February in the Lake District.
Not all trips to places with mountains need to be about the big things.
The Lake District National Park has so many pockets of delight. I have travelled there many times to enjoy its nooks and crannies of lakes and fells and villages, but with time (and age, and experience) I have shifted my notion of what can make a good Lakes trip.
This story is all about one such Lakes trip in February where a bout of some flu thing meant I could only really focus on the micro adventures.
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A February visit to the Lake District.
Images: Trying to take a photo of myself with Windermere from an old stone jetty; Post-run trying to assess what I look like.
Familiarity with the Lake District.
The Lake District is a National Park in Cumbria, in the North West of England. It is expansive and yet intimate, with the fells seemingly squished together so you could stand on one summit and reach the other. Though I appreciate Wales’ ruggedness, and Scotland’s majesty, I frequently return to the Lake District for its familiarity.
I’ve been there during floods, where the road adjacent to Ullswater was under water and buses had to drive through lake, however, as I was there for the Dirty Double Helvellyn pair of races from Lakeland Trails, all I could do was get stuck into the sogginess.
I’ve been there during a crisp snowy March, where I lost my winter hiking virginity to find it completely soundless up on Helvellyn’s summit. I also broke in my fear of the unknown by traversing Helvellyn’s somewhat notorious Striding and Swirral edges, before doing the same on Blencathra’s Sharp Edge the next day.
I’ve ran a marathon around the area of Coniston, attempted to summit the Old Man of Coniston during what turned out to be a storm with the Ordnance Survey app guiding me precariously down to safety, and eventually summiting on another occasion during another wet day. I’ve also screamed and laughed with school friends in Coniston Water itself during an outdoor adventure camp upon learning that speedster Donald Campbell had died in the lake during a record attempt.
And similarly did the same in Ullswater with Outward Bound when we had to team-build a raft, but I’d been in a zipline accident the day prior and so my 15 year old body was a whiplashed mess.
I’ve been to the Lakes to run an ultra — two in fact, and two months apart — where the scenery and the exposure and the technical trails tested me physically and emotionally.
I’ve also, of course, summited England’s highest peak, Scafell Pike, with that long drawn out entrance and viewpoint over Great Gable, where on another hike, I sat unmoving on the steep scree side facing towards Wast Water examining where I went wrong and how I’ll ever get up (or down), pulling myself together to simply move somewhere, and start sobbing when on the summit in sheer relief.
I’ve also been there to participate in a SwimRun race across Derwent Water during a very choppy yet humid day, only to come down with the same sickly illness the other 15 or so team members came down with, though was apparently not a symptom of blue-green algae ingestion.
Travelling around the Lake District.
I actually chose to go to the University of Central Lancashire in Preston because I could easily drive up to the Lake District. What I didn’t count on was how demanding a BA Fashion degree would be, nor that I’d be working in the Student Union on weekends, nor that I’d give up my car after only driving for 2 years. I realise now that it’s actually well connected with trains and buses, but I was a naïve teenager, even after I’d travelled for 7 weeks around Europe via trains.
These days I will revel in the more compact adventure that can be found in the Cumbrian fells and lakes. Of course, if I do have more time in the place then I’ll still plan in something longer, though not necessarily requiring more drama just because there’s more time. And that’s what I’ve come to appreciate. Perhaps because I have already been there and done ridiculous things, I don’t feel I need to participate in that all the time. For instance, I would hike up Scafell Pike again, but would probably include it on a grand running route to make it all the more impressive (and so England’s Highest Summit would likely pale in comparison), and I’d have to be staying near to Seatoller or Langdale anyway — which I don’t tend to do because I usually have 3 days and that isn’t straightforward logistics on rural public transport, and I want to do lots of things rather than one big thing.
So instead, I’ll plan shorter things that are more accessible, and this is where I’ve found absolute gems. It’s as if with each trip I become more localised; brought into the secrets of the landscape.
