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Lake District, June 2022: 8 – Hardknott, Coniston, Ravenglass

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Saturday 18 June

It was our last full day of the holiday together, although nobody wanted to think about that as we were all having such a good time. Our plan was to head over Hardknott Pass and visit Coniston. Mum and dad treated us to croissants from the campsite shop, then we all piled in the van and headed east through Eskdale for the Pass.

Hardknott

Eskdale is a stunning valley, more agricultural and less wild than dramatic Wasdale (see previous day’s post) but similarly hemmed in on both sides by high fells peppered with rocky undulations and scrubby vegetation. The basin is filled with lush, stone-walled fields, seas of greener-than-green ferns and swathes of verdant woodland. We stopped halfway up the hill to look at the remains of Hardknott Roman Fort, which was clearly once an impressive structure, the remaining walls standing 2-5 feet tall and showing the position of the old headquarters, commandant’s house and bath house. Its striking position overlooks Eskdale to the west and the serious-looking fells around Scafell Pike to the north. The view over valleys, mountains and forests was sensational and well worth the climb up the hill, even for mum, who has knee problems and was giggling uncontrollably as she tottered all around the fort.

Then came the Pass. We bundled back in the van and continued up the hill at the head of the valley. As we got closer the gradient got steeper and the bends sharper, mum sounded her distress call (which goes something like “Ross, I don’t like this” in a panicked tone) and as the wheels began to spin we realised that the front wheel drive, long wheel base, fully loaded van might struggle. Luckily there was nobody behind or in front, so mum, Angus, Ryan and I bailed out and left dad to negotiate the 30% gradient and hairpin bend with Bosun for moral support. It was equal parts funny and nerve-wracking, but he made it up with minimal wheel-squealing and we raced up the hill to clamber back in.

We continued along the Pass feeling relieved. The landscape on the other side was different, higher and wilder, the road cutting through a wide, U-shaped valley between sweeping slopes of hardy mountain grass. We descended into this valley slowly, down a slightly gentler gradient with slightly more forgiving hairpin bends, and continued through the belly of the valley along Wrynose Bottom. We started climbing again and we made it through Wrynose Pass with relative ease, which opened out to sweeping moorland and a landscape that gradually flattened with distance. We headed downhill into pastoral Langdale, the idyllic valley we’d explored at the beginning of the week, and drove southeast on much more sociable roads to Coniston.

Coniston

We went straight to Coniston Water, a five-mile long lake on the edge of the village. Dad hired us a little pleasure craft and as we pulled on buoyancy aids we coaxed Bosun to enter the boat rather than the water. Two seats faced forward under a little open-backed cabin and benches at the sides and back of the “deck” allowed enough space for us to all squeeze in. The dog enjoyed climbing as close to the edge as we’d let him and we motored south down the middle of the lake, taking turns to steer. It was lovely being on the open water in such a scenic place: on the far bank the dense trees of Grizedale Forest climbed steeply up and over the long ridge that runs parallel to the lake, and on the other side the green, undulating Old Man of Coniston towered over the village and its surrounding woods.

After an hour of cruising around the lake we landed the boat and walked the short distance to Coniston village, a very pretty, quietly bustling place full of neat stone buildings, various little shops and a few pubs and cafes, all set beneath the high, rocky flanks of the Old Man of Coniston. Mum treated us to a lovely lunch in the Green Housekeeper tea room, then we wandered round the village. Ryan and I nosed in a couple of outdoor shops, an eco shop and a nice art/gift shop, then we all reconvened at the van and agreed to go to Ravenglass via the coast.

West Coast

We drove for an hour through the rolling, relatively tame, agricultural countryside of the far southern Lakes and stopped at Stubb Place, a strange area along the western coast which felt deserted. The road ran parallel to a long, pebble beach on one side and a large, flat swathe of grassland on the other, which looked very odd to us, having spent the past week in England’s most mountainous area. The dramatic skyline of the rolling southwestern fells sat above this flatness in a long, hazy grey chain, and a military zone up ahead gave the place an eerie, slightly run-down feel. Bosun ran down the beach for a swim while we had cups of tea in the van and watched him frolic in the waves.

Ravenglass

From Stubb Place we drove a short way up the coast and around a marshy estuary to Ravenglass, the village mum, dad and Angus had visited via train when Ryan and I climbed Napes Needle. It was a tiny but very charming place, set on a curve of the estuary where the Rivers Irt, Mite and Esk meet, and we parked in the village centre overlooking a long, flat stretch of water and silt. We walked along the main street, which is wide and old-fashioned with no road markings and a long row of pretty, painted cottages either side; it would have been utterly timeless had it not been for the few parked cars. We turned a corner,  read about the village’s rich history as a Roman naval base, port and fishing village, and came back along the edge of the estuary, where the low tide revealed long mud flats and grassy, marshy peninsulas on the opposite banks that must be paradise for wading birds. Residents of the houses backing onto the path could have fished out of upstairs windows at high tide, and we were baffled by a little Post Office that was strewn with newspapers and looked derelict, except that the shelves were stocked with chocolate bars and the fridges were full of fresh milk.

