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Sunday, 4th of June
Looking up towards Side Pike
It was a long and tiring journey up to Langdale, changing at one extra stop than usual due to it being a Sunday. As always, when I got to Windermere I was annoyed at the inflexibility of the Langdale Rambler bus service ... the last bus going into the valley is inconveniently early, which means I have to end up paying £22.50 for a taxi every time I go.
In any case, the weather was superb and I got a first-class view of the Langdale mountains on the drive-in. The taxi driver, who I had already met on a previous trip, even paused in his rambling monologue complaining about Arabs to comment on how amazing the scenery was. And it really was. Langdale is a special place.
There was still plenty of daylight left even after I'd pitched my tent and had dinner, so I decided to head up to the small summit of Side Pike just above the campsite for some scrambling.
Side Pike
Looking east from the 'viewpoint field'
There are a number of points in the valley where the view opens up suddenly and dramatically, welcoming you back. One such place is a little field right above the campsite, on the way to Blea Tarn and Pike of Blisco. I always look forward to crossing this field, because I remember it as the first place where I really got to see the dalehead mountains up close.
These places correspond vividly with some of my earliest memories of the Lake District, and so are powerful sources of inspiration. It doesn't matter whether you're standing in the viewpoint field, or the little knoll on the edge of Wastwater, or in the lane above Knipe Fold looking out over an endless vista of mountains for the first time: they never fail to work their magic!
Looking west from the field, towards the high ridge of Crinkle Crags
I passed through a small stand of larches, then started walking up the recently repaired track leading to Blea Tarn. This track was a badly eroded scar both times I was here in 2005, but by the April trip they were using a JCB to construct a zigzagging, hard-surface path leading up the steep fellside. The lower section has now been completed. Unfortunately the path facing material is a very pale colour so it has a big visual impact, but it's a lot easier to walk on!
Bowfell. On this trip it was a case of look but don't touch for this old favourite.
The Langdale Pikes
Feeling fit and confident, I quickly reached the cattle grid at Blea Tarn. Normal practice at this point is to turn right along the Blisco Traverse to begin the ascent of Pike of Blisco, but this was not my destinaton today. I turned left to reach a low wall of crag. My plan was to climb the Grade 1 (no stars) scramble of Side Pike South Spur, a rambling route involving three distinct crags and a weaving line.
I soon discovered that the guidebook was very vague and could not be relied upon. Its description of the climb's starting point was ambiguous to say the least, and after maybe twenty minutes of suspiciously eyeing steep lines that looked far harder than Grade 1, I found a route that would go. At this stage I was more concerned with staying on the correct route than seeking out difficulties (although this would change later on!)
Looking up towards the second crag
The first part of the scramble was great. Easy rock, bomber holds, and a layer of tinder-dry moss that actually improved grip ... although I wouldn't like to climb it in wet weather. Encouraged, I quickly made my way over to the next crag and chose a slightly steeper line this time, progressing into terrain bordering on Grade 2. The crags and rock formations were so open that any number of lines could be invented on their flanks.
Looking down a mossy, vegetated slab
Soon I reached the main path leading to the summit. The book informed me that a right-branch in the track would lead me to the foot of a rocky skyline rib, which formed the final line of the climb. So, I obediantly took the first right fork I came across. It led me to the foot of a grim and vertical wall of rock, maybe thirty feet in height, but fairly broken. Some lines looked climbable. I was aware that this was certainly not Grade 1 terrain--in fact it was probably way beyond Grade 3--but I was feeling confident and my hands itched to come into contact with harder rock.
The final crag ... but which is the correct line?
I chose what appeared to be the perfect line. It followed a tall face leading beside a narrow corner leading up the cliff, and although the holds didn't look overly large, they were plentiful. I could see some less definite terrain near the top but from the angle I was looking at it from, it looked fairly easy to bypass these difficulties by moving into an easier chimney to the left. I started to climb.
The line that I took. I have designated it The Fear, V.Diff,
although V.Diff may be a conservative estimate of the grade.
The first two or three metres were great: vertical rock, great holds, and entertaining moves. Certainly more in the class of a rock climb than a scramble, but I felt certain I could do it. Until I reached the crux move of the pitch, that is. The crux is an evil, overhanging corner of rock, smooth and mossy and completely without holids, except a little knife-edge high up that I could just about get my fingers in. I knew I couldn't climb this, so I tried traversing around the arête to my left to an easier line. That wouldn't go either.
I knew I had to try to climb back down. I've never liked downclimbing, and the idea of climbing back down twenty feet of vertical rock filled me with dread. The inevitable happened: my feet slipped off their small holds, leaving me hanging by my fingers. In the brief, frantic rush to regain control my fingers weakened and I was falling.
I bounced off a boulder at the foot of the route and landed on a grassy ledge on the edge of a big drop. My first thought was, stupidly, that at least I'd got down! Then I realised that my back was in a great deal of pain. It suddenly rushed into me and I screamed out loud, convinced that I'd broken my back. I was also winded and unable to breathe. After a while I managed to stand up (so no broken spinal column, then!) and limp off the hill, cursing my own inability to climb six simple feet of overhanging rock.
The sun had set by the time I reached the campsite. An ascent that took me a little under half an hour took over an hour to descend. However I had satisfied myself by this point that nothing was broken, since I could physically walk (even if it was a slow, jolty kind of walk that hurt whenever I put a foot down), and I could sense that the very motion of walking was helping. The predominant feeling was one of stiffness; indeed I soon found that the worst possible thing was to lie in one position for too long. For this very reason, that night was very uncomfortable!
So the trip began with a frightening and painful disaster, but all was not lost. I may have had to abandon my plans for traversing the Scafells, but I got some good hillwalking and scrambling done over the next couple of days. Read on!
Next day: Langdale Pikes
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