After I lived in Preston, I moved to London and here is where I’ve stayed. It means that when I travel up to the Lakes I’ll get a train to Penrith and a bus across to Keswick (for Derwent Water and Catbells/Blencathra area) or down to Glenridding (for Ullswater and Helvellyn area), or a train to Oxenholme Lake District (then Windermere) and a bus up to Ambleside or Grasmere — and there I’ve been able to get to Coniston or Thirlmere quite easily. With previous longer visits I have stayed in Langdale, so more accessible for the Pikes, the Scafell range and Seatoller/Seathwaite.
I have yet to visit Wast Water because that requires more time, or otherwise money and foresight to book the Black Sail Youth Hostel so I’m not carrying camping equipment over fells, or a journey around from the coast. And have yet to visit Buttermere and Crummock Water; though accessible from Keswick, I’ve for some reason always gone down into the park than across. This area is on my wish list for another 2023 visit.
I’d rather be on Helvellyn.
I should mention that I have a porcelain cup that reads “I’d rather be on Helvellyn”.
This is why I locate to the central fells area. It’s got a bit of a hold on me. The summit itself is simply a continuation of the other high points around, where the massif separates Thirlmere reservoir on the west side, and Red Tarn and downwards to Glenridding and Ullswater on the east side, or Fairfield and Grasmere on the south side. It’s a sort of pilgrimage for me to visit each time I’m up there, trying new routes each ascent.
The last time was in February of this year, where I was anticipating snow following on from a Scottish Winter Skills course, though simply got a lonely and sharp steep ascent from Thirlmere via Sticks Pass, hard icy ground, 40mph winds and a summit to myself. The time before that was in July 2022 on my visit for the Lakeland Trails ultra 55km (59 actually), and just moments after I’d finished pitching my tent at Glenridding Campsite following an afternoon train-bus journey, I was speed-hiking up and across Striding Edge also for a solo-summit before heading back via Swirral Edge with an orange-hued perspective, still air, and skylarks singing above.
But all this is to say that, although I have my familiar favourites, I’ll always seek out a new route or hidden story, where you have to put in some work to achieve the thing that isn’t common. The grand opening of fells and lakes you didn’t know could exist, a dense wood, a picturesque brook, a big tarn or a little tarn, a £1 ferry crossing, or the cute café that’s only advertised by a chalk A-board. I feel utterly privileged to be able to experience what this unique place has to offer — not least the conversations with locals, who rightly are pissed off by tourists and yet want to champion their home for the wonder it offers.
There’s a lot to say about the Lake District. I’ll probably write more another time, but for this story I wanted to share my latest trip of February 2023 and the micro adventures I experienced.
February 2023.
Train: London — Oxenholme Lake District — Windermere (Budgens at the station has toilets, and you can stock up on your food supplies with more choice than other villages)
Bus: Windermere — Ambleside (you can get an open-top one in summer, which is thrillingly breezy!)
Stay: Ambleside YHA (managed to get a good deal with it being winter, but I wouldn’t want to stay here in busy summer due to the creakiness, banging doors and lack of kitchen space)
I was two weeks into a flu thing brought on by stress, so although I was so ready for fresh air and had enough energy to move, any uphill increased my heart rate and I started coughing up. It meant that I shifted my attention to local routes and a lot of grace to take it as it came.
Day one: Ambleside to Windermere via Orrest Head.
After dropping off bags at the hostel and changing, I headed out and up along a wooded and well-maintained trail via Skelghyll Wood towards Orrest Head, and down to Millerground Landing by Windermere town. My aim was to get to the town, go down to the lake for a dip (after spotting Elise Downing recommending it), and then a bus back to Ambleside. I realised however that I was pushing it for daylight, and would need to carry so much additional kit to keep warm after a winter swim, that this element wasn’t worth it. Immediately though, my heart rate increased and I was reminded by the coughing up that it wouldn’t be a straightforward jaunt.
It was around 6 miles — which was enough to feel like I’d done something, and enough to feel comfortable — with a super snappy fun downhill towards the lake (what goes up must come down!) But prior to that was a nicely undulating path up high and across farmland, metalled finish, with views across and down to the southern part of Windermere (lake). At one point I spotted someone clearly associated with fell running just in front of me who’d popped off this little hill, and so I said to myself, well if a local is doing it then so must I.
