Wednesday 20th July 2022, Coniston to Langdale

 

After a very hot and sticky night in an airless room, we were glad to get down to breakfast, though we had to wait till 8.30, and Joff’s Cumberland sausage was a disappointment.

We loaded ourselves up again, discovering a few aches and sore spots that had crept up on us in the night, and set off for our next stop, Great Langdale.

Fun random thing no. 1: as we were leaving the pub we heard a cacophony of hooting and barking, and we almost stepped into the path of a flock of herdwick sheep being herded along the main street by a quad bike and three dogs.

It was so pleasant to walk in temperatures a good 10 degrees cooler, with none of the rain that had been forecast. Ideal walking weather.

The trail out of Coniston was initially gently rolling hills, dotted with sheep, passing a stone folly that once housed hunting hounds. We meandered gently up and down, occasionally passing through woods, passing through what was once an estate bought by Beatrix Potter, who then gifted it to the National Trust.

This brought us to Tarn Hows, a lovely lake with a slightly Japanese feel - rocky outcrops, trees, water lilies etc. Very picturesque and therefore an ice cream van in the car park and people. We hardly saw anyone yesterday, and today was different in that respect.

We somehow missed a turning here, but found our way back onto the track without too much bother and were soon descending steeply through woods to Skelwith Force, where we stopped for refreshments. A force is what they call a waterfall round these parts, nothing to do with Darth Vader, and although this one is very small, it’s very beautiful.

Fun random thing no. 2: as we were walking up some steep steps though a wood we stopped to talk to two grizzled old chaps on their way down. They were also tackling the Cumbria Way, though in stages, having started in Carlisle last year. Very slow walkers, obviously. As they were telling us about the delights awaiting us, a bevy of young women came tripping by, water bottle in one hand, phone in the other, looking for all the world as though they had stepped off the set of a music video. They’d forgotten most of their clothes, bless ‘em, and to be fair to the old fellas, they didn’t bat an eyelid.

An easy level track following the river Brathay brought us to Elterwater (from the Norse, meaning swan lake) with a lovely view over to the Langdale Pikes, below which we’re sleeping tonight.

Fun random thing no. 3: we were accosted at one point by a pair of young lads who came puffing up behind us. All out of breath they explained that they were playing a game involving being chased by their Dads and cousins, and they needed us to prevent their pursuers from catching them. We promised faithfully to rugby tackle them to the ground should the need arise, and off the boys ran into the distance.

Langdale Beck accompanied the next stretch of our walk, calling in at the Britannia Inn for a cup of tea (me) and a pint of Wainwright (Joff), then passing Chapel Stile and Thrang Garth. We were then into Great Langdale, a really fabulous valley, gradually being funnelled towards its narrower end with crags on both sides, and the Langdale Pikes looming ever larger with each step.

Much as we both enjoy being on the top of a hill, it’s also rather wonderful to walk beneath and admire them in all their craggy splendour.

The last house in the valley is the 300 year old Old Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. A proper old bar with hasn’t been faffed around with, old cow stalls in fact, tables outside with nothing to look at but the hills. Bliss. 

Although our walk was shorter (12miles) and definitely cooler, we were nonetheless ready to stop and enjoy another local brew, Windermere pale ale for me and Hawkshead Red for the big fella.

They regularly host live music here, including tonight. “Who’s playing?” We asked the barman. “The usual crowd, Pete the Hat, Ray on the fiddle and Dave on the squeeze box”. I may have taken liberties with the last two names, but he definitely said Pete the Hat!

By chance our hotel was also the start and finish point of a fell running race, so as we sat outside with a pre-dinner drink we watched about 40 whippet-like people turn up - mostly men, but a half dozen or so women - for the Brisco dash. A five mile route in total straight up a hill and back.

We enjoyed some good pub grub and clapped them back in, and enjoyed Pete the Hat on guitar and his mates on fiddle, flute and bodhran (not at the same time, obvs), and a woman, who the barman neglected to mention, I’ll call her Janice, on guitar and some other unidentified stringed instrument, who also sang.

There was a really great buzz about the place which we really enjoyed. Jack has cooked himself some pasta with tomato sauce, so maybe he won’t have scurvy by the time we get home. All is well in this little corner of the world.

Em x