5 May 2007 - More bank holiday madness, this time in May. With news that the good weather was only set to last a day and that Alice's companion couldn't even muster making it up for that, we knew saturday was going to be a big one. Well, I knew this, Kev could only suspect my intentions. 
Mist spoilt the first moments of my morning when I emerged from my tent early, in expectation of fine weather. It also conspired to lead Kev and I up Cringle Crags when our intended destination had been Bowfell. Incessant banter may also have had something to do with it. The summit of Bowfell, once reached, saw us break into the big blue and rengage our respective wonder of the lake district as the clouds swirled around below us granting glimpses here, glimpses there of our surrounds.
Mist spoilt the first moments of my morning when I emerged from my tent early, in expectation of fine weather. It also conspired to lead Kev and I up Cringle Crags when our intended destination had been Bowfell. Incessant banter may also have had something to do with it. The summit of Bowfell, once reached, saw us break into the big blue and rengage our respective wonder of the lake district as the clouds swirled around below us granting glimpses here, glimpses there of our surrounds. 
From Bowfell we followed the BG route in increasingly fine conditions. Seven hours and eight minutes later we were stood on top of Great Gable. This was eight minutes down on the 23 hour schedule but we had treated ourselves to a number of stops, conversing with the numerous walkers congregating and congratulating themselves on the top of each peak.
Disturbingly, we learnt from one such conversation that on Friday a chap died descending Broad Stand. Fortunately, going the other way, Kev glided up on his first attempt and, it being my second encounter with the "step", the old Elvis leg was less visible as I again opted for the backwall rather than step out over the drop. The red ash from the flare lit to guide the rescue helicopter was still visible at the foot of the crag and the story is a reminder to take nothing for granted in the mountains. Our thoughts go out to the family trying to comprehend the loss of a loved one.
From Great Gable it was a long way back to the Old Dungeon Ghyll. Kev had skirted around Kirk Fell to save his ass and my knees started to lock as we passed Angle Tarn, but with the prospect of a fine feed at the pub just a few km away there was nothing stopping the internal motors.
It was just a pity that the bank holiday punters had beaten us to it...
No comments:
Post a Comment