Millerground would be a cool place to swim, with plenty of hiding places, nice lake gradient to enter it, and at this dusk time, enchantingly misty. Overall, this route was a lovely mix of terrain and perspectives — from the rooted forest floor to the open farmland — with plenty of places to stop and accessible at each end by buses.
Images: Ambleside to Windermere via Orrest Head. 1. View over Windermere (lake) from high up; 2. sign for a tearoom with distance for runners, joggers and walkers; 3. View of Windermere from Orrest Head as dusk comes in; 4. Millerground by Windermere's shore.
Day two: Helvellyn via Legburthwaite and Sticks Pass.
To get any semblance of winter after the snow had quickly thawed, there’s only the option of going up as high as possible. So this day was all about a Helvellyn summit.
Taking the bus on route to Keswick from near the hostel, I got off towards the end of Thirlmere at Legburthwaite for a relentlessly steep path directly up the massif to Sticks Pass, and then a right to the summit of Raise at 883m. As soon as I reached the pass, the wind found my exposed position and more layers came on — additional gloves, balaclava, waterproof trousers. This was the first time I was using my folding trekking poles, super helpful already on the steep gradient up, but even more so useful as gusts tried to throw me off my feet going down and back up to White Side at 863m.
Images: 1. Ambleside YHA jetty at 8am; 2. View of Thirlmere and opposite fells at 9.40am shrouded in shadow; 3. The view of the path up to Sticks Pass; 4. Me on Sticks Pass wrapped up in all the layers.
I’ve been up via Thirlspot before, with a much nicer gradient across rather than up, but I don’t like to do the same thing twice when it’s a rare occasion anyway, even if it’s a different season. The hike here from White Side to Lower Man at 925m becomes more ridged — and therefore more blowy, and this is where I came across a few individual folk each heading away from their Helvellyn trip to another destination, hoods up and poles in tow.
Images: 1. View from Raise with Ullswater in the distance; 2. Clouded view towards White Side (10.30am); 3. View across to the crags above Thirlmere; 4. Clouded view from Helvellyn's trig point showing the cornice and down to Striding Edge.
Up on Helvellyn itself (950m) the entrance/exit of the two edges of Swirral and Striding look unfathomable from up above, as if there’s no way to navigate down on to them. But I was heading over to Nethermost Pike (891m), Dollywaggon Pike (858m) and then down the steep zig zags to Grisedale Tarn. There’s a sudden quietness that hits once in this sheltered area, and I always have an urge to go swimming in the tarn, but it’s never the right time; perhaps in summer once I’ll take on a particular trip to go into the menacingly dark depths of Grisedale and Red Tarns. Instead, I eat a sandwich before another quite hardcore descent.
Images: 1. Rime Ice on the Helvellyn summit shelter; 2. Me on Helvellyn's summit, wrapped up but happy; 3. View from Helvellyn summit across the cornice to Nethermost Cove and Striding Edge with Grisedale Beck in the distance; 4. View of Grisedale Tarn from the way down from Dollywaggon Pike at 12pm (the dull colours are exactly what it looked like!)
I really like the way down from Grisedale Hause; it’s technical and dramatic. It is horrible when it’s been raining though, and so during the 2022 Lakeland Trails Ultra it was slow-going with treaded shoes not wanting to be grippy, but the Tongue Gill stretch down to High Broadrayne is a great gradient and well-maintained so it’s mostly runnable. Unfortunately, there’s then the terrible stretch of road into Grasmere where you really don’t want to run, but somehow you pick up pace at the thought of a cup of tea. Grasmere village itself is very sweet, and this time I came across a modern-looking tea room — Freda & Ray — with pasties and chai lattes and cakes where I could warm up, wash my face and reflect. And then you can have a mosey in the Heaton Cooper Studio gallery while awaiting the bus back to Ambleside.
