likely crossing point but nothing jumped out. I attempted to pick my way across a shallower, wider section but got stuck halfway and had to retreat. I was conscious of the time being wasted and made up my mind to just go for it over a narrower section. I picked a point around 5ft wide and made a running jump.

My left foot connected with the opposite bank, the heel hanging in space. The momentum of the jump combined with the weight of the pack carried me on forwards. I felt my left knee knock hard onto a rock and I rolled onto my back, gasping through my teeth. The pain was bad, but not unmanageable and I swiftly rose to my feet, hoping I could still walk. Everything seemed to be working properly so I continued, limping slightly along the path.

It was not long before the valley banked to the West and I could see Stake Pass ahead of me to the South. At its base a wooden footbridge spanned a river formed from a huge waterfall cascading down from the top of the pass, more water to swell the river I had been following the last few hours. As I crossed the bridge, the heavens opened.

The combination of the pouring rain and the spray flying from the waterfall to my left made visibility awful and I pushed through it using both my hands and feet. The path snaked from side to side down the steep slope, running water submerging it. The wind howled more the further I ascended and soon I was too scared to use the left-most edge of the snaking path, hung above a drop into the waterfall below. I instead climbed straight, keeping low and stopping when the wind got too much. It seemed like hours to make the top and I slipped many times, but eventually, I reached the top of the pass.

As my head came up above the level of the pass the wind seemed to double in intensity and I crawled the first few meters of fairly flat ground to ensure I was not blown back off the edge. As I sat panting by a rock, an involuntary laugh ripped out of me, and lasted a long time. I’d really been afraid on the climb and the relief felt intense and physical. I wasn’t done yet though, I still had to cross the top of the pass and make my way down into Old Dungeon Ghyll, and from there it was another 2 miles to Elterwater and the promise of the Youth Hostel.

I picked my way across the top of the pass, and soon reached the small tarn which helped to feed the various watercourses that plummeted down both sides of the fell range. The last time I had been there it had been no more than 40ft across, today it was easily 100 and threatened to burst over the edge of the bowl it sat within. Further ahead I had to cross a river which would usually been no more than 4ft at the shallow ford, today it was completely impassable there, with raging waters 15tf wide. I was forced to follow it uphill again for ten minutes before finding a fording point surrounded by thick mud.

Back on the path I rounded a corner and got my first view of the valley ahead. Mountains are truly the most beautiful things on earth and the straight valley lined with tall fells on either side caught my breath. I was smiling now. I knew the descent would in many ways be more dangerous than the climb, but I was confident - if I could make it this far I would not be stopped now.

In the end the descent was uneventful, I stumbled a few times but the going got easier the closer I got to the foot of the fells. I started off, my feet feeling lighter with the promise of soon reaching my destination. This didn’t last however and an hour later as my feet finally reached the smooth tarmac of the road though Old Dungeon Ghyll I was counting the moments until I would arrive into Elterwater.

It was soon dark, and it took me a good hour to pick my way to the Youth Hostel. When I finally saw the bright lights in its window I could have cried for joy. I’d just completed 35 miles over hard terrain in awful weather and I’d never thought it could have been so difficult. I dropped my bag to the floor and asked for a bed.

“Sorry lad, we’re fully booked tonight. A big group rang in earlier.”

I felt like I’d been slapped. This was off season, the weather was awful. I’d seen almost nobody all day and somehow the hostel was booked?

“Where’s the nearest hostel with room?” I asked.
“Amblesides probably your best bet”
“Thanks…”

I stepped back into the rain and walked back to a bench at the village crossroads. Ambleside. That was 8 miles away. There was no way! My knee had started to stiffen up, and I didn’t have the energy to force myself. The lights of a pub shone out from across the road, and I decided to sit inside for a while and make my decision over a pint. I entered the pub to find it jammed with people eating and nowhere at all for a man with a huge backpack to stay out of the way.

Sat back on the bench I hung my head. I felt like just staying there, not making a choice, to just cry and wait for help. But the cold soon started to eat into me and before long I made the choice to head to a campsite a half-mile back the way I came. My tent would be soaked by now but it was better than sleeping outside, and besides I had seen another pub back there, so I could at least get a hot meal and some beers in me before I camped up.

I stumbled back towards the bar and after what seemed an awful amount of time rounded a bend to see it shining ahead of me. I pushed through the door and the sight of empty seats and a few locals sat round the bar seemed like my ultimate fantasy come real before me. I dumped my bag and coat and ordered some food and a pint. They didn’t have much vegetarian grub so I chose the easy veggie-burger route. I asked the barman for a pint of a good light ale and we started chatting.

I soon headed back to my table with a pint of Lakeland Gold (highly, highly recommended!) and sat back to wait for my food, reading some new section of the Osho book on Tao I had with me. My spirits were high again for now at least, I would soon have to once again brave the elements and spend a night in that awful little tent but for now I was warm, soon to be fed, and had a barman willing to bring drinks to the table!

No sooner had I polished off my food and settled back once more with my book, a group of 8 lads entered the bar. They were a typical group of rowdy inner city guys in their late 20s, the kind I would usually avoid at all costs. Fate being what it is, they chose the table next to mine. I continued to read while they downed shots and generally ruined the chilled nature of the bar. When they went as a group to the bar though, one stayed seated. He started chatting to me about what I was reading, and seemed genuinely interested in what I was telling him. He introduced himself as Steve.

I spent the next hour with Steve and co and as they prepared to leave they asked what my plans were. I explained what had happened to me that night and said I’d be camping nearby. There followed a group look and nod, and I was invited to their holiday cottage for more drinks and a place on the sofa!

The highly amusing experience I had at their cottage will be the subject of another post, and so, here I conclude the story of the most incredible days walking I have as yet done. It has truly given me faith that the unexpected will happen more often than not, and that, in the Tao fashion, we should not want for things to happen, but simply allow, facilitate. In this way we find the flow of our journey.

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