By this time we’d all worked up an appetite, so after some minor bickering we agreed to go to the charmingly named Ratty Arms, an interesting pub situated on the Ravenglass railway platform with cosy train-themed décor (naturally Angus chose this pub, which was acceptable as he was paying). We sat in the pretty courtyard garden drinking cider and reflecting on the holiday until our food came, which was excellent – I had an outstanding seafood salad, then a slab of sticky toffee pudding. It was a lovely final evening in the Lakes together, and after dinner we waddled back to the van and returned to the campsite at Eskdale, a 20 minute drive that took us from the coast back to the mountains along winding roads. We went to bed after an Ovaltine and more chatter in the awning, desperately wishing that the holiday wasn’t nearly over.

Lake District Rampage 2020, days 1 & 2: towns, hiking the Old Man of Coniston, Grizedale MTB trail

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Saturday 4th July – Windermere, Coniston

We woke up in a quiet layby near Kendal just east of the National Park, having made the 6-hour journey on Friday evening. We did the grocery run in Kendal Morrisons, giddy about the prospect of our first van trip since before lockdown, and drove to Windermere for a poke around.

Windermere was pretty and as we wandered through its neat streets lined with slate-grey buildings, it felt as if the world was tentatively waking up. The pubs and restaurants reopened post-covid for the first time today and there was a quiet bustle about the town, which I expect is usually a bit too touristy. It’s quite small so we weren’t there long before driving down the road to Bowness (definitely too touristy). We walked behind the shops and bars along the edge of Lake Windermere, where geese, pigeons, crows and other annoying types of bird congregated, and looked out over the misty grey water.

We nearly went into a bar for a drink but decided to carry on to Coniston. The half-hour drive via Ambleside (bustling outdoorsey town, will return) gave us our first taste of the narrow, winding Lake District roads, and we parked in our tucked-away camping spot early afternoon. Coniston is a lovely village set against the scenic backdrop of rugged, high fells and we spent the afternoon enjoying our first post-covid pub visit in The Crown, eating fajitas in the van and talking rubbish.

Sunday 5th July – Old Man of Coniston (hiking), Grizedale Forest (mountain biking)

We climbed the Old Man of Coniston (803m) – see a previous post about a previous (solo) hike here -, a lovely mountain which towers over a valley of old copper mines and overlooks a panorama of fells, forests and lakes, its steep, winding path made interesting by the ruins of old mining ruins, long, forearm-thick wire cables and a high, black tarn. The weather was surprisingly clear until about twenty minutes before the summit, when the clouds thickened and the wind picked up. It’s amazing how the weather can change in the mountains – we watched as thick white cloud rolled unstoppably over the summit ridge and down the escarpment, like the froth spilling over the edge of an overpoured pint. At the top Ryan actually grabbed me as a particularly strong gust of wind caught me off balance, sending us into fits of giggles.

It took us two and a half hours’ quick walking there and back along the same path from Coniston (including a couple of stops to snack on the summit, faff around the old slate ruins and scramble down to a crystal clear, waterfall-fed river) and we were pleased that contrary to the forecast, the weather had held up. It looked to worsen that afternoon so we’d planned to do the North Face mountain bike trail (graded red – advanced) at Grizedale Forest, twenty minutes from Coniston.

The bike trail was very technical and very different to others we’ve done. What seemed like more than the first half was uphill, on fairly gradual gradients made complicated by large, sharp rocks protruding at all angles and constantly threatening to throw wheels off the trail or bottom-out the chainring. There was no smooth, flowing downhill, real berms or jumps, but there were quick rocky sections towards the end and  it was really enjoyable in a different way – it felt much more “raw” and rugged, which was exacerbated by the fact that we didn’t see another person on the trail. Surrounded by an untamed melee of firs, ferns, grasses and foxgloves, with the occasional clearing showing off the magnificent mountainscape behind the dark, glassy Coniston Water, it felt like wild, “proper” mountain biking.

Soaked, muddied and elated, we loaded the van and drove an hour-and-a-half to Wasdale Head. That evening we planned a (really) long hike for the next day and went to bed blissfully unaware of the epic that was to follow. I’m still gathering up the energy to write about it…

The Old Man of Coniston (Lake District)

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This was possibly the most heroic day of my life. It was an emotional rollercoaster that took me from 4am surrounded by wedding-drunk friends in a Blackpool kebab shop to three hours’ sleep in a hotel car park to 4pm alone at the top of a mountain.