Images: 1. Eating my traditional Grisedale Tarn sandwich; 2. View back up to Grisedale Hause with someone coming down; 3. The warm brown tones of the Lakeland Fells with a couple of grey Herdwick Sheep; 4. My chai latte and pasty at Freda & Ray.
Upon arriving back at the hostel with enough light, I did fancy a swim and fortunately there’s a jetty outside the hostel with a ladder entrance to the lake. Of course I needed a shower after my hike-run, so quickly grabbing stuff and heading out, I popped into the water, immediately feeling incredibly exposed by all those hanging in the hostel pub with panic rising from the choppiness caused by Windermere boats. It was a swift 125m, but felt refreshed.
Day three: Windermere’s West Shore.
Set to rain for the whole day, I didn’t want to be going up high, and also a bit risky to swim alone, though decided to run with my swim stuff anyway just in case I came upon a spot. Having never visited the West Shore of Windermere, I decided that that’s where I would head, finding out that you can get a £1 car-passenger ferry (the type that’s pulled along on an underwater cable) from Ferry Nab to The Ferry House. I set off in full waterproof running gear and then had to strip down to acclimatise, being kindly allowed to use the staff toilet at Joey’s Café at Claife Viewing Station despite not wanting to purchase anything as I was about to run, but being told that there was another Joey’s at Wray Castle with the beautiful promise of “the same if not more”.
Claife Viewing Station is wonderfully romantic, with stained glass half windows to frame the lake. From here the track follows plantations of Scar Wood, Harrow Slack, Belt Ash Coppice, Low Blind How, Heald Wood, Fleming Wood, and Arthur Wood, all the way to Wray Castle where things eventually open up. It is an accessible path, apart from the bit I took uphill at the start, as part of the Miles-Without-Stiles routes noted as ‘for many’ and ‘for some’. It’s really picturesque when it’s raining actually, because there’s a particular hushed noise amidst the drizzle. I went along a jetty at one point and then realised I could smell bacon from the fishermen on the other side.
Images: 1. Windermere and its West Shore from the Ferry Nab terminal; 2. View through Claife Viewing Station's stained glass window over Windermere; 3. Very misty and drizzly day over Windermere with evocative treeline as seen above from Scar Wood; 4. From the West Shore looking out on misty Windermere.
I hadn’t been going for so long, but with a heavier backpack it pushed my head slightly down so affecting my breathing and making for a tiring run; your movements become laboured and you’re less able to look around. Though I’d seen spots where I could swim (quiet with a shallow entrance), I was already wet and cold and felt that it would be a struggle to warm up again. The rain got heavier as I arrived at the plant-fuelled Joey’s Café Wray Castle with the promise of “more stuff” totally fulfilled (and perhaps too fulfilled as I’d carried so much food to eat that needed to be eaten so I had less to carry for the last stretch). It would be a wonderful place to visit just on its own for brunch, and in fact there were loads of cyclists out, which shows that the Western Shore was also good for that sport.
The way from Wray Castle takes you up to the road because of private land ownership, but there is a maintained footpath to follow that is still dramatic, as the view continues to open up with fells all around. Arriving back at Clappersgate, it’s then just a short hop into the town for food, or back to the hostel. There’s nothing like a cup of tea and some slow movement — perhaps with a book — after a rainy day adventure, to get warm and feel yourself coming back into the world.
Images: 1. An old wooden jetty heading into a misty Windermere; 2. A boat house in High Wray Bay; 3. A cool boat house below the castle, reminiscent of Harry Potter; 4. Wray Castle; 5. Assortment of bakes at Joey's Cafe Wray Castle; 6. My running get up with heavy backpack and waterproofs after layering in the bathrooms.
Day four: Loughrigg Fell and swims in Rydal Water + Grasmere.
I really wanted a winter swim. After having such a great time the previous July and September in Grasmere and Rydal Water, I wanted to go back. This is where my rule of not going to the same place fails, however I was going there via a different route.
