Helvellyn is the third-highest mountain in the Lake
District, which also makes it the third-highest mountain in England. Located on
a ridge between Thirlmere and Ullswater, there are various routes up it and we
did a couple, but we never did what is regarded as the classic way up. I’m
talking about Striding Edge.
If you approach Helvellyn from the east (ie. if you hike
up from Ullswater), there are two ridges that lead onto the summit – Swirral
Edge to the north and Striding Edge to the south. The latter is an increasingly
narrow ridge which involves much scrambling before the final ascent; a
favourite among walkers who fancy a challenge, but it can get very dangerous
when the weather turns on you.
(The dangers of walking at altitude in the Lake District are
nothing new, by the way. There have been a number of fatalities in the vicinity
of Helvellyn, the earliest known one being Charles Gough, an otherwise obscure artist
who fell off Striding Edge in April 1805; his body was found three months later
with his dog, Foxie – his only companion on his final walk – watching over him.
A Lakeland version of Greyfriars Bobby, perhaps, although many accounts of
Gough’s demise – which inspired poetry by Scott and Wordsworth, no less –
omitted contemporary speculation that Foxie had survived by eating her master’s
remains.)
Alfred Wainwright, that legendary fellwalker who casts a
long shadow over the area thanks to his seven-volume Pictorial Guide to the
Lakeland Fells which remains the standard work of reference for walking in
the Lake District despite having been written decades ago, described the ascent
of Helvellyn via Striding Edge as “a classic ascent recorded and underlined in
the diaries of all fellwalkers”. It was Wainwright who gave his name to the
Wainwright Fells, a list of 214 peaks which are the ones he described in the
afore-mentioned series of books. Climbing all of them is the aim of many a
fellwalker who loves walking the Lake District, just like those who like to
‘bag’ the Munros up in Scotland. We managed a few Wainwrights back in the day (Helm
Crag, Scafell Pike, the Old Man of Coniston, various of the Langdale Pikes, etc),
although no-one was keeping score.
The closest we got to Striding Edge was a morning ascent of
Helvellyn via Swirral Edge which, looking back, was ridiculous to the
point of being downright dangerous. Alex, myself and a couple of friends
thought it would be fun to walk up to Red Tarn, the small lake located
underneath Helvellyn on its eastern flank, camp overnight and ascend Helvellyn
itself in the morning. This was undertaken during the week between Christmas
and New Year (a favourite time of ours for going up to the Lakes, what with
there being no sixth-form or university commitments).
It was as mad as it sounds. Camping overnight at an
altitude of over 2,000 feet in December was an ordeal in itself (it turned out
that my supposedly four-season sleeping-bag had its limits) and in the morning,
after a quick breakfast of tea and Ready Brek (we’d taken a petrol-stove with us)
we packed up our kit and went for Swirral Edge. We chose that one purely
because we were carrying full kit (the plan was to end up on the Thirlmere
side) and Striding Edge would have involved some significant doubling-back on
ourselves.
I’ve never been exactly sure what happened next but
instead of the expected path, we ended up scrambling up a steep scree-slope
before having to do some actual climbing (and no, we did not have a rope with
us). At one point I was struggling to get a hand-hold and the only thing I
could firmly grasp was a ledge which Matt, who was above me, was using as a
foot-hold. If he’d shuffled a couple of inches over to his left, the result wouldn’t
have been pretty. When I reminded him of this a while ago, he referred to it as
‘that time we nearly died’. He wasn’t joking … much.
A couple of years later, Alex and I were back, this time
on a day-walk up from Ullswater, and once again we declined Striding Edge,
mainly because we wanted to see where we’d gone wrong; after making it to Red
Tarn we followed a fairly straightforward path up Swirral Edge; the only
scrambling was to get to the summit plateau itself. Obviously, we’d missed the
path in a big way.
So we never did do Striding Edge. Over the years, it occasionally
rankled – there was a sense that, although we had stood on the summit of
Helvellyn on several occasions, we’d not done it justice. We did plan to do it
a couple of years ago, before my fortieth birthday, but in the event we ended
up heading back to the Lakes late last year, shortly after I’d turned
forty-one.
