Well, it couldn’t last, could it? Those sunny, salad days of summer would inevitably give way to something more dreich and dreary, of course. But you know, that’s fine; I had a good run of fine weather for my last two trips. I love the autumn anyway; the warm-coloured leaves caught in the jagged teeth of the chill air; the way that everything seems to be in crisp, tack-sharp focus. It’s actually my favourite time of year.
But Robert Burns had it right. I’d made firm plans for my late October trip to the Lakes, and much like the best-laid schemes of his fabled tim’rous beastie, they went awry! However, I don’t think weather of any kind could ever alter the fact that the Lake District is an awesome place to be, and the experience (however rain-soaked) is whatever you make it.
I was in Braithwaite this time, a very picturesque little village just two miles from Keswick. The place I was staying was a fantastic Airbnb; a self-contained annex of a private home, and it was absolutely top-drawer. It was warm, comfortable, spotlessly clean, beautifully decorated and furnished, with some wonderful additional, personnal touches. To have somewhere like that to return to after a wet and wild day out on the fells was an absolute joy and Julie, the host, cold not have been more helpful and communicative.
When I arrived in the early evening, despite the bleak, inauspicious sermons of the local weather forecasters, I was encouraged by the welcoming sight of a strikingly vivid rainbow turning across the skies over Skiddaw, which I took to be a good omen for my long weekend ahead. Nothing could have been further from the truth of course! The forecasts were right, and the brief respite heralded by said rainbow was just that – a fleeting spell of calm amid what had already been a long period of rain in the days prior to my arrival. The rain would begin again overnight and persist for most of the rest of my stay. By all accounts it was the heaviest, most prolonged rainfall that Lakeland had seen these many years, and my plans for the following day, to travel from Braithwaite to Buttermere along the Honister Pass, and then to climb Haystacks, came to nothing. The Honister Pass was flooded, and all public transport to that area of the Lakes (which I was reliant upon) was understandably cancelled. This was all very disappointing, naturally; I’d been very excited about climbing Haystacks for some time and I’d planned it all like a military campaign, but there was just no way it was going to happen. Even if I’d been able to get there I think the climb itself would have been pretty sketchy. So instead, after a very agreeable European breakfast of croissants, toast, fruit juice and coffee, provided by Julie on my first morning, I dug out my Wainwright’s and an OS map and set to drawing up plan B.
Plan B
Just south of the village and rather dominating the skyline in that direction is Barrow. It’s not a particularly high fell (at a humble 1,494 ft [455 m], it’s 187th out of the 214 Wainwrights, for height) and it’s not particularly challenging (a fairly straightforward hike with no scrambles), but it was on the doorstep, and as nice as my lodgings were, I didn’t want to spend all day there fretting about geting a bit soggy! So with the route committed to memory, and my trusty backpack full of snacks, I set off, all intrepid and stuff!
The short walk through the village to get to the trailhead began at the small bridge over Coledale Beck, then continued along the side of the village shop, over a cattle grid and up onto the lower part of the fell. The climb itself is essentially a ridge walk after leaving the village, heading generally south-west ascending grassy slopes in a straight line, running parallel to Barrow Gill down in the valley to the west. I’d not gone far however, when the rain really set in again, and the gradient became much steeper. What I imagine would be quite an easy hike in favourable weather, soon became pretty hard going. There was a bitter, prevailing westerley wind which swept across the trail, and which carried the rain and a biting cold with it. I was dressed for it of course, I’m not a nutter after all, but man it was fresh.
The first of a couple of false summits seemed like a good place to take a short break, and looking back in the direction from which I’d come revealed a stunning vista of the southern shores of Bassenthwaite Lake and the Northern Fells range, dominated by the mighty Skiddaw shrouded in cloud.
Edified, I sallied forth and soon reached the summit proper. It had been hard work, mostly because of the high winds and persistent rain, but I was glad I’d decided to venture out and face the elements. The bits of me that weren’t wrapped up were cold and wet, but I was oddly happy and replete with a real sense of fulfilment. To celebrate, with cold fingers I wrestled with the compression straps on my backpack, which eventually yielded and I plucked a shiny, orange clementine from within. Unfortunately any ideas I’d had of being able to peel the blighter were sunk; my hands were so cold and my fingers so talon-like and unbendable, that I basically had to rip the little orange fruit apart, leaving it looking like a pulpy, citrus mess. But it tasted good!
The view from the top of Barrow, although grey and bleak and heavy with rain, was still breathtaking in every direction, from the clouds that filled the valleys below with an almost liquid weight to them, to the surrounding fells and mountains, each painted in lightening shades of grey as the distance grew.
I continued on in a narrow loop, first descending the far side of Barrow, toward the gap of Barrow Door – a meeting of paths which could usher you onward to the fells of Stile End and Outerside or back to Barrow. But here I took the trail which followed the route of Barrow Gill in a gentle descent back to Braithwaite, and the warm, welcoming glow from the windows of the Royal Oak. I ended my trek here, with a generous, homely platter of fish and chips and a couple of pints of Cumberland Ale. Wind and rain be damned!