Skiddaw Short Story - Photo Gallery
A short movie clip from Skiddaw - The Blizzard is 4MB so it may take a while to download, best viewed with RealPlayer so you can see it Double Size
After what seems like weeks of rain and windy weather, there might be an opportunity for a sunny winter walk so I spent some time planning a walk from Thirlmere. I had a plan using routes you wouldn't normally use over ground that is best walked when frozen. However, when I got to Thirlmere, the lakeside road was closed at both ends so I had to quickly think of an alternative walk. I decided to try to find some snow on Skiddaw and drove to the icy car park at the top of Gale Road.
I set off along the tourist route towards Skiddaw, it's an easy gradient at first on a muddy path by the side of a wall. Before long you are looking up one of the most frequently used paths in the Lake District; it is definitely the longest stretch of reconstructed footpath. Once you start to climb, the gradient is consistently strenuous for over a mile. It's a real slog and for a long time you don't seem to be getting anywhere; the only evidence of progress is the view of Derwentwater and the hills beyond.
It was quite breezy, it wasn't going to be the bright, cold day that I had come looking for; when I was half way to the gate on Jenkin Hill it started to snow. The combination of snow and mist closed off any view that I had and the wind grew in strength as I climbed higher. The gradient eases on the final section to Jenkin Hill, by then there was consistently enough snow deep enough to leave a footprint and the drainage gullies were filled in with it at least ankle deep.
The gate was surrounded by drifts of snow a foot deep, but it was good snow that only gave way six inches as you walked over it. I didn't go through the gate, I turned half left, uphill towards Skiddaw Little Man; there is an obvious path but I struggled to see any trace of it. It was a case of keeping to the small ridge, keep going upwards quite steeply on the rough, snow-covered ground and hope I have remembered enough not to get lost. It didn't seem too long before I reached a cairn; the structure of metal fence posts identified it as Lesser Man and the long, horizontal fingers of frost pointed me in the direction of Little Man.
The gradient was easier and the path slightly more visible but the wind was considerably stronger and the visibility non-existent in the blizzard conditions that I had walked into. The cairn at the summit of Little Man was obvious enough but as the ground fell away on the other side of the cairn there was no sign of any path. I did make an attempt to navigate; I got my map out, but as soon as I put my glasses on the swirling snow had coated the inside of the lenses and misted them up.
My memory told me that the tourist route was below, on the right; shortly after starting to descend I came across a path that was too rough and obvious for the snow to cover up. I soon came across a fence that should guide me towards Skiddaw; fingers of frost, three inches long, had formed on each of the squares in the wire fence making it look like a row of three feet high pigeon holes. The fence wasn't giving any shelter from the wind in spite of the accumulation of frost; snow was beginning to build up in waves up to knee height.
Although I knew that by following the fence there was absolutely no chance of getting lost it seemed to be taking far longer than I remember to meet the main path to Skiddaw. Since the snow started falling I had been wearing my best winter gloves, fleece hat with my jacket-hood up and my fleece neck-gaiter pulled over my nose; I was warm and snug inside, in spite of the blizzard.
Eventually, I stopped descending and started to climb gently; the corner of the fence appeared none too soon. I was in the right place and correct route selection there was essential, but in the chaos of darkness, mist, snow and boulders I was hesitant for a minute or so; only the closeness of the summit made me determined to get there. A combination of memory and picking out signs of a footpath got me going in the right direction; don't keep to the crest here, the path is slightly to the right. For the next few minutes I was on an obvious path; tucked up inside my jacket as I watched the snow flying and swirling across the darker ground.
I was definitely gaining height, although there wasn't much of a gradient; I reached a stone shelter but wasn't sure if it was the first or second, it shouldn't be too much further to the summit anyway. As I started to descend a little and got past the shelter I felt as though I was stepping into space; snow had drifted to completely cover the ground in exactly the same colour as the mist. It was a white-out, the first time I had experienced it and it made me feel immediately confused and disoriented; I knew the ground was there but my brain couldn't tell exactly where.
If I hadn't known this part of Skiddaw as well as I do I would have turned back then; but as I lifted my head up and looked around I could see the ground rising slightly and some partly exposed rocks ahead. I decided to carry on; I knew I had to keep to the crest of the ridge, I must not descend either side as I kept my eyes open for the merest hint of the cairns that show the way. As I reached the second shelter cairn I was glad that I knew exactly where I was and it wasn't too far now to the summit. Route finding wasn't much easier but the rougher ground didn't disorient me as much as the plain snow; at the summit I took a quick photo of the two columns and headed back. I almost said I retraced my steps but they were untraceable already.
I did consider continuing on to Bakestall; I would have descended quickly and possibly out of the blizzard, but there was no guarantee so I decided to go back the way I had come. Getting back across the ridge wasn't much easier even though I had just been there and the white-out was just as difficult. I met another walker just after the first shelter and he asked how much further the summit was; I told him about the white-out and because he wasn't familiar with the summit he wisely decided to turn back.
Until now my hands had been warm but, probably because some of the dampness from the snow had been force through the fabric, they began to get cold. By the time I reached the corner of the fence again my fingers were numb and solid with cold. Instead of going back to Little Man, I climbed the stile over the fence; the snow had piled up two feet high either side of the fence. The wide tourist path was completely covered by snow so I was hoping that the lie of the land I was following wasn't a natural feature. It seemed a much longer walk around Little Man than it was to climb it but I eventually got back to the gate at Jenkin Hill.
At least the JCB-made tourist path let me walk at a good pace; I was glad I didn't have to cope with a badly designed stone-built path. My fingers had only just about de-solidified when I got back to the car and it was some time before I had full movement back; shoe-laces and buttons can be awkward with cold fingers.
Not the day I was expecting but a worthwhile challenge and it only took three and a half hours.
Andy Wallace 24th January 2007