Walking and Wild Camping: The Langdale Pikes and Troutbeck (from summer)

This was my third wild camp of the year. At the start of the year, I camped on Stickle Tarn, which sits beneath Harrison Stickle and Pavey Arc. My second camp of the year was the summit of Blencathra. And the camp described in this post marks a return to the Langdale Pikes, though instead of camping at Stickle Tarn, we set up camp on top of Harrison Stickle. The fact that there was scant room for a pitch mattered little, for the unseasonably hot weather allowed me to comfortably pass the night away in nothing but a sleeping bag.  

This wasn't a solo wild camp. My friend Alex, who lives in my hometown of Spennymoor, has accompanied me on all my wild camps. Since I now live in Lancashire, we arrived at our meeting point separately. But Alex was working a night shift the day before and wouldn't be arriving till 3pm. So I decided to set off early, to bag a couple of Wainwrights before the wild camp. 

I decided on Sour Howes and Sallows, as these can be ascended from Troutbeck, a short detour from the main road running alongside Lake Windermere. Troutbeck is a pleasant village, with good pubs and great views out to the Troutbeck valley. Several Wainwrights can be accessed from here, such as Wansfell and Troutbeck Tounge, the latter being situated within the Troutbeck valley, offering fine views out to Lake Windermere for quite a modest ascent. I have walked up Wansfell on a number of occasions and I ascended Troutbeck Tongue shortly before the first Lockdown restrictions took effect. Sallows and Sour Howes were the last from this immediate area that needed ticking off. 

After bagging these two summits, I jumped in the car and made my way to the car park opposite the National Trust owned pub, Stickle Barn, in Great Langdale. A kind chap offered me his ticket, which still had a couple of hours left. "Cheers mate," I said. This response prompted him to ask if I'm from the north east. "Yeah, Co. Durham," I responded, knowing few people outside of the north east have heard of Spennymoor. To my surprise, given his southern tones, he was a fellow north easterner. Alex arrived shortly thereafter. After supping a couple of pints of IPA in the pub's beer garden, we decided to make tracks, knowing a serious ascent was ahead of us. Unless you are a master of ultra-light packing, or have calves made of steel, summiting mountains with a rucksack full of camping gear really is a different beast - especially if alcoholic beverages are part of the cargo. On average, I'd say Alex is the quicker of us when it comes to ascending the mountains, but on this day, I was in the lead, Alex behind flagging. At least, that was the story up until we arrived at stickle tarn...

It is the hottest day of the year. In fact, one of the hottest days on record. There is a pool of water in front of us, glinting in the sunlight, surrounded by the craggy langdale pikes. We had to get in; there was no question about it. Notwithstanding the sweltering heat, I still expected the water to be cold. But no, it was ideal; the only minor inconvenience being the stony ground beneath my bare feet. My first dip in a tarn ticked off. Redemption for my last failed attempt on helvellyn, where I retreated from red tarn a shivering - and disgraced - mess. 

Fells can be deceiving. From the tarn, the ascent up harrison stickle looked modest. But I was wrong. It was on this part of the route that my legs really were starting to buckle and my energy levels dwindling. I hadn't eaten anything on route up the fell, but though I was minutes from the summit, I was compelled to ravage a cereal bar and a packet of crisps; I don't think I've ever felt so famished. But we made it. We settled for a quick jet-boiled tea, before cracking the beers open. We'd both packed a tent, but by the time we'd arrived on the summit, we'd decided we weren't going to use them. The temperature was so high, if we couldn't sleep out with nothing but the sky above us on that night, then when could we? 

After a surprisingly good sleep, I awoke to inquisitive herdwicks standing just a few feet away, no doubt wondering what these strange visitors were doing sleeping on their turf. Herdwicks have a reputation for being cute, so I was surprised when they started scrapping with one another near the summit. Two of them pounded their heads together with an audible thud, before darting down the face of the fell. After a quick coffee we made our way back down the fell, ticking off one final Wainwright - Pavey Ark - on route.