Monday April 23
Monday! And the view out our window is nothing but fell.
Traditional English breakfast is way too much food. Black (it’s really blood - though Agnes is reluctant to tell me that) pudding, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms, sausage, bacon, eggs, fried bread (kinda gross), toast, and delicious jam. We get our sausage to go, and the lady looks at the map with us. Should be fine, but a LONG walk she says. Fine by us.
It’s colder today, windier, but not raining for now. We set out to climb up the opposite side of the valley. Clear path, quite steep, up along a creek. Two guys coming down from Scafell seem bundled up, and a bit judgy. It’s -4C up there today, they tell us. Then, in response to our apparent surprise: but we were prepared - we’d checked the weather forecast. Well, thanks Mr. Gold Earring.
As we continue, another guy comes running along in jeans and Blundstones. He stops to tell us it’s not too far now. Was he cute? Hard to tell under his hat and ski mask.
Once again, into the cloud. It’s thick and very cold. Once again, the path forks unexpectedly. Is it going around, or do we just go up? Once again, I make the wrong call - I’m just way too devoted to following a clear path. Agnes, logically, knows we need to go up, but follows me anyways - we’ll just see where this goes. Some people coming down set us straight. Just follow the cairns, like Mr. Judgy Gold Earring said. It’s a rock field, and they are the only thing you can see in the cloud. It’s not a bad climb, but a bit of a scramble.
There are a few people at the top - a crowd, compared to what we’ve seen before - including a couple speaking Polish. Agnes says hello, and we start chatting. Both wearing buffs, her with short hair, him with long dreads and a straggly goatee. They work in the food industry in Manchester and are making the most of their holiday. They take a picture of us by the plaque - the National Trust land was given after WWI - and give us tangerines. After a short chat, they head off down the mountain.
We follow a bit later, after another look at the map. Going down is much less fun. It’s scrambly and windy and impossible to see far. At one point, I can’t see the ground more than a metre or so ahead. It looks like we just drop off a cliff, into the cloud abyss. I’m totally paralyzed. Agnes calmly tells me to just keep moving, keep going. I shuffle forward - this is not cool - but finally, the ground re-appears.
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| Entering the Cloud |
We reach a fork. We know we want to head down into a valley by a river. I see where it SHOULD turn off, but no clear path. Another path goes straight ahead. We opt to follow the cairns. Two girls appear out of the fog - confused, because they’re heading down when they want to get to the peak. For once, we can give directions - and be a bit judgy, since they have no map.
We slog on across a boulder field. Cairns are the only markers, and thank god they’re there. The wind is horizontal, freezing cold. Finally, we get onto a path, start to come out of the cloud. There are big patches of snow around still.
And then we see a lake. What the hell is that?
We are definitely not by the river we hoped for. So where the heck are we?
Agnes shows, once again, her innate skill at translating between map and reality. (Does a PhD in scientific models help?) That tarn is a clear landmark, she says. And the only thing that makes sense is Sparkling Tarn. But how the hell did we get there? I say. We were heading east, sure, and we did cross a rock field, fine, and that does look like we could have gone to Great End … but the trail ends there. And clearly we were on a trail!
Agnes adds:
I point out parallels between map-and-compass navigation and some problems in the philosophy of science. It’s all epistemology, really: how do we know what we think we know? For instance, there’s the underdetermination of theory by evidence, the fact that multiple theories are compatible with a given set of observations. I had a theory about where we were on the map, with evidence to back it up, and so did Julia. Both theories explain some phenomena -- the position of the tarn for my theory, the fact that we were on a trail the whole time on Julia’s. Both also fail to explain others -- we shouldn’t have been on a trail the whole time, on my theory, but we were; the tarn shouldn’t have been where it was for Julia. So how do we choose between them?
We walked to a fork, and waited for a couple to get close. The guy checked his GPS, and pointed out exactly where we were on the map. Exactly where Agnes expected. Who cares that the map didn’t show our path? That lake did not lie.
