Lake District, March 2003

Allen Crags, sandwiched between Great Gable and Bow Fell

There are some weekends in the hills where personal reserves of energy are boundless, each incline represents nothing more than a minor impediment to a distance devouring speed and many mighty peaks are conquered. And there are the other weekends, when the legs are driven slowly and weakly by a lazy mind unprepared to face hardship or pain and the tops remain forever above. The stresses of a working week and the combined fatigue of many weekends away from home made this trip a very enjoyable example of the latter.

It started energetically enough, blasting from Linhope to Langdale in a shade over four and a half hours. By midnight we had pitched the tents in the campsite near the Old Dungeon Ghyll hotel and were sitting on the grass in the cool of a clear spring night, drinking wine straight from the bottle and listening to drunken Russians making merry with a guitar, a head torch, and presumably some vodka.

Saturday dawned bright and warm, but we were all loathe to leave the soft, downy comfort of our sleeping bags. A cup of tea with real milk proved enough of a lure to coax the slugabeds into the fresh but hazy day. We packed the rucksacks with kit for a night, took a cursory glance at the map and set off.


Sun over Esk Pike	Sun over Angle Tarn	Asleep in the sun		Unnecessary map reading

We walked slowly up Mickleden and Rossett Gill, surrounded by tens of groups of assorted walkers and ramblers; fast husbands and fat wives, sullen children behind beaming parents, large groups of wool-clad geologists. We reached the deep, sun drenched bowl of Angle Tarn, put the packs down and promptly fell asleep in the afternoon sun.

Two hours later we stirred, Gus keen to stretch his legs, and walked for a whole hour, including a brief detour up Allen Crags, before settling on the quiet banks of Sprinkling Tarn to bivvy for the night.


Great Gable over Sprinkling Tarn	The noisy neighbour	Gus rustles up dinner	Four people, two man tent, do the math

Despite the sun, it was cold, but a Cup-a-Soup and pasta kept the chill at bay as the sun set. We retired to bed at eight, Carla and Boo to their two-man tent, Gus and I each to our one-man bivvy bags. The sky was clear and as we lay on our backs and stared at the stars sprinkled across the dark blanket of night beneath us it was impossible not to feel vertiginous. I left the head of the bag open and awoke every two hours, able to judge the passage of time by the movement of the Plough across the sky.


Night air over Seathwaite	Sunset near Great Gable	Great End at daybreak	Leaving the bivvy spot	Sunrise over Esk Hause

Sunday was even clearer than Saturday, and with ten hours' sleep under our belts we decided to climb a couple of peaks.

Heading over Esk Hause

We retraced the previous day's steps, passing Angle Tarn, before turning left and heading up Stake Pass to walk over the Langdale Pikes. First up was Pike of Stickle, then Harrison Stickle. Boo and Carla took the gentle walk down to Stickle Tarn from here, but Gus and I opted for a descent down Easy Gully, a dark cleft that runs downwards across the steep rock face of Pavey Ark. With full packs Easy Gully is a small misnomer, a ten foot bad step midway down made Gus throw his pack fifty feet down the hill, but we reached Stickle Tarn with little difficulty and made our way down to a lunchtime pint at the hotel at the base of the Pikes.


Approaching Esk Hause	Atop Pike of Stickle	Midway down "Easy" Gully	Stickle Tarn from Easy Gully

Over two days, a total walking time of about six hours, a total sleeping time of about twenty hours. Perfect.

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