Revisiting My Introduction to an Obsession for Life; Apparitions and Duelling on Coniston Old Man

It was a month ago now that your humble narrator ran out of ideas to write about, gutted an old box of photography, and began to recount some memories of being introduced to the English Lake District.  If the title of this blog hasn't rekindled your memory, or, you didn't read the first entry, it was called, 'My Introduction to an Obsession for Life via Striding Edge'.  It told how my friend Jon took me to the Lakes, punished me on steep rock, and nasty ridges, yet fed me a whole hearted appreciation for more.  I ended that particular entry with a mention to us heading elsewhere in the Lake District the next day.  We did head elsewhere, and elsewhere happened to be Coniston Old Man.

Coniston Old Man from Low Water

Before I start, please forgive the photography.  It's probably the worst I've come across yet.  For such noise to appear, I can't imagine what ISO the film was.  However, in another perspective, I hope the couple of pictures I show do offer some character to the scene.

After Helvellyn, we decided to pack our gear and head to Coniston Water that evening for a good camp, and to sample some fine whisky in a local pub, along with whatever nourishment we could muster.  Come the morning, we were up, shaking the cobwebs out, buying nice pre-made sandwiches in the campsite shop, then heading into Coniston to have a hearty breakfast.  I wish I remember the name of the place, but the breakfast was generously served with sliced bread done in any form you could think possible.  After this we headed up towards the old miners path, that would soon lead to The Old Man proper.

... not before popping into a public house for a quick draft of Dutch courage first...

When we started out, all seemed fair game.  The route along the tops of the fells were evident, there were decadent old machines rusting, and showing their age from an industrious past in the quarries and mines that were based here.  The only thing that made this route different to the one on Helvellyn was the terrain.  This was predominantly lots of loose slate lying around, and every three steps forward felt like two going back.

Needless to say I found the going rather tough again, and the sight of my first fell runner gave me the complete jitters.  I considered it complete madness at the time, and do so still.  There may still come a day when my sadistic nature suggests I give it a go as a novelty.  Although, I seriously doubt it, unless I live there.

I digress.

Grey, monotonous slate.  This could almost be a painted Edwardian photo

We soon reached Low Water, which is a small tarn sitting a couple of hundred meters below the summit.  This was so nice and tranquil.  We found a quiet spot to cool down, and contemplate all the cloud that was starting to flow over the tops.  There was no way we were going to turn back, so we carried on to the summit.

Low Water with mist starting to come down

I have to be fair, what happened next was a comedy of errors.  From my perspective at least.

We decided the top of Coniston Old Man was as good a place as any to sit down, and tuck into our nice sandwiches.  Nothing wrong with that you may say.  You would be correct too.  Apart from Jon managed to elicit the attentions of a virtuous wasp.  I was comfortable to sit there, and let the pest buzz around in its daily routine, but Jon wanted nothing less than a duel.  He didn't have his trusted dogs to help him out in this battle.  He didn't have me for that matter either..  I didn't want to get stung after all.  

It is difficult to say who won; the wasp had speed and agility in its arsenal, using its space to out manoeuvre Jon's swipes, backhands and upper cuts.  It got inside Jon's guard, and landed its telling blow, provoking a growl in frustration before getting clipped around the ear, and stamped into the slate 803m above sea level.  Jon wasn't amused at what a wasp was doing at such heights, stinging him during his afternoon meal, I was feeling fed and entertained.  Regardless, it was decided we better scarper before he attracted more of the critters.

We headed in the direction of Swirl How.  It was a case of trying to use the map and compass, while keeping the eyes on the lookout for any cairns that marked the way.  If the clouds broke up, there were stunning views all around, but mainly it was all murky throughout.  It certainly aided our navigational skills.

It was along here, that I have since discovered that we must have crossed a Wainwright listed fell being Brim Fell.  We didn't notice, and I'm not essentially a bagger of the Wainwright's, so I shall keep that omitted for the time being.  We were also passed by an old man walking alone, with little other than his long beard and canvass backpack to keep him company.  What was evident was he was going at some rate.  We knew not where he came from, nor where he was heading.  He just seemed to come and disappear at the same time.  We couldn't believe that we were travelling so slow, we may be unfit (well I may have been), but he did look rather old... we put it down to an apparition of the Coniston Old Man himself, giving us his blessing to continue, and get off this great hulk of a rock.

I can't imagine a reason for this picture other than to capture the Old Man

We made it to Swirl How, and went back down.  The cloud was getting boring, Jon was still unhappy with the wasp sting, and to be fair, amusement aside I was concerned whether he would have as shock, and grateful that he didn't.  So down we trod to Levers Water, and appreciated some fine views again looking towards Coniston Water.

We soon made it down, reacquainted ourselves with the pub at the start for further refreshment and a recap of the days events.  When we brought up the question of whether they had seen an old man, there was no answer.

Well, at least we had beer.