August 8, 2002: Buttermere to Keswick
Gavan on the path to Rigg Pass
We had breakfast at 8:30 on another gray day. I was still so weary that I didn’t even bother to shave. There were two other residents at a nearby table and they were doing a bicycle tour of the Lakes, following a guidebook that put them on trails and mountainside scrambles far more often than it did on roads. They said that only four of the twenty-four miles they had traversed yesterday had been on roads and that often they just had to push their bikes along. My sour comment to Gavan was that I would much rather take my dog for a walk than my bike.
I paid the balance due Mrs. Knight with a check and we liberated a little newspaper to put into our boots at some time in the future. Mrs. K. also supplied us with our first packed lunches and at 9:20 we were ready to leave. Our landlady rushed out at the last minute to ask about our room key – but Gavan had already left this in the room.
At the bottom of the hill we climbed into the woods next to the stream (where I had taken Toby on evening walks years before) and we scrambled up to the open fellside to pursue the upper of two paths that rose above Sail Beck. Our path was overgrown in bracken and the lower path seemed to be providing faster progress for a couple with two large dogs on lead and a shepherd who was heading for work with his dog. These two were soon at work among the sheep high on the slopes of Knott Rigg, where the scree made a lovely lateral pattern in the green.
The upper elevations were again in mist but on the whole skies were brightening and rain did not appear imminent. We turned our back on Sail Beck briefly to cross the first of three stream valleys, climbing steeply up the other side to resume our track. At the next stream the climbing was done before crossing the valley. At Addacombe Beck we could at last see the high point of Rigg Pass, our goal for the morning, and after passing over a stretch of scree, with a useful path to makes things easier, we slowly marched up to the marshy headwaters of Rigg Beck where, at 1575 feet, we had already reached the highest elevation of the day – after only three miles.
The scree path from Rigg Pass
We then began a delightful descent, with views of the Newlands Valley below us, the dry path providing a gradual descent above Rigg Beck; in less than two miles we were on the solid tarmac of the Buttermere-Braithwaite road. Here we turned left, below Rowling End, and walked north for half a mile. We were looking for a slate sign signaling a turnoff near Rowling End Farm so we disdained a path with a wooden one, but after a while, when the farm access road was reached, we realized that we should have taken the sign’s advice, so we backtracked, dropped down into some woods, crossed the farm access road and descended a rough field to the bridge over Newlands Beck.
Here, at 1:15, we decided to have lunch. Our sandwiches were good, but I didn’t finish my second one or the tart green apple. It was rather humid but we could get along with rain pants and t-shirts today. It never actually rained.
After lunch Gavan led us through a somewhat complex stretch of farmland, with lots of gates (the score today was gates 13 and stiles 1). There was also some climbing to be accomplished as we inched our way along the fences to Ghyll Bank and Skellgill farms. The latter farmstead was rather extensive but as we climbed its access road we reached solid surfaces and wonderful views to the north. A corner of Bassenthaite was visible in the distance.
Out on the Grange-Braithwaite road we turned left, amid the parked cars of the tourists, and dropped down to the lane by Hawse End. Here began a long trek north in the woods, one that accompanied the shoreline of the invisible Derwentwater. Some of this was again very familiar territory for me. At Lingholm a lady with a large Alsatian asked is it was going to rain. We took the path over the top of the hill in Fawe Park, a very damp stretch indeed, and dropped down to the road again, finding a pavement we could use most of the way into Portinscale. There was lots of traffic.
In Portinscale Gavan wanted to buy stamps and a postcard so I waited across the street. I would have liked a pub hereabouts but the half-timbered Derwentwater Hotel looked forbiddingly posh so we continued under its purple flowerpots and across a footbridge over the Greta, sloping off to the A66 to use a lane and some overgrown paths to reach Crosthwaite Church. Edging our way around the Keswick School I couldn’t resist photographing a bit of graffiti on a wall – “Mrs. Lee Is Sad!”
On the other side of the school Gavan made a rare mistake and we found ourselves returned to the main road too soon (Hannon had outlined a number of zigzags to escape Crosthwaite), but here we just continued forward toward the tower of Keswick’s distant Moot Hall. Traffic was thick on the ground, as were camping outfitters – there was even an outdoor tent showroom. As I paused to take a picture here a young lad, excited by the prospect of getting himself into the photo, began waving his arms about. As he was standing next to Gavan he tried another party turn – shoving a picture of himself with crossed eyes under Gavan’s nose, and asking, “Have you seen this boy?”
There was a map of the town in front of the post office and I confirmed a route to our b&b and picked up a suggestion on how to proceed the next day. We still hadn’t stopped for a drink as yet so we lurched into the Keswick Lodge and had some cool ones (well, I had one; Gavan usually managed at least two, often three – with no ill effect.) Gavan borrowed a pen from one of the jolly pub girls and wrote a birthday postcard to a friend in Mexico. Then we continued forward away from the town square, continuing for three or four blocks to Eskin Street, where we quickly located Tarn Hows, our b&b. It was 4:15 and we had walked ten and a half miles.
Gavan at our b&b in Keswick
Tarn Hows was a superior establishment run by Mrs. Gill Bulch, who showed us to our en suite room on the first floor and relieved us of our boots and even our wet socks! After we had a cleanup there was still plenty of time before our dinner here at 6:30 so we returned to town (I scouted out the continuation of our path) and Gavan got some more foot preparation at Boots, where they let him in even though they had just closed at 5:30. Then we settled down in a banquette in the Kings Arms Hotel where I had a double Jack Daniels on the rocks. Here I began a long discussion of my reasons for choosing retirement in June. I, however, was not depressed.
At 6:30 we had a delicious meal back at Tarn Hows – lamb, potatoes, veg, a gooey dessert and Beck’s beer –and Mrs. Bulch was obviously pleased when we had scarfed the lot. We then headed back to town center, finding most of the pubs crowded with diners and settling at last for a table at the Four in Hand pub. It was at last getting dark when we made our final journey home, but I had time to call Dorothy (just back from Paris) on the mobile phone and Gavan was able to give her an encouraging report on my progress before we dropped into our beds for some well-earned sleep.
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