Great Langdale to Thirlmere – via the site of indecent exposure

It was a very clear and cold night. My tent is ok and watertight, so the condensation from my breathing stays inside, but the rain stays out. In the middle of the night I unzipped the inner tent and the outer zip for a pee. The Milky Way was in my face. Stunning. I laid back down and the sleeping bag felt wet. My shirt and jumper that I wear 24/7 felt wet. So did my shorts. I hadn’t fired out far enough and the watertight nature of the tent had retained my discharged liquid. It frickin stank, so did my shorts, shirt, jumper and sleeping bag.

At least when I’m having a meal in an Inn the staff can identify me. ‘Take the fish and chips to that old bloke in the corner who stinks of piss’.

I think I’ve brought too much stuff. It’s a struggle up these steep hills. Hey ho!

Nearly 50 years ago on a geography field trip from school I ran up the hill to Stickle Tarn, way ahead of the group, stripped off, dived in and swam around. It was Easter and snow was melting into the Tarn. A party of girls came round where I was swimming so I stopped out there for 15 minutes until they all fricked off. By that time my mates had come up, photographed me swimming and coming out, holding my bits, which hurt like the devil had started to bite them off. I’m going back for the first time since then. Fully clothed.

Another dry start to the day and the route up was beautiful.

A long, hard slog with my rucksack. But eventually I got there.

And looking out and back down the valley….

From here it was a direct route north up to Blea Ridge with a cold, cold wind. At least it blew the smell of piss away from my nose! And from the top was a panorama. With Stickle Tarn down below and Morecambe Bay in the distance.

Again, heading due north over a plateau, the occasional groups of walkers evaporated. The views didn’t.

I had to drop down from here through a valley leading to Thirlmere Lake. And it was a seriously long, boggy and arduous slog. When it wasn’t boggy it was a scramble. No wonder I saw no-one all afternoon. Part way down the valley a huge stag was braying for a rut. Loud as a foghorn. His concubines were hanging around him looking gorgeous but I decided not to throw my hat in the ring. In fact I fricked off quick before he could challenge me, and sadly before I could take a photo.

And then the valley dropped further at the end.

At the head of Thirlemere was a path that ran along the side of Hellvellyn, and parallel to the lake, to my campsite. Lovely views of the lake, through the rain that started mid-afternoon.

Twelve tough miles. Took me nearly 8 hours! Then pitching my tent in the rain and dashing into the hotel next to the site, and bagging a table for one in the fully booked restaurant. Sometimes it pays to look old and pathetic. Luckily they didn’t smell the piss before I took my seat.

Night night.