Scaffells from Bowfell
New Years Day: Nine Standards Fell Race
An early morning blizzard threatened access to Kikby Stephen and the New Years Day race itself. Nonetheless, at three and a half below, seventy runners warmed up in the snow laying around the The Cloisters. A comedy ensued in the second part of the field when we followed a pilot out of the market square over the ice on and over the footbridge where the race would begin: a number of us were unsure whether or not we were now competing The organisers, whom you'll be hard pressed to find on the net, lined the route up to Nine Standards Rigg with flags through the mist and spindrift. The final words concluded prize-giving with: "we shall always run Nine Standards"
First weekend: in the Southern Fells
Crinkle Crags and Bowfell
Sundays only, bus takes me from Kendal to Dungeon Ghyll at the beginning of the day, just like Wainwright once set off for the fells. A feeble squall of snow falling on Ambleside roofs evaporates with the first light opening up a Langdale cloaked in a white blanket under a blue sky. No sooner on The Band, than your feet froze. From Bowfell, over Crinkle Crags and Cold fell to Pike o'Blisco turns into a winter adventure swinging the ice axe. Returning to the even colder air in the shade of Langdale valley, a roaring fire in Old Dungeon Ghyll's hearth beckons out of the early winter dusk before the return of the pair of lights on the Kendal bus.
Second Weekend: in the Eastern Fells
Fairfield above Grisedale Tarn
Any day of the week a Kendal bus will carry you to Thirlspot where, thigh deep in loose snow, in the refrigerator of the north-western slopes as a sun crawls across a concealed south-western horizon, only an idiot attempts to climb Helvellyn via Raise. A few thousand calories expended and it's a cutting easterly that greets you but also assists up to the summit for, in a lull in the gale, a view of the world. Borne along by wind, clanking the axe and a bottle of frozen water, Dollywagon Pike tips you down around a frozen Grisedale Tarn (the old King of Dunmail's crown's around here somewhere) and up onto the northern cakewalk of The Fairfield Horseshoe. Those bus lights come around the Rydal bend to carry you out of here through failing light and freezing air.
Catstycam from Nethermost Pike, Helvellyn
Third week: the meltdown
Redacre Gill during the Thaw
Harrison Stickle takes on a sad, dejected aspect, streaked in snow like tears down the crags. Pike o'Blisco's in the clag. Surely, the going, through this ice bucket of slush will improve at the top of Redacre Gill. But no, it's an ordeal all the way up to the summit and down, out of the fog onto a desolate Wrynose Pass. The climb back up into the world of wild and wet Great Carrs and slopping through wind and wet snow following a compass brings a forsaken summit on Swirl How. A couple of black ravens relieve the grey and turn down with a croak of contempt.
Still inaccessible during a thaw: The Three Shire Stone
Levers Water melting
Fourth Weekend: The remains of 'The Big Freeze'
Bob Hughes, Ochil Hill Runner, on Skiddaw
Lisa sticks to the Skiddaw track while Bob and I leave blue sky behind and enter the cloud fighting with the lank heather on Great Calva. Predictably, in the mist Lisa navigates to our agreed meeting place while us two miss it by a hundred metres. Nonetheless, Skidda's more our scene after falling through old snow descending off Calva, simple but hard climbing over frozen ground and solid snow. Neanderthal shapes resolve along the summit as we enter back into the world of the living before descending to The Lake District under a canopy of cloud.
Borrowdale under afternoon cloud from Skiddaw
Fifth weekend: back to the usual weather a glorious finale:
Harter Fell from Branstree
Galeforth Gill, the head of Longsledda
From the summit of Mosedale Pass after Gatescarth, the run up over anvil-solid drifts to Brandstree, a return descent, a drink out of the bottle, and up to Tarn Crag take less time than in the summer time: under a blue sky and over frozen bogs.
From Tarn Crag on a winter day, 'You can see the world'*
Kentmere Pike from Tarn Crag
Some kind soul left the stove smouldering in Mosedale Bothy providing an unexpected warm interlude and warm toes.
Predictable, but only by somebody capable of interpreting a map, the high ground over Seat Robert to Wet Sleddale consists mostly of ice and turns to one long ordeal nearly impossible to cycle. Under a sun turning crimson as it sinks out of a blue sky, in true winter conditions, you just don't care less.
The end of the day, Seat Robert above Wet Sleddale: through to Shap and the road the Auld Grey Town
Bye, Bye January 2010. Thanks for the memories: cold fingers, cold toes yet an anorak that was dry for for thirty one days. I'll remember you for those winter days under blue skies.
* 'You can see the world from Benson Knott' The late Dave Bayliss, Kendal
