Above The Snowline
It had been on my wish-list for a while, but as winter started to come to an end, had I left it too late to do my first wild-camp in the snow?....
....The short answer was 'no'.
Having been intently keeping an eye on the weather forecast for most of the week, on the Thursday I headed to Shap in eastern Cumbria, and followed the narrow country lanes to Haweswater below the Far Eastern fells & the car park at Mardale Head.
The air was unusually still - not a breath of wind - meaning the reservoir was undisturbed & mirror like. It was just after 11 am when I arrived at the car park, and was lucky enough to grab the last parking space.
I was also pleasantly surprised that the fells still had a good covering of snow. I hoisted by rucksack onto my back, and started walking.
Heading south from the car park, I picked up the Gatescarth Pass, which heads up into the hills, and eventually over towards the hamlet of Sadgill in the Longsleddale valley.
Following the pass uphill, it wasn't long before I began to reach small patches of snow on the path, which began to increase in size as I gained altitude.
The Gathscarth Beck, which ran by the side of the pass, was in full flow from the snow melt higher up. The sun was shining brightly, and there was blue sky overhead with only passing glances of cloud - and it was surprisingly warm, as I ended up rolling up my sleeves & donned my sunglasses.
I reached the summit of the pass, which was a crossroads of paths, which could be identified with trails of footprints in the snow. Looking like I had arrived in Narnia, a signpost at the cross roads aided walkers to either continue along the pass down into Longsleddale, or to head up and over Harter Fell towards the Nan Bield Pass, and this was the route I would take.
It was a steady climb up the snowy path as it made its way up onto Harter Fell, and I spotted a couple of other walkers heading up the same way behind me. The path followed the wire fence onto the summit plateau which revealed the mountain tarn of Blea Water tucked below the sheer cliff wall on the eastern flank of High Street.
The path turned west along the plateau top. Crossing the summit, the snow was partially frozen, a thin layer of crunchy iced snow giving improved grip to my boots. This meant I was able to move quicker over the terrain. However every so often the frozen snow 'gave way', my foot sinking a couple of inches into the softer snow underneath, which became more of a trudge.
I reached the summit cairn of Harter fell, recognisable by being speared with old rusted fence posts, and from here the path split in two. Turning right would take me towards Kentmere Pike, I headed left, and began my descent towards the wind shelter at the top of the Nan Bield Pass - a pass linking the Mardale & Kentmere vallies.
I decided it would be a good idea to have my ice-axe in hand, as I slowly decended the snow covered rocky paths, and slopes.
Upon reaching the wind shelter, I found it was completely filled with a snow-bank, completely blocking the shelter.
I carried on straight over the pass, and began the climb up the path to Mardale Ill Bell. Before reaching my next summit, I turned off left to find a spot for some lunch whilst overlooking a shoulder of the fell called Lingmell End, and the fells on the opposite side of Kentmere Common.
There was a bank of cloud over to the west, but I still had blue skies overhead - for now anyway - and shafts of light were falling on the fells nearby.
Across the ridge between the fells of Froswick & Ill Bell, in the distance I could also make out the Coniston fells, also being illuminated whilst dark clouds loomed behind.
From my lunchtime vantage point, I could also make out the giant 14 foot tall stone beacon marking the summit of Thornthwaite Crag, and I was looking forward to following the path around the head of the Kentmere valley to reach it.
Break over, I made my way back to the path and onto Mardale Ill Bell's summit, which gave views back down to the car park at Mardale Head. I headed west from the summit, and picked up the path running across the rim of the valley. The snow here was a good few inches deep, and with each step my foot sunk into the snow. It was an exhausting, but exhilarating trek. I had my eyes fixed on the cairn of Thornthwaite crag, it getting closer with each step.
Although sunset was still a good few hours away, the looming bank of cloud, combined with the rays of sun & breaks in the cloud meant there was an orange glow to the west, and stunning crepuscular rays breaking through the gaps in the cloud. This made for a stunning view when I eventually reached Thornthwaite Crag, with Windermere, England's longest lake, making a centre-stage appearance.
After spending a few minutes taking in the views from the top of the Crag, I back-tracked, and picked up the path onto High Street, following the route of the old Roman Road which gave the fell its name. From the path, there was a stunning view north into the Hayeswater Gill valley, and the sheltered reservoir of Hayeswater. The gaps in the snow, giving the hillsides a tiger-stripe effect, with the lower fells beyond dropping below the snowline.
I headed up to the summit of High Street, which, at 2,718 feet is the highest feel in the Far Eastern lake district, and made it official by tapping the Ordnance Survey trig point. It was time to find a spot to pitch my tent.
