'It sounded like a good idea at the time'...Not having a good head for heights, I anticipated
a big challenge ahead of me as we arrived at Sharp Edge, the intimidating obstacle between Scales Tarn and the summit of Blencathra. Infact, to call it an obstacle is putting it very mildly - Sharp Edge looked very much the Bad Boy, even from ground level on the A66. As we arrived at the impending scramble, I was continuously weighing up my chances of getting through this ordeal in one piece. Would I scramble across the ridge safely or would I chicken out completely and walk back down the mountain in shame? We had now reached the start of the ridge. Time to scramble! Feeling scared but not willing to be beaten, I began to advance across the ridge proper. There was a gentle introduction to the ridge as the sides gradually begin to get steeper and longer. So far so good. Everything was going smoothly, then we came to crux. The part of the ridge where there was nothing to hold on to. The trouble with a hard part like this is that once you have crossed it there is no easy way of going back. After what seemed like a lifetime of indecision I made the move into no-mans land, my arse twitching as I went. Gingerly I stepped across the wobbly bit and from there onto a small flat bit from which I could grasp hold of some rock with all the strength that my hands could muster. The whole experience was down to climbing ability and making a series of decisions that could prove very costly should a wrong move be made. An elaborate chess game? Not really - not when your life is at stake!
Along the traverse we reached a gully.
Davey and Lee were out of sight at this point and heading across the ridge quickly, as if someone at yon end was giving cash away! A few minutes on and I'd caught up with them as they sat on a ledge for a breather. Lee was admiring the view towards Hallsfell Top as Davey took time out to have a well-earned tab. Brian appeared behind me after a couple of minutes so we all sat for a while before continuing the scramble. At this point I thought about taking some photographs, but decided against the idea - I had no fancy for negotiating a backpack full of expensive gear on a rock ledge with 300 feet of absolute nothing below. Reflecting on the climb so far, I had doubts whether I'd make it across to this point. There was DEFINATELY no turning back! What choice did I have, apart from gritting my teeth and getting on with it. I also rembember asking myself whether I'd experienced anything as frightening as this in my entire life. I struggled to think of one example. Oh, f**k it! Let's get this over with, he he. From here we had a vertical climb of around 20 feet, with ledges to assist feet and hands. I double checked each ledge before making the decision to lend it my whole body weight before I pulled myself up and headed onto the exposed ridge top, known as Narrow Edge, for obvious reasons. This was the highest point on Sharp Edge and it took some bottle to look down from here towards Scales Tarn, as fellow climbers resembled ants from such a distance. Technical ability wasn't a problem during the climb as most of was down to common sense and awareness. Exposure was the main handicap, especially as the wind had a habit of creeping up on you every now and again.
Looking back along Sharp Edge it was clear that we were over half way, which was quite comforting and already I was becoming a lot more confident in seeing this drama through.
A reminder of the perils came in the shape of dead sheep below - a statistical reminder of what could be. Once you are at the eastern end of the ridge, the excitement starts. There is an easy path to the right for the first part if anyone wishes to use it, but sticking to the crest of the ridge is far more fun. As with all slate ridges you do need to be aware of slices of loose rock. Half way along the ridge you will reach a point where a large slab of smooth and badly angled slate sits on the ridge crest. I remember seeing a couple of lads on all fours, negotiating this section and holding on for their lives. This slab is known as the Bad Step and is one of the Lake District's most dangerous and most prolific accident spots. After crossing the Bad Step I was at the end of the ridge and it was now time to scramble up the rock face, known as Foule Crag, towards Atkinson Pike. There was a wide gully slightly to the right, but by this time I was rather enjoying the whole experience and opted for the route straight ahead, offering a more challenging climb. The business end of the climb was behind me, although Davey and Lee were in front and heading towards the top of Foule Crag at some pace.
Foule Crag must have been at least fifty feet of rock face, and the last part of the climb/ scramble.