Heading from my Ambleside hostel into the village and into Rothay Park, I started tracing a route up towards Loughrigg Fell that I happened to have run down at the end of my 59km Ultra, bringing with it all the memories of the relief and joy of that downhill finish. But of course, this time I was going up. Loughrigg Fell is essentially one craggy fell with lots of trails, so unless you’re following the main well-maintained track to Loughrigg Tarn (another place for a summer swim!), you just have to keep plodding on through the bogs with one eye on the highest point, or on Grasmere or Rydal Water once over the summit.
Images: 1. View over the Fairfield Horseshoe as seen on the way up Loughrigg Fell; 2. Some mosses; 3. Rydal Water as seen from Loughrigg Fell summit; 4. Inside Rydal Cave; 5. Fishes in the eerie blue water of Rydal Cave.
But you could have a lot of fun criss-crossing running yourself here. Heading down to the main Loughrigg Terrace path (so named because it’s a terrace cut into the hillside), I was able to find the Rydal Cave highlighted on local signs. Very busy on this Saturday though so I swiftly moved on and down to Rydal to find a swim spot. There’s a small wooded section close-ish to the mouth of the Rothay as it flows and flows onwards to Windermere, and here is where I chose to hide myself and launch into a swim. As these waters are a river inlet rather than a lake that takes on water from high up, they’re pretty temperate, and although it was February and nippy, it didn’t feel blistering like it had been in the London reservoir I regularly swim in. Still, it was only about 3 minutes in the water (I timed myself with breast strokes as my watch was already timing and paused for the walk).
Getting dressed and popping a sandwich in my hand, I headed off on the walk up the well-maintained track following the lake towards Grasmere for my next swim. In summer I had done Grasmere first due to the flow of water, so preventing any biosecurity issues, but for this trip I weighed up the fact that my route took me to Rydal first, so logistically better, and that the water would eventually flow back into the place I’d just been anyway (noting on Strava that I hope I hadn’t messed up the ecosystem). I had however washed my swimsuit from Windermere’s swim the night before because blue-green algae is frequently spotted there. I have a particular spot now on Grasmere to launch from, so it feels familiar and comfortable, even when you’re probably visibly naked to some eyes on the main beach area, and when people will pass under your tree nook at the tideline — to their shock more than mine.
Post-swim, and more food in hand, I take the track into Grasmere Village, past super pretty cottages and lots of ferny land before another stop in Freda & Ray for a pasty and chai latte, a mooch in Heaton Cooper Studio, and a bus back to Ambleside where I pick up a box of hearty salads from Rattle Ghyll Deli. Local, familiar, friendly; this is the Lakes I like to intersperse into those bigger adventures.
Images: 1. View of Rydal Water from my chosen swim spot; 2. View of Grasmere from my favoured swim spot there; 3. Me satisfied and warming up at my Grasmere swim spot; 4. Heaton Cooper print of Rydal Water; 5. Always stop at Rattle Ghyll Deli in Ambleside for hearty salads.
Hometime.
I then had to get myself to Windermere station, top up on more food from Budgens for the journey home, and take the train to Oxenholme Lake District for my main Avanti train to London.
I always plan trips to make the most out of the full day, though it felt strange leaving on a Saturday rather than at the end of a week. I’d had to arrange myself to have this unusual set up due to a friend staying earlier in the week, a freelance job, and the fact that the hostel price per night on a weekend was extortionate. But four days away feels like a massive privilege regardless of when it happens.
Though I didn’t get the full snowy winter experience I had planned on, I still had plenty of mini adventures to remind me of the season and magnificence of the Lake District, had received lots of fresh air to get the flu shifting, and spotted some new gems. I was also supposed to be training for an upcoming 3 day 67-mile run along the Northumberland Coast Path two weeks later, and so any additional movement was a reminder that I am strong and resilient — just as the Lake District is. Ever-changing, yet strong in its character, ready to be challenged.
Image: “The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot”, quote from a book that I can’t recall, with postcard of the Lhairig Ghru picked up on a trip to the Cairngorms.