My Introduction to an Obsession for Life via Striding Edge

I don't think it is much of a secret to those who know me, but I have developed a healthy obsession with staring at maps.  I love assessing the various contour lines, looking for decent ridges, crags and features, that when matched up to walking routes, I can plan the annual trip away with a couple of good friends to escape our loved ones, and roam free for a weekend.

Noticing I've had little to write about lately that isn't too morbid, I looked back and started sifting through some old photographs to see where it all began.  Although I had been out to the Lake District a few times, the one memory I look on as the foundation of this fascination was a trip back in 2004 with my good friend Jon to visit the Lakes with the idea of climbing something big in mind.  What I have learnt is that if Jon never suggested this trip, I’d have never whimsically visited Ullswater, and Glenridding, and subsequently never fallen in love with the mountains like I did, and forever will.  This is a trip that felt like hell; shamed me into not being able to perform to how easy I thought I would be able, yet gave me a hunger to come back each and every year, try again, and make sure that each walk was improved; was as much fun, and the stakes increased.

We arrived in a small quaint village at the bottom of Ullswater called Glenridding.  Everywhere I looked the scenery looked down upon me; all these fantastic peaks surrounding the waters edge, as well as the ones that enshrouded the village, with the grey mists sitting on their peaks.  A campsite was found at the top of the village, tents were erected, and we took the bold decision to go and find the local pub with a healthy stash of food, providing good energy the next day. 

Said pub was the Travellers Rest, a small log fired affair that served a decent tipple.  We proceeded to enjoy the hospitality, as well as the great local ales on tap, and the fine selection of single malt whisky they store on their shelves.  A hearty meal followed everything down, and we managed to have a rather sound sleep, where not even the sound of the wind, or local sheep in nearby fields could awaken us.

For some strange reason that morning, and only on that morning ever since, we decided that it would be a good idea to take a camping chair with us to the summit, so we could get an amusing picture with beer in hand, looking rather grateful for making it the whole way.  This was the first time, that I came to realise that you pack what you need essentially, not the blankets, the extra jumpers, coats, beer, and chairs that add for a weighty walk up the steep climbs that were soon to become evident.

After a slow slog out of the village, heading along Greenside Road towards the YHA in the valley by the disused mines, we headed east with a view of the Catstycam ahead.  Being the inexperienced walker I was, I didn’t know how to read a map correctly, so therefore was truly in Jon’s capable hands, and didn’t know what was ahead, or around me, only that at some stage we would come along to Helvellyn.  Simply put, I was tired, exhausted, unfit, yet enjoying the views.  Jon must have had patience when I kept asking if anything I saw with a top was where we were headed, but we weren’t to see Helvellyn properly until we came up to Red Tarn, a large body of water, that is right at the base of the Helvellyn summit itself.

It was at this point that we discussed how bad an idea it was to lug the damn chair up the stairs, even though we did get to share the use of it at Red Tarn over a few sandwiches.  Instead, the merits of bringing an inflatable raft floated into our minds, so we could float into the middle of the water, and have a private lunch, and not have much care in the world for what would lie ahead, appreciating the stunning view of the third highest mountain in England with its razor sharp edges of Swirral Edge, and more impressively Striding Edge on each side.

Helvellyn from Red Tarn Beck

Jon took the decision to head towards the summit via Swirral Edge.  I guess with hindsight that it came about as he hadn’t gone that route before.  I soon found myself concentrating in wonderment how we managed to get ourselves onto what felt like a genuine rock climb (but was merely a scramble), with a huge drop down to Red Tarn behind us. Either way, it was fun, and using the hands took the mind off the pain in the legs.

It was nervy, we did well, and were justifiable happy with ourselves at making it to the top of the edge.  The small journey left to the summit cairn was easy enough, but then cloud came and enveloped us in its mist.  The plan of getting to the top with this camping chair, with a fine panorama of all the highest Lakeland peaks was laid to waste.  We got little more than the view of each other, so long as we remained within 5 meters of ourselves, smirking, drinking a celebratory beer, and posing for a quick snap in the chair.  There were many souls up on that peak that afternoon, and all found it highly amusing that we would dare such a trip with the chair, but showed their jealousy at our initiative when they had to stand around as there was no space left at the lovely cross shaped wind shelter.

Striding Edge

The decision was taken to go back via Striding Edge, and would you believe it, as soon as we came off the top, the views were crystal clear.  We could see deep into the Grisdale Valley on one side, and look down upon Red Tarn and see the route we had come.  Striding Edge is one of the best things I have ever seen, and had the nerve to attempt.  The sight is something to behold as it drops and slowly leads to safer ground many hundreds of yards ahead.  All complaints of exhaustion were replaced with complaints of navigating this razor sharp ridge with all my agility and lack of experience with a massive chair strapped across my back.  Dropping in between tightly formed rocks, and scrambling all hands on board doesn’t make this route easy.  That aside though, the reward gave me something I’ll never forget so long as I live, and I was truly sold to the merits of this walking lark, as we strode back to Glenridding to be acquainted with the Travellers Rest again, and the decision to go somewhere else in the Lake District for more of the same the next day.

I should add, Jon carried the chair up for me