mutteringhousewife

Our guide picked us up this morning from our charming hotel in Ennerdale Bridge and it quickly became apparent that our pace today would be fast. Paul was taciturn, and six foot four with proportionate legs, and he marched us along the north and more scenic side of Ennerdale Water at a similar pace that we did on our training walks around the Bay Run at home. There was something about his gait that reminded me of those Wallace and Gromit robots that inevitably go rogue and march on forever, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. He did crack a smile when we were passed by an elderly hiker wearing stout boots a big grin and nothing else. Anyway, Ennerdale Water was lovely – I am going to have to get a thesaurus out because this part of the world is the last word in picturesque.

At the end of the Water we stopped at a youth hostel for a toilet break and a cup of tea for the Commander. There ensued a series of negotiations on which route to take next. The Commander likes a view, and Paul the guide shared Wainwright’s disdain for paths through pine trees – which was the conventional track. He had been appraising our walking style, and thought we’d be up to it, so we ended up climbing up the side of a fell for quite some time. It was hard work and the sun continued unnaturally bright for these parts, but we did end up with some amazing views back over Ennerdale Water and forward into the Fells.

He let us stop, a little reluctantly, a bit before two just under the Haystacks fell to absorb our sandwich in record time before he had us climbing up to the very top, scrambling a little over rocks which in my opinion is preferable to trudging up the rocky tracks we’d been travelling on.

I’m not bothering putting up a photo of the view from Haystacks, it’s never going to do it justice. Apparently it was Wainwright’s favourite climb, and his ashes are scattered up here somewhere. What you can have is a view from the descent which kind of captures the kind of ridiculously scenic landscape we’re dealing with here.

I was pleased that we decided to contour around to the Honister Slate Mine rather than descend into a valley (Buttermere? I’m sure there was some mention of Buttermere) and back out again because I’m not fond of the climbing. I realise what I’ve signed up for, and appreciate the results when I have climbed and the associated feeling of accomplishment, but that doesn’t mean I like it at the time. What is it with slate mines and adventure experiences? There was one in Wales as well on our last visit to England. We didn’t stop to investigate, because that wasn’t Paul’s style, but started the long descent into Rosthwaite, our stop for tonight. I did manage to extract some information from Paul when I caught up to him – that the whole fell, beck, tarn, thwaite thing is Viking. Apparently they were in the region for ages, and clearly did quite a lot of geographical naming before the Normans eventually got rid of them. I had been wondering.

Our walk today was very very rocky indeed, there was no point using the poles. The rocks here are sharp, not the soft sandstone rounded ones we’re used to in Australia, and our feet are feeling it tonight. The whole pub crawl aspect of the trip is proving to be delightful, it’s quite something to walk up to your accommodation to find your luggage waiting and all you need to do is decide on a beer. My health app suggests I’ve walked twenty three kilometres and burned over nine thousand kilojoules today, so I think I’ve earned it.