The Journey North. Day 2. Mon 23 April 2018
From: Glenridding in the Lakes. To: n/a
Mileage: 000
It was somewhat overcast but
after a rather relaxed start to the day and a healthy dollop of porridge we
were determined to stretch our legs.
We were last in this area twenty
plus years ago. We exited the campsite and took the tarmac road to the Youth
Hostel and the old lead mines. This was gradually uphill and our thinking was it
would lead us into the walk gradually and get the legs and lungs used to the
terrain before, well, before they gave out.
There was a chill in the air and
the wind was blowing. Crossing over the
beck we were soon on a well-marked path that lead towards the old sheep pens
and the left fork of the stream that would eventually, after another hour take us to Red Tarn. The going, fairly easy
underfoot, was starting to get steeper. As we climbed it also became considerably
windier as we left the protection of the valley floor. Around all sides, loomed ever
taller more menacing peaks. Eventually Hellvelyn itself came into view. Some
snow was evident on the Northern slopes. We would not attempt Hellvelyn today but
we would lunch at Red Tarn, at the base
of the Hellvelyn Horseshoe and return via Birkhouse Moor.
For lunch, we sought shelter, such as it was
in the lee of some rocks. It afforded us little. We took enough time to eat a
sarnie, swallow some coffee we had brought in a flask then shouldering our
bergans we were off again. This time the track contoured, running parallel to
Striding Edge higher up the hill till it met with ‘Gap in the Wall’ mentioned
in Wainwright’s guide, from here it was fairly level for a while following one
of those Lakeland walls that run for miles and form the boundaries to ‘fields’. That is until we needed to drop down into the rear of our campsite and the
track to Glenridding. Now came those steps which the National Park put in
slippery dangerous places but seldom meet E U Guidelines for distance between
riser and tread. Ever noticed that? Also the steps seem to get more difficult
in proportion to the distance covered.
Back at the Ice Cream Lorry we
shrugged off our bergans and walked the half mile to The Travellers Rest pub
for a late afternoon cider. It was being painted and we were therefore directed
in through the cellar door, out into the rear yard, back into the kitchen, through
the owners lounge and into the Lounge bar. All the time being told “Mind the
wet paint”. The room was empty, no lights on. We sat at a table and from
somewhere a voice boomed out “No not there, in the public bar”. We stood up
walked, as directed through some more rooms and passage ways and ended up at
the front door. “Mind the paint”. A worker shouted in from outside. “Never mind
the paint” I said “where’s the bar we’re gasping”. “Int thar”.
We ordered two ciders and a plate
of Nachos with extra Jalapenos. We needed the cider. More to combat the heat of
the Jalapenos than to quench our thirst
from the walk. They were hot. The ‘bar’ seated perhaps twenty customers.
There were only six present. Still it was an authentic village pub. Well
stocked and did a large menu card for food. After a while we finished our
drinks and bade the landlord farewell. “Mind the paint on the way out” he said.
“Yes”, I remember that, “it’s the way out I can’t remember!”
Back at the van we changed and
took advantage of the showers. Twenty pence a session. By now the rain had
started, not heavy but enough to hear it upon the roof of the van. Never mind
we were going nowhere else tonight.
