Open Writing

From Angle Tarn, the ascent continued but the gradient was such that the walking seemed relatively easy and, after a while, we were overtaken by two Dutchmen who seemed to be setting a cracking pace. The others had seen them at the Patterdale Youth Hostel the night before and, although greetings were exchanged, I sensed that there was no warmth on either side. This seemed odd as most Dutch people seem very friendly but these two must have been the exception. As they raced on, the question I wanted to ask was how do Dutch people practice for walking in the mountains of the Lake District?

One of the noticeable changes since the start of the walk on Friday was that Joe had not only become Tom's twin, but also his constant companion, almost as if he felt protected from Paul's cramp-inducing company by attaching himself like a limpet. Earlier, the fact that I had been struggling and had to keep stopping meant that I had fallen some way behind the others from time to time but, now that I was beginning to feel better, I found that I was feeling surprisingly fit, despite my extra exertions during the first two days, not to mention my wardrobe removal activities overnight. In spite of that, I had felt so ill for the first few hours of the day that I didn't want to push my luck now. I was still more than happy to tag along, freed from any compulsion to take more strenuous alternative routes, so I fell in immediately behind Joe, who was in his now customary position one pace behind Tom. Feeling very content in this role, I was taken by surprise when Tom stepped aside and signalled for me to pass.

'No, I'm quite happy to saunter along at the back,' I said, amiably.

'You may be, but I don't want you behind me. Piss off.'

Genuinely, I was delighted to walk at Tom's pace, but he was clearly unhappy about me bringing up the rear, even though it was Joe who was immediately behind him, so what had caused him to dismiss me from his troop? I recalled my own feelings a couple of days earlier when Paul was following me up Red Pike when, even though I had made him promise to walk at my pace and he had agreed quite happily, I felt under pressure to walk that little bit faster than I wanted. What is it that makes us feel this way? Is it polite concern or foolish pride? Probably a bit of both, I decided. When Paul was behind me, I know that I was bothered about holding him up, in spite of his assurances that he was happy to walk at my pace, so I was concerned for his sake yet, at the same time, my own pride forced me to show him that I could still make good time. This was very foolish of me as walking faster than you want to do is extremely tiring, as Joe had found out on Friday. I could only assume that Tom felt under pressure to walk faster when I was behind him. Clearly, he didn't feel the same way about Joe being a pace behind him all the time because they seemed to be attached by an invisible umbilical cord, as they trudged along, right knees bandaged and walking poles clinking in harmony.

Of course, if I was not behind him, I had to be in front which poses another problem when companions walk at different speeds and, as we made our way towards Kidsty Pike, we passed a young couple illustrating this very point as I overheard the sort of exchange that is not uncommon on the fells:

'But I do keep stopping for you,' he said, as she approached him in a state of near collapse.

'Yes, but that gives you time to get your breath back and, by the time I catch up with you, you start off again. If you'd just walk with me, you wouldn't have to keep waiting for me.'

Whenever I see a young woman trailing behind her man like this, I feel like going up to her and asking 'Do you still love him?' If only I had the nerve, I could compile a survey of responses and maybe write a book!

It was clearly a day for young men to be demonstrating their prowess as walkers and navigators, as we had not gone much farther before we came across a young man attempting to teach his girlfriend the principles of navigation and we watched as he became increasingly frustrated at her apparent inability to relate what was on the map to what she saw in front of her, and at her lack of a sense of direction. Whilst he was building up to a state of apoplexy, her demeanour indicated a complete lack of interest and I was sure it was only a matter of time until she said:
'I do not want to know how to navigate, I do not need to know how to navigate. I'm only here because of you and, as long as you know where we are, I don't need to know. Doesn't it occur to you that I would never be on the stupid fells on my own, you tosser.'

That young man was typical of the breed of Lake District know-alls who are compelled to try to impress all around them with their knowledge. During a short break at a hotel in Great Langdale a few years ago, the guests included two men who were probably in their thirties, and who were in the habit of talking very loudly in the dining room each evening, recounting their exploits of the day so that everyone could hear and, no doubt, would be impressed. I am always a little suspicious of those walkers who seem to know the names of every peak and every little tarn and beck as though they have swallowed the Ordnance Survey map of the area, and these two talked very knowledgably about exactly where they had been and what they had achieved. They were the Chris Boningtons of the New Dungeon Ghyll Hotel who, apparently, covered distances unachievable by ordinary mortals and ascended some of the toughest peaks in the Lake District before breakfast each day. They seemed to be capable not only of doing more in a given day than any other hotel resident, but also of talking about it non-stop throughout the evening to the annoyance of all the other guests. They really were the most irritating bastards. On the final day of my stay, I walked to the top of Coniston Old Man and bumped into one of the two at the summit and was a little surprised to see him on his own.

'Where's your friend?' I asked.

'Oh, he's doing a bit of shopping. He doesn't like heights.' Well, what a giveaway! Pity I would not be returning to the hotel to spill the beans to the other residents.