We were actually back where we’d been with Tim the day before, and we set out back towards the New Dungeon valley … now very cold, very hungry, and very sad to be heading back into the cloud.
Once again, we got a bit confused at a crossroads. I was determined to use the compass properly. Straight ahead!
Soon enough, we were out of the cloud. There was Angle Tarn. Exactly where we’d been yesterday. But we didn’t really want to just retread familiar ground, right back to the hotel. Where’s the fun in that?
We finally plunked down to have lunch (sausages!! Never tasted better!) and another look at the map.
There was another little path going away from Angle Tarn, across the hills. It eventually hit the Cumbrian Way, and went down into the valley along a different route. Why not try that?
As soon as we got cold (didn’t take long) we packed up lunch, and headed back along the path. There was an older gent in a blue raincoat with a scruffy little terrier. I asked him if he was alright (genuinely, not just a greeting) and he said no, not really. He’d had heart and lung operations not so long ago, and he really wasn’t feeling great. We chatted a bit, but broke it off fairly soon. We had to keep moving. (This prompted a conversation about the right amount of chat with strangers you meet - it’s a balance. You want a bit of info, but you don’t really want to get into a long committed conversation - turns out Agnes and I have about the same limits).
Off onto the grassy hillside. Right away, the path was faint. Barely pathy. We took a compass bearing, and followed it. The weather was getting wild. It started to rain - not straight down, but directly sideways. The right side of my face was getting pressure washed. My glasses were so wet I couldn’t really see. If you lost your balance, the wind would push you the rest of the way. We were up on a kind of ridge, trudging along with no real path, just following the compass. Agnes’s pants were soaked through, her boots were killing her.
We were both cold and soaked, and this added a sense of urgency. If we didn’t keep moving, we’d freeze. If we couldn’t find our way back, we’d be in real trouble. For a little bit, we jogged down the narrow path -- in part to stay warm, in part because it was just so much FUN! We’d given up keeping our feet dry, and just sloshed right through the middle of puddles. Also fun. The whole time we were giggling like we were high. No twining, just a little clahhhhhhty bit! It could have been miserable. But it was just the opposite.
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| Not how we looked at this point. But kinda how we felt! |
Off in the distance, I saw another line cutting across our path. The Cumbrian Way? It had to be. Finally we got there - and it was a path! The path down!
It was a treacherous descent - down is SO much harder than up - the path was a small waterfall, full of switchbacks.
Finally, familiar ground - the Cumbrian Way down in the valley. Only about an hour to go!
So we started singing. Yelling, really, into the wind and rain. It started with All Star. Sugar Ray - what was that song?? - Just Wanna Fly. Lion King. I’m Blue, Barbie Girl. Trying to remember that Third Eye Blind song … Ace of Base. Hanson’s classic Mmmmbop, then Where’s the Love. Chilli Peppers, Sublime’s Santeria (though I was pretty rough on the words for that one - Agnes was on point).
Then sheepfolds. The Old Dungeon Ghyll hotel. Past the Stickle Barn. And we made it! Sopping wet, boots covered in sheep shit. Tracking it all into the posh entrance of the New Dungeon Ghyll. Room 2 tonight, on the ground floor - once again cute twin beds.
One problem: the drying room was outside - just a shed with a heater and a lot of hangers. Not much help for our boots, but whatever. Showers, but still not warm.
We opted for the Walker’s bar, rather than the restaurant for dinner - more our speed. Beer, burger for Agnes, meat pie for me. Okay food, not amazing. Biscuits and tea and TV again - this time a hit of hard news. A press conference with Ralph Goodale - some car drove into pedestrians in Toronto, killed 10 people. Unclear if it’s terrorism. Too much reality.
Then, trivia competition between Cambridge and Oxford teams (Cam won!!) and some strange BBC 4 drama involving virtual reality called ‘Kiss Me First’ (who is kissing whom? We never figured that out). I fell asleep before it was over.
Total walking - 10 AM to 6ish. A solid 8.5 hours.
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