How to Impulse trip: Lake District, June ’18

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.

 

 

Swimming Rediscovered

I’m probably the most impatient and restless injured person on the planet, and unfortunately suspected “tib post tendinopathy” has sentenced me to an unknown period of no running. Desperate to keep my fitness up, this week I’ve been cross training, rowing, cycling and – for the first time in way too long – swimming.

 

I used to be a really ungainly swimmer. I learnt quite quickly but messed around in swimming lessons and was never interested in technique. After getting a part-time job as a lifeguard in 2011 I decided to get better, so I slipped (literally) into the pool a few times and worked on my stroke, kick and breathing. Hours of lifeguarding swimming lessons and being forced to watch people swim (the most monotonous job you could imagine) probably helped, and now I’m marginally less ungainly.

 

I haven’t been for ages and have some poor excuses. My hair is really long and I’m certain there are little pool-demons that tie it in the most inextricable knots. I know the lifeguards so I’ll end up chatting and/or being made fun of. Pool water is really disgusting – full of people’s body oils, skin cells, wee, hair and dissolved farts (by far the truest and most legitimate excuse).

 

Excuses aside, I turned up at the pool on Thursday intending to do a mile (64 lengths) and expecting to struggle with fitness and boredom. Stretching my arms and legs out in a relaxed front crawl felt great for about 10 lengths, until I felt unfit and bored. Then I found myself secretly racing the fastest person in the fast lane, a 50-something year old swimmer with a super-efficient looking technique.

 

Safe to say he was out of my league, so I got tired, frustrated and splashy. I rested and chose to stick to the slightly slower pace set by “swim hat lady” as I had no idea how quick I should go. She helped me a lot, and I started to settle into a (slightly messy) rhythm.

 

Two things slowed my progress, both involving my cheap H&M bikini bottoms: my waist-length hair kept tangling in the tie-strings, and I didn’t trust them to hold fast as I kicked off from the wall. It would  be no fun for anyone, least of all me, if they decided to go whereabouts. Tip: buy actual swimwear designed for actual swimming.

 

As the pool became less busy, I focused less on whether I was getting in anyone’s way and more on my technique. I’ve always breathed on every fourth stroke, always on my right side. I have a bad habit of holding my breath rather than blowing bubbles under water. I decided to try breathing every third stroke as I’d heard something about muscles developing/tightening non-symmetrically if you only breathe on one side. It felt unnatural and awkward but more doable than I expected, and my stroke became a bit smoother the more I lumbered through the water. Breathing this way actually felt more natural after a while, so perhaps every fourth stroke had  always been too long.

 

I finally felt I had settled into a good rhythm at about length 55, despite getting foot cramp and swimming a couple of half lengths looking as if I’d been shot. I felt so good after a mile that I decided to bump it up to 100 lengths (I’m a bit obsessive about round numbers) and oddly enough it only got easier as I relaxed more, despite calf cramp kicking in at length 87.

 

Every time I lost count I rounded down, so I ended up doing 106 lengths (2.65km) according to my borrowed Swimtag band. I felt so good that I’d have kept going if the pool didn’t close. I just couldn’t believe that a) it took 50-60 lengths to settle into a comfortable rhythm, b) after 64 lengths I felt less tired than after 10, and c) changing my breathing stroke helped so much. Okay it took about an hour, but I did keep pausing to de-mist goggles, untangle hair and have a drink.

 

I know this is probably a really boring post but I wanted to document my return to swimming. Despite the arduous fight to detangle my hair in the shower I really enjoyed it; there’s something so therapeutic and solitary about being in the water, particularly once you push past the initial “wall” and settle into a rhythm. I recommend giving it a go. I’m glad to have rediscovered a low impact, non-self-destructive way to keep fit, and I think I’ll invest in more suitable swimwear and (maybe) a swim hat. Even though my heart is in the lakes, rivers and seas, sometimes the pool just has to do.