Hello, you. So, I’m back from a short holiday in the Lake District. Two words: mind, blown! This was my first trip to the Lakes, and I hadn’t realised quite how stunning it really is. You can get a sense of it from photos of course, but actually being there, surrounded on all sides by vast glistening lakes, and fells of such enormity, is something else entirely. There was a moment on my first full day there, attempting to take everything in whilst cruising serenely across Derwentwater aboard the evocatively named Lakeland Mist, when all at once I was struck by the breathtaking beauty of it all. It was quite emotional, no doubt elevated by it being one of the hottest days of the year at that point. The sky was an intense cerulean blue, the water below me, cool, crisp and sparkling and the whole scene was completely new… and also brilliant.
Catbells was my first challenge – 451m (1,480ft) of family fun! Of course I’m paraphrasing the legendary Alfred Wainwright, who described it as a family fell where grandmothers and infants can climb the heights together. Well, I’m not sure I would entirely concur with you, AW. But perhaps the great man’s description wasn’t really aimed at those poor, decrepit souls who are as monumentally unfit as me. I found it tough going, I must admit, and had to take a few breaks on the way up (along with plenty of other folk, I might add) in order to catch by breath and noisily gulp my way through my water supply far more quickly than was sensible. I mean, come on… it was a hot day, cut me some slack! In AW’s defence, I can’t deny that I was quite sincerely put to shame by the hordes of excitable 10-year-olds swarming up the slopes either side of me like mountain goats; little blighters!
Catbells (sometimes written as Cat Bells) is a fantastic climb though, don’t get me wrong, especially the hair-raising scramble up the rocky Skelgill Bank where hands, and not just feet, absolutely must come into play. It felt like a proper climb at this point, and I was suitably spurred on while taking a breather, by a wiry, swarthy-looking mountain type just to my left (easily ten years my senior), who leant towards me and in a friendly, avuncular sort of manner said quietly, “Come on, our lad. You can do this!”
I soon reached the summit with dignity intact, where I stopped to take a few celebratory photos and replenish my depleted energy levels with an unseemly number of calories. Catbells is one of the smaller fells in the Lake District, but reaching the top still gave me a great sense of accomplishment, and a genuine buzz. Despite its diminutive standing when pitted against the rest of the fells, the outlook from the peak in every direction is quite spectacular, with views of the mighty Skiddaw and Blencathra to the north and north east, and the narrow, knobbly ridge of Causey Pike to the west. But it’s hard not to be completely bewitched by the views of Derwentwater, Borrowdale and the Newlands Valley that stretch out below you.
I extended my walk a little further after Catbells, and continued south to the summit of Maiden Moor another 25 or 30 minutes further on, and with a greater height of 576 m (1,890 ft). Although higher, Maiden Moor is nothing like as iconic as Catbells – Catbells is the real star here. Nevertheless… two wainwrights bagged, baby!
For the following day, I’d booked a couple of hours kayaking on Derwentwater. I’ve done a little kayaking before, although not much, but the staff at Derwentwater Marina could not have been nicer. I’m not sure what I expected – maybe to see my amateurishness noted by the occasional exchange of knowing looks between the hot girl handing out the life jackets and the confident, out-doorsy looking young blade in charge of signing me in. But there was none of that of course, and why would there be? The hot girl and the out-doorsy young blade were nothing but polite, friendly and encouraging. Anyway, I did fine – I kind of knew what I was doing… more or less.
Oh, and it was a lot of fun, by the way. It was hard going paddling out onto the lake from the marina, as the breeze had really picked up by now and I was heading directly into it across an increasingly choppy surface. You don’t really imagine that something as small and streamlined as a kayak would be affected much by the wind, but it really is… surprisingly so. I pitched up on a little island about half way out onto the lake and climbed out for a break and a bit of sustenance, before paddling around some more and eventually heading back to the marina, where naturally I was praised for handling the windy conditions so well… yeah I know… ’s how I roll!
The whole trip was unforgettable, and I wish I could have stayed for longer. I’m already looking on Airbnb to book my return trip.