After a night in an Ambleside B&B (itself followed by
a pint or three in the Golden Rule, our new favourite Lake District pub), we
set off early (before the designated breakfast time, although the B&B-owner
had kindly left the cereal out for us). One morning drive via the Kirkstone
Pass later, we were parked up at Glenridding (one of two villages from which you
can hike up to Striding Edge, Patterdale being the other) and on the path
before 8am.
Some things had not changed; as we were sorting out our
kit – sandwiches, waterproof jackets, a flask of tea, binoculars, Ordnance
Survey map and the like – a couple in the car next to us were equipping
themselves with much less kit than us, their clear intention being fellrunning.
That’s never been our speed; as they were talking about making sure they had
one of those water-bottles that’s got a rubber tube so you can have a drink
without breaking your stride, Alex and I were asking each other whether we’d
remembered the hip-flask, and who had the knife to slice up the block of Christmas
cake we had with us!
Ullswater was covered in mist as we climbed out of the
valley. It was cold, but it was a clear day, and other than the mist the views
were wonderful. I’d been worried about the weather but, to be honest, we couldn’t
have picked a better day for a hike if we’d tried. With a couple of stops on
the way, made good time getting up to Birkhouse Moor, following which the path
levels out and we were rewarded with a view of the Helvellyn summit in front of
us, flanked by the two ridges and with the often-overlooked Catstye Cam to the
right (“If Catstycam stood alone, remote from its fellows, it would be one of
the finest peaks in Lakeland” – Wainwright again).
We stopped for a break at the Hole-in-the-Wall, a gap in the
drystone wall which marks the start of Striding Edge (from there, a separate
path runs down to Red Tarn, this being the path we’d taken that time we camped
out overnight). The Christmas cake, good walking food that, was duly sliced up
and washed down with the tea from the flask. I’d made it black, as I know from experience
that the metal makes the milk taste funny, although as the flask in question has
been used for coffee many times it gave the tea a certain taste – from there
on, we took to calling it ‘cofftea’.
For me, the hardest part was at the end of the ridge where you
have to descend – awkwardly – before scrambling up a rocky path that leads onto
the summit itself. Part-way up, there was a great view to be had of the now-completed
ridge itself, and as we approached the summit we stopped briefly at the memorial
to poor old Charles Gough (who was just 21 when he died).
The summit itself – the shelter and the cairn which marks the
highest point (3,118 feet, or 950 metres) – was busy. As well as our
fellow-walkers who’d come up Striding Edge, there were a couple of groups of
students and even a few mountain-bikers who’d come up from the (considerably
less arduous) Thirlmere side. Having admired the view, we had our lunch at the
shelter and Alex took the cyclists’ group photo for them by the trig-point. The
hip-flask came out for a celebratory swig, as it always had done years ago (the
one thing that’s changed there is that we used to put blended Scotch in it, and
now it’s single malt).
Getting down via Swirral Edge was something of a scramble, albeit
nothing like the upward one we had done years ago. Looking down from the path,
we could see the steep scree-slope that we’d ascended before, including a near-vertical
climb to get to the path! What had we been thinking? Down by Red Tarn, we tried
and failed to work out exactly where we’d camped before heading back to the car
at Glenridding.
Back in the comfort of an Ambleside pub that evening, we plotted
our next move. We’d allowed for two days in the Lakes, in case the first day
wasn’t good weather-wise, but it had been a fine day and there was another one
forecast. What to do next? How about another Wainwright Fell, preferably another of
the higher ones, elsewhere in the Lake District? I bought an aerial map that
marks the Wainwrights in height order (Helvellyn being number three). It turned
out that we’d actually ‘bagged’ more Wainwrights than we had thought, for
although by dropping down from Swirral Edge to Red Tarn we had not ascended Catstye
Cam (number ten), we had unknowingly included number 78 on the way up, for
Wainwright had included Birkstone Moor, that plateau before Striding Edge, as a
fell in its own right!
Anyway, after some discussion we decided that the following day we
would head west and attempt Sca Fell; having done England’s third-highest
mountain, we figured that we might as well top that by going for the
second-highest. But that’s another story…
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