Grasmere to Patterdale

Monday 8 September 2008

(Walking Distance: 9 miles)

Tongue Gill & the Vale of Grasmere

Waterfall, Tongue Gill

Grisedale Tarn

Dawn & Lesley, "The Canadians", Grisedale

Striding Edge

Grisedale

Nearing Patterdale

Breakfast at the Glenthorne was reminiscent of meals in a Youth Hostel – but the food wasn’t as good. I half expected to be asked to give a hand with the washing-up.

I ate with the Canadians, sharing the table with an ancient, half deaf, couple. The lady reminded me of Jilly Cooper’s imagined granny: upper class, talkative, likeable and scatter brained. Dad’s Army were also staying. They confirmed the details of their adventure above Black Sail and admitted to have been rather shaken by the experience: the terrain was proving harsher than their Cotswolds training ground.

Breakfast was late and slow. It was 09:30hrs by the time I left Glenthorne and, after a saunter through Grasmere, was on the Patterdale track beside Tongue Gill by 10:00hrs. The weather was fine, dry and clear, other than occasional mist drifting on and off the high tops.

It’s a long pull up to Grisedale Tarn along the good, clear and, unusually for this trip, dry path. I’ve been on this track many times over the years, on more than one occasion being under-flown by RAF jets, but it is always a grand parade.

I sat at the tarn for a break. For a few magical minutes I had the place to myself, before being joined by a Geordie lad out for a morning’s exercise from his current home in Penrith. I was on my second cup of strong, tepid instant Nescafe before being joined by the Canadians. Inexplicably they declined my offer of a cuppa: obviously British Columbians don’t know good coffee when they see, or smell, it…

We debated which route to take to Patterdale. Although I didn’t fancy Helvellyn and Striding Edge, a walk along the St Sunday Crag ridge had seemed appealing from the comfort of my armchair. The day was now fine, clear and dry, not too hot with only a light breeze: perfect conditions for a high level walk. Off we headed down the valley.

I had never appreciated the extent of the rivalry, not to say animosity, between Canadians and Americans; it makes the competition between the English and, err, well…I guess most anybody else, seem positively friendly. To my ear, and I suspect that of the majority of British people, North America accents are just that: North American. To take the issue of nationality beyond doubt Dawn and Lesley had large Canadian flags sewn to the top of their rucksacks.

Living near the border with the USA and having to make frequent visits across it, the random vagaries, not to say ignorant bloody mindedness, of Homeland Security personnel in recent years has done nothing to improve the assessment of their neighbours.

I wandered ahead before Ruthwaite Lodge and took the wilder path on the north of the beck. The valley route might not be as grand as the high level alternatives but it’s still a tremendous walk. Where the path joins the one to Striding Edge I met an elderly Australian (that is to say older than me) resting beside the track after climbing Helvellyn. We walked together to Patterdale; strangers enjoying a few moments of companionship in a shared enjoyment of the hills.

I beat my bag to the White Lion. I was in Patterdale well before 15:00hrs, enjoying the luxury of a long, cold drink whilst quietly perusing the papers. It had been wet over the past few days apparently; flooding in Gosport…

I was back in the bar for a very tasty trout supper by 19:00 hrs. I was beaten to the table by the Canadians, the Aussies and Dad’s Army. The Aussies compounded my guilt by extolling the quality and grandeur of their visit to St Sunday Crag.

The weather forecast for tomorrow was for yet more rain. There was some debate as to which route to take. Dad’s Army were adamant that it would be foolhardy to go over the High Street ridge – the fright above Ennerdale was still fresh in their minds – everyone else decided on the high route and agreed to meet at nine.

Accommodation:

The White Lion Inn
Patterdale
Penrith
Cumbria
CA11 0NW
017684 82214

The White Lion room was cramped, scruffy and expensive. The pub, company and supper were excellent, but the chef obviously wasn’t working in the morning when the breakfast was, at best, adequate.