DAY 4 ... GRASMERE TO PATTERDALE ... 10 MILES
Thorney How served the best breakfast I have ever
had in a hostel, as good as the better b&bs. It was
a buffet, yoghurt, cereal, fruit, croissants, eggs,
bacon and sausage, all good quality stuff. I left
again at 8:45. The day looks promising, but soon
becomes windy and rainy again as I approach the
looming mountains.
Leaving Grasmere - Grisdale Pass in the Distance
There is a choice of parallel paths to Grisdale
Tarn. Five years ago, I took Little Tongue Gill on
the left side of the stream so this time I chose
Tongue Gill on the right side. It was a nice climb
up to the pass and around the edge of the tarn,
again as yesterday, passing waterfalls and streams
across the path. I saw two walkers, one passing me
going down, the other highlighted across the way.
Looking back, I could see Grasmere down the valley
and Helm Crag to the west.
After reaching the pass, the winds were extremely
fierce as I took shelter behind a cairn. I see the
Dollywagon Pike path snaking up another 1000 feet
towards Helvellyn, beckoning to me even though
shrouded in clouds. But it was not to be for me.
Again, the high winds dissuaded me from my
objective, a traverse of Striding Edge, possibly the
finest high ridge walk in England. This was a huge
disappointment but that was not a place to be in
these conditions. On my last walk through here there
were no winds, but clouds completely socked in the
ridges on both sides of the pass so I bypassed the
high route then as well. As I left the security of
the cairn shelter and started down the valley, I had
to keep my walking poles braced in front of me to
keep from being blown all the way to Patterdale as
sleet beat down on my hood. My God, this is fun! As
I reached lower elevations, all was calm again, even
some blue sky poked through, but there was still
sporadic rain.
Upper Tongue Gill - Approaching Grisdale Pass
Grisdale Tarn
Ruthwaite Lodge, Descending Grisdale Valley
Bridge over Grisdale Beck Near Patterdale
By 1:30, I go in the White Lion Inn dripping water
everywhere, but they are used to it. I relax at a
table with a Cumberland Ale and write in my journal.
I stayed here five years ago and experienced a
fabulous evening with the local hunting club. They
had just come in from a hunt, the last before the
ban on fox hunting went into effect, and were
singing all night. I told the barman about it and he
said he was on duty behind the bar that night and
remembered it well. I asked what happened to the
club; he said they still go out under the pretext of
keeping the dogs exercised.
White Lion Inn in the rain
At 3 pm, I walk the mile down to Greenbank Farm B&B,
a traditional house with beam ceilings and coal
fireplaces. Two walkers told me their companion was
blown off the slope at Far Easdale, broke his ankle,
tore a ligament, was rescued by helicopter and taken
to Whitehaven Hospital. One of the rescuers was also
blown off, broke her ankle and also had to be
airlifted off. They are on a cell phone trying to
arrange for his luggage and boot to be taken to the
hospital.
Back to the White Lion for dinner, I sit with
Barbara and Jill (the two ladies from Cloggers), a
solo walker Mike from Cardiff, about my age, and
Tessie from Canada. I'm drinking a special
Wainwright Ale and order a Lamb Henry for dinner (my
favorite pub meal). Peter's group come in with
relatives who have driven in to cheer them on. They
take a big table nearby and I meet sons, daughter
and spouses and we all tease Peter about his lost
camera. Pub is crowded on this Saturday night and we
are all having a good time but I miss the hunting
club songs. At 9 pm, as I walk back to the b&b, dusk
is falling. When I reach Greenbank Farm, stars are
out brightly and I'm ready for bed.