Given the previous night’s antics, I never really expected to bag any summits that day. I left the wedding place around midday and headed to the Lakes, lonely and a little worse for wear. I had half-formed ideas about climbing the Old Man of Coniston and/or Great Gable before heading up to Scotland, so I found a quiet parking spot in Coniston and submitted to the pull of the mountain. Despite the dwindling day, hangover and rain, I couldn’t resist.

I chose a straightforward up-and-down route along the old miner’s track from Coniston, recommended by the internet. It started in an incredibly scenic valley; on my left was a hillside covered by a sea of bluebells which led steeply down to a stream flanked by bright, almost luminescent green oaks and birches. The water ran between rushing, white waterfalls and clear blue pools, and on another day I’d have jumped in like a graceful nymph gollum.

I crossed a bridge and continued along the valley, which opened up to form a wide U-shape backed by low, homely-looking ridges. An odd description but it fits – a few whitewashed miner’s cottages are nestled cosily in the low, flat plain in the middle, fronted by a wide, shallow, rocky river, and the peaks aren’t jagged or intimidating like some of the high fells. Because of this and its proximity to Coniston, this place feels wild without being isolated.

The track continued along the left bank of the valley, then got steeper, rockier and twistier as it curved around the side of a hill. Old machinery has been abandoned along the route, and the stone ruins of mining buildings remain overlooking the scrubby, heathery, rocky landscape in front of Coniston. It didn’t really feel like a proper mountain until I got to the tarn north of the summit, which the steep, long ridge loomed ominously over. From there the path got a bit more serious and it finally felt like I was climbing a mountain.

After a brief half-scramble I reached the plateau at the top and headed for a stone igloo-shaped thing. Then the Lake District repeated what it did when I summitted Helvellyn last year – caught me off guard and took my breath away. Layers of hazy blue mountains emerged from the horizon,  basking in the sultry glow coming from the moody, grey-gold sky. The view was panoramic, from the flat, glassy sea beyond wide salt plains to the west, through the rich, green pastures to the south to the mysterious, inviting mountains to the north east. The sheep were my only company and in that moment I was in heaven. The hangover was a distant memory.

After enjoying the lonely summit long enough to feel the cold, I defaulted to the Black Bull at Coniston. I flew back down the mountain, exhilarated to have defied the odds and made it up there, got the bed ready and wandered round the town before treating myself to a drink in the pub. I got funny looks from the locals but I’m used to that, and I set about planning the next day’s hike up Great Gable… Next post coming soon!

Endnote – I love all mountains but for some reason I particularly enjoyed this one. It could have been the fact that I had no expectations as I hadn’t expected to hike that day, the interesting and visible mining history, the variety of scenery, the fact I didn’t beast myself (for once) or the solitude, but I’d recommend this route to anyone and everyone – it’s beautiful, good fun and very do-able.

How to Impulse trip: Lake District, June ’18

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The weather has been incredibly un-British for the past few weeks and the week before last I (practically) finished my LPC, Masters and a legal work placement. Naturally I was desperate to run away somewhere wild, so on Monday my adventure partner booked the rest of the week off work and that evening we decided to hit the Lake District. After previous stunningly beautiful but grey trips, I couldn’t resist the chance to see the mountains in the sun.

 

Tuesday 26 June

Late-night packing complete, we set off about 5.30am and arrived about midday after a Morrisons breakfast at Newcastle-under-Lyme. We found a basic National Trust campsite, Hoathwaite, by Coniston Water, and were pitched and raring to explore shortly afterwards.

I’d recommend the campsite any day: with direct access via a footpath down to a lakeside beach, it’s perfect to take your own kayak or SUP. It has toilets, showers, washing up basins and water taps – basic but clean and an absolute luxury for us, having got used to wild camping. The Old Man of Coniston cradles one side of the campsite, and there are lovely views over other mountains, trees and the glistening lake. It’s on a hill, but there are plenty of flat spots to camp, no marked pitches and plenty of space.

We walked the half-hour footpath to Coniston, along the lake and across big fields, to explore and recce the pubs. It’s a really pretty town with dark stone buildings and a lively centre, with about four pubs, three small supermarkets and a couple of outdoorsey and gift shops, cafes, a bakery and a butcher. We walked around, got some shopping and went back to the campsite.

We cooked early, semi-planned the next few days and went for a gentle 5k run (I’m still recovering from injury) back towards Coniston, stopping on the way back to skim stones on the water. Tired from late packing and early rising, we went to bed early and slept like sloths.

