Robin Lane

On Robin Lane, the track over to Troutbeck, I had my head down on an uphill stretch. Suddenly I heard a noise like gravel shifting in front of me. I raised my head but was blinded by the low sun. For a couple of awful seconds I thought a bull or cow was running towards me. 'Sorry didn't see you there. There's another one coming behind me'. A couple of mountain bikers skidded past me. 

High above Troutbeck we saw a large bird circling. It looked bigger than a buzzard. Unfortunately I didn't have a long lens to get a decent photo.

Sour Howes And Sallows

I'd not been up Sour Howes and Sallows before. We took the  Garburn Road and then made a direct assault on Sour Howes. I'd read Wainwright's account of these two hills the previous evening. He mentioned that they were on private land. There was a well worn path though and plenty of people were using it. The views up the Troutbeck Valley and across to Wansfell Pike were excellent. The top seemed a jumble of little mounds but the path wound up to what looked like the highest one. There was no cairn to mark the top. We could see Sallows in the distance and so set off on the path towards it.

The top of Sallows was similar to Sour Howes in that it was a little mound with no cairn.  Looking north we could see the main climbs of the day: Yoke, Ill Bell and Froswick.

Certain Rumblings

Mo's mum had made some flapjack for our walks. I'd enjoyed a slab for breakfast and put some in my packup. As we descended from Sallows I experienced a few stomach pangs. 'Mo, did your mum put any dried apricots in those flapjacks?' Dried apricots have a very undesired effect on my digestions. He texted his mum to find out. Maybe my pangs were from that spicy curry we had last night. His mum replied that there were indeed dried apricots in the flapjack.  Oh dear, this could be along walk in more ways than one.

You've Got To Be Yoking

When we reached the Garburn Pass we met a couple with the whitest looking dog I've ever seen. It was a lovey looking Labrador and was so white it looked a little ghostly. The lady owner assured us that he'd only had two baths in six years. I found that a little hard to believe.

There was a bitterly cold wind blowing on the top of Yoke. We'd stopped to take photographs of the summit and I was wondering whether to put my jacket on. As my hypothermic brain perused this issue, I noticed a man walking towards me who was wearing nothing but what looked like and improvised loincloth. When I say wearing nothing, I mean he wasn't wearing boots either. I thought the cold might be making me hallucinate. It turned out to be Stephen Gough, the Naked Rambler. As he strode by us, I asked whether he was warm enough. 'Only as long as I keep walking', he replied. He was walking at a fair pace, but it didn't look fast enough to generate much heat. 

Ill Bell And Froswick

By the time we had pursued the Naked Rambler up Ill Bell, he had disappeared down the other side and we didn't see him again. There were super views down into the Kentmere Valley. We took care down the path from the summit of Ill Bell with its steep drop into the valley. It's quite a rocky path and bits were still frosty. It can't have been much for the bare footed Naked Rambler walking down there. Maybe he was more sensible than us and took a grassy path on the west side.

As we went up Froswick I noticed that the couple with the ghostly white dog were only three or four hundred metres behind us. The dog looked like a patch of snow following us. After Froswick we headed down into the Troutbeck Valley. Out of the wind the sun warmed us up and it felt like a July day, rather than one in mid March.

Troutbeck Tongue

We'd be walking for about five hours now and we'd only just reached halfway. As the sun drained our stamina I wondered whether this might turn into an epic walk. We stuck to plan though and headed off on the flattish, but boggy path along Troutbeck Tongue. It seemed like one of those hills that you never reach the top; you reach what you think is the top only to find something higher a little further on. The hill played this game with us for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually we reached the summit cairn and were rewarded with a tremendous panorama down the Troutbeck Valley. The path down from the top was good but had a very boggy sting to its tail.

Troutbeck Trudge

We made our way back through Troutbeck; a village that is a lot longer than you ever thought possible. On Robin Lane we met a man raking wood chippings into the undergrowth at the side of the lane. A curious occupation and for a purpose we couldn't determine. It was now a case of walking on autopilot. The sun was making preparations to set behind Loughrigg. It had been a long day; in fact, a very long day. In the woodlands on Wansfell's flanks, we were grateful that somebody had sawn up the trees that had fallen across the path during Storm Arwen. At last we had made it back to Ambleside. I made a mental note any future walks in the Troutbeck Valley will start in the Troutbeck Valley. Rules are always there to be broken though. 

Despite our exhaustion the day had been memorable with some superb views around the Troutbeck and Kentmere Valleys.