There were areas of the fell top where patches of grass were poking up through the snow, but I was on the lookout for a clear, flat patch of snow. Again, these 'clear' patches had a thin layer of frost on top, firming it up. My thinking was that once I had pitched my tent, and was laying down the snow would act like a 'memory foam' mattress, and it would slightly mould to my body-shape.
I found a suitable pitch which looked east, backed my a magnificent looking Helvellyn range, and got to work setting up my tent. A few weeks before undertaking this trip, I had ordered a set of six 'snow pegs', which I had brought with me. These are much wider than normal tent pegs, and have a slight, almost shovel-like curve to them, giving more grip in either snow, or sand. I used my snow pegs for the six pitch points on my tent, and used the conventional tent pegs to string out the guy lines.
As the light began to fade, I threw on my down jacket, and fired up the Jetboil to make dinner, before relaxing outside in the still evening air with a few beers, watching a couple of head-torches making their way down off Helvellyn, as the darkness descended.
Dawn had started to break as I opened my tent door.... although the sun hadn't yet got high enough to breach the top of the hills. What surprised me thgouh is that my boots, that I had left in the porch area of the tent, had completely frozen solid. Before I could have a toilet break, I needed to defrost them! I fired up the Jetboil to get some water boiling, before pouring the hot water over my boots. This defrosted them for long enough for me to get them on & laced up, and was able to go and relieve myself.
Returning to the tent, it was time for breakfast. The sun was just coming up over the hillside & it was going to be another sunny day. Getting my Jetboil on the go for the second time this morning, I brewed an instant coffee & had a couple of cereal bars.
After breakfast, and spending a bit of time allowing the sun to defrost the outside of my tent, it was eventually time to pack it away and make a move. I was on the move for just gone half 9.
Picking up the roman road north over High Street, the mountain begins to narrow as it approaches the Straits of Riggindale and a small protrusion of Short Stile.
To get to the vantage point of Short Stile, I had to find a gap i the old stone wall which spans across the entire High Street fell top. I found a gap in a collapsed section of wall, waded through some knee deep snow drifts along the wall, and reached Short Stile, which offered a fantastic close up alpine view of Riggindale Crag & the sheer cliff of Hause Crag dropping from High Street's summit.
The panoramic view from Short Stile also dropped into the Riggindale valley, once home to England's only Golden Eagle. The valley floor was devoid of snow, and Haweswater made an appearance in the distance - I could easily trace my route back down to the reservoir.
I returned to the path over the Straits of Riggindale, before taking the turning north east above Twopenny Crag towards the Wainwright of Rampsgill Head. This was my third visit to this particular peak, but on this occasion it was interesting to note the sound of birds singing, considering their was snow on the ground. I managed to catch sight of a couple of birds flying just above the ground & landing on snow patches & bare ground. From their birdsong & appearance I believe they were Skylarks.
From Rampsgill Head I took the easterly path to Kidsty Pike, a prominent peak, which can also be easily spotted from the M6 motorway when driving past Shap. The path from Rampsgill Head to the Pike is only about a third of a mile, and less than 40 foot of ascent.... a lovely stroll!
From the summit of Kidsty Pike, I could see my route back down, below the snowline, and back to Haweswater. As I descended the snow started to become patchy before the ratio of snow to grass swung in the favour of the grass. Not too far off the summit ohowever, I paused and looked back towards the head of Riggindale, and the snow covered Short Stile & Twopenny Crag, with, the peak of Kidsty Pike towering over them.
Heading down the grassy slopes, I picked up a path which weaved its way down the rocky outcrops of Kidsty Howes before finally reaching the bottom of the valley, which was quite a boggy traverse, coming out at the lakeside path near Bowderthwaite Bridge.
This was a cracking little spot to look back up the valley, with the snow covered High Street looming proud at the top of the valley. Even-more-so as a short distance on I found a small stone building, which gave some perfect foreground interest for a photograph from the valley floor.
There were two noisy geese on the lake having a squabble as I followed the path towards The Rigg, a large pine covered outcropping beside the lake. Although that wasn't the only noise in the air, as I looked down the reservoir I spotted two fast jets - Eurofigther Typhoon's, coming straight towards me fast & low. I grabbed my camera to video them, just as the battery failed. They flew right overhead, their thundering jet engines drowning out the noise of the geese, flying just a hundred foot or so above the water before pulling up as they approached the mountains west of Mardale Head that I had climbed the day before.
The path climbed up onto the ridge of the Rigg from where, directly ahead, Harter Fell came back into view, and at it's foot, the car park at Mardale Head.
Little did I know that this would be my last wild camping trip for the foreseeable future, as the world was overtaken by a pandemic virus, forcing countries across the globe to go into lockdown.
Being uncertain as to whether I'd be able to accomplish any more of the goals I had set myself at the beginning of the year, we can only hope the pandemic ends sooner rather than later, so we can all head into the hills once more.
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