 

Wednesday 27 June

On Wednesday we drove to Ambleside to get a map of Helvellyn. I’ve always used Ordnance Survey but a helpful man in Blacks told me that Harveys maps are sometimes more practical, so I welcome any input on this. There are four OS maps of the Lake District and we only had the Southern two, so we invested in the others and briefly walked around the town. I remember liking Ambleside before; it has a really lively atmosphere, plenty to see and an abundance of outdoorsey shops which make it seem like a hub for adventurous, active people – more so than tourist-saturated Windermere.

We’d never been Stand Up Paddleboarding before and I’ve been desperate to try for ages, so we hired a couple of SUPs for three hours from Derwent Water Marina near Keswick. We chose to explore Derwentwater over Windermere as it’s quieter and wilder, and had an amazing time surrounded by clear water and blue mountains, stopping at a beach for lunch and a swim. I’ll write about this separately as I definitely have more to say.

After SUPing we drove to Glenridding to climb Helvellyn via Striding Edge, setting off about 4.30pm in 30 degree heat. There’s a tourist path straight up the Western side but I wasn’t interested – I’d read about approaching from the East in The Great Outdoors magazine and insisted on the more picturesque, lengthy and difficult route.

Although sketchy at times, I loved scrambling up Striding Edge (much more so than Bertie) and reaching the clear, sunny summit of the tabletop mountain (third highest in England) at about 7pm – I couldn’t find words to do the clear blue and lilac, layered mountain panorama justice. I’ll write separately on the route we took. We got back to the car about 10pm and made it to Wetherspoons in Keswick with 10mins to spare, thanking heaven that they serve food until 11.

 

Thursday 28 June

We got up with the sun and walked down to Coniston Water to have breakfast by the lake and read books. We’d planned to hire bikes for the day and explore as far as we could get, but drove an hour through tiny country roads to Eskdale to find the place closed. Although a lovely drive, we’d seen that area before and I was cross at the wasted morning. I’d wanted to call to book but Bertie just wanted to get there, and he took about ten years searching the car for his lost wallet (because he left it in a stupid place) so he secured a place in my bad books.

We had a drink at the Woolpack pub and used the Wifi to find an alternative bike place. It was between hiring from Keswick and cycling the roads/bridleways, or from Whinlatter forest and doing proper mountain bike trails. I wasn’t aware of Whinlatter until then but had loved Grizedale previously, so it was a no-brainer for me.

After another hour-long drive, we picked up a couple of nice Cube hardtails for three hours and did the North loop of the Altura Trail (graded red / “difficult”, 9.5km) in 1-1.5 hours followed by the Quercus trail (blue / “moderate”, 7.5km) in less than an hour. I would have loved to have done the Altura South loop too but we didn’t have time, and I think Bertie – being less keen and confident than me (but probably equally skilled) – had had enough of expecting to die at any second. He was back in my good books as I loved it so much – long, fast, swooping sections of singletrack, tricky technical sections and berms to die for. That’ll be another post too, and I’ve sworn to return to the South loop.

That evening we walked to the Yewdale Inn at Coniston, ate pizza (which I highly recommend, generous amount of cheese) and drank cider while England lost to Belgium.

 

Friday 29 June

On Friday morning we packed up, got some barbecue food for lunch and took the kayak out on Coniston Water. Once again, the sun was blaring down and it was so peaceful; there was barely anyone else on the water. We stopped at Peel Island, which could have been straight out of a holiday brochure; leafy, rocky and surrounded by clear water. I swam around, not thinking of the Coniston pike I’d google imaged that morning.

We left and paddled back under a clear blue sky, surrounded by forests and mountains. It was surprisingly hard work against the breeze and we were starving. Eventually we got back to the beach, barbecued sausages and burgers, read for a while and went for a swim around the clear water. It was warm in the still shallows, but it was such a hot day that the cooler, deeper water was a relief. It shelved steeply and I came across a few small perch. The algae-covered stones were really slippery, and being naturally un-graceful I fell over and cut my leg. Dignity shattered, I dragged myself away from the water and packed up sadly.

The drive home was uneventful; we left about 5.30pm, had a meal deal at Preston and otherwise only stopped at Warwick Services, arriving home in Winchester just before 1am (thanks to loads of 50mph limits and a partially closed A34). We were up quite early on Saturday and spent the day enjoying our annual charity golf competition but already missing the North. We’d been blessed with mid-twenties to early-thirty degree heat the whole time, did loads of activities (the only disappointment was that I ran out of time for bouldering) and saw a lot of the Lake District under clear blue skies. I can’t wait to return.

 

 

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