Lake District
I had promised a post about my adventures in the Lake District, and so I now belatedly comply. I went to the lake district immediately from my recording of Mastermind in Leeds. I woke up late the next morning which was probably due to a combination of stress, tiredness and the fact that me, Barry and his friends (including his daughter no less who was older than me!) sat in the hotel bar drinking and commiserating till past twelve.
To say it was an adventure getting to the lakes would be a mild understatement. I had to travel to Windemere via Manchester which meant a one and a half hour wait at Manchester to catch the train I needed. I got bored and went to browse at WH Smith's where I ended getting intrigued by a book on Sir Roger Mortimer, who was de facto ruler of England between the reigns of Edward II and Edward III and who was supposedly the man responsible for killing Edward II. The nature of Edward II's supposed death is too great an anecdote to resist telling, so I shall permit myself a brief digression here. Apparently, Edward II was killed by having a red hot poker shoved up his anus, at least according to popular legend. The means of his death was not just sadistic - aparently it was chosen due to the fact that his killers did not want there to be any visable mark left on his exterior. The chronicles are quite specific as to the fact that the kind died, but of course the manner of his passing remains open to speculation. The legend of the red hot poker is, admittedly, almost too good to resist.
Anyhow, things got far more interesting once I arrived in Windemere. Only then did I realize that I had left the piece of paper on which the travel details and hostel information had been written on the train. I could vaguely remember that the town I was supposed to go to ended in "-thwaite" and so I tromped over to the tourist office to check out a map and ask for directions. Seeing "Braithwaite" on the map, and thought that was the place I had to go to and was directed there accordingly. What followed was a wonderful bus ride to a little town in the middle of the lake district called Keswick, though tremendously scenic terrain. We passed clue blue lakes and forest bordering snow topped hills on either side. It was quite breathaking.
Now I get to the adventurous bit. I arrived in Keswick to change buses, and was pleasantly suprised to find the bus to Braithwaite there, so I hopped right on. It was only when I arrived at the town, and a local I bumped into expressed doubt that there was a youth hostel nearby, that I suspected something was amiss. I was pointed down some road, and happily walked down for it for 15 minutes or so when I decided something was definitely wrong. In the end I had to call DT to access my email account for me (where the original hostel details were stored) while I went over to the local pub to ask for assistance. What I discovered was that I was in the wrong town and that I was meant to go to Rostwaite and not Braitwaite and that the former was was 5 miles north of Keswick, while the latter was 2 miles south. What was a greater cause for panic was that the next bus back to Keswick was only due in an hour, which would mean I would arrive in Keswick past 8pm, and that there would be no more buses to Braitwaite. Just then, a couple at a table in the bar, hearing of my predicament, offered me a lift.
Things got even better when I received a phone call from my friends in the hostel. I had tried vainly to reach them on their mobiles, but I couldn't get through, and I only realized later how lucky I was - the simple reason being that there was no reception at the hostel. I was saved due to the fact that I had spoken to Ben the evening before, and told him that I was due to arrive around 6pm, and if not, something would be amiss. It being coming close to seven he decided to call to check in on me using the pay phone at the hostel (despite the outrageous BT phone rates). In the end, Fiona wonderfully agreed to drive down to pick me up at Keswick, while also doing a bit of grocery shopping in the process.
The next morning, we awoke to a wonderfully clear day, practically perfect for hiking. The plan was to drive about two miles to a place called Honigger Pass, where there was parking next to a slate mine, and set off from there. We planned to ascend from there and then head over to Green Gable and Great Gable and ascend those to, if possible, before heading back. The climb itself was invigorating, and probably made even more exciting by the conditions. It was rather cold for this time of year and that meant that there was still quite a large amount of snow on the hills. The snow itself was frozen solid over the night, making the ascent difficult and slippery. If not for the fact that other people had climbed our route before, leaving large holes in the frozen snow we could use, as well as the fact that there was a fence that we were following up, things would have been a great deal more tricky.
Two definite things stand out. One, we passed by a frozen bit of water, and after testing it out with the ice axe I had carried along and certifying that it was frozen very solidly, we proceeded to go for a bit of skating on the surface while stopping for lunch. Another bit was the impromptu sliding down the snow that soon began, which soon turned into toboganning of sorts with the bright orange plastic survival bags as tobogan.
The weather itself was perfectly clear, and the sun was out in full force. There were hardly any clouds at all. I admit to feeling amazed at the wonderful weather, quite unlike anything I had expected. Certainly, I hoped there would be no rain, but not in my wildest dreams did I expect to confront clear skies and bright sunshine. We continued from the frozen pond where we had also stopped for lunch, towards Green Gable. The ascent up Green Gable itself was not much of a challenge, with a well marked trail to follow, and less slippery conditions. Upon reaching the summit however, we decided not to attempt Great Gable, which looked far steeper and a bit foreboding, let alone with the snowy conditions and proceeded to head back to the hostel.
The next day again brough pretty clear weather, though it was a bit windier. We chose a different route this time consisting of a hike for about 3 miles followed by ascending a hill and following the ridge line before descending at a tow path and then hiking back to the hostel. The view from the top of the hill was quite wonderful, overlooking as it were a huge area of lakes, hills, valleys, dotted with small farms and little towns. I was quite surprised at how far up we had come (around 800 metres) and the fact that you are never quite aware of the distince whilst you are ascending, only when you reached the top. The last section of the climb was again through a broad expanse of snow dotted with boulders and it was quite stunning.
The beauty of it was sense of overwhelming wonder, the sheer magnitude of nature itself. One person remarked that up where we were, thoughts of University, of impending exams and everything else vanished, almost as if they had never existed. In fact, these petty concerns of life seemed completely insignficant and all that held meaning were the sun, the sky, the snow, the mountains surrounding us and the majesty of nature itself.
