Lake District - July 2nd

Walking day today, at least for those of us – me, Gav and Bill – still able to climb mountains. And not all of the trio are, in fact, really able to do that, but more of that later. Set off from a pub just beyond Brothers Water, walking up a pretty and largely deserted little valley. We were going parallel to the main road for a while but it was inaudible, drowned out by the torrent which was Caiston Beck. Today it was mostly dry with even, God help us, a few patches of sun. Last night it rained like a bitch, however, and as a result the water was flowing down any depression in the ground with stones at the bottom. 'Pivers' we called this combination of path and river, or possibly 'strath;' though on occasion they became paterfalls.

Fortunately the ascent wasn't too steep, up the valley until we left the official river behind and reached a pass at the top. Had lunch and did a steepish little climb to what may or may not have been a summit. Got into a bit of cloud here, just thin enough for us to realise how great the views would have been if it wasn't for the damn cloud. The idea originally was to do Hart Crag, with Fairfield an additional extra. But we were going so slow that we abandoned even Plan A, leaving Hart Crag as a final peak looming over us. Unfortunately me and Gav couldn't work out where the Softie's Path began and tried relying on cairns to guide us. These just led to the tops of cliffs; and overhanging, life-threatening cliffs at that. We couldn't decide if the cairns were meant to say 'Danger! Cliffs!' and were, by an oversight, made indistinguishable from the ones proclaiming 'Follow Me! Safety!'; or if they were, in fact, evil. Finally we found the actual path, which was blindingly obvious if only we'd waited a little longer. Somewhere amidst all this blundering about I think we climbed Dove Crag though it's hard to be sure.

The path, and sometimes strath, down was one of those constructed stairways which theoretically make it easier but are agony on the knees. It led into a very nice, narrow gully with another beck gushing along the bottom. This valley, Dovedale I think, was even more desolate, with only a couple of barns which even estate agents would struggle to sell as 'fixer-uppers.' Sadly my enjoyment was hindered by Bill's worsening condition. We've been here before. He's got Parkinson's, he's in his mid 60's and he patently can't do mountain climbing anymore. He was barely able to walk for the second half today, swaying and falling over constantly. There was a terrifying moment when he plunged sideways and briefly disappeared down the slope. Luckily he only fell a few feet and had only vanished into the bracken. Still, for his own safety if nothing else, he needs to be told: that's it. Eventually we struggled back to the car, completing quite a short walk which somehow took us over seven hours. Lorna seems addicted to playing the 'Cock A Doodle Doo' game with me, a rather tedious imagination game she concocted based on the concept of cockerels crowing in the middle of the night. Though there are some interesting spins; I liked it when the hens we bought to lay us breakfast eggs instead hatched a thousand chicks which blocked out the sun.