Open Writing

The ascent from Dunmail Raise to Grisedale Tarn proved laborious, in spite of Tom's assurances that we had saved several hundred feet of ascent by avoiding Grasmere. As the tarn came into sight, suddenly we had views of some of the highest peaks, enclosing the expanse of water in the foreground. As we made our way around the tarn, we passed the path which ascends to Dollywaggon Pike which brought to mind some of Wainwright's comments on the alternatives to the main route, prompting me to make a thoughtful suggestion:

'We could go up Dollywaggon and then on to Helvellyn and make our way to Patterdale along Striding Edge. That would be much more exciting and it only adds two miles and two hours to the journey, according to Wainwright.'

I think it must have been the effect of the altitude which had brought on a temporary deafness in my colleagues, who trudged doggedly past the Dollywaggon path without deviating.

The outlet of the tarn is the place for contemplating the weather, the time of day and the state of the blisters. This is a crossroads where a choice has to be made between three alternative routes wrote Wainwright. Well, it seemed that one of the three choices had not even been considered, but then Wainwright had pointed out that the Helvellyn route, rising as it does to 3118 feet, is for walkers who consider themselves to be supremely fit and, looking at the state of my colleagues, I realised he may not have placed them in that category. However, I was still contemplating.

'We could still go up St Sunday Crag, which only adds an extra hour and it's only another one thousand feet of ascent as the summit is only 2756 feet,' I said.

'You can if you want,' Tom said, generously, 'but you'll be doing it on your own.'

I think he must have been hungry and wanted to get to Patterdale sooner rather than later. In the circumstances, I decided I should forego the pleasure of taking the higher route and accompany my friends on their more leisurely jaunt.

'Never mind,' I said, 'at least we'll have saved enough energy to take up Wainwright on his suggestion that before going to bed, we should walk across the valley to the path below Place Fell for a view of Ullswater that is unsurpassed for loveliness.'

*

We arrived in Patterdale after another nine hour walk and Don went off to find his campsite. I had decided not to spend consecutive nights in youth hostels and was booked into a B&B, so left the others to enjoy the home discomforts on offer at the hostel and arranged to meet up with them at the pub in a couple of hours time. As I approached my digs for the night, I pondered whether there is a regulation requiring all B&B's and youth hostels to allocate the room on the top floor and farthest away from the entrance to any walker who has walked more than fifteen miles and spent all day going up and down mountains. I came to the conclusion that this was a matter governed by one of the many directives issued by the EU, ignored by all members other than the British, most likely entitled the Directive on Regulations for Accommodation for Walkers En Route Standards (DRAWERS).

Arriving at my digs, I rang the bell and, whilst waiting, removed my boots, as instructed, in the porch. It had been a long and tiring walk and I did not relish the thought of having to walk another step, let alone having to climb stairs and wondered whether my landlady complied with these regulations. She proved to be very businesslike and I was elated when, after only a few paces, she produced a key and opened the first door on the ground floor.

Clearly, DRAWERS were not mandatory in this establishment, I thought. It was quite a large room with a bath and a large shower cubicle. Just what I needed after a day of hard walking but, hold on a minute, where's the bed?

'This is your bathroom and here's the key,' she said, 'now follow me upstairs.' (I hadn't had such an invitation for a long time).

We went up a flight of stairs, turned right and walked along another corridor, past another flight of stairs (phew), but immediately came to another set of stairs. She turned left and led me up but, fortunately, there were only four stairs and we emerged into the lounge/dining area. It became apparent that this was more of a Guest House than a traditional B&B and run very much as a business, as she described the rules of the house and gave me a sheet of paper, listing what was available for breakfast and upon which I was obliged to indicate what I wanted next morning. I looked around and it was obvious that a great deal of money had been spent on redecoration and new furnishings, which made me more conscious of my sweat-stained clothes and damp appearance. Clearly, she had the same thought as she said:

'If you'd like to go and change, there'll be a pot of tea waiting here for you when you come down. I'll show you to your room.' I have to say that I didn't like the sound of those four words 'when you come down' because, if there's one thing I've learnt in life, it is that you can't 'come down' without having gone up first.

We went down the four steps and, inevitably, she turned right and up the flight of stairs situated immediately alongside the steps from the lounge. It was beginning to look as though she was a stickler for DRAWERS after all. This was an awkward manoeuvre, particularly as I was carrying a heavy rucksack in front of me.

'Mind your...'

'Ow!'

' .... head,' she warned, but too late.

The room was simple but comfortable and had the benefit of a small toilet cubicle built into a corner. That's good, I thought, I won't need to go down two flights of stairs if I need a pee during the night (you do have to consider these things when you are sixty, you know). I changed quickly and went down to the lounge, banging my head along the way, and found my landlady setting out the tea and biscuits. Whether it was my change of clothes or my refreshed appearance, I can't tell, but she was a changed woman. Her business demeanour had been packed away and she was all smiles, treating me like a long-lost friend. This was all very well, but didn't she realise I was tired after a long day on the fells? To be on the safe side, I decided I'd better push the wardrobe behind the door when I went to bed. Well, you can't be too careful.

After bathing and shaving, I felt nearly normal but couldn't risk my landlady seeing me at my most attractive, so had to creep down the stairs and make my escape to meet my mates at the Patterdale Hotel, as arranged. Andy had enjoyed his day with the SherpaVan driver once again and now knows all the B&B's and youth hostels in Borrowdale, Grasmere and the Patterdale and Glenridding area. This educational programme was not entirely one-sided and the driver now knows one line of Rosie and two lines of Blue Eyes off by heart, and can hum the rest.

We took advantage of the buffet dinner option at the Patterdale Hotel and I was able to replenish my depleted carbs. I managed to consume five bread rolls with my soup (potato, of course), a mountain of potatoes with my vol-au-vents (a sort of posh pasty), followed by a large portion of pie (rhubarb, I think). This would be the last time we would all be together as Andy had decided to travel home on Monday morning, so we made the most of it and even put up with Andy's singing, without complaint. In fact, I thought I heard Joe join in at one point.

As I left the others to return to my digs, the boisterousness of the evening was replaced by a certain sadness at the thought of Andy's departure. The group wouldn't be quite the same without him and I was still wondering whether there would be any more drop-outs in the next few days, but these thoughts were replaced by another worry as I approached the B&B. How to reach my room without alerting my landlady to my return?