To say it was an adventure getting to the lakes would be a mild understatement. I had to travel to Windemere via Manchester which meant a one and a half hour wait at Manchester to catch the train I needed. I got bored and went to browse at WH Smith's where I ended getting intrigued by a book on Sir Roger Mortimer, who was de facto ruler of England between the reigns of Edward II and Edward III and who was supposedly the man responsible for killing Edward II. The nature of Edward II's supposed death is too great an anecdote to resist telling, so I shall permit myself a brief digression here. Apparently, Edward II was killed by having a red hot poker shoved up his anus, at least according to popular legend. The means of his death was not just sadistic - aparently it was chosen due to the fact that his killers did not want there to be any visable mark left on his exterior. The chronicles are quite specific as to the fact that the kind died, but of course the manner of his passing remains open to speculation. The legend of the red hot poker is, admittedly, almost too good to resist.
Anyhow, things got far more interesting once I arrived in Windemere. Only then did I realize that I had left the piece of paper on which the travel details and hostel information had been written on the train. I could vaguely remember that the town I was supposed to go to ended in "-thwaite" and so I tromped over to the tourist office to check out a map and ask for directions. Seeing "Braithwaite" on the map, and thought that was the place I had to go to and was directed there accordingly. What followed was a wonderful bus ride to a little town in the middle of the lake district called Keswick, though tremendously scenic terrain. We passed clue blue lakes and forest bordering snow topped hills on either side. It was quite breathaking.
Now I get to the adventurous bit. I arrived in Keswick to change buses, and was pleasantly suprised to find the bus to Braithwaite there, so I hopped right on. It was only when I arrived at the town, and a local I bumped into expressed doubt that there was a youth hostel nearby, that I suspected something was amiss. I was pointed down some road, and happily walked down for it for 15 minutes or so when I decided something was definitely wrong. In the end I had to call DT to access my email account for me (where the original hostel details were stored) while I went over to the local pub to ask for assistance. What I discovered was that I was in the wrong town and that I was meant to go to Rostwaite and not Braitwaite and that the former was was 5 miles north of Keswick, while the latter was 2 miles south. What was a greater cause for panic was that the next bus back to Keswick was only due in an hour, which would mean I would arrive in Keswick past 8pm, and that there would be no more buses to Braitwaite. Just then, a couple at a table in the bar, hearing of my predicament, offered me a lift.
Things got even better when I received a phone call from my friends in the hostel. I had tried vainly to reach them on their mobiles, but I couldn't get through, and I only realized later how lucky I was - the simple reason being that there was no reception at the hostel. I was saved due to the fact that I had spoken to Ben the evening before, and told him that I was due to arrive around 6pm, and if not, something would be amiss. It being coming close to seven he decided to call to check in on me using the pay phone at the hostel (despite the outrageous BT phone rates). In the end, Fiona wonderfully agreed to drive down to pick me up at Keswick, while also doing a bit of grocery shopping in the process.
The next morning, we awoke to a wonderfully clear day, practically perfect for hiking. The plan was to drive about two miles to a place called Honigger Pass, where there was parking next to a slate mine, and set off from there. We planned to ascend from there and then head over to Green Gable and Great Gable and ascend those to, if possible, before heading back. The climb itself was invigorating, and probably made even more exciting by the conditions. It was rather cold for this time of year and that meant that there was still quite a large amount of snow on the hills. The snow itself was frozen solid over the night, making the ascent difficult and slippery. If not for the fact that other people had climbed our route before, leaving large holes in the frozen snow we could use, as well as the fact that there was a fence that we were following up, things would have been a great deal more tricky.
Two definite things stand out. One, we passed by a frozen bit of water, and after testing it out with the ice axe I had carried along and certifying that it was frozen very solidly, we proceeded to go for a bit of skating on the surface while stopping for lunch. Another bit was the impromptu sliding down the snow that soon began, which soon turned into toboganning of sorts with the bright orange plastic survival bags as tobogan.
The weather itself was perfectly clear, and the sun was out in full force. There were hardly any clouds at all. I admit to feeling amazed at the wonderful weather, quite unlike anything I had expected. Certainly, I hoped there would be no rain, but not in my wildest dreams did I expect to confront clear skies and bright sunshine. We continued from the frozen pond where we had also stopped for lunch, towards Green Gable. The ascent up Green Gable itself was not much of a challenge, with a well marked trail to follow, and less slippery conditions. Upon reaching the summit however, we decided not to attempt Great Gable, which looked far steeper and a bit foreboding, let alone with the snowy conditions and proceeded to head back to the hostel.
The next day again brough pretty clear weather, though it was a bit windier. We chose a different route this time consisting of a hike for about 3 miles followed by ascending a hill and following the ridge line before descending at a tow path and then hiking back to the hostel. The view from the top of the hill was quite wonderful, overlooking as it were a huge area of lakes, hills, valleys, dotted with small farms and little towns. I was quite surprised at how far up we had come (around 800 metres) and the fact that you are never quite aware of the distince whilst you are ascending, only when you reached the top. The last section of the climb was again through a broad expanse of snow dotted with boulders and it was quite stunning.
The beauty of it was sense of overwhelming wonder, the sheer magnitude of nature itself. One person remarked that up where we were, thoughts of University, of impending exams and everything else vanished, almost as if they had never existed. In fact, these petty concerns of life seemed completely insignficant and all that held meaning were the sun, the sky, the snow, the mountains surrounding us and the majesty of nature itself.
posted by Caleb Liu | 9:38 PM
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