One November morning I peeled my head from the comfy pillow, swung my legs out from under the warm sheets, and questioned my actions… I must add this was always my plan and for a change it was for pleasure and not business. You may already know I HATE getting up in the morning, but today I had a sunrise to meet, a sunrise on top of a mountain. I pulled on my clothes, kissed my wife goodbye, she murmured a sleepy goodbye as I grabbed my bag and slipped out the door.
I made my way along the winding roads to Grasmere where I parked up at Red Bank Car Park. I pulled on my pack and looked up at the dark lump which obscured the starry sky, this particular lump was Silver Howe, one of my favourite Fells in the Lake District and would be my first port of call on my expedition to High Raise, the tallest Fell in Wainwrights Central Fells.
Silver Howe is a beauty, not very tall at 394 metres but it possesses a stunning view up the valley of Grasmere and Rydal Water. She starts off as a gentle path through woodland and then along the side of Wray Gill before you turn north and brutally ascend up through a craggy gulley which leads you up to the plateau before you skirt around the back of the summit so you approach the top from the rear which allows you arguably one of the best “view reveals” of the Central Fells! Sadly, I wouldn’t get this view today as it was still a bit dark….
I made the summit in good time, took a swig of coffee, gazed at the sky for a moment where the sun was beginning to tease it’s potential. I pressed on toward my next peak which would be Blea Rigg!
The sun was quickly rising as I made my way along this central plateau which can be a bit of a bog, thankfully the path is good and my feet remained dry. I worked my way past little tarnlettes and over little crags before I reached the base of Blea Rigg, which offered a small scramble up to the top, at this moment I turned around and was hit by the blinding light of the sunrise, it took my breath away, there is nothing better than a sunrise in the mountains the colours and the way the light casts shadows adding definition to the landscape is awe inspiring.
It is safe to say that I spent a moment taking it all in and taking photos before I pressed on for the summit of Blea Rigg, at the top I took in the morning sun some more and admired the light on the mountains around me.
Blea Rigg sits above Great Langdale the behemoths of Harrison Stickle and Pavey Ark can be seen from it’s summit, the scar of Jacks Rake can also be observed, I smile to myself as I remember the adventure my pols and I had on that grade one scramble, all the jokes about death and injury ringing in my head… I guess you had to be there.
By this point I was gaining some hight, Blea Rigg sits at 541 metres so the temperature was beginning to drop and the slight wind had a bit of a bite to it. I put on my hat and coat and pressed on to the next destination, which would be Sergeant Man.
Continuing along the ridge Sergeant Man rises ahead like a rough pile of rocks, almost like a natural viewing platform jutting out over the valley below, the path gradually gathers itself before that final pull upward, the last proper rocky ascent before the landscape begins to level out into the broad, open terrain of High Raise and the top of the Central Fells.
The top itself, which is 736 metres feels almost fortress-like, a broken crown of rock where the wind seems to whip at you more than it did a few metres lower. The ground drops away toward Langdale and it feels ancient and exposed, where the landscape just feels bigger than you and everything else is insignificant. But just beyond that craggy crown, the character of the fells changes. The rocky top gives way to the broader, all be it boggier wind-brushed plateau of the central fells, where sadly, the ground softens and the horizon opens out toward High Raise and the wider Lakeland high country. Sergeant Man feels like a gateway, the last rugged step before the vast, open bogland of this part of Lakeland.
I’m not exactly selling High Raise am I? This isn’t really fair, it is after all the top of the Central Fills, however once you’re at Sergeant Man no real effort is required to reach High Raise, it tops out and there is a slight incline which takes you up to762 metres, probably why the area is a bit of a bog… Nothing compared to the Hell Hole that is Armboth though…
I followed the path which with every step got mistier and mistier… visibility went to nothing and I had to navigate using the OS Maps app, map and compass, eventually in the mist I saw the pinnacle that would be the trig point which marked the summit, To say I could see nothing would be right, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. None the less I took a seat in the shelter and took out my breakfast and hoped for a clearing, that clearing came for a split second, if I’d have blinked, I’d have mist it…. (See what I did there?) for a tiny moment I saw Sergeant Crag and the Borrowdale Valley, the wettest place in England.
I decided that it was pointless to wait, I gathered my gear and touched the trig one last time then headed off along one of the misty paths, taking care to make sure it was the correct one, there are quite a few up there.
As I descended out of the mist the visibility improved dramatically and so did the temperature, a hundred metres of descent turned the day from a grim misty wintery day into a bright and beautiful autumnal day, which as you may remember is one of my favourite types of day! This new season forced me to de-layer so I could comfortably press on to my next summit destination: Tarn Crag.
Tarn Crag sits high above Easedale Tarn, its sides rising sharply from the banks of the water, making it look far more imposing than it really is. I suspect that probably puts a few people off climbing it. That, and the simple beauty of Easedale Tarn itself. Many walkers make the ascent alongside Sourmilk Gill, reach the tarn, and decide that’s far enough for the day. And to be honest, it’s not a bad place to stop, the tarn often feels like a high-altitude swimming pool tucked into the hills.
The summit itself is a craggy lump of rock with a tiny pile of stones trying to be a cairn, clearly built by passing walkers just to mark the top. It’s not one of those summits you linger on for long. More the sort you stop at for a minute, take in the wonderful view, shrug, and then carry on your way.
I’ve been up here three times now, and every single time it’s been blowing a gale. One of those strange Lakeland anomalies I suppose.
On my way to the summit I was admiring the morning sun on the aforementioned Tarn, which by this time had some serious heat in it, (the sun not the tarn, I imagine this was ice cold) then all of a sudden the coffee kicked in and I had to take a minor detour to a secluded spot… This spot is by far the best spot I have ever had for what my daughter’s nursery calls a BM…. A serious poo with a view!!! Please be assured I “LEFT NO TRACE.”
The Summit was as I described, I touched the cairn, took a photo and moved on, my tummy was rumbling, I’d made room for second breakfast and it couldn’t come soon enough.
On my descent to Easedale Tarn I passed a few other hikers, the first of the day, up to this point I had seen nobody, I was truly alone on the Fells… I paused at the tarn for a moment before turning East and down the stone path alongside the beautiful crystal-clear waters of Sourmilk Gill.
Getting back to Grasmere from here is easy, just follow the gill all the way into the village, letting the sound of the rushing water guide you down through the valley. The path weaves its way alongside Sourmilk Gill, carving its way down toward civilisation again.
By this point the world was awake. Walkers were heading up the path toward Easedale Tarn, dogs bounding about, people wrapped up in down coats but with sunglasses on to shield their eyes from the glare of that morning sun. None of them had seen it’s rise from the fells that morning, none of them had stood alone on Blea Rigg as the light broke across the mountains or wandered through the mist on High Raise wondering if the view would ever appear.
And that’s the thing about mornings in the mountains. They belong to the people willing to drag themselves out of a warm bed in the dark and go looking for them. Normally I would take the mick out of people who rise early for stuff, but for this I can’t… It’s just too magical!
By the time I reached Grasmere the village was stirring into life. I reached the truck, threw my gear in the back, and took one last look back up Silver Howe, the first of the five Waiwrights I’d just wandered across. Somewhere up there the mist was still clinging to High Raise, the wind was still rattling the stones on Tarn Crag, and the sun was now lighting up places I’d stood only a few hours earlier.
Not a bad way to start the day eh!?
Keep Wandering
TM
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