Astray in the Langdales

Near Stake Pass
(in decent weather!)

The UK public has already endured the wettest April for over a century and the wettest June since records began and more bad weather is forecast. However, it seems this has merely spurred people to invest in waterproof jackets and trousers, determined to get outdoors to enjoy the British "summer" no matter what it takes.

--PR Newswire (7-16-12)

As Maya and I neared the end of our second day of hiking, we felt pleased.  Despite the dire forecasts of daily rain, we had encountered at most an occasional sprinkle.  Twenty-nine miles of hiking already lay behind us -- through farm lands, along the forested lakeshore of five-mile Coniston Water, circling the park-like Tarn Hows, crossing over the picturesque stone arch of Skelway Bridge, and following generally flat trails through ever-narrowing valleys into the mountainous realm of the Langdales.  We were tempted to laugh at the weatherman.

As we approached the ancient inn of Old Dungeon Ghyll, however, the skies darkened, the first drops fell, and before we could reach the shelter of the inn -- our stop for the night -- we were soaked to the skin. 

The following day -- the third of the hike -- was  supposed to be a more relaxed seven miles -- over a pass and down a valley into the hamlet of Stonethwaite.  That morning, the skies remained dark, but the night's rain had ceased and we began hiking optimistically.  The first mile took us from the inn to the closed end of the Mickleden valley.  The trail then became much rougher, and we began a steep climb over switchbacks to Stake Pass.  Stake Pass, according to the guidebook, is only 1,400 feet in elevation.  But its setting is bare and desolate, reminiscent of photographs I've seen of northern Alaska, or of some of the New Zealand terrain used as the setting for Lord of the Rings.  Rain began to fall, and visibility was obscured by mist.

We were experiencing for the first time the High Fells of England. 

The path remained clear and distinct, and so I led us forward without much serious reference to the guidebook.  We continued climbing, often quite steeply, but the guide had mentioned that the pass was not a sharp divide but continued for some distance as a rising plateau.  We overtook and passed well-outfitted groups of teenaged climbers, burdened by heavy packs, chugging wetly up the trail with varying degrees of self-confidence and enthusiasm.  Maya and I, carrying only daypacks, were talking and enjoying the scenery.  Then we encountered an older group, less buoyant in expression, coming down the trail.  It occurred to me that we had been hiking quite a distance from our first contact with Stake Pass -- hiking steadily uphill.

Finally, at a wind shelter on a flat rocky plateau, we stopped and talked to a group of obviously experienced climbers.  They had turned back, they said.  The weather ahead was too threatening.  Too threatening for what, I asked myself? Too threatening for a simple descent to Stonethwaite?  I asked them to show me on a map exactly where we were.  Yikes!  We had been ascending the trail to Scafell Pike, the highest peak in England -- just 3,209 feet in elevation, but in the context of its surroundings, and on a wet  and misty day, certainly a more ambitious climb than we had contemplated.

Further review of guidebook and maps revealed that we should have followed a trail branching off to the north at Stake Pass.  We returned to the pass -- a rather large plateau, as the guidebook described -- and spent perhaps an hour or so in the rain, following various promising trails, none of which ended up going anywhere that made sense.  We never did locate the correct path.  As I sit now -- dry and warm in my study, coffee in hand, perusing contour maps -- I still find it impossible to locate the point where our trail -- clearly a major route -- turned off from the Scafell trail.  And yet -- obviously -- hundreds of hikers every year follow the Cumbria Way trail from Dungeon Ghyll to Stonethwaite, apparently with no difficulty.

I do suggest that a clear Cumbria Way signpost or marker at Stake Pass would be well worth the minor expense.

Considering the lateness of the day and the nature of the weather, I finally made an executive decision to retreat.  We hiked back downhill to Dungeon Ghyll. Our baggage had, of course, been sent ahead to our next night's lodging. I called a taxi, and paid £90 for a 50-minute drive from Dungeon Ghyll to Stonethwaite -- seven miles by trail, but a long, circuitous drive through Keswick by highway.  A defeat of sorts, but the sort of defeat that presents its own amusing and instructive aspects. In retrospect, at least.

Our adventure on Stake Pass gave me a proper respect for both the High Fells and English weather.  The Langdales, through which we were ineptly navigating, are only one portion of the High Fells of the Lake District.  We were to pass through another portion (past Skiddaw House) on Day Five.  And yet -- as that distinguished geographer Bill Bryson points out¹ -- the entire Lake District (fells, dales, becks, gills, tarns, waters, pastures, forests, and all) could be dropped comfortably into the geographical area occupied by Minneapolis-St. Paul. 

It's not the size of your country that matters.  It's what you have within it, and what you do with it.  The English need make no apologies to other, larger countries for the scenic beauty and recreational opportunities it offers in its Lake District.

Their weather this July, on the other hand, has been a disgrace!
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¹Bill Bryson, Notes from a Small Island (Harper Perennial 2001) at 254.