At this height I could still hear the distant call of the many sheep below, plus the sound of laughter from other climbers behind me on Sharp Edge, probably trying to make light of a very scarey situation, he he. With my tee-shirt stuck to my back and sweat running down my forehead I made my way up Foule Crag, with Brian following suit behind me. To my left was a ridiculous drop to Scales Tarn - it must have been 300 feet, easily. Feeling quite pleased with myself for getting this far, I reminded myself that the job wasn't done yet. One glimpse of the Tarn told me that. It looked tiny from where I was standing. I'd made it this far with sunglasses on and although they helped to shield the bright sun, I couldn't help but think they would hinder my eyesight as I searched for the best ledges to use. A bit late for that though - I was almost home and dry! I was surprised how quickly I negotiated Foule Crag, there was obviously plenty left in the tank. My whole body, especially my legs and lower back, were on fire by this time, but there was no time to waste as I now had Davey and Lee in my sights at the top of the crag. A few minutes later I joined them, taking a very well deserved break whilst we sat admiring the view and reflecting on the drama. We sat for quite a while, chomping on snacks and drinking heavily from our bottles. I was chuffed to bits at this point, realising I'd conquered my fear of heights and even asking myself 'Did I really have a fear of heights in the first place'. I must have had, as I know exactly how uncomfortable I felt when the scramble began, yet I grew in confidence as I put more rock behind me.
We sat for quite a while yet
there was still no sign of Brian, who was at the back of our group when we arrived at Sharp Edge. As we waited further a dozen or so climbers passed us, with one lady saying she'd passed Brian on the way up. At least he was safe - we were beginning to think he'd come a cropper! An elderly couple with a Golden Labrador came over the top of Foule Crag, just before Brian, who looked very uncomfortable to say the least, telling us he had a bad case of cramp in his knee's, which caused his delay. Lee and Brian were off Sharp Edge together, with me following them 15 minutes later. Brian appeared 20 minutes after me, along with another group and we exchanged some banter before taking group photographs of eachother - a friendly bunch they certainly were. Soon we off again, making our final accent to the summit of Blencathra, where at least 30 people had already gathered. A concrete ring marked the summit, but there were no signs of a cairn. The wind had picked up considerably by this time and the coats were out of the rucksacks. The panoramic views from the summit were outstanding and many of the Northern Fells could be seen, as well as Derwentwater in the distance.
I took a few shots on my mobile phone, including panoramic stitches, which turned out quite well. After 15 miuntes or so we headed back down the mountain to Scales where Brian's car was parked. It was a novelty to see a few fell runners pass us as we descended - what the hell are they on!!! The joints were taking a hammering on our way down the fells so it was a case of 'Steady Away'. I had a funny feeling we'd be heading straight to a pub, and so we did. We reflected on the whole walking, climbing & scrambling experience at the Sun Inn, Bassenthwaite Village. The sun, incidentally, was still beating down as we sat outside the pub. We had the place to ourselves and knocked back a couple of pints whilst Brian downed a coke - driving duty, you see. A big pat on the back to the four of us, who, as inexperienced 'Forty-Pluses' taking on our first real mountain (including Sharp Edge), and conquering it, it was an achievement not to be underestimated. Four went up and four came back. Maybe half the enjoyment was the whole fear factor, yet I feel like doing the whole thing again, soon!
A great experience, with a mixture of emotions - fear, trepidation, apprehension, surprise, elation, and some.
Until the next time...
Ash
It was a very enjoyable weekend and although it got off to a wet and miserable start the weather couldn't have been any better from Saturday morning onwards. Sunday morning involved a drive to Threlkeld where we parked up and walked to Keswick - an eight mile round trip! We had Sunday lunch and downed some beer before we returned to the car and made our way home, via Alston, one the top ten motorists roads in Great Britain. On our return to work the following day we reflected on a great weekend and started to plan another trip to the Lake District. Now, some 3 months later, I can reveal that we will be returning to the great outdoors once again, to climb Skiddaw, the fourth highest mountain in the Lake District National Park. This will take place in mid-October, so stay tuned for another account of our Lakes Weekender Part 2, here on my blog page. To finish off I'd like to show you a few more photographs from a collection of over 300, all taken during our Blencathra trip. Here are a few stats too...
